"Why must conversions always come so late? Why do people always apologize to corpses?"
About this Quote
Brin’s question lands like an indictment disguised as a lament: humanity loves the clean drama of moral awakening, but only when the bill can’t be paid. “Conversions” evokes the classic redemption arc - the late-life epiphany, the suddenly tender parent, the institution that discovers its conscience right after the damage is irreversible. By making it plural, Brin isn’t talking about one person’s regret; he’s pointing at a recurring social habit, almost a civic ritual.
The second line is the gut punch. “Apologize to corpses” turns remorse into a kind of theater. A corpse can’t argue back, can’t demand repair, can’t complicate the story with ongoing needs. Apologizing to the dead is emotionally potent and politically cheap: it allows the living to feel cleansed without surrendering anything material. It’s grief repurposed as absolution.
The subtext is about timing as ethics. Late apologies aren’t merely sad; they’re a failure of imagination. Brin, a science-fiction writer steeped in futures and consequences, is effectively asking why we can speculate about distant worlds but can’t foresee the predictable fallout of our everyday cruelties, neglect, or complacency. There’s also a quiet accusation about power: conversions “come late” when people in charge can afford delay, when the harmed are expected to wait, endure, or disappear.
Read against public life, it scans as a critique of posthumous tributes, institutional “we failed you” statements, and society’s favorite maneuver: honoring victims once they’re safely beyond needing justice.
The second line is the gut punch. “Apologize to corpses” turns remorse into a kind of theater. A corpse can’t argue back, can’t demand repair, can’t complicate the story with ongoing needs. Apologizing to the dead is emotionally potent and politically cheap: it allows the living to feel cleansed without surrendering anything material. It’s grief repurposed as absolution.
The subtext is about timing as ethics. Late apologies aren’t merely sad; they’re a failure of imagination. Brin, a science-fiction writer steeped in futures and consequences, is effectively asking why we can speculate about distant worlds but can’t foresee the predictable fallout of our everyday cruelties, neglect, or complacency. There’s also a quiet accusation about power: conversions “come late” when people in charge can afford delay, when the harmed are expected to wait, endure, or disappear.
Read against public life, it scans as a critique of posthumous tributes, institutional “we failed you” statements, and society’s favorite maneuver: honoring victims once they’re safely beyond needing justice.
Quote Details
| Topic | Mortality |
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