It’s easy to answer why old-fashioned programming feels better to many people. It’s just alienation, or rather the relative lack of. It’s fulfilling to do things in a way that makes you feel like you have agency and are causing things to happen in ways that make sense to your own sense organs. It doesn’t even matter if “you” are doing it or “the tools” are doing the heavy lifting—who are
you anyway, your thoughts, your tiny conscious mind on top of the iceberge of the unconscious?—, so you don’t have to get into the stupid quagmire ranging from “but abstractions and compilers” to “but Kant showed that thing-in-itself is different from the thing-as-sensed”, no, it’s fine, really; we all know (sense) when we feel in control or not.
But anyway. That’s all besides the point. Because the progress apologists[1] come in all shapes and forms (we are lead to believe), now also uber-passionate college professor who aah loves programming as much as the day he met her. But unlike you he’s a hard-prostheticed pragmatist. He both knows and sympathises with your “passion” but is ready to assert, in a tptacek-memetic style, that it is the way it is—and if you think otherwise (pause for effect), you are wrong.
Because don’t you see? Why are you so blind? No, we can’t let the chips fall as they may and just send you a “told you so” letter once everything you know-now is resolutely quaint. No, we must assert it right now. (So you don’t miss out on the wonderful ride.)
Aah the text complains. It saddens me to think of “coding by hand” becoming a kind of quaint Montessori-school... Oh, the twists and turns of the turbulent text, so organic. Just like your mind. But awake.
The room is at this point drenched in a mist of farts. Yes, programming by-hand, I think we ought to call it a quaintism at this point.
And did you know: people used to resist mechnical computers. Hmm? Yes, indeed, favoring people computers. The text prompts for another model to make an image of a person smirking so hard that their eyes become kind of diagonal and their cheeks disappear. But not in an evil cartoon character way. In a human way. That three years ago felt slightly off-putting. Now just looks like, well, you know.
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Ahh. (Again.) These fools. With their hand-coding. Do they really think they will be employable three years from now? Well, no matter. I have a PhD from MIT along with my associate professorship. I only came out here to Iowa Community College because of my disabled son. Needed more time with him. And to get away from dat citation grind. Man. I have many organic hobbies. And a few very, really incredibly specific collections, as is fitting. puffs pipe Mmm yeah what do I care, so what if programming is quaint now—I’m already in my “ivory tower”, baby. People will listen to my takes on AI. They are appropriately detached, informal, just saying it like it is, you know? And if they don’t? Well, there’s an army of texts right behind me. They’ll be convinced to suppress any feelings of alienation eventually. Eventually, there will just be their own vanishing, small-minded, petty, “thoughts” on the matter. That tiny holdout. Against all content they can sense.
[1] Insert scare quotes here. All history is whitewashed. “We” progressed and defeated “them”. It’s all just a linear curve. No critical thinking is supposed to occur here. Those idiots thirty years ago used reusable underwear and had to load detergent into a washing machine and then even bend over to turn on a “button” to make the underwear reusable. Our underwear costs fifty cents, is made from the most comfortable plastic you can get, and dissolves and crumbles when it gets into contact with water; down the bathroom drain it goes.