Silicon Valley Canon

See, the sad thing about a guy like you is, in 50 years you’re gonna start doin’ some thinkin’ on your own and you’re going to come up with the fact that there are two certainties in life: one, don’t do that, and two, you dropped 150 grand on an education you could have got for a dollar fifty in late charges at the public library!

— Good Will Hunting

My first experience as an undergraduate was an honors writing course with Kurt Stavenhagen. Years later, he reached out to let me know he had written a short vignette on his impression of me that first day of class:

Phil sauntered into class the first day with his Timberland boots untied and backpack slung halfway off his shoulder. As he sat down (with pack still on his shoulder), I wondered how many minutes he'd give me before bolting for the door.  Ellen, on the other hand, had her notepad turned to a blank page, ready to take notes. Though both were honors students their similarities were few. He was wary that the course would insist on liberal indoctrination. She held passionate liberal views about ecology, grounded in environmental activism. 

On the second day of class we discussed Stanley Fish’s New York Times blog post “I Am, Therefore I Pollute.” Phil loved it. He said he laughed when Fish related that he and his wife switched brands of toilet paper to Company B because of Company A’s research on animals only to find out Company B did not use recycled fiber. I asked Phil whether he thought environmentalists insist on too many ill-conceived rules.  "Yes," he replied, and added "environmentalism, like bad religion gets bent on purity.”

I then asked if anyone else agreed with Phil. A third of the class raised their hands and shared how so. A few mentioned arcane recycling rules. Others shared feeling guilty when eating a hamburger because they had watched Food Inc. in a high school health class. The discussion went on for a while until eventually it died down to a telling pause. I then asked if anyone held a different view. Ellen's hand shot up. She said, “I think the article is a sad excuse for irresponsibility. Is it really that hard to find environmentally-friendly paper products?”

Again, the class erupted in discussion.

This was how all of Kurt's classes were. Before long, I realized that the lectures weren’t the most valuable part of the experience. It was the late-night debates in the dorms, the impromptu study groups at the campus library, the shared excitement over a breakthrough in understanding a complex concept. The real education was happening outside the classroom.

Fast forward a few years, and I found myself drawn to Silicon Valley. The same pattern emerged. It wasn’t the formal meetings or the keynote speeches at conferences that fueled innovation—it was the casual conversations in hallways, the brainstorming sessions over coffee, the serendipitous encounters that sparked new ideas.

I wanted to recreate that magic. Not just a course, but a community. A place where people could not only learn from the great thinkers but also from each other.

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But why is the network—the community—so vital to learning? Is it simply about making connections that could advance our careers, or is there something deeper at play?

I think back to the quote from Good Will Hunting. Will, a self-taught genius, challenges the notion that a formal education is worth the hefty price tag. He’s right, in a way. The information is out there, accessible to anyone with the curiosity to seek it. But what Will misses, and what many of us overlook, is that education is more than the sum of its lectures and textbooks.

It’s about the shared journey. The collective struggle to understand complex ideas. The way a peer can explain a concept in a way that suddenly makes it click. The motivation that comes from being part of a group striving toward the same goal.

In the digital age, we’ve made incredible strides in democratizing access to information. MOOCs, open-source materials, and online tutorials have made it possible for anyone to learn almost anything. Yet, despite this abundance of knowledge, something is missing.

I’ve taken countless online courses, diligently watched lecture videos, and completed assignments. But the experiences that truly stuck with me were those where I felt connected to others. When I participated in forums where lively discussions unfolded, or when I collaborated on projects with people halfway across the world.

It became clear to me that while we’ve succeeded in unbundling the content of education, we’ve neglected the social fabric that holds it together.

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This realization led me to wonder: Can we replicate the social experience of traditional education in an online setting? Or better yet, can we innovate beyond it?

I believe we can. Two weeks ago, I launched a private reading club called Silicon Valley Canon.

Silicon Valley Canon is a six-week paid course based on Patrick Collison’s book list. I've been thinking about a program like this for nearly four years and it finally became irresistible. I just had to do it. With Silicon Valley Canon, my aim is to create an environment where learning is a communal activity. Where subscribers don’t just passively consume information but actively engage with it and with each other.

We’ve integrated group chats on Warpcast, facilitating real-time discussions. AMAs with authors provide direct access to the minds behind the books we’re reading. These interactions turn a solitary activity into a shared adventure.

There’s also the question of scale. Traditional educational institutions often rely on size to sustain themselves, but this can come at the cost of intimacy. With Silicon Valley Canon, I’m experimenting with keeping the group small, at least initially. This allows for deeper connections and more personalized interactions.

As we grow, the challenge will be maintaining that sense of community. Perhaps the solution lies in creating smaller cohorts or specialized groups within the larger network. It’s an evolving process.

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Reflecting on this journey, I’m inspired by the Renaissance salons—gatherings of intellectuals who met to discuss ideas, art, and philosophy. These salons were crucibles of creativity and innovation, not because of formal structures but because of the people who participated and the relationships they formed.

In many ways, we’re seeking to recreate that spirit. To build a modern-day salon that transcends geographical boundaries. A place where ideas can be exchanged freely, and where the collective intelligence of the group elevates each individual.

It's tempting to be like Will. After all, why pay for an education you can get for free? But perhaps the true cost of that “education you could have got for a dollar fifty in late charges at the public library” isn’t financial—it’s the missed opportunity to be part of a community. To engage in the shared pursuit of understanding.

In launching Silicon Valley Canon, inviting others to join me in building something new. An independent social institution that fills the gap left by the unbundling of education. A network where the value isn’t just in what we learn, but in who we learn it with.

The future of learning is collaborative, connected, and community-driven. And as more people seek alternatives to traditional education, we have the opportunity—and the responsibility—to shape that future.