A :If there is no God, then who, one wonders, rules the life of man and keeps the world in order?
B :Man rules himself
A :I beg your pardon; but to rule one must have a precise plan worked out for some reasonable period ahead. Allow me to enquire how man can control his own affairs when he is not only incapable of compiling a plan for some laughably short term, such as, say, a thousand years, but cannot even predict what will happen to him tomorrow? In fact, imagine what would happen if you, for instance, were to start organising others and yourself, and you developed a taste for it-then suddenly you get...a heart attack... *cat like grin*
A :Yes, a heart attack! And then thats the end of you as an organiser! No one's fate except your own interests you any longer. Your relations start lying to you. Sensing that something's amiss you rush to a specialist, then to a charlatan, even perhaps a fortune-teller. Each of them is as useless as the other, as you know perfectly well. And it all ends in tragedy; the man who thought he was in charge is suddenly reduced to lying prone and motionless in a wooden box and his fellow men, realising that there is no more sense to be had of him, incinerate him.
Fate's a cheeky bastard. *sigh*
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