The essential thing, of course, had not been neglected: an army of professors, masters and assistants, all highly qualified, had been mobilised and put at the disposal of the world’s students. Many of them had therefore to interrupt important research. They resigned themselves to the fact, when Fawell convinced them that there was no more urgent task and no higher duty than to pass on their knowledge to all, so that humanity, transformed into a breeding-ground for scholars, could realize its destiny. As the most qualified ones, the members of the government, could not, however, leave their posts, the President had decided that they would visit the new centres periodically, as advisers and inspectors, and could take advantage of their stay to hold high-level conferences in their special fields.
This is what Zarratoff, who was still in France, was doing, at one of the most important centres of astronomical studies. Fawell had asked him to convey his first impressions to him personally as soon as possible. He read the first report eagerly.
The first part concerned the setting up of the centre and the organisation of studies. Zarratoff found nothing in particular to criticise about these. Considerable effort had been taken, as everywhere, to make working conditions easier for the multitude of students, who flocked there each day, and sometimes came from remote regions. Networks of trains, airplanes and helicopters ensured fast and regular transport. All this functioned without a hitch. There was a large amount of equipment of the best quality. Several observatories with powerful telescopes and the most modern optical instruments allowed everyone to view distant worlds, photograph them and analyse the spectra and concentration of waves which mysterious and sometimes obscure bodies are constantly emitting into space. Both masters and their assistants were competent and dedicated.
Fawell passed rapidly over these achievements, which he already knew about, and his face grew sombre as he read what followed. Zarratoff expressed it in the following way:
…But, since the first hours after my arrival, it did not seem to me that the results anticipated by us were being satisfied. Passionate feelings for scientific questions do not exist. Ordinary interest is only weak. A thirst for knowledge has not yet revealed itself. The people come to the centre. They listen to the lectures. They go and sit in the libraries and leaf through some books. They attend film showings. And they put their eyes close to a telescope, but they seem to do this as though they are carrying out an order, as if they were afraid that if they did not do it they would be noticed or even attract reprimands, rather than doing it out of a passionate desire to learn. Several of the masters have the same impression I do. So I questioned the students and I noticed that they had not assimilated the spirit of the lessons. Some had managed to learn entire sections of what they were taught by heart, without appearing to be able to evaluate their implications or great significance. There’s often an absence of simple curiosity…
‘“A lack of enthusiasm.” Betty would say,’ Fawell murmured bitterly, ‘Our worst enemy.’
…So I wanted to respond in some way and try myself to arouse this spirit of scientific curiosity. Perhaps the masters did not know how to come down to the level of their new pupils? Or perhaps, on the other hand, as often happened in former times, they did not deal with the questions at a sufficiently high level to catch their attention from the start of the course, ignoring if need be certain details to bring them face to face straight away with what was essential? So I decided that I myself would give two lectures and I chose a topic which I think is suitable for arousing everyone’s passions: the Universe, the Universe considered as a whole, its birth, its probable nature, and its eventual death.
I have just finished the first of these lectures. Having kept the most important topics for the subsequent lecture, I had first to apply myself to fill in many gaps and to destroy quite a lot of incorrect ideas among my listeners. I therefore started with an illustrative tableau of the cosmos, as it has been almost understood by us for more than a century, with the aid of crude instruments and elementary reasoning.
I started out with the planet Earth, showing its place in the solar system. Then I defined our sun as a star among billions of other stars. Next I described how stars were grouped into a nebula, which is our galaxy. By the use of simple examples suitable for making an impression on their minds I illustrated the average distances inside a stellar system and the distances between the stars. I gave them a general idea of the form and principal dimensions of this galaxy. I am giving you a summary of all this to show you the general outlines of my plan and help you to be aware of my situation: I had in fact noticed that they had very confused ideas about these simple concepts. I can assure you that I spared neither effort nor eloquence in clarifying these ideas.
When I had the impression that they finally had a sufficiently clear vision of our immediate environment, I was able to present our nebula as a simple unity among billions of galaxies which were more or less similar, and which had formerly been regarded as cells of the universe. I went one step further in showing them that these were grouped in interdependent wholes, which themselves were nowadays regarded as cells of the cosmos.
Then, and only when I was sure that all this had been absorbed by their minds, I outlined a picture of the relative movements of these cells, thereby suggesting how the universe was expanding. It was with this image that I came to the end of my first lecture, showing how these worlds were moving away from each other, flying off at increasing speeds, and I left my students with this grandiose vision, which was sufficiently mysterious and suitable for captivating their minds. I think I can flatter myself that I was persuasive and eloquent enough to stimulate their imagination and arouse in them the desire to know more…
‘At least one person will be satisfied with this lecture,’ Fawell commented in a low voice.
But the end of the report seemed to demonstrate that Zarratoff was not the only one to be pleased with his account, and the President’s forehead gradually cleared when he read the optimistic conclusion.
