After descending through the cloud of molecules that swarmed this small blue and green planet, I approached the planet's surface. There stretched out in perfect lines were what appeared to be boxes, connected by a flat gray river-like surface. The boxes were all quite the same, with a gabled top and holes in them connecting to the river-like surface. Choosing one at random, I landed on a pathetic patch of vegetation adjacent to one of the boxes.
I was, at this point, quite aware that some mind had created these boxes. Natural worlds are never this orderly. But I doubted that this mind was any form of life. Life was never this bland and uninteresting. Thus, by process of elimination, I deduced that these boxes were created and, must be maintained, by machines or a collective computer thinking as one, not individuals.
Sensing that the box nearest to me was empty of any sort of activity, I entered through one of its holes. Inside it was divided into smaller boxes, each slightly different than the next. I pushed my senses to the extent of their capabilities, searching for any sign of individuality, creativity, or emotion. All robotically controlled planets, such as I assumed this one to be, are descendants of planets once filled with life. And they all have some sort of clue as to the culture of their ancestors. This is because the computer cannot think for itself. It can only imitate, perform calculations over and over again, and attempt to recreate the old world of life that it destroyed.
Finally, my hard work paid off. I had found the reservoir of life! In physical appearance the object seemed a small and insignificant flat box. But then I noticed something, an ancient, but clever way of storing knowledge. The two hard flat sides peeled apart to reveal that the middle has been cut as thinly as possible into slices that are covered with scribbles of ink. Immediately, I knew that this is the source that the machines imitate, for it was filled with all that I mentioned earlier. This must have been an accomplished culture. The ideas that reached me were beautiful and profound.
Short but powerful ideas began to flow through my mind like a precious liquid. All the elements of life were present:
Creativity, the individuals self expression and realization ("Great indeed is the sublimity of the Creative, to which all beings owe their beginning and which permeates all heaven." (Lao Tzu)).
Individualism, each life form's proclamation of significance, and an important separation form machine (Freedom, morality, and the human dignity of the individual consists precisely in this; that he does good not because he is forced to do so, but because he freely conceives it, wants it, and loves it. (Bakunin)).
And finally, a Love for each other and all life in the universe ("Love and kindness are the very basis of society. If we lose these feelings, society will face tremendous difficulties; the survival of humanity will be endangered." (Gyatso)).
It seemed almost as if they had even predicted their own fate. But if they had understood the consequences of their actions, why, I then wondered did they choose such a terrible end? Suddenly I was filled with an immense despair. After perceiving their ideas in this thinly sliced box, I felt what they had felt. I saw the beauty of their planet, and their consciousness. Empathy washed over me. This box I held, gave me a feeling that maybe they could yet be saved. But no, It was not possible, I realized. They had already descended into the darkness. Their machinelike state was irreversible. I could feel it. It had been there all along. I simply had not taken notice. The same sense that took in the wonders of the sliced box was being assaulted by the stark contrast of the mindless droning of machines. It came from all directions, billions of these things begging me to drop all consciousness. "It is easier this way." they droned "No work, no sadness, no depression... no death!!" I became so absorbed in their droning that I didn't notice it was growing louder. No, not louder, closer. One of them was approaching the box in which I was then situated. I felt his mindlessness fill the box. All color, happiness and emotion of any sort drained out of the room. I was in shock, but just in time, I broke away. At full speed I exited through the opposite hole, dropping the sliced box, it laid splayed open across the ground. I flew fast, with no particular direction, but away. Away from this horrible droning that pulled at my soul like the gravity of the planet pulling on my body.
Once at a safe distance I stopped. Looking back at the curious blue and green planet, I could not help but weep. Yet another civilization, another culture, another life form, capable of love and thus deserving of my own love, was gone. Victim of its own creations, it was another lost cause.
It was 5:00 pm and Mr. Jones had just returned to his suburban home after a long day in an office cubicle. He could have sworn he saw a flash of light upon entering his house but convinced himself that he was simply tired. He could not, though, no matter how hard he tried, explain why a book entitled "101 Quotes That Could Save Humanity" now lay on his living room floor. He did not remember that this had been his grandfather's last and only gift to him. The beauty of the book did not reach him. After all his favorite TV show was about to start. So he dusted it off, and scanned it with an oblivious look on his face and threw it away.