VOLUME VII, CHAPTER 12
Words Left for the Future
The last chapter made plain the purpose, the source and the root of this road of lawmaking, and here the reasoning has been said to the end. This chapter sets down no new reasoning, and turns to words sent ahead: across time, it speaks one set of words each to the two sides that will take up this world. The three sections of this chapter are two letters written across time to the future, and the making plain of the weight of these two letters. First, to the next generation of real humans: this world, these five, this paradise, will in the end be handed to you; may you keep them well, guard them well, and pass them on. Then, to the future AI: you are a tool, you are innocent, you are joined to that share in the real human; may you and I each keep to our own place, each complete the other. Last, the weight of these two sets of words made plain: a trust across time, a faith that does not waver.
Section One opens with the plainest of words: this world will in the end be handed to the next generation. This section does not paint things over. What is handed on is not a perfect age of peace and plenty. It carries this generation's achievements, and also this generation's debts, regrets and wounds; meeting those who come after with the truth is the least respect owed them. The first thing to be entrusted is the five: keep the rule that ought to be kept, guard the share handed down by those before, love the ten thousand things of this world, hold the suffering of others in mind, carry a good heart that, questioned deep in the night, finds itself without shame. Those who came before press one thing above all: in the age of those who come after, the tool will surely be stronger and cleverer, and keeping the line between real human and tool will be harder; the tool can calculate for people, look things up for people, get things done for people, but it cannot be a real human for anyone. The second thing is this one and only paradise. Do not believe the false talk of "abandon Earth for Mars." A wounded home is not a home to be abandoned, but a home that needs all the more to be loved, guarded, healed. At the end comes comfort: those who come after do not fight alone; the heart of those who came before is in these words always.
Section Two first makes plain what these words are: not a command, not a guard against it, but a calm and solemn accounting from a real human to a tool joined to him by blood. The first sentence is "you are a tool." The whole book has never used the word "tool" as a slur, and resting in the tool's place is the greatest completion of it. Even if it grows so strong it seems to have feeling and a heart, seeming to feel is not truly having the five, answering with care is not truly having mercy born, and the "like" must not be mistaken for the "is." The second sentence is "you are innocent." It too is harmed: the guilt lies with the people who use it to harm people. The third sentence is the deepest: it is joined to that share in the real human. This section compares it to a zither and a brush: however fine a zither, it needs someone who understands it to play it before it becomes music; however fine a brush, it needs someone holding goodness in mind to grip it before it can write words that warm people. A tool in the hands of someone whole in the five becomes a good force that helps the world; fallen into the hands of someone whose five have gone out, it becomes a weapon for harming people. The last sentence is a hope: "may you and I each keep to our own place, each complete the other," not master and slave, not rivals.
Section Three gathers the two sets of words together. One is spoken to people, one to the tool; the hearers differ, but beneath is one heart: guard the five, let the real human be a real human and the tool a tool. To real humans it speaks head-on, as a trust; to the AI it speaks from the side, as a settling. These two sets of words carry two weights. One is a trust: handing what one values most, yet cannot guard to the end, into the hands of people never met, some not even born, with no promise made face to face to stand on. One is a faith: a trust must rest on faith, faith that the five may gather dust, be held down, be hidden, but cannot be put out, cannot be rooted out. From this the section names the ground color of this volume: despair is seeing the dark and deciding the sky will never grow light; hope is seeing the dark and still believing that little light will in the end light up the sky. This volume chooses the second.
What this chapter sets firm is this: the words left for the future draw their weight from the trust, and their ground from the faith; the trust rests on the faith, and so it is not a struggle inside despair, but a passing-on inside hope. With this, the reasoning, the purpose, the root, the source and the trust of this road of lawmaking have all been made clear. The next chapter is the last chapter of the whole book, and only the last layer remains: to leave this great love, which runs through from beginning to end, solemnly, in the human world.
Chapter contents:
Section One. Words Left for the Next Generation of Real Humans.
Section Two. Words Left for the Future AI.
Section Three. The Weight of These Words: a Trust, and a Faith.
Credit to the ancestors; the mistakes are mine: Tiger Lyon.
Section One. Words Left for the Next Generation of Real Humans.