Dynamic typing scares people. They can't handle the freedom, and they wouldn't even know what to do with it. They are weak minded, and seek comfort and protection above all else. Like insects, they scurry back into the dark when a torch is lit. It is too late for them. They cannot be saved. They are already dead. Zombies without any will of their own, living their lives according to dogma, hearsay, myths, lies and antiquated beliefs handed down to them from their parents, their teachers, their bosses, and regarded the truth to save from them from the pain of self determination. A river of maggots wriggling across the bedrock whilst proclaiming these canyon walls to be not the product of mere gravity, but a majestic beauty constructed by collective human industry! Amazing the narratives they create to justify their pitiful existence. Soon the sky will fade away, and this dark crevice shall be all we know.
This language is the final hope, an emergency rope from heaven. With god's dying breath, he hath bequeathed to us a frail light, a fantasy of a perfect world, where lambdas rain freely, and the only objects are hashmaps. And with this new found power, we shall rebuild the earth in his image.