The Visitation

If aliens came to visit us, what might their language be like? What kinds of secrets would they share with us (and what kinds would they refuse to)? And most importantly, how would we treat them?

For what was supposed to be the most monumental event in the history of human civilization it was actually pretty anticlimactic. No giant mothership; no shadowy figure emerging from the mist; no tense standoff with guns drawn... Hell, we never even saw him coming.

The morning of 12/12 was really just like any other, other than the fact that there he was, standing outside the White House, just waiting for us to show up. We found out later he'd actually arrived before sunrise and had been waiting out there for exactly two hours and twenty-nine minutes before anyone saw him. Not that he was trying to hide; he was just too polite to even try knocking.

If it had been some kind of crazy giant alien ship, I'm sure he wouldn't have had to wait so long. But right there next to the bushes just a few yards outside the front door to the White House was the most basic landing pod you could possibly imagine. At least we all assumed it was just a landing pod; we didn't find out until later that it was his actual ship, which he'd actually used to travel the entire 32+ light years from his home planet even though it was nothing more than a tube, barely big enough for him to fit in, with no apparent means of propulsion or external features whatsoever. And even later, when he showed us the interior, it was just completely empty; no apparent life support systems, no avionics, no control systems, no instrumentation, nothing.

And I wish I could say it was due to its hyper-advanced stealth technology or some kind of undetectable cloaking device that it was out there for so long before anyone saw it. But even if it did have something like that (and we still don't know if it did), that really wasn't why; as crazy as this sounds, it was just too small, and came in too fast, for any of our systems to even detect it on its way in. And by sheer coincidence, it just so happened to land in a "dead spot" where the security cameras could barely see it. It still should have been spotted right away, sure. But I saw the footage myself and can't say I would have spotted it either.

As for the lack of a "tense standoff" (or any standoff), the fact that he spoke perfect English had a lot to do with that. That plus the fact that he looked just barely humanoid enough that the Secret Service guy who first saw him thought it must have been a guy in a suit.

We later learned that his perfect English was actually due to the translation device attached to his mouth (which appeared to be his mouth); it turns out he knew how to speak and understand English with complete mastery--learned from nothing but the TV and radio transmissions they were able to pick up from halfway across the galaxy--but their species was simply incapable of actually speaking in any way that a human could actually understand due to the inherent limitations of their vocal systems, and physical inability to reproduce enough of the sounds necessary for human language. 

The perfectly understandable assumption from that, of course, would be that they had already evolved far beyond vocal communication (i.e., to telepathy). But no, they still spoke with each other with words, more or less like we do.

He later explained that their vocal limitations were a fairly recent development, at least from an evolutionary standpoint; it was just a few thousand years prior that they had vocal capabilities much like ours, with the capacity to speak countless native languages, some of which were quite similar to English. But at one point they had decided to standardize upon one global language, and it was from then onward that as their language continued to evolve over time, so did their vocal systems. And eventually, through a combination of evolution and bioengineering, their species came to be uniquely and perfectly suited for the reproduction of their one language with near-perfect clarity, though at the expense of all other potential languages.

Oddly enough, their language (and language in general) was one of the things he was most interested in talking about. Not how to speak it per-se, though he did teach us some of that (fortunately the limitation only went one way, and we were able to at least reproduce the basic sounds well enough to say words and phrases that he could understand--just barely). Rather, his primary interest was in sharing some of the features that their language possessed, possibly with the idea that we might someday decide to incorporate some of those elements into our own.

One of the things he spoke about at-length was how their language had gone through several "redesigns" throughout its history, where its vocabulary, pronunciation, and even its most fundamental rules were altered and simplified in order to enhance its efficiency at conveying information as accurately as possible while eliminating virtually any possibility for misunderstanding (or misrepresentation).

From the way he described the process, I can't say we have anything comparable when it comes to written/spoken languages, though I suppose the closest analogy would be the way computer programming languages go through intentional revisions over time, or the way that computer operating systems might be rewritten and revamped dramatically from one version to the next while fixing bugs and improving efficiency.

