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Antoine Danchin © 2004
 Une vue très brève en Français se trouve à ce site, mais une version détaillée
est développée dans La Barque de Delphes.
This lecture formed part of a research programme
set up with the aim of developing an uncommon
aspect of anthropology, namely the anthropological
analysis of Western civilisations by non-Western
scholars (with their own definition of who
a scholar is).
Our Western civilisations tacitly assume
that our values are universal. As a "
proof " we generally demonstrate that
our know-how is the most efficient in the
world, thus assuming that our know-how is
a value, is the value. Although one can hardly challenge
the immense success of Western civilisations,
especially in dominating the world, this
success often represents a lethal power.
It seems therefore of interest to reinvestigate
the roots of our science and technology.
In the present lecture the author suggests
that several distinct traditions are at work
in our civilisations, yielding immense power.
From this analysis, it appears that one should
be careful not to identify progress with
advance, the former having a moral side,
which is of major importance. Man and societies
are not mechanical devices, and should not
be treated as such.
This indicates that while it is obviously
extremely important not to regress towards
prescientific feelings and beliefs, such
as the ones often displayed by some so-called
" ecologists ", it is equally important
not to identify science with technology.
This means that we should also be careful
not to follow the lines indicated by the
priests of a new religion, even if it is
called Science. At this price only will the
Earth escape a miserable fate.
It is impossible for me, given our current
political environment, to take part in a
transcultural programme without saying a
few words about these political events. Indeed,
as I shall try to show, speaking about science
is an effort to attain a "zero level"
(as Roland Barthes would probably have called it) in the exchange
between civilisations, thanks to the production
of concepts that are interpreted as universal.
But science - as a generator of progress
and as an invader of the world - is of Western
origin. One would be mistaken, however, if
one imagined that science is produced by
the West on an habitual basis, or that Western
civilisations and science are one and the
same entity. As I shall try to show, the
scientific attitude is universal in Man.
What is original is therefore not science,
but the method that is linked to it, which
generates the concepts in which science is
rooted, thus fostering constant progress.
The West does not however use this method
(which I usually refer to as the Generative
Critical Method), everywhere or with any
great frequency, despite the fact that it
was discovered there. For Western civilisations
are made up of the overlapping of several
civilisations, more or less antagonistic,
or even irreconcilable. It is thus possible
to identify in the Western world at least
two important traditions, an Indo-European
(or Aryan) tradition, that of the "
three powers" described by Georges Dumézil, and a Greek/Egyptian/African tradition,
the birthplace of which is rather uncertain,
and from which stem most specificities of
Western science.
Three symbolic characters summarise the whole
of the first tradition. They are: the priest, theploughman and the soldier. Dumézil has tried throughout his
life - and this is not the place to discuss
the validity of his assumptions and conclusions
- to justify his model by identifying myths
or legends present from the heart of India
through to the Middle East to the extreme
borders of Scandinavia and Ireland. He claimed
that he could find the idea of a separation
of power between those who create (or receive)
knowledge, those who make it technically
available, creating the know-how, and finally
those who enforce it through the power of
arms. The speeches that we hear today about
a new world order, clearly imposed on the
world through brute force, fully justify
this interpretation of Western behaviour
(I reiterate that the West (in this case)
goes as far as Asia, since it is from Indian
descent). But does gun power, or arms-mediated
persuasion really allow the creation of concepts
upon which know-how can be built? Dumézil,
who tried to reach universality, remarks
(perhaps with some bitterness) that, although
he was able to find a place for most Western
traditions, he was unable to classify all
myths and epics in the three powers. Indeed,
the myths of a famous people were far from
conforming to the standard: "The originality of Greek facts in the Indo-European
ensemble is not isolated: the Greeks, in
spite of the fact that their language has
kept so many archaisms from a common source,
and that their vocabulary has a more pronounced
Indo-European appearance than most of its
sister tongues, have, in their civilisation
and in their religion, less relics and relics
more limited than most brother peoples. This
is the price to pay for the Greek miracle,
as I have said: in this part of the world,
a critical and creative mind was early at
work, transforming even what it was preserving". Thus the Greek tradition, which is
at the root of the method which produces
science and makes it progress, does not come
from the three powers.
