But we must take it. Mother Nature, they say, is impartial, works in a random and therefore even-handed manner, supposedly bringing forth as many good individuals as bad, as many kind as cruel. You’ll find, however, that it’s only the vile and the wicked who inherit the earth, their bellies bloated with the pure and the just. And when these scoundrels become aware of the unseemliness of their actions, they plead extenuating circumstances, invent some higher necessity: the evil of this world, for instance, is but the spice that whets one’s appetite for the next, et cetera. Let us put an end to this imbalance, Klapaucius.
Mother Nature is by no means vicious, only terribly obtuse; as always, she takes the line of least resistance. We must replace her and ourselves produce beings—beings of dazzling virtue, beings whose miraculous appearance in the universe will cure our every existential ill, thereby more than making up for a past that is haunted with screams of agony, screams we fail to hear only because sound will not travel far enough in time or space.[… continues to end of ¶8 · verbatim Kandel]
But life goes on, and in the crypts and empty dungeons the dust maintains its perfect silence; even you, with all your cybernetic art, will find in that dust no trace of the pain and sorrow that once plagued those who now no longer are.[… continues to end of ¶8 · verbatim Kandel]