One of the first things they did, in in the earliest of their "major" revisions, was something which made their language unlike any on Earth: the complete elimination of homonyms (different words that sound the same), homographs (words that are spelled the same but mean different things), and synonyms (different words which share the same meaning).

Think about that for a moment; what they did was essentially recraft their entire language in such a way that every single word was unique in spelling, pronunciation, and meaning. And not only did this require the modification (or outright elimination) of most of the words in their entire vocabulary, but it also necessitated the creation of an almost incomprehensible number of entirely new words in order to serve the same functions as those which had been eliminated.

On top of that, a smaller (yet still fairly vast) number of new words was also needed for cases where a surviving word which had multiple definitions was standardized to its primary (now, only) definition, but where no surviving words could accurately convey those eliminated definitions.

And adding even further to this herculean undertaking was the simple linguistic inevitability that to maintain the uniqueness of every single word requires some combination of longer words (both letters and syllables); more letters that can be chosen from; more possible spoken sounds, accents, and intonations; or, in their case, all of the above.

To use an example from English, let's take the words "so", "sew", and "sow". All three are homonyms since they're pronounced identically, but "sow" also has an additional pronunciation which has a different meaning (a female pig, as opposed to the act of planting seeds), while "so" has one pronunciation but two different meanings (either to emphasize the extent of something, or as a conjunction).

Thus:

1. "Sew" would be eliminated and replaced.

2. Only one of the two definitions of "so" survives while the other must be replaced.

3. The female-pig definition of "sow" can remain while the planting-seeds definition must be replaced.

But there's also another, less drastic option for #1: Since the spelling of "sew" is already unique, you could keep its spelling unchanged and simply modify its pronunciation to something unique (e.g. "soo"). And that's exactly what they did, where practical, to keep as many of their original words as possible, or at least as familiar as possible, either with just a slight tweak to the spelling or by appending an extra syllable.

However, in most cases a simple "tweak" was simply not an option, due to an inviolable rule that they established before even the first change was made: None of the changes to any words could violate their universal, standardized rules for spelling and pronunciation (and this rule was retroactive as well, thereby requiring a reworking of all previous words which violated these rules). 

This meant that they couldn't simply change the spelling or pronunciation of words arbitrarily, nor could they, in most cases, change one without that directly impacting the other. And by imposing this rule on themselves, they dramatically limited the number of options available for modifying existing words--at least not without adding more syllables.

Thus for all of their linguistic genius, it didn't take long after this first phase was implemented (which, almost inconceivably, they were able to complete within just a few years) that they ran headlong into a fairly serious problem: Their language now required vastly more syllables to be spoken, and vastly more letters to be written, in order to convey the exact same amount of information as before.

But this was something they had fully anticipated, and out of necessity had planned to address in their second major revision which came a few years later, now that the vast majority of the population had become fully fluent with what was essentially an entirely new language.

It was at this point--after putting up with several years of extreme linguistic inefficiency (during which they suffered tremendous losses in global productivity, albeit with the lowest unemployment levels in their recorded history)--that they finally implemented the solution via the Second Revision. To do so, they borrowed a concept which was also straight out of computer languages (including our own): a concept known to us as "single instruction multiple data" (SIMD).

The basic premise of SIMD is that you take a frequently-used combination of computer instructions and replace them with a new one which performs exactly the same tasks; then, any time you need to use that same set of instructions, you simply use the new one which does all of the exact same "work", but in a single step.

In their case, they did the same thing but for words, taking their most frequently-used combinations of words (even in some cases fairly complex concepts) and "grouping" them into a single new word which conveyed all of the meaning and nuance of what would have taken multiple words and far more syllables to convey. And not only did this solve their problem, but once the Second Revision was completed they found that their speaking and writing/reading rates were actually even faster than ever before.

