Desperate Games (4 page)

After having dealt with material problems in this way and laid out a plan of measures to be undertaken to create order on a planet which had hitherto been abandoned to anarchy and mismanagement, Fawell started to tackle the spiritual realm, the noble and precious essence, the development of which was at the same time the reason for existence and the ideal goal of a scientific world state. At last he had a subject worthy of him, which greatly excited all his nerves, demanding as much faith and passion as wisdom.

For, at the start of the twenty-first century, the
mind
held a prominant place among Fawell’s concerns, as was the case also with Yranne, Zarratoff and the majority of the revolutionary scholars, who, in other respects, considered themselves to be materialists. For them science was a philosophy, almost a religion, a religion whose enigmatic and currently inaccessible God was the essence of the universe. The only rites allowed were continuous research, and its dogma, knowledge of the universe, had the strange characteristic of being questioned anew each day, then abandoned, taken up again, revamped, recreated, following constantly repeated experiments and laborious speculation occasionally shot through with a flash of genius.

The rigorous positivism of the nineteenth century was long gone. In one short phrase Einstein had defined its limits: ‘A theory can be proved by experiment, but no path leads from experiment to the birth of a theory.’ Later he often talked of ‘cosmic religiosity’ and this formula seduced even astronomers like Zarratoff. After him, since the second half of the twentieth century, metaphysics, which had been despised since Descartes, had started to invade science again. At the very least it started to invaded physics, for, strangely enough, the majority of biologists were not a part of this trend and condemned it in the name of intellectual austerity, continuing to maintain that nothing exists outside experience. But physicists like Fawell and enthusiasts of cosmogony like Zarratoff were immersed in it. Perhaps this was due to the fact that their respective fields, the infinitely small and the infinitely large, often defied all direct observation to the extent that they wanted to penetrate more deeply, which obliged them to use their intellect to compensate for the imperfection of their instruments, and to fill what was invisible with mysteries.

If, in the twentieth century, it appeared for a moment that science was being deviated towards soulless industrialisation without a worthy goal, and directed by a staff of robots and computers, then true scholars were not responsible for these heresies, and a reaction was not long in coming. The true object of this science was first affirmed by a small number of thinkers: this was the acquisition of knowledge, the progressive penetration into the secrets of nature. Today, at the dawn of the twenty-first century, there is no doubt about this among civilised minds and they consider this knowledge to be the sole noble goal that could be assigned to humanity. Material progress and technology are scarcely interesting in themselves. They had sworn to always maintain computers and other machines which served as tools, and which were convenient and ingenious and no more. If Fawell admitted, indeed even considered, that the development of the practical applications of science were indispensable,
then it was only because this allowed humanity to be relieved of crude and stupefying tasks, thus allowing it to devote an increasingly large part of its time to the only true progress which he recognized: the acquisition of sacred knowledge. This was the way that scholars of this century were thinking. It was because they were fascinated thus by such things that they planned to mobilise all the Earth’s resources in the service of their ideal, those inestimable riches which had been hitherto dissipated, diverted from their natural reasons for existence by the trivial concerns of countries and of ownership, or by outdated beliefs based on superstition, the dreams of false prophets and the general negation of reality.

There were admittedly certain nuances in the image that the physicists created for themselves of the new God. For some of them it was a matter of imagining an absolute form of the human mind, while for others it was a discovery and a conquest. The first of them talked of a kind of emergence. Among these one could detect the remote influence of Bergson, but they preferred to cite certain formulae of Professor Samuel Alexander to characterise their beliefs. The world strives towards divinity they say and add, as he did, that it is not God who created the world, but on the contrary it is the world which is in the process of creating God, after passing through the intermediate stage of Man.

Others, of a pantheistic tendency, have submitted themselves to various influences, from Thales with his ‘All things are full of gods’ to Teilhard de Chardin, via the dialectic materialism of Professor J.B.S. Haldane and a certain number of philosophical poets from whom Zarratoff liked to quote certain striking phrases, such as ‘the drop of spirit in matter’
1
. But the physicists in the group claimed to be above all disciples of Father Teilhard, interpreting what they considered his essential idea to be: inert matter does not exist. Evolution obeys a cosmic design. Having been started at the stage of atoms by this vague cosmic
consciousness in each infinitesimally small particle, and having continued to scale the heights of humanity through an infinitely more important concentration of means, it must end up in total identification with the Universe, through a complete identification with its mysteries.

There were no doubt quite a lot of differences between these simple formulae and the Christian faith of the Jesuit father, which would perhaps have prompted the latter to disown them as disciples, but the scholars regarded these differences as insignificant details. For Fawell, who belonged to this school of thought, even though he rejected almost everything Christian in Teilhard’s credo, this did not diminish at all the admiration that he bore for him. The God, which he pursued in his passionate researches on matter, he described as the essence of the Universe, but whether one called it by the name Universal Christ, and whether evolution was named christogenesis and the limit of total knowledge signifying fusion was called the Omega point, these were for him simple questions of vocabulary without the least importance. This was not always the point of view of his friends with whom he liked to discuss the subject. Yranne and Zaratoff, for example, criticized quite severely the attempt at synthesis which the religious scholar had made between science and faith, even going as far as accusing him of Jesuitism.

