Background of this Website

An inquisitive youth, inspired by science, philosophy, mathematics and nature, I read a wide variety of material on any subject I could. The contrast between our ideologies and our history would reveal itself daily, in our newspapers, and frequently as our heroes fell. Growing up in those turbulent times would wrench a whole society from faith in itself - a tragedy incompletely told to this day, but reflected by our perpetually reborn tolerance of broken trust. We now somehow expect wrongdoing by our leaders, giving them such license in exchange for the illusion of prosperity.

But the fall of only one man would create utter detriment to me. Einstein, extolled as an icon of brilliance and peace, was to reveal himself a fool or worse. I had read Einstein's letter to Roosevelt when I was only 12 years of age - a letter describing the potential military value of this pacifists work.

I fell.

The disillusionment would leave my faith in pure science in ruins. If this man is icon, than I am alone. I would no longer give implicit trust to any scientist: To see that purpose sacrifices purity, and to know that that one golden prize of scientific posterity may outweigh the value of truth itself, I was to remove from myself the very essence of purpose - expectation. My purpose was to pursue but not achieve truth; to defeat expectation through ambiguity and emptiness; to deny posterity as scientist but not as man. But I am only human, living and learning in a society with others. I would need to divide myself into two separate identities: Myself; and the Sci-Phi Pilot.

I was free to have influence, provided I left only a mark and not a stain. I could live as I pleased, doing the best I could as human, but could never share the thoughts revealed by the Sci-Phi Pilot. The Sci-Phi Pilot must be protected from the weaknesses of my flesh, I had reasoned, if he were to be kept pure. The "rules" were born.

The rules were a collection of philosophical disciplines countering each temptation I could identify in myself, scientists and society.  From rules governing the risk of pride, to those that disallowed the influence of my insecurities. I would need to pass through a wall of these rules as I entered the domain of the Sci-Phi Pilot, and a near reversal of these rules on my way back into my self. Although the Sci-Phi Pilot and myself would hold all knowings in common, they had strikingly different rules to follow. I was to live, virtually free of rules; the Sci-Phi Pilot was to think, virtually free of  life.

For over two decades, a routine - facilitated by insomnia - would have myself as the gatherer of information, and the Sci-Phi Pilot as administrator of fact. With a mass of new questions questions to greet each day, I was like an observational machine, gleaning what I could from the world around. Always carrying questions from even years before, I would always have a stockpile to keep me on my toes. Balanced with the scrutiny of the rules, an observation would have to pass a rigorous course of testing before being allowed into the pool.

The "pool" was the wealth of tiny unconnected facts for the Sci-Phi Pilot to sort through. Like a bunch of tiny lights floating freely in liquid darkness, these facts would take on a variety of shapes, each reflective of their own guiding philosophical perspective. The Sci-Phi Pilot would keep his hands busy, as each new fact added to the pool would need his direct attention under many perspectives. It was a job done in the mindset that it would not end, lest the Sci-Phi Pilot come to the forbidden state of knowing.

These shapes would be compared as templates with one another. Often the shape surrounding one set of facts would repeat itself in another. The logistical shape of the philosophy of automobiles, complete with exterior resilience and interior payload, would soon find itself paralleled in cells and whole creatures - even societies, for example. The atom, the kingdom and the solar system were as one. The only walls were to be built of reason itself, and not of my human prejudices.

"Metaphors" became the fabric between similar templates. Often several templates would match in all but a few points of their shape, the mismatches standing out, but not standing scrutiny - it would be discovered that something was, indeed, amiss. Whether a misgathered fact or an erroneous scientific publication, these skewed shapes became a quick means of identifying misinformation and tagging it for further evaluation. Sometimes they would reveal connecting points between two or more shapes or perspectives: A template for lynchpins.

The pool began to take on new shapes - a group of complex spider web-like shapes would stir, being too complex to really grasp or express. They would travel well and still make sense, but were so vast in scope that one could not carry all the data at once. It was becoming a challenge to simply manage the templates.

Then, rather suddenly, several years ago, a single form took shape. Hundreds of templates became indivisible and overlapped at once. Stunned by the occurrence of this moment in my "normal" life, I spent the next months in a daze, questioning what had happened. "Did I finally crack?", I thought; "Is this an illusion - a trick of my insecurities or fatigue?". Years spent exploring the connections made that day would only prove inconclusive. Hundreds of predictions made as the result of this framework would not reveal themselves among modern science for years to come - I could not know these things: I hadn't kept current with science in years.

But there it was, this behemoth of interconnected facts. This wasn't supposed to happen - I planned on working the questions until the day I died. I am not to make conclusions - even the Sci-Phi Pilot would have no answer. I had never felt so alone.

Was I to publish this? If it were wrong I would have no grievance - I could happily begin again, with the disproof itself to guide me to new lands. If the material were true, however, I would have influence that would contradict both my treasured rules and my own ethos. Like the fruits of the tree of life, they may be used for both good and evil, I thought. Every challenge to these theories I could think of only seemed to strengthen it - it even seemed to make it easier to learn.

If the genetics aspects were true, I thought, Heaven help us. A simple cold virus could be designed to make our trip to a specific fast-food outlet into a necessity: As powerful as the sex drive or addiction; as integral to our biochemistry as pheromones and endorphin. We could be treated like so many ants, I thought. Mankind has had a long history of finding or making living tools - slaves - and would undoubtedly sooner further the art then shelve the habit.

"What if,", I asked "we had taken the leap from cut-and-paste genetic engineering, and actually knew how to write biochemical programs from scratch? .Wiping out a race or eliminating cancer would be of equal ease. New types of organs - never seen before on this Earth - nothing, it seemed, would require more than a simple "fractal extrapolation". Then the nightmares came.

Men proudly walking around with clusters of fetuses on their backs like portable incubators. A child, half-creature, with tears in her eyes "Why did you let them do this to me...?". Animals being given only enough intelligence to be good slaves. Children born already knowing - never to know childhood again. Life; without respect for life.

But if the theories were somehow well-reasoned, others would arrive at the same conclusions: I am certainly not unique. If the times I live in are any indicator, one would keep such things secret; being potentially of great financial value. Could I trust their integrity above mine?

I decided that the completion of the Human Genome Project would give me no choice but to publish what I saw. That the HGP would soon reveal much of what I discovered years prior, should it have been well reasoned. A battle of wills that still defeats me as I write this, has resulted in the pages of "The Adventures of a Sci-Phi Pilot". Is it a "theory" or a work of "science fiction"? Read onwards and determine this yourself. Above all, enjoy the fruit of my frustrated, ongoing efforts!

J.D. Casnig