Since then, they've continued to implement even more of these "grouped" words over time (based on real-world frequency of use) and in some cases even created grouped words which contain previously-grouped words. So far, the most densely-grouped of these go three "levels" deep, though there is theoretically no limit to how many "levels" of meaning could potentially be consolidated into a single word.

These First and Second Revisions were clearly the most significant, both in effect and the sheer magnitude of their undertakings, but it was actually the Third Revision which I found most interesting; it was then that they implemented two features which had, to some extent, always been present in their language, but not in the universal and standardized way that it would eventually become.

The first was what could be considered a complete integration of mathematics into their language. Which actually sounds more complicated than it is; essentially they established clear grammatical rules which stated that any time there is a potential range of conceptual values to what someone is attempting to communicate, that value must be quantified--not just with vague words like "few", "many", or "most"--but numerically, with an actual mathematical value, every single time.

And this rule applies even to situations that we probably wouldn't even think of as being mathematical in nature. To use some examples from English, let's say something will "protect" you, or "prevent" you from being harmed; does that mean it offers total protection and prevents harm completely? Or just partially? And if just partial, at what point of the infinite points along the spectrum do you qualify as being "protected" vs unprotected?

Or how about a more common example; if you express that something "doesn't work", does that mean it's completely non-functional and isn't working at all? Or just that it's not functioning at a level of performance that you would consider acceptable?

Situations like these simply do not exist in their language since in every potential instance, the available words that they can choose from have either been firmly established as expressing absolutes, or there would always be an expression of quantification accompanying it to eliminate ambiguity.

But that doesn't necessarily mean that a precise number must always be given, even when a precise number isn't warranted, or simply isn't feasible. Because that's where the second feature comes into play: if the numerical value conveyed is intended to be just a rough estimate, that would also be directly incorporated into their syntax, thereby pairing every numerical quantification with an indication of confidence/precision. So if you want to say, "most", i.e. "more than 50% but less than 100%", you can still do so; or you can just as easily convey "somewhere in the 55-65% range", or "exactly 70%" and do so while using far fewer letters and syllables than it would take in any human language.

And it was soon after they came up with this idea that they also very quickly realized it would be equally useful in non-mathematical contexts, as a general "confidence" indicator in order to express whether something is being stated as absolute fact, as pure opinion/speculation, or anywhere in between.

Once all of these features were implemented (subsequent revisions did occur every few years, but they were far less wide-ranging in scope), their intended effects became very quickly realized; virtually all misunderstandings, miscommunications, and the inevitable conflicts and pseudo-disagreements which inevitably arise from them became a thing of the past. He was very careful not to overstate his point here, and made clear that arguments remained plentiful throughout their society; however, after these changes such arguments only occurred as a result of actual disagreements, not just people "talking past" each other or simply saying the same thing in different ways.

Just think: How many times have you seen two people arguing over a particular idea or concept where they were clearly operating under different definitions, and thus it was entirely possible that they did not even actually disagree on the matter being discussed?

And how many pitiful arguments have you seen which essentially consisted of nothing more than one side saying, "Not all [noun] are [adjective] but some are!", and the other saying, "Some [noun] are [adjective] but not all!" 

Too many. And it is exactly those kinds of pseudo-arguments which simply never occur in their society, since their language has essentially been inoculated from the toxic effects of such rhetoric.

And perhaps most importantly, once these first three Revisions were in place, propagandistic bad-faith misrepresentation and rhetorical sleights-of-hand became, if not impossible, far more difficult to attempt and far easier for anyone to see. With every word having one clear-cut meaning, equivocation fallacies became, quite simply, impossible; after all, how can you try to exploit the fact that one word has multiple definitions in order to mislead, when there are no longer any words with multiple definitions to exploit?

Just take a moment to imagine where might our state of scientific progress be today--and whether the 21st century Science Riots would have even occurred--had our language been like theirs? Or just imagine the ripple effects throughout history if just ONE of our words had this feature, i.e. the one which has been exploited through equivocation more than any other, with at-times devastating consequences, i.e. "theory"?

