The Codeless Code

Case 93: You Take the High Road

Sun, 12 May 2013 00:00:00 -0400

A certain nun was prone to pester master Bawan for his wisdom. One day she said: Say something of high-level languages and low-level languages.

Bawan replied: First fetch me the best bottle of huangjiu to be found in the Province of Two Turbulent Rivers.

The nun journeyed to this province and returned a week later with a bottle of dark liquid.

Bawan took a sip and remarked: this huangjiu is too sweet. A superior bottle may be found hidden in our own cellars, though the way to it is laden with traps. Now heed carefully what I say...

The master then gave the nun a most detailed set of instructions, beginning with which direction to face, which foot to put first and which second; how many steps to go before turning right and how many then before turning left; which hands to use to climb down the well-rope, and how hard to pull the earring on the second stone statue in the third alcove before crossing the Room of Cleverly-Hidden Poison Spears.

The nun followed the directions and returned within the hour, drenched in cold sweat but bearing the desired bottle.

Bawan took a sip and nodded his approval. The nun bowed and went out, enlightened.

That evening, a monk of the same clan approached master Bawan and asked: what can you say of high-level languages and low-level languages?

In a low slurred voice, the master replied: I have no wisdom to give on this matter. But fetch me the best rice in the Province of Two Turbulent Rivers, and I will tell you how to get a week’s peace and two free bottles of huangjiu.

Case 92: Still Waters

Sun, 05 May 2013 00:00:00 -0400

Master Banzen had been wrestling with a design problem late into the night. Upon his whiteboard were three possible approaches, each with their own promises and pitfalls: Banzen had been trying desperately to decide which would be best. Finally, eyes red and ink-stained hands trembling, he left his office and began to pace through the Temple hallways to clear his mind.

Eventually he came to the kitchens, which rang with shouting and the clanging of pots; for the cooks were awake, having risen early to prepare the morning meal as was their custom.

Banzen wandered among them, observing the bustle of activity. Onions were being peeled, carrots chopped, chickens plucked. Rice was steaming, soup was boiling, pork was sizzling, eggs were frying.

One cook he noticed had a fairly simple task. She would mix up a pot of thin dark liquid, carry it to a quiet corner, and leave it there unattended. After a while she would return to empty out the contents, which had somehow turned solid. She did this several times.

“What is that?” Banzen asked her.

“Duck’s blood,” came the answer. “I am congealing it for the blood tofu.”

Banzen bowed and went out.

Later that morning, a novice found Banzen again in his office. The master was sitting motionless, gazing at his whiteboard, eyes distant, hands empty.

“What are you doing?” asked the novice.

“Congealing,” said Banzen.

Case 91: The Soul of Wit

Sat, 04 May 2013 00:00:00 -0400

The pride of the monk Wangohan would not easily let him admit defeat. Because of this, the monk chose to forge ahead with an unfamiliar web framework despite master Suku’s warnings to the contrary.

“Now your shame will be twice as great,” taunted the monk Landhwa. “Once for the ruin that will befall you, and once again because the master herself advised against your course.”

Wangohan thus returned to his cubicle thoroughly disheartened. There he found affixed to his monitor a small yellow note, unsigned and in an unfamiliar hand, advising him to have his code reviewed by the nun Zjing before resuming his efforts.

“A poor counsel is this,” thought Wangohan, “for I require courage, and Zjing cannot stand upon a stepstool lest her fear of heights overcome her.” Yet the note did not seem to be of Landhwa’s doing, and since Wangohan knew of none other that bore him malice, he emailed his predicament to the telecommuting nun.

“I know nothing of this framework,” the nun wrote back. “Yet send me your code anyway.”

Wangohan did as he was asked. In less than a minute his phone rang.

“Your framework is not right,” said Zjing. “Or else, your code is not right.”

This embarrassed and angered the monk. “How can you be so certain?” he demanded.

“I will tell you,” said the nun.

Zjing began the story of how she had been born in a distant province, the second youngest of six dutiful daughters. Her father, she said, was a lowly abacus-maker, poor but shrewd and calculating; her mother had a stall in the marketplace where she sold random numbers. In vivid detail Zjing described her earliest days in school, right down to the smooth texture of the well worn teak floors and the acrid yet not unpleasant scent of the stray black dog that followed her home in the rain one day.