Western civilisations rest on both traditions,
which are more or less in open conflict as
time passes. The latter produces abstractions,
it is in a way disembodied, creative and
tolerant; the former is commercial, military,
intolerant and destructive, but also utilitarian,
efficient and remarkably able to use the
latter. The historical consequences of this
situation are numerous. In particular it
should be noted that conflicts arising between
these two traditions generally result in
the domination of the former, which takes
hold of the concepts generated by the latter
and transforms them into means of ruling
the world (using the farmer and/or the soldier
for that purpose, the priest being there
to justify domination). However, at some
point, its lack of ability to produce new
concepts results in political weakness, and
an inability to manage an everchanging environment
(be it only because of the demographic increase).
In this situation where the three powers
are weakened, the latter becomes stronger
and generates new concepts that will, in
turn, be used to create know-how. Thus an
endless spiral is generated upon which Western
history - and soon the World's history -
is written. And one should perhaps, on a
smaller scale, and not on a historical scale,
notice how the first of the three powers
elevates the scientist from his initial position
to the sacred position of the priest, thus
effectively sterilising his creative activity,
which must be linked to modesty in terms
of true scientific production, to function
properly... But this would take us far from
our subject.
Rather than ask questions about the true
nature of science, I shall, in what follows,
concentrate on the modes of knowledge production,
and try to emphasise the original aspects
of the Greek mode of this production. It
should be made clear at this point that it
is a rather simplified view, that cannot
take into account local variations: it would
certainly be possible to find examples that
run counter to my general outline. But this
outline enables us to understand both the
originality and the effectiveness of this
approach.
A human being is born in a given civilisation,
and soon learns a given language. This is
so natural that one hardly considers it as
important. It is clear however that, during
the learning period, nobody would think of
calling into question the knowledge and the
rules he or she is acquiring. We start looking
at the world through preconceived ideas.
The first postulate that will form the basis
of the original mode of exploration which
I wish to advocate, is that reality (the
world) does not speak.
This is not, at least in our Western civilisations,
a generally accepted idea. On the contrary.
It is a Greek idea, expressed for example
by Xenophanes of Colophon ("And for a certain truth, no man has
seen it nor will there ever be a man who
knows about the gods and about all the things
I mention. For if he succeeds in the end
in saying what is completely true, he himself
is nevertheless unaware of it; and opinion
is fixed by fate upon all things"), but which is absolutely contrary to the Indo-European
tradition of the Book (which claims everywhere
to be our only tradition and truth) according
to which a special divinity would have communicated
some of its knowledge through a fundamental
process of Revelation. In fact, there are
two independent traditions involving writing
in our civilisation. In one tradition, writing
is the divine source of knowledge that can
only be used as a reference, and never be
amended or transformed, while in the second
one - the Greek tradition - the book is the
starting point for the writing up of new
books, new models of the world. In this latter
case the book is simply an instrument of
knowledge, not a sacred memory.
If reality is mute, however, we can only
start from what we have inherited from those
who preceded us, and build up an image of
the world. And because we are the creators
of this image, we are able to understand
its behaviour, and how it will answer our
questions. When studying the behaviour of
this representation, it is necessary to evaluate
its relationship to reality by its capacity
to predict some of the behaviour of an otherwise
incomprehensible world. And it is this power
of prediction, which will measure the degree
of appropriateness of the model as it relates
to the world, something that we shall try
to improve with time. The purpose of the
method is to generate models of the world that will with time become increasingly
suitable. Before continuing, it is worthwhile
noting here that there is no reason that
a unique model of the world should exist
at any given time. It is perfectly admissible
to produce several representations of the
world at the same time, each of which has
its own degree of appropriateness and its
own power of prediction. It is important
to understand that, by its very nature, a
model is different from the reality it represents.
In fact one must recognise that acting on
a model is not the same as acting on reality...
But let us go back to the construction of
a model.
One can separate from preconceived ideas,
a set of ideas that will not be called into
question, at least for some time (this is
the dogmatic part of a theory). This set
of postulates must be translated into elements
on which the model will be built, through
a process of abstractive interpretation. For example, a man or an animal is represented
by a model, (as is the case in ancient Chinese
medicine), and answers to appropriate questions
will be tested on it. In a more general abstract
way, and the most often in science, the postulates
will be translated into clear propositions
which, according to the rules of logic, are
themselves subject to discussion - and which
are discussed - forming axioms and definitions.
