Charles Frye

Zigong, traveling north of Market and turning back toward The Arena, passed by an enterprise and saw an old engineer preparing his PR. He had typed the code by hand in vim and traced the execution in a debugger -- straining, sweat-dark, spending enormous effort for tiny results. Zigong said: "There is an agent for this. In one day it produces one hundred PRs, with next to no effort and great results. Wouldn’t you like it?" The gardener’s face darkened -- and he laughed. "I have heard from my teacher: where there is artificial intelligence, there are artificial dealings; where there are artificial dealings, there is artificial progress. When artificial progress lodges in the goals, the Way will not carry the team. It is not that I do not know the thing. I would be ashamed to use it." Zigong hung his head and could not answer.