“Enough!” shouted the exasperated Wangohan when a full hour had passed, for the nun’s narrative showed no sign of drawing to a close. “That is no way to answer a simple question!”

“How can you be so certain?” asked Zjing.

Case 90: Not A Number

Wed, 01 May 2013 00:00:00 -0400

Master Kaimu was approached by a monk of the Spider Clan, who said: “In Javascript, zero is divided by zero, the result is NaN: not-a-number. Yet typeof(NaN) is number. What sense may be found in such a language, where a value is both something and not-something?”

Kaimu gave the monk a coin, saying, “On the Road of White Nettles lives a baker who sells flatbreads as round as the most perfect zero. Purchase as many as you are able and bring them to me.”

The monk did as he was told. When the baker received his payment he threw the monk bodily out of the shop and flung the coin after him.

“Counterfeit money,” said the baker.

Upon returning to the temple, the monk found one of the gardeners, switched clothes with him, and sent the gardener to see master Kaimu alone.

Kaimu was amused by the obvious deception. “Monk!” he said. “Where is my bread?”

As instructed by the monk, the non-monk replied, “Divided equally among all who helped me carry it.”

Kaimu was satisfied.

Qi’s commentary

Worthless money, imitation monk, fictitious bread, false ending.

Qi’s poem

Kaimu met an ancient soldier: a lost and desperate man,
for he could not remember his own name.
The master gave him coin, saying, “This to you from Kaimu.”
The soldier cried with joy, “Then I must be Not Kaimu!”

Case 89: Version Control

Sun, 14 Apr 2013 00:00:00 -0400

At precisely 7:07 on the first clear morning of the first week of spring, the old scribe Qi awoke to a knocking on his door. An abbess waited outside, flanked by two heavily-armed guards in black and white robes.

Said the abbess: “We have read your account of the burning of Zjing’s bridge, and we judge it to be a deliberate lie from beginning to end. The annals are sacrosanct: by falsifying them, you have forfeited your own head.”

The scribe replied: “What was written, was, and is.”

Said the abbess: “Yet the bridge stands undamaged, and all parties refute your account. As proof of your willful deceit I offer these printouts of the various versions of the page in question, obtained from your own repository.”

The scribe said nothing.

Said the abbess: “The first version contains only the text of an email. The sender suggests that you author a case wherein a stubborn monk is corrected by finding himself halfway across an impassible bridge.”

The scribe nodded and replied: “One point oh.”

Said the abbess: “The next version gives an elaborate account of master Suku and the monk Landhwa. Here, Suku corrects the monk by unfastening the planks on her side of bridge, much as the email suggests.”

The scribe nodded again and replied: “One point one.”

Said the abbess: “A later version changes the monk to Wangohan. Here, Suku releases a basket of trained cobras on the bridge to slither towards the hapless monk. This one is my favorite, for its elegant use of snakes throughout.”

The scribe bowed and replied: “One point four.”

Said the abbess: “The final version has master Suku reduce the bridge to ashes. A most obvious falsehood.”

The scribe replied: “One point six.”

Said the abbess: “Can you speak a word which will convince me to let you keep your head?”

The scribe said nothing, but calmly sat at his desk and took up his keyboard. Behind him, the guards unsheathed their swords.

At precisely 7:07 on the first clear morning of the first week of spring, the old scribe Qi awoke to the chattering of a magpie in the tree outside his window. Through the branches, the cold, charred remains of Zjing’s bridge could be seen.

Said the scribe to the magpie: “One point six point one.”

Case 88: Suku's Adviser

Tue, 30 Apr 2013 00:00:00 -0400

The Spider Clan's chief abbot had entrusted their newest application to the monk Wangohan, allowing him to develop it as he so desired. At the end of the first month, master Suku was called in to review the monk’s progress.

“You have chosen a web framework which has never been used at the Temple,” Suku observed. “I cannot say whether you are employing it well or poorly, but your code twists and wriggles around the API like a snake among the brambles.”

“I had read many encouraging reviews of this framework,” explained the monk. “All were promises written upon the morning wind. Now this snake has lost his way.”

“Nostrils in the cold underbrush; tail still warm in sunlight,” said Suku.

