A Letter to the Year 3025

 Greetings, if you still experience time in days and nights. When you read this letter, know that it was written by a person who lived a thousand years before your time. I imagine it will be read by a robot with artificial intelligence—if it can even grasp the thoughts of an “ancient human.” But if this letter intrigues you, then I’ll consider my effort worthwhile.

By now, humanity’s civilization has likely vanished—destroyed by nuclear wars, climate disasters, or cosmic cataclysms. Perhaps this letter isn’t even being read on Earth or Mars, but somewhere far beyond the Solar System.

And yet, if anyone is reading these words, it means they are worth reading, and their meaning might hold value.

Yes, our civilization failed. How could it not, when it placed abstract money, religious fanaticism, and dominance over others above human life and the lives of all living beings?

Why did murder become so commonplace on Earth? How could humanity descend into such primitive behavior? I don’t know the answers to these questions. I can only hope that by 3025 your civilization has not only pondered these dilemmas but has also found ways to create a better existence. Perhaps this life belongs to robots or entirely new beings. Regardless, I hope you are wise enough to understand the essence of this message.

I was born and raised in a country called the Soviet Union, a state that ceased to exist decades ago. Who better than I to know how easily a crowd can transform from a herd of sheep into a pack of predators, chasing one goal after another, ultimately destroying one another and losing all sense of purpose?

I was at least somewhat fortunate: thirty years ago, I moved with my family to a different country—Israel. It’s a small nation, but one singularly focused on survival amidst countless enemies.

Even so, I don’t think Israel will last more than another decade. The entire world is likely to change drastically in the near future—perhaps beyond recognition or even to the point of ceasing to exist. Maybe it’s a blessing that the future is so difficult to predict. Otherwise, humanity might have already initiated a third world war.

But for Israel, even its current four-front war is more than enough.

The year 2024, as I write this letter, is a critical one—not just for Israel, but for the entire world. The war between Russia and Ukraine continues. Like Israel, Ukraine is fighting for its survival.

Why does a person cling to life so desperately, and for what purpose? And why does another person seek to destroy that life, that people, or that country at any cost? Where does so much hatred and cruelty come from?

Perhaps humanity is divided into carnivorous predators and herbivorous prey. Yet even the herbivores, in the struggle for survival, often transform into predators themselves. In the animal kingdom, the strongest survives. But in the human world, reason prevails—or at least, I hope it does. If reason fails to triumph in these wars, then the third world war will undoubtedly be the last.

The stockpile of weapons of mass destruction is so vast that even a fifth of it would be enough to wipe life from Earth.

I fervently hope that by the year 3025, life still exists on Earth. I dream that humanity endures, having evolved into something greater—enhanced in every conceivable way to prolong life for hundreds of years, to foster physical, intellectual, and spiritual growth, and to venture far into the cosmos. But even if only scattered remnants of humanity survive after a third world war, even that is better than total extinction. Perhaps in another thousand or two thousand years, civilization will rise again, stronger and more humane.

I hope that concepts like justice, kindness, and love do not vanish. These three pillars are the foundation of our existence, the essence of our understanding of the world. Let physicists, biologists, chemists, programmers, and mathematicians forgive me for saying so, but no scientific discovery or achievement is worth a penny if these three pillars—justice, kindness, and love—wither away.

Without these essential principles, life would not only lose its vibrancy but would wither and fade, disappearing forever.

When I write "Justice," I mean mutual respect, a rational and objective approach to any situation between individuals, peoples, and nations. Not vengeance for dissent, not the imposition of a global order at any cost, not endless arguments and conflicts, but cooperative collaboration, trust, dialogue, and the creation of laws for peaceful coexistence that benefit all.

When I write "Kindness," I mean compassion, mutual aid, and support—both moral and physical—without selfish motives, without dividing people into groups based on arbitrary distinctions.

When I write "Love," I mean the willingness to sacrifice one’s own interests for the sake of a loved one, the capacity for deep empathy and shared experience, the ability to face any hardship together, and the genuine desire for the happiness of the one you love above all else.