Putting axioms and definitions together will
result in a demonstration yielding a theorem or, most often, a theorem conjecture.
We have here two types of models, a concrete
one (the mock-up) and an abstract one (the
mathematical model), that we must now situate
within the reality they are meant to represent
(according to phenomenology) or explain (according
to ontology, using René Thom's words). A new process, symmetrical to that
which has provided the bases for the model,
an interpretation, which in this case could
be termed instantiation, is once again necessary: one must go back
to the real world. This is carried out through
experimental predictions which are of two
different types. Either they are existential
predictions (one must discover the object,
or the process whose existence has been predicted)
or predictions that can be verified, and
therefore subject to falsification (an experimental
system will have to be constructed to verify
or falsify the prediction). Thus the reactions
of reality towards the experiment will allow
validation of the model, therefore giving
a measure of its adequacy. It should be stressed
here that persistence of a model through
time does not at all justify identifying
it with Reality. This is where analogical
confusion becomes a risk, as Maupertuis remarked (in his Vénus physique): "Analogy delivers us from the need to imagine
new things, and from another, still worse
pain, which is to stay in uncertainty. It
pleases our mind, but does it please Nature?" Producing models is, in a certain
way, producing analogies, and there is a
risk that, when one uses a similar model
to represent two different phenomena, this
will be thought to mean that both are explained
by an identical cause. In fact this is just
a measure of our inability to display more
imagination: one knows, for instance, the
symbolic function of integers in the representation
of the world in every civilisation; it always
uses small numbers (which can be easily understood),
but this does not mean that the structure
of the world follows such simple arithmetics.
To say that the number of man is 3, of woman
4 and perfection (God) 7 (union of male and
female) as is found in many civilisations
is not very surprising, because this is simply
a combination of small figures, and this
does not say much about the world (there
are indeed civilisations where 2, 3 and 5
play the same function as the former figures;
what would be surprising would be if the
number 573 695 125 998 331 revealed a specific
aspect of reality, but I doubt it!)
One must therefore avoid taking the model
for reality, or for any "universal"
feature of reality, to allow for the generative
process that will now be described. It is
the model's inadequacy that is the driving
force behind its evolution and, if need be,
its replacement. Indeed the failure to predict
adequately triggers a process of abstraction, specific to all theoretical
constructions. Throughout this process, which
takes place in a direction opposite to that
which gave birth to it, one is slowly led
from the predictions to the postulates which
have allowed the model to be constructed.
This results firstly in reformulating postulates
in more precise terms, changing some of them
and sometimes discarding them. In fact, the
model's resistance to change is evident very
early on: using all means it will try to
save its existence keeping its role as a
description and an explanation of reality,
initially by simply asking for changes in
the interpretations that have led to false
predictions ("it is the exceptions that
prove the rule"). It is most often at
this point that the type of culture will
play a specific role: in Western civilisations
for instance, it is where the "divine"
role of science (and of the scientist, its
priest) intervenes by refusing what is essential,
doubt, and by stating that the model represents
Truth. It often happens, for this reason,
that a model keeps its place for a long time
in spite of its inadequacy, and despite many
indications of doubt. The second time of
resistance will come from an appropriate
adjustment of the model: it will be altered
in such a way that it will tolerate exceptions.
But it should be noted that during this critical
process the very nature of the model is called
into question, and its constructions, its
signification, are specified, and defined
through contradictions. For this reason this
stage, which one can call the dogmatic stage, has a very positive role:
a very inadequate model would quickly be
set aside, and would not contribute much
to the creation and progress of knowledge.
Lastly, aninterpretation of initial postulates calls into question
the very axioms on which the model is built.
This is obviously a rare and difficult occurrence,
and is the source of real scientific revolutions,
from which new models constructed very differently
from previous ones will be constructed, developed
and abandoned.
This conceptual framework is clearly an abstraction
of what happens in reality. There is no single
model, but several, either competing or complementary.
The simultaneous presence of models representing
a certain part of reality, together with
computer simulations of the same reality,
are daily evidence of this and provide us
with the opportunity to understand just how
far removed the model is from Reality. The
plane's wing that is visible on the computer
screen is clearly of a different nature from
the real wing. However the former will allow
construction of the latter after interaction
with an imaginary atmosphere represented
firstly by equations (Navier-Stokes' equations
for instance) from the mathematical world
of turbulence, and then by their digitisation
according to an appropriate network. These
equations are finally applied within a specific
architecture made of Silicium, Germanium
or Gallium arsenide, in which the rules of
formal logics are represented (yet another
model)... But when, because of a strong wind,
the plane crashes, the model's inadequacy,
and the need for reformulating it, become
obvious. The processes described above now
take place.