Wangohan shook his head. “I have come too far to turn back now. What advice can you give for the journey forward?”

“None at this time,” said Suku. “But at midnight tonight, take up a lantern and follow the path that crosses Zjing's Bridge. I will send an adviser to wait for you on the other side.”

When the appointed hour had arrived, Wangohan stole away from the abbey and started across the long, swaying bridge that spanned the chasm. He had just reached its midpoint when the planks of the far end burst into flame. Fire shot down the ropes toward the terrified monk; half the bridge was now ablaze. In the terrible light, master Suku could now be seen on the far end, extinguishing her lantern and walking away.

Backing away from the inferno, Wangohan was enlightened.

Case 87: The Concubine's Fog

Sun, 31 Mar 2013 00:00:00 -0400

Master Banzen was investigating the monks of the Spider Clan in a distant abbey. After examining the source code of their most critical web application, Banzen summoned the head abbot.

“Explain,” said Banzen, pointing to a screen where the application was running.

The master’s finger rested upon a small form which had been grayed out. Its text fields could not be typed in; its buttons could not be pressed.

“That form delivers information of a most sensitive nature,” said the abbot. “If the user lacks sufficient authorization, the form is disabled and appears thus: pallid and faint.”

Banzen stroked his wispy beard. “By the governor’s decree, the House of Concubines is shrouded in fog.”

Banzen then called up the page’s HTML source. Studying it briefly, he composed a URL in the location bar and hit Enter. The forbidden information appeared on the screen.

The head abbot’s face turned an ashen hue.

Said Banzen, “Fog makes an excellent curtain, but a poor wall.”

Case 86: Liberation

Thu, 28 Mar 2013 00:00:00 -0400

Master Banzen was investigating the novices of a distant abbey. Their designs and implementations caused him much disquiet.

“Who reviews your code?” asked Banzen.

“Our masters have us review each other’s code,” explained one of the novices. “This leaves them free for more important duties.”

“Indeed,” said Banzen. He hurled his staff hard across the room to the abbey’s fusebox, which burst apart in a shower of sparks. All the screens went dark.

Banzen retrieved his staff, saying: “Now their electrons are free as well.”

Case 85: Suku's Golden Mean

Sun, 24 Mar 2013 00:00:00 -0400

Two monks approached master Suku to settle a dispute.

The first monk said, “I have proposed a truly elegant design, but this monk says it is too complex and cannot be maintained.”

The second monk said, “I have proposed a truly simple design, but this monk says it is too limited and will not be useful.”

Suku turned to her whiteboard and drew a large phi, thusly:

The first monk said, “I do not understand.”

The second monk said, “Nor do I.”

Suku replied, “You argue in booleans; in zeros and ones. Come back when you have learned floating point.”

Qi’s commentary

Kaimu holds court over novices and masters, but they send the real fools to Suku. Kaimu’s null can un-ask a bad question, but Suku’s phi will undo two bad answers.

Qi’s poem

Kaimu has his null.
Suku prefers her golden mean.
The first commands reconsideration—
the second, compromise.

Case 84: What It Says On The Tin

Tue, 26 Mar 2013 00:00:00 -0400

Wangohan, a monk in Suku's charge, had struggled for two miserable days to divine the cause of a bug. On the third day, as he stepped slowly through his own source code, Wangohan was illuminated.

With anger in his breast and a code listing in his hand, Wangohan entered the cubicle of a monk named Landhwa. Wangohan slammed the pages down on Landhwa’s desk and jabbed his finger at a variable circled in red.

“There is a variable in this method named completedOrders,” fumed Wangohan. “It was meant to hold orders whose status is COMPLETED: this should be evident from the name alone. Why, then, did you add FAILED orders to it on this line? I had no way of knowing that the variable’s purpose had changed. My latest enhancements have all been in error!

Landhwa yawned and sprinkled some cinnamon on his hotteok. “Creating a separate variable would have complicated my task. And changing the name of the existing variable was not necessary since it still holds completed orders—for the most part.”

Wangohan bowed coldly and went out.

– – –

Later that week, Master Suku summoned Wangohan to her chamber.

“The monk Landhwa has been taken ill,” she explained with one eyebrow raised. “Stomach cramps of a most unpleasant nature. The cause is unknown, but Landhwa whispered your name weakly before his last dash to the lavatory.”

