The following article originally appeared on Medium and is being republished here with the author’s permission.

This post is a follow-up to a previous post from last week on the progress of logging. A colleague pushed back on the idea that we’d soon be running code we don’t fully understand. He was skeptical: “We’ll still be the ones writing the code, right? You can only support the code if you wrote it, right?…right?”

That’s the assumption—but it’s already slipping.

You Don’t Have to Write (or Even Read) Every Line Anymore

I gave him a simple example. I needed drag-and-drop ordering in a form. I’ve built it before, but this time I asked Cursor: “Take this React component, make the rows draggable, persist the order, and generate tests.”

It did. I ran the tests, and everything passed; I then shipped the feature without ever opening the code. Not because I couldn’t but because I didn’t have to. That doesn’t mean I always ship this way. Most of the time, I still review, but it’s becoming more common that I don’t need to.

And this isn’t malpractice or vibe coding. The trust comes from two things: I know I can debug and fix if something goes wrong, and I have enough validation to know when the output is solid. If the code works, passes tests, and delivers the feature, I don’t need to micromanage every line of code. That shift is already here—and it’s only accelerating.

Already Comfortable Ceding Control

Which brings me back to site reliability. Production systems are on the same trajectory. We’re walking into a world where the software is watching itself, anticipating failures, and quietly fixing them before a human would ever notice. Consider how Airbus advises pilots to keep the autopilot on during turbulence. Computers don’t panic or overcorrect; they ride it out smoothly. That’s what’s coming for operations—systems that absorb the bumps without asking you to grab the controls.

This shift doesn’t eliminate humans, but it does change the work. We won’t be staring at charts all day, because the essential decisions won’t be visible in dashboards. Vendors like Elastic, Grafana, and Splunk won’t vanish, but they’ll need to reinvent their value in a world where the software is diagnosing and correcting itself before alerts even fire.

And this happens faster than you think. Not because the technology matures slowly and predictably, but because the incentives are brutal: The first companies to eliminate downtime and pager duty will have an unassailable advantage, and everyone else will scramble to follow. Within a couple of years (sorry, I meant weeks), the default assumption will be that you’re building for an MCP—the standard machine control plane that consumes your logs, interprets your signals, and acts on your behalf. If you’re not writing for it, you’ll be left behind.

More Powerful Primitives (We May Not Fully Understand)

I’ll end with this. I majored in computer engineering. I know how to design an 8-bit microprocessor on FPGAs. . .in the late 1990s. Do you think I fully understand the Apple M4 chip in the laptop I’m writing on? Conceptually, yes—I understand the principles. But I don’t know everything it’s doing, instruction by instruction. And that’s fine.

We already accept that kind of abstraction all the time. As Edsger W. Dijkstra said: “The purpose of abstraction is not to be vague, but to create a new semantic level in which one can be absolutely precise.” Abstractions give us new building blocks—smaller, sharper units of thought—that let us stop worrying about every transistor and instead design at the level of processors, operating systems, or languages.

Code generation is about to redefine that building block again. It’s not just another abstraction layer; it’s a new “atom” for how we think about software. Once that shift takes hold, we’ll start leveling up—not because we know less but because we’ll be working with more powerful primitives.