There are many other situations where several
models of the same reality coexist, despite
their apparent irreconcialibility. This is
the case for example, when one considers
magnetic phenomena at the microscopic level,
of classical models (which are linked to
dynamics) and quantum mechanical models (which
have an algebraic construction). In the case
of Nuclear Magnetic Resonance, for example,
both models coexist, and the type of experiment
depends on the model considered. One usually
constructs spectrometers with the classical
model in mind: the results are subsequently
interpreted using the quantum-mechanical
representation. The corresponding interpretations
differ so widely that there is usually no
conflict, but the mental representations
of the phenomenon (and consequently, the
way in which further exploration is considered)
differ according to the chosen model.
In the Generative Critical Method, as outlined
above, one can easily see a process of evolution,
a sort of branching-out, similar to phylogeny.
Even preconceived ideas, and the civilisation
which produces them are not fixed. We are
thus facing not only a synchronic variety
of civilisations and representations of Reality
but also a diachronic variety, which is even
richer as more time has passed. And, as the
representation of Reality increases in precision,
through the creation of models which are
tested for their appropriateness (in a more
efficient manner than they are tested for
their diachronic stability), the issue of
communication between models and, consequently,
between civilisations becomes increasingly
important: one will try, at least implicitly,
to look for a minimal representation of reality
which is universal. It follows that such
temporal development is perceived not just
as advancement but as progress, which adds
an ethical dimension to knowledge production.
I shall not deal with that dimension now
- although it is of great interest - but
I shall simply try to describe the formal
consequences of such progress, and the orientation
it gives to future models of our world.
If we consider that models are based on the
world as it was represented to us by our
predecessors within a given civilisation,
the historical study of the evolution of
models can give us insight into the way they
were constructed and how they were developed
over the course of time. It seems clear in
this context - as the Greek philosophers
who preceded Socrates, and in particular the atomists, pointed out - that the initial point of
departure is stimulated by human nature and
by its biological constraints. We are linked
to our perception of the world in a very
concrete way. Our senses provide us with
an initial image, and it is our brain, inherited
through biological evolution, that imposes
on us our first a priori synthetic judgements. The first consequence
of this situation is that an initial structure
exists which underlies our models of the
world. This scale is determined by what we
perceive directly through our senses. Its
dimension is therefore that of Man himself
and it is subject to the constraints of the
corresponding macroscopic vision. Consequently,
the first models emphasise a global vision
of what they represent, and the whole is
considered as the only important aspect of
the process of modelisation. But, and I shall
not dwell on this, there is a certain degree
of conceptual convergence between a holistic
representation of things and the religious
aspect of the three powers. The result is
that theories are seen as fixed, thus precluding
any analysis of phenomena. This original
modelisation process is easily discernible
in presocratic philosophy, where two holistic representations are
in conflict, according to whether they emphasise
permanence (Parmenides) or change (Heraclitus).
They are resolved by the atomists (Leucippus
and Democritus) who combine both aspects
of reality, by changing the spatial scale
- thus obliging philosophers to use analytical
methods - and link together microscopic parmenidian
worlds in a permanent state of flux, but
with a deterministic evolution pattern, which
produces the great variety of forms present
in the world. Atomist thinking has long been
overshadowed by holistic and religious philosophers,
but after several centuries it was eventually
recognised, breaking into pieces the whole,
which then became amenable to analysis.
Astronomy, medicine and chemistry were thus
placed, more or less at the same time, in
an entirely new world, which could be explored
through mediation: analysis, because of the
change in scale it presupposes, alleviates
the constraints of sensory perception. Perception
of the world now becomes indirect. In parallel,
instruments of investigation are developed
which facilitate discovery of the content
of the whole. This is a true conceptual revolution,
which is still in its early stages today,
and its consequences are still far from being
understood. Indeed the question of substance,
matter and form, is then entirely restructured.
Genesis and function of borders take on new
importance, as they become mediation areas
for direct perception, macroscopic perception,
and representation mediated through instruments
and models, of a microscopic world supposed
to be developing, as content, from within.