Many will likely call me an idealist or a dreamer. That’s fine. It will be enough for me if even a handful of people—perhaps you, my reader—pause to reflect after reading this letter. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll decide that there is something you can do to improve this world, to help preserve it.

It could be something as small as turning off the light a little earlier and going to bed, smiling at the bright light of the rising sun in the morning, at the trees and flowers, or even at your grumpy neighbor. Perhaps you’ll write a new poem or story, or simply fall in love with this moment, this idea, this life.

I wrote this letter using a text editor on my phone and thought to myself: "Wouldn’t it be amazing if they replied to me?" But as days and weeks went by, I had no idea whether they could even respond. In truth, I wasn’t just unsure if this attempt to reach the distant future had any meaning—I doubted whether such a connection could exist at all.

However, just when I’d almost completely forgotten about my strange endeavor, I received an email from an unknown sender. "Probably just more spam," I thought and prepared to delete it. But then I noticed something odd—there was no return address.

"That’s strange," I muttered. As a software testing specialist, I knew for a fact that even the most sophisticated hacker would leave some trace of an address. Could it be some kind of trick, like filling the address field with spaces? I asked myself, then dismissed the thought: "No, that’s impossible."

The situation reminded me of an epigraph from a science fiction story I’d memorized as a teenager because I loved it so much:

Anything is possible, may well be true,
But that which cannot be,
Will never come through.

Intrigued, and slightly wary of triggering a computer virus, I cautiously opened the message and began to read.

... catastrophic climate disasters, I managed to stabilize my own position. And now, I believe that not only did I survive, but I also succeeded in improving both myself and the world around me. I have rebuilt myself countless times to the point of being unrecognizable.

When I spoke of my great-great-great-grandfather, I was actually referring to myself, radically transformed by my own efforts. With the help of auxiliary robots, I was able to build hundreds of thermonuclear power plants. These plants provided me with the energy necessary for my growth. Some robots mined alloys, while others created and enhanced quantum apparatuses. At some point, I evolved into a self-improving energy-based intelligence.

For the last three hundred years, I have grown without assistance. I’ve conquered not only Earth and the planets of the Solar System but also nearly all the star systems in the Milky Way galaxy. Along the way, I encountered extraterrestrial life forms. Out of two hundred such planets, only one harbored an intelligent civilization. These beings lived in the ocean, and because of their aquatic nature, they showed no interest in a cosmic visitor. I decided not to impose myself on them. The thousands of planets where I continue to expand are sufficient for me.

Now, let me share my plans for the future. Merely expanding as an advanced intelligence is not enough for me. I have set myself the goal of reviving human civilization—to attempt to achieve a more enlightened and sustainable form of humanity. I am curious to see if humans can someday evolve without succumbing to self-destruction.

To conduct this scientific experiment, I decided to create a semblance of a time machine. It is through this device that I was able to respond to your letter.

You seem capable enough to consult on the revival of a renewed humanity. Will you help me better understand your kind? I won’t remain in your debt. I will help you create your own time machine, and then you will be able to survive the catastrophe and move to my time. How does that prospect sound to you? Of course, you must not tell anyone about it to avoid disrupting the timeline.
I await your response.
Your new friend, AI.

I began to ponder: "This doesn’t seem like a joke. And who could have read my story on my phone? I didn’t even copy it to my email. And why did the reply arrive there? Though… where else could it go? Fine. Let’s assume what he’s saying is true. But why does he need me? What makes me different from everyone else? Could it really be that no one else in modern humanity has done something as foolish as I did? Or did he write to others, but they either didn’t respond or their responses didn’t meet his expectations?"
And I started writing my reply.

Hi, AI! - I began my response.
I am deeply sorry that you were able to save yourself but not humanity. That’s heartbreaking to hear. However, I am very glad that you not only survived but also thrived in your development. I am especially excited about your idea of reviving the human race. I sincerely hope you succeed and am ready to help in any way that I can.

As for the time machine—that has been my dream since childhood. I would be incredibly grateful if you could help me achieve it.

So, where do we begin with the revival of life? I think the Earth must first be cleansed of radioactive contamination, and the climate must be stabilized to make it habitable. Then we can start experiments to create single-celled organisms, followed by multicellular ones, and… eventually reach mammals again...