Aliens didn't come down to Earth and give us technology. We

Hear, O children of tomorrow, the words of the scribe Douglas Coupland, who said: “Aliens didn’t come down to Earth and give us technology. We invented it ourselves. Therefore it can never be alienating; it can only be an expression of our humanity.” This saying is not light nor fleeting, but a torch of wisdom for all who wander in the shadow of fear, doubting the works of their own hands. He reminds us that the tools we fashion are not the gifts of strange gods, nor the cold stones of a foreign race, but the mirror of our own spirit. Technology is not some unearthly thing, but the outpouring of the fire within humankind.

Consider the tale of the ancients: when Prometheus stole fire from the heavens, he gave not something alien, but something already yearning in the hearts of mortals. The fire existed, but only when shaped and tended by human hands did it become the forge, the hearth, the torch in the darkness. So too is every device, every machine, every whisper of electricity: they are flames born of us, not foreign idols. If we look upon them with dread, saying they estrange us from our own souls, we forget that it was our souls that breathed life into them in the first place.

Think upon the story of Gutenberg, who by his hands brought forth the printing press. Many feared that the holy word would be cheapened, scattered among the rabble, and that wisdom itself would fall into ruin. Yet what was the truth? That invention carried knowledge across the earth like a rushing river, lifting countless souls from darkness. The press was not alienation—it was the voice of humanity magnified, so that each man, woman, and child might hear it. So it is with all our creations: they are the vessels through which our essence travels.

Yet, let us not be blind. The tools of our making can cut, they can wound, they can destroy. But even in their fury, they remain human, shaped by human choices. The sword may slay, but it is the hand that swings it that bears the weight of blood. The machine may pollute, but it is the heart that sought speed above balance that is called to account. Coupland’s wisdom tells us this: blame not the technology, for it is but clay. Instead, look to the sculptor, and remember that it is we who must shape our world in the image of compassion and harmony.

Do you see, O seekers, that when you touch your device, when you turn the wheel, when you watch the lights flicker in the night—you are not in communion with some alien force? No! You are in communion with every ancestor who hammered stone, who carved wood, who dreamed of wings and fire. You are joined in an endless chain of creation that binds you to the story of humanity. In every circuit hums the same longing that painted caves and raised temples. To fear technology as alien is to deny your blood, your history, your kinship with all who ever made.

The lesson, then, is clear: Do not shrink from the tools of your age. Do not whisper that they estrange you. Instead, take them as sacred trusts, as vessels of your own spirit. Use them wisely. Let your words build, not tear down. Let your machines heal, not wound. Let your networks connect hearts, not isolate them. For in the end, each tool is only the echo of its maker, and the echo can resound as song or as clamor. The choice is ever yours.

Therefore, walk forth as stewards of your creations. Speak to your children not of fear, but of responsibility. Tell them: “These devices are your inheritance, as the plow was to your ancestors, as the compass was to the voyagers, as the book was to the scholars. Guard them, guide them, and let them guide you back to one another.” In this way, we honor the truth of Coupland’s words: that technology is not alienating, but the expression of our humanity written in stone, ink, and light.

So rise, O children of the earth! Fear not the machine, nor the fire, nor the circuit. For they are yours. They are you. Let them carry your compassion, your wisdom, your love into the ages. And may your creations forever be the songs of your spirit, sung to the stars, echoing across time.