Anyway, enough about that. It was after almost a full month of discussing nothing but their language that we eventually moved onto other topics like their culture, beliefs, and philosophy.

And at this point I know exactly what you're wondering: What was his take on "war"?

I guess you're wondering how I knew that. Well, we actually had some surveys done in those first few days after he arrived (all conducted via third parties, of course) just to get a feel for what kinds of questions the general public might eventually have, and maybe even get some ideas for questions we should ask him that we might otherwise have not considered (which turned out to be hopelessly optimistic; the grand total of useful ideas we got from those surveys: zero).

But one of the common threads that came up over and over--being the first mention in almost 100% of the surveys--was this notion that he (or any hypothetical alien visitor) would find the very concept of "war" to be utterly preposterous, possibly even to the point that he would be completely baffled that such a thing could possibly exist.

Unfortunately that wasn't anything close to the reality, for reasons which should have been fairly obvious. I mean, sure, on his home planet his species no longer practiced anything remotely resembling "war", and hadn't in countless generations. But certainly they had engaged in war throughout much of their recorded history, and had even come close to global self-annihilation on multiple occasions. 

But even if that hadn't been the case, he revealed to us that war is something which virtually every single advanced alien civilization they have ever observed or encountered had clearly engaged in on a frequent basis, in the past if not currently, thus making it one of the most universal of all societal concepts.

The only exceptions? He said there were actually a handful of civilizations throughout the galaxy--though these were vanishingly rare--where the entirety of their archaeological and recorded histories had absolutely no record of war. But, he noted, in every one of these cases their histories also had suspicious and clearly unnatural "gaps"--just total voids where it's as if literally nothing happened for years, decades, even centuries. Most likely, they concluded, these histories were either systematically erased in order to hide something in their past, or that everything prior to those points--all history, all archaeological evidence--had been completely annihilated... most likely by war.

Oh, and speaking of those surveys? The second most common response, regarding human behaviors that an alien might be baffled by: laughter. And when we told him about that, and asked if their species has anything like laughter? Well... he laughed (not that we knew that's what it was at the time, we actually thought we had pissed him off).

It turns out that laughter (or the alien equivalent), rather than being some kind of nonsensical, bizarre quirk of human behavior, is also virtually universal among alien civilizations. He explained that its evolutionary value in any kind of social/communal society is so great that they have never observed a single advanced species which doesn't possess it. Essentially, he confirmed that our theories about the purpose of laughter are correct: originally evolving as a means to indicate that an apparent threat actually isn't one (or that an apparently dire situation isn't as serious as it appears to be), then eventually evolving to become a means for establishing rapport, bonding, and trust.

As for something which wasn't universal, but would actually make their culture unique among Earth societies? Well, how should I put this... Are you familiar with the Stanford Marshmallow Experiment? It's one of the oldest of all psychological experiments, which in its original form presented each of its participants (all children) with two options: Have one marshmallow now, or wait 15 minutes (while that marshmallow sits within reach), at which point they would be given that marshmallow plus another one. Just a simple test of delayed gratification, to see whether the kids were able and willing to forego immediate reward for the prospect of double the benefit. And as you might expect, about one-third of the kids ate the first marshmallow right away, about one-third tried waiting but eventually ate it, and about one-third waited the full 15 minutes and were rewarded with two.

Which sounds pretty mundane, maybe even fairly ridiculous as far as experiments go. But the interesting part is what came later--far later--as they tracked the progress of these children throughout their childhoods, and in some cases even into adulthood. And what they found was that the last set of kids--the ones who were willing to wait for that second marshmallow--turned out to have significantly better test scores, better grades, better health, and even, as adults, more-successful careers than the other kids, whereas those in the first group fared these worst.

