Someday, not too far from now, there will be a person sitting in front of a glowing screen, fingers flying across a keyboard, writing raw code line by line… and they will be the last to ever do it this way. The last programmer in the traditional sense. The last one to know the deep, strange joy of hunting a missing semicolon at 2 a.m. The last to keep an entire mental map of a system’s architecture in their head, scribbled on a coffee-stained napkin for good measure.

It sounds dramatic, but if you’ve been paying attention, you know it’s not far-fetched. The tools are shifting under our feet. AI-assisted coding isn’t just here, it’s running laps around us. GitHub Copilot, Cursor, Replit’s Ghostwriter—these aren’t toys anymore. They’re full-blown collaborators. And like any collaborator that doesn’t need sleep, food, or health insurance, they’re relentless.

I think about this a lot because I grew up in that last generation of coders who had to really learn it the hard way. You didn’t just Google “how to reverse a linked list.” You read books. You broke things. You learned to read compiler errors like fortune cookies, squinting for meaning. And you did it because there was no shortcut.

Now, the shortcut is the default. And that’s both incredible and unnerving.

Let’s be real. In the old days, programming was a bit like playing an instrument. You had to train your fingers, your mind, and your patience. You learned scales—syntax, data structures, algorithms—before you could play songs, which were your applications and systems. It was a craft. Not everyone had the stomach for it. And those who did wore it like a badge.

But the new generation? They’re starting on stage with a full backing band. AI fills in the bass line, the drums, even throws in some backing vocals while they improvise on top. They still make music. But they make it differently.

That’s where this gets provocative. Because if you’re from the “last programmer” generation, your instinct might be to scoff. “These kids don’t even know recursion!” But here’s the thing. They don’t have to. Not in the same way we did. Their skill isn’t memorizing every note. It’s knowing what to play, when to play it, and how to get the AI to play along.

That’s a different kind of mastery.

And if you think this shift is going to produce weaker builders, think again. This is the same argument photographers had when cameras went digital. Or when pilots got autopilot. Yes, the skillset changes. But the scope of what’s possible explodes.

I remember asking an AI assistant last month to help me write a WebSocket-based multiplayer game prototype. What used to take me a full weekend came together in under an hour. Did I feel a pang of guilt? Maybe. But more than that, I felt… liberated. I wasn’t bogged down in syntax or boilerplate. I was spending my time thinking about game mechanics, player flow, how to make it fun. That’s the point.

The last programmer, whenever they arrive, won’t be the last person to build things. They’ll just be the last person to build things in the way we think of now: from scratch, raw, alone.

In the next wave, coding will look less like engineering and more like directing. You won’t need to know how every wire in the camera works. You’ll need to know how to tell the story, frame the shot, and coax the performance. AI will handle the rest.

But here’s the danger. If we lose too much of the old skillset, we risk becoming passengers instead of pilots. When the tools work, it’s magic. When they break, someone still has to know how to fix the engine. That’s why the last generation of traditional coders matters. They’re the bridge. The ones who can still dive into the raw code when AI output goes sideways. They’re the ones who will teach the next wave how to think in code, even if they never have to write it all themselves.

I picture this like the transition from sailing ships to steamships. The last great sailors didn’t vanish when steam engines took over. They became the mentors, the navigators, the keepers of knowledge about currents, weather, and the sea itself. Because no matter how powerful the engine, you still need to understand the ocean you’re crossing.

This is the ocean moment for software. And the ones who grew up without AI copilots are the ones who still remember the tides.

The next wave of builders won’t be programmers in the traditional sense. They’ll be architects. They’ll speak the language of systems, but they’ll also speak the language of ideas. They’ll be equal parts developer, product designer, and storyteller. Their job won’t be to write the code, it’ll be to shape it—defining the vision, asking the right questions, curating the output, and pushing the tools into new territory.

And that’s why the last programmer isn’t a sad story. It’s an origin story.

Because if you look back at history, every big leap forward in technology has created a “last generation” of something. The last people to lay railroad track by hand. The last to set type in a printing press. The last to splice film in a dark editing room. And without exception, those people didn’t vanish—they adapted. They carried their instincts, their discipline, and their craft into the new tools, making them better.

I have a feeling the last programmer will do the same.

They’ll be the ones who can tell when AI-generated code smells wrong, even if it passes the tests. They’ll know when to bend the architecture to fit the problem, and when to bend the problem to fit the architecture. They’ll understand trade-offs. They’ll understand why a decision matters beyond the next release. And they’ll mentor the new wave to think deeply, even if they never touch a compiler.

And maybe that’s the future we should be aiming for. Not one where everyone writes code, but one where everyone understands how code thinks.

Because when AI writes most of the code, the real leverage comes from humans who can imagine things worth building.

The last programmer will hand over the keys. But they’ll leave behind something more valuable than syntax and patterns. They’ll leave behind the mindset of a builder. And if we’re lucky, that will become the foundation for a whole new era of creation.

So no, I’m not afraid of the last programmer. I’m excited. Because the end of one craft always means the beginning of another. And this next one? It might just be bigger than anything we’ve ever seen.