I always thought code only involved 1s and 0s. But I quickly discovered I was communicating with my laptop to create something completely beyond what I thought I could achieve. And honestly, I only took Computing in Modern Society so I wouldn’t have to deal with math again. Getting a little sentimental here, sure, but it genuinely opened my eyes. In Kevin Brock’s work “Toward the Rhetorical Study of Code”, he discusses how code connects to digital rhetoric and communication.
When speaking to a machine, you wouldn’t expect to use real words. More so, numbers—but there has to be an underlying instruction, something to move the cursor forward. Using that instruction, the machine can “bite back” and refuse a command until its creator gets it right. Thinking about it that way, it mirrors how human communication works. A human’s opinionated words can sway an argument, but their opponent can push back until there’s either no reason to continue or a consensus is reached. Code is what comes out of that–an idea everyone’s on board with, shaped into something simple and functional.
That’s where digital rhetoric comes into play. A human stands behind the creation of every command in a video game or every click of a mouse. Code persuades and directs both machines and human audiences. In a video game context, think of something like Detroit: Become Human, where a single choice can change the entire game. In the class I mentioned, that concept was called an If / Elif. If the user chose one thing instead of another, a different command would appear, leading to a branching series of outcomes.
For code to persuade effectively, it has to function properly, drawing the user in with pretty visuals and engaging music. With digital rhetoric, code doesn’t just ask someone to choose between telling someone to “screw off” or “stay”—it shows them why they should make one choice over the other. It even lays out the consequences of their actions if they don’t comply. Scary stuff.
Here is an example of the Elif code:
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