Strangely enough, when they got involved in a discussion of this sort, Mrs Betty Han, who always kept at least one foot on the ground and whose mind was probably less inclined towards cosmic religiosity, defended both the scholar and the Jesuit vigorously. She did so moreover in a strange manner which was tinged with ambiguity. This synthesis, she asserted, represented in her eyes as a professional psychologist the most perfect example that she knew of the desperate efforts by the human mind to force in an artificial way disparate and even perfectly contradictory elements into agreement with each other. She could not help but admire unreservedly this passionate
attempt which had almost succeeded, and maintained that if it was Jesuitism then it was a brilliant aspect of Jesuitism, which she acknowledged with admiration and which stirred her enthusiasm. But when she went that far, the others looked at her in silence, smiling in their perplexity, for the image of Betty as an ‘enthusiast’ was disconcerting, not to say absurd, in the eyes of those of her friends who knew her well.

Whether they had a vision of total creation made by one god, or of its discovery and assimilation, the physicists could generally agree about an ideal situated in the future and on a sanctification of knowledge. The biologists also ranked knowledge first among their concerns (this was almost the only philosophical view common to both classes of scholars), but they fought doggedly against all temptation towards metaphysics.

It had not always been like that. During the first half of the twentieth century, some of them even made brilliant efforts to demonstrate with the aid of the mathematics of probability, and citing examples which emphasised the behaviour of monkeys using typewriters, that the emergence of the human brain was such an improbable phenomenon, without some supernatural guidance of evolution, as to be virtually an impossibility. This reasoning has been criticised nowadays, as much, moreover, by contemporary biologists as by physicists. The former objected that if the combination of atoms which would develop into a brain and consciousness were indeed quasi-impossible, then all other combinations would have the same characteristic of being quasi-impossible. All the same, in a lottery comprising billions and billions of billions of numbers, one of these numbers, that is to say a particular number, has of necessity to come out, and the drawing of this particular number thus has,
a priori
, a quality which is as miraculous as the human brain. There was no intellectual disadvantage for them in admitting this to be the result of chance, which they did, a chance so extraordinary that it was impossible for it to be reproduced in the universe.

The physicists, who were convinced materialists in the sense in which this term is usually taken, would no longer accept the idea of there being a ‘supernatural’ power controlling evolution. Fawell quite simply criticised the reasoning of the ancient mathematical biologists for considering atoms to be like marbles and the human body to be like a sack of marbles. Indeed it should be possible to apply calculations of probability to them, illustrated if required by examples of monkeys using typewriters. But all their reflections and experiments on infinitesimally small particles had gradually convinced them that material bodies were in no way like sacks of inert marbles. For them matter was something completely different… They often talked of ‘holy matter’, another expression borrowed from Father Teilhard, passages of whose writings they knew by heart. This matter had by its own nature given birth to spirit, and probably on many planets other than Earth.

Scholars of biology and of physics thus had quite a lot of differences. This led to discussions only rarely, for they scarcely met each other, but they were expressed in sarcastic comments made from afar, in quite a paradoxical way: the same terminology was used by both groups, but with different meanings, to stigmatise the misguided philosophical ways of the opposing clan. ‘Anthropocentrists’ was for example the contemptuous expression used by O’Kearn for the
Nobel
physiologists. He meant by this that they considered Man to be a unique miracle created by chance and reduced all science to observations made by him. ‘Anthropocentrists’ was also the term applied to the neo-materialist physicists by the biologists, who signified thus their scorn at the desire to establish a qualitative relationship between the human brain and the cosmos. However, in the stormy debates which brought them together sometimes, this expression was not uttered, for it was considered by both parties to be the supreme insult, both crude and defamatory, which would require redress.

But there remained the ideal of
knowledge
as a common central concern for all the scientific minds of that period. For the physicists it became a veritable religion; and for the biologists it was a sort of ethic, a gratuitous act, about which they had a confused feeling of imperious necessity, to enable them to escape the despair of nothingness. Both of these groups felt that this total knowledge could only be attained by the combined efforts of the whole of humanity. It is clear how different the world they dreamed of was from Huxley’s ‘Brave New World’.

Fawell allowed himself some time for reflection before making a start on the second part of his programme, organising the ideas that had obsessed him for part of the night. His conclusion caused him some bitter disappointment, but reason had imposed this upon him as had his realistic view of the current state of the world. Admittedly he had been bothered by the desire to establish a coherent plan for research immediately, especially concerning his own special field, that of infinitesimally small matter about which so little was known still, and to set humanity to work immediately to realise it. But he had to acknowledge that humanity was not ready for such an enterprise. It was necessary to prepare it for this, and the nine years allocated to the first government would be barely sufficient. After putting material concerns in order, it was essential to plan for a long period of spiritual development, or rather, education.

It didn’t require any effort to imagine himself in the supreme post, and this was in the spirit of the competition. He sighed when he thought about the fact that
his
government would only be a transitional organisation. His task and his duty would only be to prepare the way for the plan to finally take shape, but it was inevitable. This period would require at least four or five years, and he should not pretend to himself otherwise. Following the three years already planned, there would only remain one or two to tackle the major task. He decided to devote
only one day of this competition, which he was experiencing now like some scaled down representation of reality, to sketch out a plan of essential research. He should reserve the greater part of his remaining time for the subject of education.

So it was this chapter which he tackled straight away: the education of a world freed from miserable cares and capable of rising above its lamentable condition of ignorance, provided that the central organisation did its duty by leading it in the right direction. Father Teilhard provided precious help again in illustrating his way of thinking. At the head of his study he quoted almost in its entirety, without omitting the capital letters, a passage he had read in
The Phenomenon of Man,
which he had remembered the night before while half asleep: