He insisted on taking me to the desert. It would be his privilege, and besides, he told me, he’d spent years by himself and it was nice to have someone else around for a while. He left me in no doubt that ours was a temporary liaison. He was answerable to no one and could do whatever he wanted when he wanted; Edward’s life centred only on Edward.
Once we were back in Marrakech, Edward invited me to accompany him to one final destination, one he assured me I would enjoy, and we drove northeast to the Cascades d’Ouzard.
The falls were broken into ten or so streams of water that dropped nearly a hundred metres to pools below like so many sparkling ribbons. Above them a patch of rainbow formed in the spray and the sound of water thundered in the gorge. A dusty path led down to the river and I somewhat reluctantly left the cool sanctuary of an olive tree’s shade and descended in the fierce midday heat to the water below.
We rested a while before clambering across the rocks to a more secluded area. Edward took the lead. He skirted one pool, then started to climb a boulder as tall as himself, his feet slipping on the slimy sides. At the tip he surveyed the area as though he was a king and pointed to one side. ‘There’s a beautiful spot over there. Let’s take a look.’ I followed him up the boulder and when he offered his hand I accepted. There was a moment when I felt my feet give way and I thought I might fall. Instantly his grip tightened and he pulled me to safety. His strength was surprising.
We entered a little grove where we were completely hidden from the falls and any other tourists. There was a small pool, no more than two metres across, crystal clear and still. I leant over the rock edge. Perfectly reflected in the water I saw the rocky sides of the gorge with the bushes clinging to them, and the sky above. I even thought I saw the dunes of the desert and the crazy throngs of Marrakech, as though everything wonderful I’d experienced was entwined and visible in that pellucid water. Without moving, I called Edward over and asked him what he saw.
Do you know what he said, Jack? Do you know what he saw in that magical pool?
‘One handsome guy called Edward,’ he replied. ‘You need to look beyond yourself,’ I said, but he had already turned his back and begun to climb out of the grove.
You could be his son, Jack. Like Edward you see only yourself. Don’t turn your back. That’s what I wanted to say to you. I wanted to tell you to look beyond yourself.
If you change your mind I’m at 26 Whittly Place, Avondale. However, my time here is short.
If I could have turned the plane around I would have done so, taken a taxi and settled my disquiet by meeting this person. I was no longer afraid of her; it was my curiosity that needed calming. Now I wanted to keep my appointment, now I wanted to talk to her. But it was too late and there was nothing I could do. We landed in Wellington that night, took in some interviews the following morning, a sound check in the afternoon and my show in the evening. After a brief reception I was to leave that night for America.
I thought when I arrived in New Zealand that I would be anxious to leave and in some ways I was—sour thoughts of my past and the interview with Ryan had done little to make the stay enjoyable—but a part of me was now screaming to stay.
You’d think I had enough on my plate as I set out across the Pacific. However, life sometimes just keeps digging the shit. Bebe casually passed me the latest copy of New Scientist, picked up in Wellington Airport. Perhaps he hoped that the casualness of the moment might somehow take away the bite of the contents. It didn’t. The front cover boasted a multicoloured pattern revolving around a diagonal axis. Above the graphic was the headline, ‘The Patterns of Life’, and below it the promise of an article and interview with Frank Driesler. Oh, I could hardly wait.
We live in fascinating times. First came Jack Mitchell and Superforce, now comes Frank Driesler and his Life Patterns. Science is on a rollercoaster and for most of us it’s becoming harder to predict where the ride will end. However, Driesler thinks he has all the answers and in his new self-published book sensation, The Patterns of Life, he sets out to answer them. He makes bold claims about changing the face not only of physics, but of biology, economics and even psychology. He doesn’t just want to change the way we do science; he wants to change its very nature. He tells Barbara Clay how he’s doing it and shares his thoughts about the future for the sometimes uneasy relationship between society and science.
What is so wrong with the old way of doing science?
I’m not saying everything that has been done should be thrown out. I just believe we have taken a wrong path and it’s time to put that right. The line from Galileo, through Newton to Einstein and now Mitchell is mathematical. However, although great technological advances have been built on this maths it doesn’t take us any closer to really understanding why things are the way they are. We have slaved for three centuries over equations that we hope will explain how everything works, but they don’t, not really. An equation might describe the orbit of the earth around the sun, but it can’t explain the simplest organism. It is time to find out what lies behind nature’s mask, to find out how things really work, not just an abstract mathematical description.
And you think you have the answer. Can you explain how it works?
The idea is rather simple. Instead of equations I use rules. For example, take spots on a cheetah. Our conventional teaching tells us that the array of patterns is the result of genetic mechanisms, but I really don’t think that’s right—nature is working to rules that create those patterns. On a computer I can generate a program that mimics the cheetah’s markings and the rules behind the program are really simple and quite basic. It’s the same with the solar system: if I draw the orbits of the planets I make a pattern, one that I can recreate on a computer with a program based on simple rules. Therefore one does not need a crafted mathematical formula to explain the orbits, all you need are the rules to make the pattern.
The beautiful thing is that you can reverse the process. I’ve written programs from which I find the resulting pattern mimics something found in the real world, for example a butterfly wing. From these simple rules grows complexity.
Who makes the rules?
I’m not sure anyone ‘makes’ them. The question is a philosophical or religious one and is no different from asking who or what made the equations that currently underpin physics. What I’m saying is that nature conforms to basic rules that are not mathematically based and to understand them we have to look beyond the maths because maths as a tool doesn’t help us here.
All those out there who struggle with maths should rejoice, because they will no longer be excluded from the scientific elite. Physics will no longer be a club where the price of admission is the cult of higher maths. It will also help people from all fields to contribute across the various disciplines.
This leads on to comments you’ve made about these rules crossing the boundaries of our science disciplines. Why is that important?
Specialisation is a curse on modern society. We cram ourselves into ever tighter compartments and we lose so much in the process. We fail to see the wider picture, fail to appreciate how everything is connected. This doesn’t just happen in science, it happens everywhere. We only have to look at law or medicine to see how specialisation forces people into increasingly small boxes. You can’t see the whole sky if you’re looking at a small patch out of the top of your box; just think about what you might be missing, what wonders might be out of sight. There might be this solitary grey cloud over your piece, but the rest is a beautiful blue.