The Gods Have Been Cloned

Disclaimer to be taken seriously

I do not think it is appropriate to allow the readers to embark on reading this particular, and perhaps unusual, novel without first explaining briefly what it has meant to me to write it and what it might mean for them to read it.

Like almost every first novel by any author, this book is a way out, an attempt to communicate to the rest of human beings what the author is and his deepest concerns. There is no other reason to write, at least in my case, than that. I remember the literature professor, whose name I cannot forget, once told us that the first novel is always autobiographical. It seemed an incredible statement, especially if it was a science fiction novel, for example. For that reason, I considered it, and still consider it, false, or at least a rule with many exceptions. However, I am not an exception, and my novel is, in fact, autobiographical in a sense. I suppose this novel would most likely be classified precisely in the genre of science fiction; nevertheless, it is still autobiographical. I must admit that, in my case, the literature professor was right. I am convinced that some of you will also identify with my fictionalized autobiography, because, in the end, for the subjects that really matter in life, there are only two kinds of biography possible: that of the believers and that of the skeptics.

As you have almost certainly guessed from the title, this is a book, one more, by someone who believes that humanity already knows the answers to the fundamental questions of existence. In reality, who can reach a certain age and not live as if they really were known? In any case, I think that the answer that humankind has discovered is not pleasant, and that everyday life can only go on if we manage to ignore consciously or unconsciously what we know about what we are and what for and why we are here, on this nanoscopic planet.

I have never mourned the loss of a loved one as much as when I lost God. I have not yet stopped mourning his loss, which is also my own. During the process of writing this book I have also cried. I have wept at the enormity of what humankind will lose, wanting to gain everything. I have cried for all mankind. I have wept even for those who still live in ignorance and bliss, but who will soon cease to do so forever. My cries are worthless to redeem anyone, for there is neither salvation nor damnation. They are completely and utterly futile, as is the ironic smile I have sometimes cast into nothingness thinking of the futility of human and, of course, divine life. I hope that many of you will understand what I mean here after reading this novel, if you dare to do so after reading this one and the warnings that will follow. However, if you think that not reading it will save you from what I say in it, you are mistaken. In fact, we are all already suffering the consequences of our own success, which is already causing us so many problems.

In this novel, speculations and the already well-known reality will be mixed at times in a way not easily distinguishable for many readers who are not in touch with the advances in science and technology, or some of the recent philosophical currents. The author's speculations are by no means devoid of plausibility, although to many it may seem otherwise. To distinguish them more easily from the real facts, the bibliography I include at the end is a very small sample that will help to identify the real basis of the ideas and facts that appear in the work.

Before being convinced that certain ideas suggested in this book are highly improbable or too fanciful, I would like the reader to consider carefully the things in this world that are normal, but which, upon analysis, seem unbelievable. For example: does it seem normal to the reader that, in certain schools in the United States, children need to pass through a metal detector to prevent them from coming to class armed? Does it seem normal to the reader that this happens in one of the countries that has made the greatest scientific contributions to humanity, in one of the developed countries with the highest percentage of believers in God? I am sure that if the reader searches, he will find many things that seem unreal, and yet, they accompany us daily. Perhaps that is why we do not give them due importance. On the other hand, ideas that have been believed only by a few have ended up spreading to all mankind. Think, for example, how unlikely it was that Christianity, professed only by a few persecuted people two thousand years ago, would become an ideological force and a religion that has greatly influenced history. No one believed that the Earth was round and today, only a few politicians doubt it. It is therefore always possible that what is believed today by a few will be believed tomorrow by many. So, before dismissing a possible social situation described in the book as too improbable, think again. However, I recognize that, fortunately, it may be difficult for such a situation to occur. Today humankind has not yet abandoned magic, and continues to consult a crystal ball every day, be it the horoscope or asking God to treat him favorably.