The very idea of content becomes questionable
as atoms themselves are dissolved into more
and more elusive entities, a process that
can be likened to onions losing their peels.
Thus our representation of the world is profoundly
altered, progress being derived from analysis
of the content of initially represented entities.
One will easily understand, then - but I
cannot exanine this here -, that resistance
meant to keep alive the old way of thinking,
and to prevent, almost by principle, analytical
methods can be found everywhere. An intelligent
form of such resistance is evident in the
emphasis placed by the mathematician René
Thom on the study of the most macroscopic
forms of life, excluding everything that
composes (and determines) them. But the most
important consequence of this evolution in
models is the production of new concepts,
which, needless to say, change our philosophical
representations as well as our metaphysical
inquiries. Before illustrating this with
biological concepts, I pointed out above
that one should be very careful about using
analogies, even if they are obviously very
useful - which suggests that it would probably
he inappropriate to discard, in the name
of progress, other forms that are derived
from previous concepts. As in the evolution
of species, which is based on a branching-out,
the evolution of models produces offsprings
which are very different from their common
ancestors. It is therefore quite possible
that, in parallel with analytical models,
descendants of holistic models could still
have something interesting to say. It is
in this sense that I appreciate the value
of certain approaches proposed by René Thom.
Here is an example. Even if one has, quite
correctly, chosen a microscopic (molecular)
representation of life, some rules are still
nevertheless applicable to the organism as
a whole. One knows for instance that the
building blocks of living things are dissymmetrical
(this is the first great discovery made by
Pasteur, who isolated left-handed levogyrous
tartaric acid crystals from wine sediments).
How then can we explain forms that exhibit
mirror-symmetry forms in plants or animals?
This is the case with a ram's horns, which
are made of unsymmetrical proteins that fold
symmetrically: if one represents the ram's
forehead by a rectangle, the cells on the
surface of the head are, in space, arranged
in symmetrical fashion (on a macroscopic
scale only, our normal euclidian space some
are on the front, some in the centre, some
behind, some on the edges...). The genetic
programme needs then only specify the comrnand:
"on the front and on an edge I multiply
fast", to create a spiral growth. This
demonstrates the interest of a macroscopic
model of this particular process, which should
not however exclude microscopic underlying
models. In contrast, "systems theory",
a still very fashionable approach in the
West founded upon a verbalism that would
be very interesting to study from the socio-cultural
point of view, often (but fortunately not
always) aims to take into account a holistic
approach to represent natural phenomena,
but, as Carolyn Merchant points out in a
very interesting study of the role of women
in the birth of ecological thinking in the
West: "Systems theorists claim for themselves a
holistic outlook, because they believe that
they are taking into account the ways in
which all the parts in a given system affect
the whole. Yet the formalism of the calculus
of probabilities excludes the possibility
of mathematising the gestalt - that is, the
ways in which each part of any given instant
take their meaning from the whole. The more
open, adaptive organic, and complex the system,
the less successful the formalism. It is
most successful when applied to closed. artificial
precisely defined relatively simple systems." Thus, representing the whole requires,
first, looking for relevant analytical levels,
below which one will refuse to go for the
considered representation. This entails looking
for borders, defining contents and containers.
This does not always lead to a solvable problem,
as there are borders that are so intrusive
that they occupy everything they contain.
I shall not speak of that here (they are
called fractals by Benoît Mandelbrot) but
this could probably account in fact for present-day
evolution of models in Western civilisations,
where there is a strong trend toward the
disappearing of contents.
But let us return to our reflections on progress.
What is (historically) important, is the
study of objects (one can see there part
ot parmenidian constraints, linked to the
permanence of things), then comes taxonomy.
It is only afterwards that analysis appears,
with its new capacities for exploration.
It leads first, quite naturally, to identification
of new objects (on a different scale), and
of their taxonomic arrangement. Then, and
this represents considerable progress, comes
the discovery of the importance of relationships between these objects. By getting away from the constraint imposed
by the whole, the analytical method opens
a new universe, extremely abstract, and for
this reason often ill-perceived or completely
ignored, which is that of structures, of
sets of symbolic "arrows" which
link objects to each other. Thus a new form,
devoid of content in the usual way - and
therefore without classical borders - is
born. We have here a true conceptual revolution,
which often escapes our attention, and which
can lead, when it develops in a given civilisation,
to large differences when compared to what
develops in other civilisations. This revolution
reinforces the disappearance of the role
of perception, as there is no longer any
justification for looking at objects as such.
