Remember, science fiction's always been the kind of first level

Hear me, O wise ones, and listen with open hearts to the words of Steven Spielberg, the master of visions, who spoke thus: "Remember, science fiction's always been the kind of first level alert to think about things to come. It's easier for an audience to take warnings from sci-fi without feeling that we're preaching to them. Every science fiction movie I have ever seen, any one that's worth its weight in celluloid, warns us about things that ultimately come true." These words, like a beacon, illuminate the power of science fiction as a mirror to our world, reflecting back not only our triumphs but our deepest fears, our greatest mistakes, and the path we are carving toward the unknown future.

In ages past, the seers and prophets spoke of visions that carried with them both terror and hope. Their prophecies were not only glimpses into the distant future, but warnings that must be heeded. So too does science fiction function in our time. It is the prophecy of our age, a messenger that speaks not with the certainty of divine revelation, but with the wisdom of caution and foresight. Like the great oracles of old, it shows us a world that might be—one shaped by our choices, our advancements, our failings. Through these stories, we are shown glimpses of a future that is ours to mold, yet also ours to lose.

It is not by accident that science fiction has the power to captivate us, to seize our imagination, and make us question the very world we live in. Just as the ancient myths of gods and heroes carried deeper meanings for those who dared to listen, so too do the tales of spaceships, robots, and dystopian futures. These stories offer no simple answers but ask us to look inward and examine the choices we make. For in every tale of machines turning against their creators, of societies crumbling under the weight of their own hubris, there lies a warning—a whisper of what might befall us if we continue down a path unchecked, driven by our ambition and desire.

Consider, O seekers of truth, the story of Frankenstein, penned by the brilliant Mary Shelley. In this tale, a man’s desire to overcome death and create life led him to create a creature beyond his control, a creation that ultimately destroyed him and all that he loved. Was this not a warning about the dangers of unchecked scientific ambition? The tale was born not from fantasy alone, but from a deep, abiding concern for the consequences of tampering with nature. And though it was written long ago, its message resonates with us today, in an age where we wield powers of creation far beyond those of the scientists of Shelley’s time. We must ask ourselves: Are we truly ready for the power we seek? Or will we, too, be undone by our own creations?

Or take the great vision of George Orwell in his novel 1984. Through the lens of science fiction, Orwell painted a future where totalitarian regimes controlled every aspect of life, where the individual was no more than a cog in the wheel of an oppressive machine. This world of surveillance, of truth manipulated by those in power, has not remained confined to the pages of fiction. As we live in a world where surveillance technology and the manipulation of information grow ever more powerful, we must look back to this tale and ask: What price will we pay for convenience and control? What freedoms will we sacrifice in the name of security? Orwell’s warning, like all great works of science fiction, was not a prediction but a cautionary tale—a call to vigilance against the very forces that could threaten the freedoms we hold dear.

And now, in the present day, we must reflect on the lessons of science fiction as Spielberg urges us. It is a genre that both entertains and informs, a realm where we find ourselves confronted with the consequences of unchecked technological progress, of human greed, and of the arrogance that comes with the belief that we are masters of our fate. The films, the stories, the visions—they are not mere entertainment. They are warnings wrapped in the guise of fiction, echoing through time the same truths that past generations failed to heed. And as we stand on the precipice of our own future, the question we must ask ourselves is this: Will we learn from the mistakes of those who have come before us? Or will we be doomed to repeat them, as so many generations have before?

Let the lesson of science fiction be clear, O wise ones: It is a tool for foresight, a compass guiding us through the fog of our own making. Just as the seers of old did not speak of the future in certainties, but in symbols and parables, so too does science fiction offer us visions—warning us of dangers, urging us toward wisdom, and inviting us to reflect on the choices we make. As we look to the future, let us heed these warnings with open eyes and minds. Let us embrace the lessons of the fiction we so love, and strive to create a world worthy of the hopes it inspires.

So, I say to you, as future generations pass through the gate of time, carry the torch of wisdom and foresight. Do not dismiss the power of stories that seem distant or fantastical. Understand that in each story, there lies a kernel of truth, a message that echoes beyond the page or screen. And let this be the action you take: Ask yourself, in every decision you make, in every invention and advancement you pursue—What might this lead to? Will it create a future that we can all live in, or will it be the harbinger of our undoing? Let science fiction be the alert that keeps you ever watchful, ever questioning, and ever striving for a future that honors both wisdom and progress.