The world is abuzz with talk of “coding” lately. Lots of people tell me their brother or their cousin is “into coding”; “you know, he does web sites and stuff”. Indeed, I saw this book at Fry’s yesterday:
(Apparently, this book, mostly a tome of basic HTML and CSS, passes for “coding” nowadays, but that’s a rant for another day.)
On the shelf below it, there was another title: “Python for Kids”. And lots of tech colleagues tell me they’re teaching their five and six year-olds basic programming.
And as I have a two year-old son, and given what I do—though it has precious little to do with web development per se, in the main—I am asked fairly often: “Are you going to teach Roman to code?” It seems to be almost rhetorical in the mind of many doing the asking, almost a fait accompli.
I’ve always found the question puzzling. I don’t know. Am I going to teach him to code? To me, it sounds rather arbitrary, a bit like, “Are you going to enroll him in karate lessons?” or “Are you going to have him tutored in oil painting?” or “Is he going to play basketball?” It depends on what he’s like as a growing person, and whether he seems interested or appears to have any aptitude for it, I suppose. He’ll doubtless be exposed to it, given his parentage; there’s probably no avoiding that. Beyond that, it’s really a question of whether he’s keen on it.
There’s an important balance to strike; when it comes to specialisations, kids don’t know what they don’t know, and one of the main reasons we have general public education (and general ed/survey course requirements at the university level, in the USA) is to expose growing minds to the range of occupational possibilities, academic disciplines and fields of human endeavour generally. Still, I’m acutely aware of what happens when parents try to remake children to any degree in their own professional or intellectual image. I got this mildly, in the form of being subjected to parental projections of Soviet intelligentsia values: mandatory piano lessons, assigned reading of literary classics, lots of classical musical concerts, ballet performances, etc. In hindsight, it probably did me some good, though my adolescent rebelled powerfully on the inside. I see much sharper examples in the lives of others, whose parents want them to proceed down some similar track — play football in college, learn the family business, or, as it happens, become a software engineer.
My own interest in IT as a child arose in a particular context, a historical conjuncture of many factors: university environment, emergence of the commercial Internet, supportive academic social community, adolescent quest for identity, efficacy, communication. There’s no reason to think the same motivations will drive others in an era in which all this is long commoditised. A lot of people seem to subject their kids to forcefully projected nostalgia for a different time and place. I know my love for computers came from a different time and place. I am not sure I’d have been lured by them as they are today.
I think the question about “coding” runs deeper, though. There’s a widespread awareness—and perhaps it’s fair to say, anxiety—about software eating the world. There seems to be some consensus that the foreseeable future of gainful employment in the developed world dovetails extensively with machine intelligence. Automation as a reputed killer of low to medium-skilled service jobs is a routine headline. I think what’s really being asked is, “given that we’re going to be a society of computer programmers, will Roman take part?”
I suppose don’t buy the given. It’s fair to say that use of computer technology has become routine and necessary in most full-time professional jobs. I also think it’s important for kids to have some idea of how software works so that they can make sense of the world around them; it can’t all be “magic”, and indeed, that lack of understanding is an obstacle as we rapidly leap into a very software-driven world.
But it doesn’t follow that everyone needs to learn to speak to computers in code. Indeed, one could convincingly argue that the general arc of software progress and the commoditisation of computers has been to make this less necessary over time; there was a time when everyday uses of computers required speaking an assembler, COBOL, BASIC, while nowadays a substantial portion of the digitally savvy population taps through “apps”, and frankly, so do I. I started writing socket (network-related) code in C on Linux when I was 12, but I only have the broadest idea of how my Galaxy S8 works. I’ve asked younger Millennials for Android help before.
Moreover, people learn what they need to; I know plenty of otherwise technically illiterate accountants who have conquered snow-capped summits of Excel macro wizardry, the likes of which I could not have even conceived.
My undergraduate-aged babysitter is far from a technologist, but her mobile and desktop computer literacy surpasses that of many Baby Boomer and Gen X professionals. Why? She was born in the late 1990s; she’s always known the Internet. I jokingly asked her once if she realised music wasn’t always on iPods or in MP3 format, but based on her matter-of-fact response, I don’t think she really heard the full notes of the humour. It was almost like asking me if I realised history used to be recorded on papyrus.
In short, I don’t see law, medicine, writing, poetry, music, art, or the myriad of skilled professions becoming a fancy, domain-specific branch of computer programming. These fields will—as they do—put computers and the Internet to business use, but why are we talking as if everyone’s sat in front of a PDP-11?
That leads me to the heart of what inflames me about this cultural moment of software mania and metaphysical, cosmological technocracy: technology is a tool, not an end in itself, and we mustn’t forget that. It is a force subordinated to human purpose, not the other way around. It is as lifeless and mechanical as a jackhammer, not an organism in need of care and feeding, nor a capricious god to which we must pay tribute or sacrifice our young. It does not intrinsically solve most timeless sociopolitical problems. It’s not a raison d’être, and neither is “coding”.
Speaking of sacrificing our young, while my own childhood obsession with programming and the Internet got me a well-compensated occupation in an in-demand and growing field, as well as a supportive network of likeminded online cohorts, I’m all too aware of the human costs, physical and psychological. At least ten thousand hours were spent in a sedentary pose as an adolescent and teen. I missed out on almost all social features of high school, since there was always C code to be tinkered with or someone was wrong on Kuro5hin or something. (Though, there’s no particular reason to think it’d have been epic otherwise, for reasons Paul Graham articulated better than I could). The shockingly low amounts of sleep I ran on most school days between grades 6 and 11, bleary-eyed from the blue light-soaked all-nighters of homo computatis, ought to be the subject of some kind of study, I swear. I wear multiple pairs of glasses due to eye strain. I dropped out of college because I cared so much more about my work. The fact that anyone ever dated me seems like a miracle sometimes; I somehow had a girlfriend my senior year of high school, which finally had me looking after myself more, but you, too, would ask “how?”; it didn’t (heh) compute.
I’m not saying I necessarily regret any of it, though of course we’d all tweak a few things with the benefit of hindsight and time travel. What I will say is that I don’t bill my lawyer-ish hourly rate for nothing. I got here at the cost of much of my childhood and adolescence, as we ordinarily understand those stages of life, and at this point I’ve fed for more than 2/3rds of my life span to the exacting and jealous machine. The road to being pretty good at what I do was long and arduous. Computers are addictive as all hell. It’s no accident I’m finishing this post at 4:45 AM; when you mess up your biorhythms from such an early age, old habits
die hard don’t die. I’m very mindful of all that as I consider the full list of possible consequences of parentally encouraged geekery for kids.
I suppose there is one way in which Roman will be socialised in the shape of his father: he’s genetically part philosopher, and if he does take up programming, we’re going to spend a lot of time on: “But code what? And why?” In the meantime, I have no plans to plant him in front of a Raspberry Pi or “Python For Kids”.