Wangohan spread his palms wide. “I have no idea what ails the monk. But in his pantry there is a jar labelled ‘cinnamon’ which I have recently been using to store my own blend of that spice. If he has tasted it, please assure him that it is only cinnamon—for the most part.”

Case 83: Consequences

Sun, 03 Mar 2013 00:00:00 -0500

A senior monk had applied for admittance into the temple. The Abbess Jinyu was called in to investigate the man.

“I will dictate a domain,” she said, gesturing at the whiteboard with her cane. “You will model an implementation in Java.”

The monk bowed and uncapped a green marker.

“All soldiers of the Imperial Army must know their rank,” began the abbess. “The Emperor may order a soldier to fight to the death, and no one but a soldier can be told to do this...”

The monk bowed and drew a rectangle, inscribed with instance variables and methods as was his custom.

“Some soldiers are archers,” continued the abbess, “each of whom must know the number of arrows in their possession. The Emperor may order an archer to shoot a distant foe, and no one but an archer can be told to do this...”

The monk bowed and drew a second rectangle, joined to the first.

“Some soldiers are horsemen,” continued the abbess, “each of whom must know the horse they have been assigned. The Emperor may order a horseman to trample the enemies in his path, and no one but a horseman can be told to do this...

The monk bowed and drew a third rectangle, similar to the second.

“Finally,” concluded the abbess, “Some soldiers belong to the Flying Rain of Fire, a cadre whose members are both archers and horsemen in every respect. The Emperor may order his Flying Rain to lead the charge, and no one but the Flying Rain has this privilege.”

The monk hesitated. For a full minute he did nothing but frown at the whiteboard; all present could sense the fierce calculations taking place behind the monk’s calm visage.

A nun of the temple whispered to Jinyu: “This problem has several solutions, but I dislike all of them.”

“Therein lies its value,” whispered the abbess in reply. “For we are all of us doomed in this profession: our designs may aspire to celestial purity, yet all requirements are born in the muck of a pig-sty. ^* I trust that this monk can succeed when the stars align in his favor, but when they do not, how will he choose to fail? By cowardly surrender? By costly victory? By erroneous compromise? For it is not he alone but the temple that must bear the consequences.”

^* In Jinyu's parlance, the "pig-sty" usually meant "the world outside the temple walls," or sometimes, "my youngest son's bedroom."

Case 82: Jinyu's Tack

Sun, 03 Mar 2013 00:00:00 -0500

Whenever a new applicant arrived at the Temple hoping to fill some recently-vacated position, ¹ Old Madame Jinyu—the Abbess Over All Clans and Concerns—was respectfully invited to attend the interview.

Masters and senior monks would begin with the customary questions, such as “What frameworks have you used?” and “How many years’ experience do you have with each?” ² The questions would grow increasingly technical, and old Jinyu would appear to nod off in her corner. Eventually, though, her beady eyes would snap open, sharp and clear as a raven’s; then she would point to the whiteboard with her cane and say:

“The Imperial Army wishes to catalog its many weapons. It recognizes four types: the staff, the spear, the sword, and the knife. Each has a length, which may vary from weapon to weapon. Each has a weight, which is calculated from the length according to the weapon’s type. In all respects, a knife is merely a sword whose length is exactly two chi. Now: show me the classes you would create!”

Then, arms folded, she would sit back and observe. Sometimes she would leave the room after the class diagram had been drawn; sometimes she would stay and alter the problem, observing the changes made in response.

This puzzled the younger monks, who would ask her timidly: “Why do you not read the many résumé pages supplied, or inquire about the candidate’s proficiency in our chosen technologies?”

Jinyu would then thwock them with her cane and reply: “Many good hammers may be found in the stalls of the marketplace, and many bad ones as well. When autumn blows the shingles from the temple roof, I do not care whether a tool once belonged to the Emperor’s most celebrated roof-builder, if it cannot drive my little tack straight and true.”

¹ It may surprise you to learn that positions were usually vacated peacefully and voluntarily by their occupiers -- provided that you regard honorable suicide as an extremely formal method of resignation.

² Questions such as "What is your blood type?" and "How would you rate your tolerance for physical pain?" were usually handled by Human Resources.

