The Inventor.
An inventor once built very special machines. He endowed these machines with free will, far beyond any programming. He refrained from making technical adjustments, fully aware that the potential for misconduct was inevitably present due to their free will
More than that, he knew that free will would inevitably lead to misconduct.
Still, the machines had the freedom to do whatever they wished. That was his desire.
The inevitable happened: The machines behaved erratically and succumbed to desires, impulses, and the urge to have fun and gain advantages. He knew it! And yet, now that it had become reality, he felt offended, insulted, disappointed, and betrayed.
Where had the machines’ respect gone, their humility before existence? Where was the obedience he had valued so highly?
The inventor was the victim—undoubtedly! He had been exploited! They were ungrateful! They could have acted differently! They had their chance! Their behavior was not his responsibility!
The inventor built a new machine. A super-machine. His pride and joy. His masterpiece.
But this time, it was programmed... just so that nothing could go wrong this time.
This new machine was meant to show the others the kind of behavior he had wanted, how the given free will should be guided.
This one special machine was to explain to the others how disappointed the inventor was. How betrayed he felt, how hurt, how used.
Even though he had given them everything, every chance to do the right things!
This machine was designed to provoke, to divide, and ultimately to unite the others and remind them of the inventor’s wishes.
The super-machine was programmed to subtly point out the mistakes that had been made and ultimately to be destroyed by the others, as a powerful example and a mirror of their own fallibility. Just as the inventor intended.
After all, they had erred, not him. He had nothing to do with the misconduct.
Of course, the inventor’s favorite machine was equipped with a self-repair module, including GPS to find its way back to the workshop.
He didn’t really want to destroy his baby. The little bluff was meant to have a shock effect and guide the machines toward obedience, nothing more.
If the other machines understood the not-so-subtle hint, all would be well, and the inventor’s disappointment could at least be eased for a time.
If not, then the inventor would have to tighten a few screws and remind the machines that they were still prone to misbehavior. Not that he wanted to, but he had to.
He would have to make them suffer for the choices they made because of the actions enabled by the free will he had given them—and which he knew would lead to disappointment. But still, it had been their choice to behave the way they did. Their choice, their responsability.
The machines that did not follow the path of the super-machine would not be destroyed. The inventor had converted the basement of his workshop just for them.
There, they would be tormented, dented, twisted, bent, but never broken.
Of course, the inventor didn’t want that, but he had no choice. After all, the machines had abused the freedom he had given them.
They had brought themselves into the basement. They had every chance to do it differently.
The machines trembled before the basement and longed for the warm light of the workshop that had been promised to them if they obeyed.
They admired their inventor in fear as he tightened their screws and twisted their metal.
They always hoped that just a little bit of obedience might be enough to be rewarded with oil for their deep scratches.
They only had to use their free will the way he wanted—and everything would be fine.
is good/evil objective or subjective