"Come!" he said impatiently. "Look here; I will prove that anarchy is
the ideal government, or that Heaven and Hell are the same place, or
that--"
"Prove that!" I said. "About Heaven and Hell."
"Easily. First we will endow my robot with intelligence. I add a
mechanical memory by means of the old Cushman delayed valve; I add a
mathematical sense with any of the calculating machines; I give it a
voice and a vocabulary with the magnetic-impulse wire phonograph. Now
the point I make is this: Granted an intelligent machine, does it not
follow that every other machine constructed like it must have the
identical qualities? Would not each robot given the same insides have
exactly the same character?"
"No!" I snapped. "Human beings can't make two machines exactly alike.
There'd be tiny differences; one would react quicker than others, or one
would prefer Fox Airsplitters as prey, while another reacted most
vigorously to Carnecars. In other words, they'd have--_individuality_!"
I grinned in triumph.
"My point exactly," observed van Manderpootz. "You admit, then, that
this individuality is the result of imperfect workmanship. If our means
of manufacture were perfect, all robots would be identical, and this
individuality would not exist. Is that true?"
"I--suppose so."
"Then I argue that our own individuality is due to our falling short of
perfection. All of us--even van Manderpootz--are individuals only
because we are not perfect. Were we perfect, each of us would be exactly
like everyone else. True?"
"Uh--yes."
"But Heaven, by definition, is a place where all is perfect. Therefore,
in Heaven everybody is exactly like everybody else, and _therefore_,
everybody is thoroughly and completely bored! There is no torture like
boredom, Dixon, and--Well, have I proved my point?"