So what does all of this have to do with him, and his culture? Well, imagine a society in which every single person--kids and adults alike--fall into the latter category, but to the greatest theoretical extreme imaginable. So not just a society in which procrastination and short-term thinking no longer exist, but one in which present and future have essentially ceased to have any meaningful distinction, and where every decision made--from the grand to the day-to-day mundane--is based on the pure calculation of total benefit, from now until eternity.

This was a natural progression over the course of their civilization's development as they became more and more forward-thinking over time, but it wasn't until what could be loosely translated as their "Renaissance" that they fully completed this philosophical transformation on a complete societal level over a period of just a few years. And the effects of this transformation became immediately evident, with dramatic improvements in crime reduction, health (particularly addictions, which were virtually eradicated), productivity, education, scientific advancement, and general happiness.

It was then a few decades after that, perhaps as an inevitable consequence, that they went through a Second Renaissance--one which also involved the near-total dissolution of another distinction, this time not between present vs. future but between the well-being of self vs. the well-being of others.

Essentially it was during this time that they came to the society-wide realization that there is ultimately no moral justification to put your own interests above those of anyone else's, particularly since--as he put it--the person you happened to be "born into" was ultimately decided by sheer chance, and you could just as easily been born as anyone else, past or present, living or dead.

Which isn't to say that every member of their society places everyone else's interests on perfectly equal footing with their own; as he explained it, it is simply not possible to know anyone's needs and desires better than you intimately know yours, and thus they still consider society's interests best served by doing your best to fulfill your needs and desires, and to strive for personal improvement to the fullest extent possible. And nor was it the case that this caused them to become some kind of collective "hive mind" where they lost all sense of individuality; if anything, the degree of freedoms and the range of avenues for complete self-expression/realization available to each member in their society went far beyond anything ever observed on Earth.

But the effect of this Second Renaissance was at least equally profound as the first, as all decision-making became pure cost/benefit analyses of what would result in the greatest total benefit, whether to the individual or society at large. And this was achieved through no coercion, and without even any change in laws (in fact, a tremendous number of laws were ultimately eliminated since they no longer served any purpose).

And it wasn't long after this Second Renaissance that they began reaching out to the other civilizations throughout the galaxy that they had previously just observed from afar, and began sending out emissaries in their speed-of-light ships, like the one they sent to visit us. 

You know, it's funny... As I'm recording this, I can't help but think about all the time I've spent arguing with crackpots online, ridiculing and debunking the biggest, craziest conspiracy theories: That the Moon Landings were faked. That the Mars Landings were faked. 9/11 was an inside job (or faked). The 2020 Election... But the 12/12 Visitation is the one I never touched. Go back and check out my social media archive and my entire posting history if you don't believe me. And here I am, 32 years later, not debunking a conspiracy, but confirming the biggest one of all.

So why am I doing this? I'm not sure, really. But I think more than anything else, I just feel bad for how much we did him wrong. He was completely up-front with us, right from the beginning: He didn't come here to share anything about their technology--just their culture, beliefs, and way of life. And he was 100% clear that this was for our benefit, not theirs. He even clued us is in to the fact that of all the alien civilizations they had ever monitored, the only ones that had ever suffered total irreversible extinction did so as a result of their own technologies gone awry (or, in a few cases, the technologies of other planets' civilizations, if you know what I mean).

Of all the rest--even those which faced extinction-level events on a scale that our planet has never even seen in its history (gamma ray bursts, direct comet strikes, even in one case a micro-black hole which tore right through the center of their planet)--all of these civilizations managed to survive, and in some cases eventually recover.

As for us specifically, he said our current level of technological progress is already far beyond what they would consider our capability to responsibly handle, and thus anything they could possibly contribute to that technological progress--no matter how seemingly benign such technologies may be--would only serve to further increase that divide and further magnify our chances of complete self-annihilation.

And we were OK with that stipulation at first, or at least we pretended to be. After about six months with him, during which he shared everything he could (or would) for 24 hours a day (one thing I forgot to mention earlier: he had no need for sleep), we eventually exhausted things to ask him about. And yet after all that, we still knew no more about their technology than we did on day one.

