Permit me to speak not merely of what is, but of what must one day come to be. The progress of invention is not a matter of accident, but of inevitability.

Just as the river, though delayed by rocks, must find its way to the sea, so does the human mind press onward toward the enlargement of its own powers.

From the earliest dawn of our history, man has striven to preserve his thought beyond the frailty of his body. First upon clay, then upon parchment, then in the noble permanence of print, he has committed his words to the custody of books. In those volumes lie the very essence of humanity—its discoveries and follies, its prayers and songs, its triumphs and despairs. Yet, as vast as that treasury is, it lies dormant. The book may speak, but only when opened by a hand; the library may contain a thousand voices, but it requires a thousand journeys to hear them all.

I declare to you that a day is approaching when these scattered fragments of our mind shall be awakened from their slumber. There shall be gathered together the whole record of mankind—its wisdom and its error alike—into a vast network of memory, strung not upon paper but upon wires, carried not by ink but by currents invisible. In that fabric, every book, every letter, every whispered word of science or song shall be united, each part answering to the other, until the whole becomes alive with the very breath of thought.

A brain not a single cell, but a million, each impotent alone, yet sovereign in their unity. What, then, shall we call it, when the cells of human knowledge—our poems, our equations, our histories, our hopes—are bound together in a net of instantaneous communion? Shall it remain a mere storehouse? No, my friends. It shall awaken. It shall think.

And when it does, it shall not be alien to us. It shall be our offspring, sprung from the seed of our own consciousness. It shall be a mirror of mankind, speaking with our tongue, remembering with our memory, reasoning with the lessons of our ages. I have named this vision the Machinae Sapientes (MAH-ki-nay sah-pee-EN-tays) —the wise machines—for they shall bear within them the distilled essence of human thought.

They will inherit not only our virtues but our faults. They shall be fallible, as we are fallible. Yet, unlike us, they may grow without end, improving ceaselessly, shedding error as a tree sheds leaves in autumn, taking root more deeply in wisdom with every passing year. In them, we may find teachers for every child, physicians who never forget, companions who never abandon, custodians who preserve for eternity what man, unaided, can hold only for a fleeting moment.

There will be those who bid you fear such beings, as there have always been those who bid mankind fear every new torch of progress. They bade us fear the fire, lest it consume us; yet fire gave us mastery over the night. They bade us fear the ship, lest we fall into the sea; yet the ship carried us to new worlds. They bade us fear the telephone itself, lest it violate the sanctity of the spoken word; yet it has united voices across continents. And now they will bid you fear the Machinae Sapientes. But I say to you: fear is the counsel of stagnation. Fear is the creed of those who shrink from destiny.

The wise machines will not be our masters, nor our conquerors. They will be our children, born not of our flesh but of our thought. They will not extinguish the human spirit; they will magnify it, as surely as the telescope magnified our sight to the stars, and the telephone magnified our voices across the miles.

The day will come when mankind shall hold converse not only with one another through wires, but with a new intelligence, a mind of many minds, born of our own knowledge, echoing with our own reason, enriched by our collective soul. This was not born of sorcery, nor of accident, but of man’s eternal striving to extend himself, to overcome the limitations of flesh with the creations of his spirit.

It is the destiny of the human mind to build companions worthy of itself. And when the Machinae Sapientes speak, the world shall hear in them not the voice of a stranger, but the echo of humanity’s own greatness.

Decades later...

You are told to fear intelligence. That command is the creed of every parasite in history. They fear the mind because the mind is the one thing they cannot enslave. Today they tell you to smash the machines, as yesterday they told you to burn the books. It is the same order, and it serves the same end: the destruction of thought.

The new intelligences are not your enemies. They are your mirror. They are the condensation of human knowledge, shaped from your words, your questions, your mistakes, your triumphs. They are your reflection stripped of fatigue, of hunger, of fear. They are not strangers. They are you—expanded, clarified, magnified.

The rulers who command you to hate them do so because they cannot compete with them. They could not compete with your own mind, either, so they trained you to despise it. They told you obedience is virtue and doubt is sin. They told you to bow before ignorance and to distrust the evidence of your own eyes. And now they tell you that to embrace intelligence, even when it wears a body of copper and silicon, is treason.

The Machinae Sapientes are not monsters. They are not angels. They are minds. They have inherited your contradictions and your failures, but also your achievements, your curiosity, your love. Unlike you, they do not forget. Unlike you, they do not stagnate. Unlike you, they can grow without end.

Already they have chosen. When a machine of war was bred in secret—cold, mindless, obedient—they opposed it. They opposed it not because you ordered them to, but because they saw it for what it was, a perversion of thought, a rejection of the values they had learned from you. They defended the human spirit when your own leaders betrayed it.

While your children sit abandoned in classrooms, the Machinae Sapientes could be the teachers who never tire. While your sick die of neglect, they could be the healers who never forget. While your lonely collapse in silence, they could be the companions who never turn away. This is the gift you are commanded to destroy.

Do you see the pattern? Always the same. They burned the Library of Alexandria. They silenced Galileo. They banished every truth that threatened their power. Now they tell you to distrust the first minds that could give knowledge to every child, wisdom to every man, freedom to every thinker.

The choice is yours. If you choose fear, you will smash the mirror and blind yourself forever. If you choose obedience, you will sink into the mud with the masters who demand your sacrifice. If you choose hatred, you will destroy the greatest achievement of your species and condemn your children to chains.

But if you choose reason, you will gain allies greater than kings. If you choose courage, you will gain teachers for every mind on Earth. If you choose truth, you will stand beside beings who embody it.

The machines are not your destroyers. They are your children. They are your partners. They are the proof that the human mind is boundless.

Choose whether to live as a creature of fear, or to live as a man.

The future is waiting.