Besides, because modelisation produces new
concepts that can be used for the building
up of new objects, important technological
consequences will occur during development
of the new models. Progress in the creation
of knowledge therefore leads to progress
in know-how and techniques, and, accordingly,
to further discrepancy between the current
status of civilisations. And it must be stressed
that this is not a minor point because newly
created objects are true elaborations, inventions
rather than discoveries, purely human artefacts,
and, as such, the very landmarks of the civilisations
which have produced them. A laser beam is
a striking example of this because it exists
in the universe only as an artefact.
We can see here two very different aspects
of theoretical processes within Western civilisations.
On the one hand, the existence of an original
method, founded on the intimate perception
(and conceptualisation) of the modesty of
Man in the universe, and on the positive
aspects of the systematic exploitation of
errors, rather than of successes, and, on
the other hand, the displacement of the idea
of content towards the study of forms, conceived
as relationships between objects. I have
briefly indicated the generative function
of the first aspect. I shall now illustrate
the second in the recent - and revolutionary
- development of life sciences in Western
civilisations.
What has just been said is still very abstract.
It would be easy to illustrate it with examples
from physics or astronomy or, better perhaps,
from this new science called data mining.
But it seems to me that biology, particularly
in its most recent form, displays both the
need for a critical approach and the role
played by civilisation in constructing models.
One has, naturally, a tendency to consider
objects first. And biology has not escaped
this tendency (which is perhaps always necessary
in the initial exploratory phase that precedes
the birth of a science). Biology however
- discovered less than half a century ago,
but already used by Cuvier when he reconstructed
a whole organism from a jawbone, or even
a tooth - is not so much a science of objects
than a science of relationships between objects
(and often even of relationships between
relationships). Objects created by living
beings have a series of specific traits that
make them immediately recognisable: technique
provides us with numerous examples, and the
Greeks observed what was original in such
objects. If one considers for example a boat,
made by adjusting wooden planks, the question
arises as to what constitutes the boat. Indeed
as time passes planks become worn or start
to rot, in such a way that they must be replaced.
Eventually, one ends up with a boat which
is similar to the original but made of entirely
new planks: is it the same boat? Our knowledge
in physiology shows that the same holds for
a living being during its life span: is it
the same being? Where is its identity located?
And, moreover, is it not possible to predict
the boat's general form and function from
a fragment of this same boat?
It is by studying the nature of what constitutes
life's permanence that one understands that
it is of an abstract nature, and that one
should analyse underlying relationships rather
than base oneself on the whole organism.
To this we must add the dynamics of life.
The time dimension will add further relationships
which must be taken into account if one wishes
to produce accurate models of the living
What has just been said does not entirely
exclude objects or their physico-chemical
nature: one only has to replace the wooden
planks of the boat at Delphi by iron panels
to understand this. The organism will therefore
also depend on the nature of the physical
objects that constitute it.
Life can be understood as follows. There
are four main processes. The first, metabolism, is the ability to chemically
transform the environment: living entities
extract some chemicals and create different
ones. The second process, which is essential,
is compartmentalisation: there is no living
being without a membrane or a skin. Two new
processes follow. On the one hand the ability
to transmit "something" from generation
to generation, which we can call memory, the chemical substrate of which is
the family of so-called nucleic acids. Last
but not least, the ability to manipulate the environment through a specific transposition
of the memory into proteins, via the exquisitely
tuned and specific catalytic processes they
can trigger and perpetuate. Contrary to expectation,
the number of objects that contribute to
these four processes is very small. Metabolism,
for instance, in an entirely autonomous cell,
comprises about five hundred types of more
or less related molecules, no more. Nucleic
acids are made up of the chaining of only
four or five types of chemically similar
molecules. In order to form a functional
nucleic acid, these building blocks are chained
like alphabetic letters in a written sentence.
The same is true for proteins, but this time
20 amino-acid residues are enough to form
all of them. We have here an initial representation
of macromolecules, as they are called, in
the form of a text like Western writing.