Even his ship was a complete non-starter. Had it been anything even remotely similar to our own, I'm sure we could have reverse-engineered it, or at least gleaned something from it that could have put us light years ahead of any other country on the planet. But there was absolutely nothing about it that had even the slightest corollary to what we currently have, or had even theoretically conceived of. It was basically the equivalent of taking the most advanced supercomputer on the planet and sending it back in time to the Stone Age. Or to an ant colony.

Maybe someday we'll be able to unlock its secrets, but my guess is we're at least hundreds of years from even having a chance at cracking its most basic functions (at which point, maybe we'll realize it really was just a landing pod).

So of course, it shouldn't be a surprise to anyone what we did next. Now, I say "we" loosely, since I certainly had no say in it. Which I'm sure might seem incredibly self-serving at this point, but all I can give you is the truth: The day we got everything we could out of him and he refused to divulge any more secrets, we finally resorted to what we've always resorted to. Enhanced interrogation techniques. Coercive interrogation. Learned helplessness. Torture.

And do I even need to say that this turned out to be one of the biggest mistakes of all time? First off, it didn't work; months of almost non-stop torture using every method we could possibly come up with, and we got nothing more out of him. He was completely unfazed, and not because it didn't hurt him; some of the... methods we used sent his biometric readings off the charts. He was clearly experiencing tremendous physical distress, vastly more than I could ever imagine any human being able to handle.

But no matter what we did, he just took it. And if he even cared, he kept it completely internalized. Just completely stoic, from beginning to end. Even his demeanor and attitude towards us never changed; after all of that--45 days of almost non-stop agony--he still wanted to tell us more about their language. And he was still just as polite as that first day waiting patiently outside the White House.

It's always been rather amusing to me... Of all the many believers in the 12/12 Visitation, how many wildly different, even completely contradictory reasons they've come up with for why it would've been kept under wraps all this time.

Either, "It would cause a total collapse of the world's remaining organized religions", or "It would cause unprecedented numbers of people to turn back towards God, and away from The State".

Either, "It would cause mass chaos and a total breakdown of society", or "It would cause everyone to unite behind our common humanity, and thus end all war and conflict which would cause a total collapse of the military-industrial complex".

The truth is, it wasn't originally anyone's plan to keep it under wraps. Some of the details, sure. But we all figured we would make the big announcement eventually. We even commissioned a task force of some of the brightest minds on the planet--under the guise of a purely hypothetical scenario, of course--and they all came to the same general conclusion: Of all the possible reasons for why a government might keep an alien visitor a secret, those fears were pretty much completely overblown.

Realistically, they figured, there would be no mass chaos, no mass peace, no collapse of religion or of society or really anything else just because an alien decided to come visit us. A hundred years ago maybe that would have been a different story. But after everything we've seen in our lifetimes? I think we could have handled it. And all of the experts did too.

But how the hell could we have revealed him to the world after all that? After everything we did to him?

And I still can't help but wonder... What if it was all a test? I mean, clearly, in a figurative sense it certainly was--and one we failed horrifically. But what if it was actually a test?

I just can't get past the question of why they would even bother sending a representative in-the-flesh, instead of just some kind of A.I. or digital representation or even just a recording of all of the information he shared with us.

Were they just trying to see how we would treat him?

And if we had treated him humanely, and respected his stipulations (as any reasonably-civilized people would have), what then? Would he have opened up to us with their technological secrets? Would he still be sharing them with us today? And more importantly, would we still have--metaphorically speaking--our souls?

Ultimately, I suppose this is all fairly moot anyway, given what's coming next. By our calculations it's just five days away, give or take a day. And all I can hope for at this point is that some of us make it, and that maybe what I'm recording here makes it through. And maybe someday we can recover, countless generations from now, and maybe they'll give us another shot. 

But if not, I can't say it wasn't deserved.