“I wonder if one day we’ll just be another dead civilization for some archaeologist to discover,” pondered Leona. She looked at Madeline reading a magazine.
“I wonder what they’ll say about us? You know, look at our buildings and conclude about us,” asked Leona.
Madeline flipped the page.
“I bet they’ll look at our sports stadiums and think they’re places of worship.”
“You think they’ll be wrong?” asked Madeline, still perusing her reading material.
“I bet they’ll be impressed by the number of hospitals we had, our commitment to human life,” said Leona.
“If that’s true, then why are we a dead civilization?” asked Madeline.
“What about the incredible library we leave behind? The immense amount of writing that zips across the internet? Every year we write more than in all of history combined.”
“They’ll discover that only if they know how to access our servers. All that writing you’re talking about is nothing but electric signals and computer data. It’s not real,” said Madeline. For the first time she looked up from her magazine.
“Say they could. It’ll be super impressive,” argued Leona.
“All it’ll say is we’re a civilization of liars. No one writes truth any more,” said Madeline. She hesitated for a second, then added, “no one even tries.”
“That doesn’t make sense. Truth is relative. Everyone knows that,” said Leona.
“It’s not relative. It’s just that we’re all so arrogant that we believe we’ve each got the right understanding of what’s true.”
“If you’re right, then whose version of truth matters?” asked Leona in frustration.
Madeline stared off in the distance and sighed. “The archaeologists who discover our dead civilization.”