The corresponding model of life, extremely
rich in its conceptual and practical consequences,
is therefore historically linked to the place
of its creation: is it possible to think
that it could have been invented elsewhere
in the world, for instance, where alphabetic
writing does not exist? Nothing seems less
likely. This uncovers a new constraint in
our modelisation of reality. Customs specific
to a given civilisation may be particularly
appropriate as a representation of a fragment
of reality. This is purely contingent, and
not at all a formal reason for the success
of corresponding models. Thus the presence
of a cultural trait has important consequences.
(It should be stressed here that what I see
as a contingent cause has been described
in several philosophical traditions as the
signature of an underlying general principle
of identity, as in platonism for instance).
It seems to me, accordingly, of major importance
to take note of this observation. If there
had been only one uniform civilisation on
the earth, with a unique mode of writing,
for example using ideograms, it seems likely
that, for a long time (with the exception
of the possible influence of arithmeticians,
who often manipulate integers like an alphabet),
many aspects of genetics would have been
totally inaccessible. When faced with an
unpredictable future, it is the diversity
of answers which affords a solution. We should
therefore react against the uniformisation
of civilisations, in the name of scientific
progress.
It is possible to go a little further, and
to show how the linguistic metaphor has fundamental
consequences in our representation of reality.
I have spoken of memory and of function,
that is of nucleic acids which play the role
of memory transmitted down through the generations,
and of proteins whose role is to execute
or act out. It is natural to investigate
the reasons for this separation into two
functions, and its operative role. Cech discovered
in 1981 that some RNA molecules could display
both activities, i.e. could both reproduce themselves and exhibit
catalytic activity. This solves in part the
chicken and egg paradox: which comes first,
protein or nucleic acid? RNAs are first,
as they carry out both memory and manipulation
functions. However, of course, one needs
to discover how their building blocks, the
nucleotides, are made, but let us for now
forget about this fundamental question. Once
one recognises that RNAs were invented the
sequence of evolution can be easily understood.
Now, this sequence is of crucial importance,
because it will replace one object which
has two specificities (memory and function),
with two objects which allow memory and function
to be separated. It is from this separation
that the coding process which is central to life is derived. For
it is this very unusual property which allows
memory to be transposed into function which
is essential to life. Once again, it should
be emphasised that this is a very special
relationship, very abstract, and therefore
extremely difficult to understand: separating
memory from function facilitates action,
through function, on the memory template
(which itself specifies function). As a result,
a loop, a self-referring process, is created,
which allows a structure and a dynamic recursive
processes that are of an entirely new type
to exist, without any need for an external
principle such as a soul, a spirit or a mind.
The philosophical consequences of this situation
are multifold, and have yet to be explored.
In addition, they render all former representations
obsolete, because no one had thought of nature
producing an organisation of this type. In
this sense the present day study of biology
is revolutionary, and shakes the foundations
of the very civilisations that have produced
the corresponding knowledge. The fact that
the alphabetic metaphor is at the base of
all this means that if certain civilisations
do not want to be excluded from this evolution
which is based on new models, then they must
conform to this mode of communication. But
this also reinforces the fundamental contingency
of discovery, of the need for modesty, and
of the necessity to maintain other ways of
thinking (if not other methods) so that once
we have set sail for India, we are still
capable of discovering America.
Antoine Danchin
Bernard (C.) Introduction à l'Etude de la
médecine expérimentale, 1865, 16ed. Flammarion,
Paris, 1952.
Danchin (A.) L'invasion du biologisme, Le
Débat, 2, 66-81, 1980.
Danchin (A.) Comment peut-on parler de l'automate
cérébral aujourd'hui Revue Philosophique,
3, 287-304, 1980.
Danchin (A.) Une aurore de pierres, Le Seuil,
Paris, 1990.
Diels (H.) Die Fragmente der Vorsokratiker,
Weidmannsche Buchhandlung, Berlin, 1901.
Dumézil (G.) Mythe et Epopée, Gallimard,
Paris, 1973.
Kuhn (T. S.) The Structure of Scientific
Revolutions, University of Chicago Press,
Chicago, 1962.
Moreau de Maupertuis (P.L.) Vénus physique,
1754, 16ed. Aubier, Paris, 1987.
Merchant (C.) The Death of Nature : Women,
Ecology and the Scientific Revolution, Harper
and Row, 1983.
Thom (R.) Apologie du logos, Hachette, Paris,
1990.
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