From the sky, everything seems alright. Maybe that is the answer to ‘why God doesn’t interfere to correct the sins of the world’; because from where he’s looking, there is no sin in this tiny, toyland world. Looking out of the oval window of the A320, the earth neatly divided into mine, man’s, and yours, nature’s, you tend to forget the one-sided destruction unfolding beneath. All seems happily existent in the mutual amity of the miniscule.
Ants are peaceful, organized creatures to our innocent human eyes, but down at their own scale, it’s the gruesome Spencer reality. A lot more brutal than our own. Slavery, obviously, is a necessity for the survival of the anthill; an absolutely rigid caste system, defined roles et all, is vital for prosperity; and war, conquest and destruction of not too far residing neighbours, guarantees increased resources for progress of the race.
We study them, the ants, with magnifying glasses and marvel at the complex functionality of their society. All these necessities, above defined, only keeping the balance. We are the ants of God. To know that, only look out the window of an Airbus A320 from 30,000 feet.