The chairmaker was once known for his skill, every curve and joint a testament to patience and mastery. When given a machine that could produce any chair at the press of a button, he hesitated. The villagers saw abundance and profit, but he saw the loss of struggle, craft, and the quiet joy of making. The machine offered speed, but it threatened to strip the soul from the work.
So the chairmaker stood torn: embrace the machine and flood the market with flawless chairs, or resist and risk being left behind. In the end, he chose balance. He used the machine for what was ordinary, but he kept his hands for what was meant to endure, preserving his craft even as he welcomed the future.
The moral: adopting A.I. is much the same. If we let it, the machine will do everything for us — but in doing so, it risks eroding the skills, discernment, and meaning we bring to the work. The wisdom lies not in rejecting A.I. outright, nor in surrendering to it blindly, but in using it with intention: letting it handle the ordinary so we can preserve the extraordinary.
I believe that some people (myself included, at first) feel that A.I. threatened the craftsmanship and hard-fought-and-won understanding that comes from engineering software over time, without A.I.
So the chairmaker stood torn: embrace the machine and flood the market with flawless chairs, or resist and risk being left behind. In the end, he chose balance. He used the machine for what was ordinary, but he kept his hands for what was meant to endure, preserving his craft even as he welcomed the future.
The moral: adopting A.I. is much the same. If we let it, the machine will do everything for us — but in doing so, it risks eroding the skills, discernment, and meaning we bring to the work. The wisdom lies not in rejecting A.I. outright, nor in surrendering to it blindly, but in using it with intention: letting it handle the ordinary so we can preserve the extraordinary.