The Codeless Code: Case 125 Power 
======

 It is the function of the Temple abbots to direct the
activities of their respective clans: choosing projects,
setting deadlines, apportioning tasks, and employing
whatever means are necessary to ensure that schedules are
met. It is for these powers that the abbots are both envied
and despised. Indeed, it is rare for abbot and monk to cross
paths without the latter finding himself more miserable for
the experience.

Thus it was with no great joy that the elder monk Shinpuru
found himself visited by the new head abbot of the Spider
Clan.

Shinpuru was in the temple greenhouse, tending the plants of
a small winter garden that he kept as a hobby, when the head
abbot approached and bowed low, saying: “Have I the good
fortune of being in the presence of the monk Shinpuru, whose
code is admired throughout the Temple?”

“This miserable soul is he,” said Shinpuru, returning the
bow.

“I have come to ask if you have given any thought to the
future,” said the abbot.

“Tomorrow I expect the sun shall rise,” answered Shinpuru.
“Unless I am wrong, in which case it will not.”

“I was thinking of your future, specifically,” replied the
abbot.

“If the sun does not rise, my future will be the least of my
concerns,” said Shinpuru. “If it does rise, then I expect to
greet it while enjoying a small bowl of rice and eel. Unless
I am wrong, in which case I will not.”

The abbot smiled. “It is true then, that the monk Shinpuru
plans for all contingencies. This is also why I have come.
Of late there has been a shortage of abbots in the Spider
Clan.* The Temple wishes to bestow upon you the honor of
promotion into our ranks.”

“I am humbled,” said Shinpuru, bowing again.

“The work is difficult,” continued the abbot. “Our day
begins well before sunrise, which you would seldom be able
to greet at your leisure, for there are many meetings to
attend and we run with our bowls from one to another.
Likewise you will not often see the sunset, except perhaps
on a webcam. In exchange for this you will receive far
greater compensation from the Temple coffers, and the power
to direct the activities of the Temple itself.”

“And what will become of ‘Shinpuru, whose code is admired
throughout the Temple,’ when he no longer codes?” asked the
monk.

“Fear not!” said the abbot. “You will do what you have
excelled at, only one level higher: Meta-Coding, if you
will.  Instead of design documents we produce long-term
plans; instead of software we churn out schedules; instead
of defects and features we speak of costs and benefits. The
Temple itself is the machine we practice our arts upon,
refactoring it as we see fit.”

“A most worthy cause,” said Shinpuru, returning his
attention to his vines. “I, too, have noticed the shortage
of abbots.  Such is the price of power. For as the seafaring
matriarch Subashikoi once observed, the monks may command
the rigging and the masters may command the monks, but it is
the abbots who chart the course and hold the tiller; so it
is the abbots who are consigned to the deep when the ship
founders—oftimes by their own crew.”

“Only fools meet such a fate,” said the abbot. “And the monk
Shinpuru is no fool. Unless I am wrong, but I am seldom
wrong about such things.”

“Then you will not think me a fool for declining the
Temple’s generous offer,” said Shinpuru, pruning a few
yellow leaves.

The head abbot frowned. “What would Shinpuru think of a seed
that refused to sprout, or a tree that refused to yield
fruit?  What else should I think of a monk who so quickly
declines an opportunity for growth, for command, for power?”

Shinpuru set aside his shears to tie up the vine. “Define
power,” he said.

“The ability to do as one wishes,” said the abbot.

“Well, then,” said Shinpuru. “Tomorrow I wish to greet the
sunrise with my little bowl. Then I wish to take some hot
tea at my workstation as I read the technical sites I find
most illuminating, after which I look forward to a fruitful
day of coding interrupted only by some pleasant exchanges
with my fellows and a midday meal at this very spot, tending
my garden.  When night falls I wish to find myself in my
cozy room with a belly full of rice, a cup full of hot sake,
a purse full of coins sufficient to buy more seeds, and a
mind empty of all other cares.”

The abbot bowed. “I expect that Shinpuru has all the power
he could desire, then. Unless he is wrong.”

“I am seldom wrong about such things,” said Shinpuru,
picking up his shears again as another yellow leaf caught
his eye. “In a world where even the sunrise is uncertain, a
man may be excused for not knowing a great many things. But
to not know my own heart? I hope to never be so hopeless a
fool.”

* As documented in cases 61, 62, 67, 120, and probably
others besides. Abbots in the Spider Clan have the average
life expectancy of a dolphin in the Gobi desert.