…When I finished, my listeners applauded warmly and admiring whispers informed me that I had not taken so much trouble in vain. I am also sure that I could detect in the expressions of many of them the birth of that curiosity and fervour, the absence of which had worried me. Questions were put when I ajsked for them, which showed that they had grasped at least the importance and the majesty of these problems, even if they had not yet assimilated all the details.
My dear friend, I wish to state to you this evening, that, concerning astronomy, I believe that we are on the right path and that we will reach our goal. But it will be necessary to insist that our other masters also introduce some passion into their courses and do them justice, as I myself attempted to do. The first result is encouraging. I shall attempt to excel myself in the second lecture, next week, after which I will send you another report.
Fawell put the letter down again and remained pensive for a long time.
‘Passion and doing it justice,’ he murmured. ‘He’s right, as far as teaching is concerned. Zarratoff can do it, but few masters can. Far too many tend to present a very narrow view of their subject.
After having thought about the matter again, he judged that the moment had arrived when the highest scientific authorities should make their contributions. Yranne had just left for China for a tour like that of the astronomer. Absorbed with his duties and his presidential responsibilities, Fawell had not yet been able to plan any programme for himself. He reproached himself for neglecting it, and decided straight away to visit a centre for physics which had been established near New York and to deliver a lecture there. Postponing all his presidential duties, he began to prepare his topic immediately.
2.
‘Read it,’ said Fawell.
An hour before, he had received the second report from Zarratoff and had asked Betty to come to his office, feeling the need to discuss it with her.
‘What’s the matter, Fawell?’ she asked, looking at him. ‘You look worried. Is it not as encouraging as the first?’
‘Read it,’ the President repeated, with a gloomy expression.
Betty read obediently, in a low voice.
‘“…I started with the vision with which I finished my previous lecture: the expanding universe, a body in which every molecule is moving away from every other molecule, and every galaxy from every other galaxy at a speed which is proportional to the distance which separates them. I thought it was a good idea to stress, in a way which I hope was striking, the paradoxical, wonderful character, almost like a miracle, of this phenomenon.
‘“Well, feeling that they had a correct view of reality before them, I was able to tackle the problems which concern us, to enable them to have a sense of their importance and scale. First, going backwards against the flow of time, I talked to them in the following way, using the language of logic, which is the mother of creative imagination:
‘“If these galaxies are moving away from each other in this way today, it is clear that in a period before ours, they were closer together. If we go back far into the past, we will discover a body whose molecules have not yet been separated by great abysses of space. And if we go back even further in time, as far as our imagination will take us, we shall see these archipelagos very near to each other, pressed up close to each other, stars crashing against stars, atoms against atoms, in a universe which is strangely limited, with a remarkable concentration of matter, and of a density such that a cubic centimetre of this primitive magma could weigh some hundred million metric tons!
‘“In this way I attempted, by the use of suggestive images, to make the magic of our origins come alive again. It seems to me that no one can remain insensitive to the evocation of such phenomena. In fact no one breathed a word. This silence, which I interpreted as a sign of reverence, seemed to me to augur well, and, with my forehead bathed in sweat from my own emotion and from my efforts at communicating it to them, I was now convinced that the sublimation of interest predicted by Wells was being produced before my very eyes.
‘“I had taken them back in this way to the beginning of time. So I allowed myself to develop somewhat some of the theories which have been influenced by this hypothesis. I brought up Lemaître’s primitive atom, about which I quoted several phrases, suitable to encourage enthusiasm by virtue of its poetry, such as the following: ‘The evolution of the world can be compared to a firework that has just died out. A few red fuses, ashes and some puffs of smoke. Standing on a little bit of grit which has cooled down a little bit more, we watch suns gently fading away and try to reconstruct the vanished splendour of worlds being formed.’5 With this I noticed a kind of tremor in the amphitheatre, which managed to convince me that I had succeeded in stimulating their minds. So I mentioned briefly the improvements made by modern cosmologists which supported Lemaître’s hypothesis.
‘“After following the flow of time back to its source, I invited them to let themselves be carried along by it, to overtake it and direct their imagination towards the future. I showed them how galaxies were moving away from each other, more and more, faster and faster, so much so that the speed of this flight makes it impossible for us to receive the faintest signal from those galaxies which reach the final point: the speed of radiation. I pointed out to them that, in all probability, this had already happened to about ninety-nine per cent of galaxies, so that, even if techniques of astronomical observation had been perfected to an ideal degree, and even if our instruments lacked any defects, we could only observe one per cent of the total volume of the Universe, and this proportion was diminishing with each passing second. At this point I remained silent, feeling anxious myself at what I had evoked, as I wished them to be too when faced with the dramatic urgency of our situation: if we do not hurry, if science and technology do not progress by giant leaps, then we shall only be able to contemplate an infinitesimally small part of creation!