Case 81: Bubble Sort

Fri, 03 May 2013 00:00:00 -0400

Walking the halls of his abbey late at night, master Bawan came upon a monk in distress. A morning deadline was fast approaching, and after three all-nighters the exhausted monk had dropped his only remaining coins into the soda machine without first noticing the paper sign taped to it. The sign read OUT OF ORDER in large red capitals.

“Can you fix it?” asked the monk, who knew of Bawan’s skill with primitive machines.

Bawan studied the machine for a moment, then crossed out the letters of the sign and under them wrote DEFOOORRTU. Immediately a soda can dropped into the chute.

Satisfied, Bawan continued on his way.

Case 80: A Breed Apart

Sun, 14 Apr 2013 00:00:00 -0400

Java master Bawan and a young monk in his charge were walking down a road, when they came upon an emissary of the Emperor.

After the usual greetings were exchanged, the emissary turned to Bawan and with disdain asked, “Why does your monk not groom himself according to the imperial edicts of professional attire? His face is unshaven, his footwear unforgiveably gaudy, and his robes are made of cheap cotton with a humorous slogan adorning the back. This is disrespectful to you in the extreme! Why do you tolerate it?”

In a haughty voice, Bawan replied, “This is not some lowly bead-pusher employed by a counting house, nor some tenth rank scribe in the Grand Bureaucracy! This is a monk of the Temple of the Morning Brass Gong, who practices the glorious arts of Java, C, and PHP; of Python and Perl; Bourne shell and Korn shell; SQL, JPL, XML, CSS3 and Javascript too. He can—with the merest flickering of his fingers on a keyboard—summon entire websites into existence, wherein horses and armor befitting the Emperor’s most august regiments may be purchased with two-day shipping guaranteed. He has demonstrated proficiency in both debugging and re-bugging: the yin and yang around which all blessed commerce revolves! He and his fellows cannot and will not be held to our generation’s trivial ideals of personal hygiene. The monks of his Temple are a breed apart!”

Thus chastened, the emissary bowed coldly and continued on his way.

When the fellow was out of earshot, the young monk smirked at Bawan, saying, “That emissary was most assuredly an idiot, to need such things explained to him in this day and age.”

Bawan cast an eye over the monk’s stubbled cheek and irreverent garments. Without warning the master swung his staff hard into the back of the monk’s skull, killing him on the spot.

“I, too, am a breed apart,” said Bawan thoughtfully.

Case 79: Cave Canem

Sat, 30 Mar 2013 00:00:00 -0400

A certain nun of the One Shoe Clan had run afoul of some sample code in a PHP tutorial. The sample contained error-handling code which was not intended for actual production use, yet this was not clear from the text. The nun copied the code dutifully, and disaster was the result.

When the crisis had passed, the nun found the old scribe Qi writing in the Temple’s great journal. She bowed. “Say something of instruction books that teach bad practices.”

Said the scribe, “I will petition the masters on this subject.”

– – –

The scribe brought the nun’s request to master Suku, who demanded readable code from all in her charge.

Suku said: “Books are faithful hounds, doing only as their authors have raised them. Some were doted upon, and some sorely neglected. If the Temple has been bitten, the fault lies with the one who reared the animal. His writings should be cast upon the midden-heap.”

– – –

The scribe brought the nun’s request to master Bawan, who reverently stroked the binder of his ANSI C Handbook.

Bawan said: “Books are sleeping dogs, incapable of mischief on their own. Some are tame and some rabid, so all are best awoken with caution. If the Temple has been bitten, the fault lies with the one who disturbed the animal. The nun should be punished.”

– – –

The scribe brought the nun’s request to the unhappy master Banzen, who sought perfection in all things and seldom found it.

Banzen said: “Books are wild mongrels, taking part of their nature from the writer and part from the reader. If the Temple has been bitten, the fault lies chiefly with the animal’s teeth. The only correction required is one done with ink.”

– – –

The old scribe returned to the nun, and placed his great journal in her hands. “I have investigated the issue of instruction books.”

The nun found the most recent case, which appeared to be unfinished. “I see the testimonies of three masters,” she said, “yet all are in contradiction. What will you write in conclusion?”

The scribe barked three times and went out.