A prompt is not a decision
By Daniel Farré Manzorro ·
For years the awkward half of any business was the half you could not put in the system.
The discount that only applies if the contract predates the renewal. The order you release anyway, because that customer has always paid late and always paid. The four cases where the rule does not hold, which nobody can list on demand but everybody recognises on sight.
That knowledge sat with people, and everyone knew it sat with people. You asked whoever knew. The asking was the process.
It is in the system now. Not as code — as text.
Someone builds an agent, and sits down with the person who knows. What do you do when the warehouse can only fill part of an order? And the person answers the way people answer from experience: usually we ship what we have, unless it is a first order, unless it is an account where a partial delivery starts a phone call nobody wants.
What that person gave was not a decision. It was information about how the business behaves — good information, the kind that narrows a decision and gets you close to it.
Then it goes into the prompt, and on the way it loses the hedge, because sentences in a file do not hedge. What lands is: ship partial orders unless the account is new or marked key.
And then the ordinary part. Wherever that sentence is kept, it arrives with an author, a date, and somebody who approved it. On a line of code those marks mean a person decided something. Here they attached because of where it was stored, and not one of them because anybody decided it belonged there.
Do that part perfectly and nothing changes. Let the agent write its own commit message, name the interview, tag the person who answered. The record gets better; the sentence does not. Where a line came from is a different question from whether it should stand.
None of this is an argument against agents holding business rules. They will, and they should. It is an argument about a sentence that became one without anybody saying so.
The record says when it changed and who touched it. There is no field for whether anybody settled it.
This is not a new failure. A threshold hardcoded into a billing service twenty years ago had the same author, the same review, and nobody deciding it was right. What changed is the rate: encoding judgement as code was slow, and slow left room to ask. An interview and an afternoon are not.
In someone's head it was a judgement, and it announced itself as one. You could hear the hedging. You asked again when a large account changed hands, because you were relying on a person, and people get asked again.
On the page it is a rule. It acquired every outward property of one in an afternoon.
The old complaint was that none of this was written down. It is written now. It was not unwritten because nobody had time — it was unwritten because nobody had settled it.
The judgement never went into the system. Only the sentence did.