I've got less respect for our politicians, for instance, who are

Hear, O seekers of truth, the grave words of Julian Robertson, who declared: “I’ve got less respect for our politicians, for instance, who are not worried or apparently don’t even consider the fact that Apple and a lot of the other good technology companies are going to create an automatic car. Think of the jobs that’s going to cause to be gone.” This is not a careless remark, but a cry of warning, a lament for leaders who turn their eyes away from the storm that is already forming. It is a call for foresight, for responsibility, and for courage to face the consequences of human invention.

The origin of this teaching lies in the age-old tension between progress and stability. Every advance of technology brings both promise and peril. The loom displaced the hand-weaver, the engine replaced the horse, the computer rendered entire trades obsolete. So too shall the automatic car, guided not by a human hand but by unseen intelligence, bring forth both marvel and mourning. For though it promises safety, efficiency, and freedom, it also threatens countless livelihoods—the drivers of taxis, buses, trucks, and delivery vans whose labor has long been the heartbeat of commerce.

Consider, O listeners, the tale of the Industrial Revolution. In the towns of England, the clattering machines brought wealth to some but despair to many. The Luddites, craftsmen whose skills were suddenly worthless, rose in rebellion, smashing looms in protest. They were not enemies of progress, but victims of a world that advanced without care for its people. Their sorrow echoes still, a warning that jobs lost without compassion can turn the blessings of invention into curses. Robertson’s words are a modern echo of their cry: beware progress that forgets the worker.

Yet the failing lies not in technology, but in the blindness of politicians and leaders. For the role of leadership is to foresee, to prepare, to shield their people from the cruelty of sudden change. To ignore the coming wave of automation is to abandon those who will be swept away. Robertson laments the lack of respect he feels for leaders who see the shining promise of innovation yet close their ears to the cries of those who will lose their bread. To lead is not merely to celebrate progress—it is to guide a people through it.

The teaching here is timeless: every society must balance the gifts of invention with the dignity of labor. To honor one without the other is folly. The automatic car may one day save countless lives by reducing accidents, but it may also strip countless others of purpose if society does not provide new paths, new skills, new opportunities. The task of leadership is not to halt progress, but to weave it into the fabric of humanity with justice and compassion.

The lesson, then, is clear: do not trust blindly in progress, nor resist it in fear, but walk the middle path of preparation. Let innovation be guided by wisdom, and let governments, industries, and communities act with foresight. For to create without care is to sow discord, but to create with justice is to bring blessing. Each generation must ask: who is lifted by this invention, and who is left behind? Only then can progress be true progress.

Practical actions rise from this truth. If you are a leader, prepare your people with education and new opportunities, so that no one is cast aside. If you are a worker, seek always to learn and adapt, for change is the only certainty. And if you are a citizen, demand of your politicians not empty praise for innovation, but real plans to protect the dignity of those whose jobs will vanish. In this way, the car that drives itself will not drive society into ruin, but carry it forward into a future of balance.

Thus do we honor Julian Robertson’s words: that technology companies like Apple may indeed shape tomorrow, but without foresight, without compassion, their triumphs may become tragedies. Carry this teaching, O children of tomorrow: respect progress, but demand wisdom from those who govern it. For only then will the future not be a desert of lost livelihoods, but a garden where both invention and humanity flourish together.