If you are skeptical about the fact that a simple ideological change can cause enormous upheaval to mankind, stop for a moment, and contemplate what has happened and is still happening in the world because of ideological differences. The history of mankind has been, and continues to be, a battle of ideas, of cultures, which have used humankind to reproduce and fight against each other, just as genes use organisms for a similar battle. The population of many countries of the world is still capable of unspeakable suffering, hunger, pain and death, to defend ideas that their rulers or religious leaders have been able to effectively instill in their neurons throughout their history. The truth, or at least the truth that we believe in the Western world, would cause a great revolution in those countries. But precisely where we are wrong is in believing that we already possess the truth, that what we believe, the truth by which we lead our lives, is already known and assumed by the whole of our society and will never change, since truth cannot change, it is immutable. We are also mistaken in thinking that, in case we do not know the truth, discovering it will be good because the truth cannot do any harm; what causes evil is always the falsehood. This is not so. The change of the truth that the majority of society believes for another that is already making its way is having unpleasant, if not tragic, consequences. The effects of this change of truth are already being felt ostensibly in Western society, the only one that has been able to generate this change of truth by means of scientific knowledge. Truth is changing and with it our lives are also changing. That is one of the theses of this novel. The price to pay for the truth about ourselves is being very high. The worst joke the universe plays on us is the awareness of our knowledge. Realizing this fact, apparently absurd, is not obvious. Many will die without understanding it. They will have lived happily without knowing it, hoping, however, for happiness in a hereafter that will probably never come. But the truth is already there for those who dare to look at it. And the really tragic thing is that the truth is there even for the one who does not dare to look at it, who will be kidnapped by it against his will. That is what society is opposing with all possible resources. That same society, which still believes it is truly seeking the truth, has erected impressive defenses against it. The defenses are working well, for the moment, but what will happen to us when these defenses give way?

This book is perhaps an example of anti-literature. Perhaps it is neither literature, nor philosophy, nor religion, nor science. It is among all of them and at the same time among the negation of all of them. It is by no means literature of evasion, but rather, literature of invasion. In this book you will find the opposite of what normal people generally look for when reading a novel, which is to pass the time and perhaps analyze an idea or two. None of the characters die in this book, since we have never existed. Nor does it talk about sex, since it only serves to perpetuate what is perhaps the greatest absurdity of the inherently absurd nature. However, although, in this sense, it is morally clean, some of the people who read it experienced physiological sensations of distress, such as stomach cramps or difficulty sleeping. So, be careful. If you believe you hold the truth in your hand, do not read this book: it will make you unhappy. If you are still searching for the truth, you may find it here, but you will not be happy you did. It is said that the philosopher Nietzsche philosophized with a hammer. I philosophize with a laser scalpel and neuroleptic drugs. It is also said that the philosopher Wittgenstein did not solve philosophical problems, but ‘dissolved them.’ This book dissolves Wittgenstein and it will dissolve you as well. If, in spite of everything, you still want to read it, I take no responsibility for what may happen to you. This is a serious warning, not a cheap advertisement to entice you to read this novel. There is nothing in it that can be considered shocking or immoral from the normally accepted point of view, but in reading it you may find yourself face to face, molecule by molecule, with yourself and with what you really are. I warn you very seriously that this can be a very difficult experience to cope with. If, despite these warnings, you have still decided to read this book, do so with caution. If, as you read on, you find that you are entering dangerous territory, do not read any further. I know what I am talking about when I tell you that there is no point in continuing. Forget everything, be happy and think that you are completely free and that you will never die. In any case, whatever you decide, good luck.

George Laborda, December 1997

Foreword to the second edition

I began writing this novel/essay on November 28, 1994, the day of my thirty-fifth birthday. It took me more than two years to finish it, although I obviously did not dedicate myself only to writing. In fact, apart from occasional exceptions, I only wrote from five to seven in the morning on the days I did write, which, although they were the majority, they were not all the days of the week. The writing of this book was for me an enormous exercise of will and courage. It was a way to expel all the demons that religion had instilled in me since childhood and that had done me so much harm. They were also years of intense learning, of documentation on the Christian religion, science and philosophy. I have never learned more in my life than when I wrote this book, and I can say that for me it meant a before and an after in my personal evolution. After writing it, I understood much better human nature, society, the evolution of our species and its ideas.

In the book, surprisingly for me now almost thirty years after I started writing it, I guess some technological developments that had not yet occurred in 1994, but which are already a reality. One of them is the cloning of mammals, achieved in 1996 with Dolly the sheep. Another advance I foresee is the advent of artificial intelligence, which has happened recently. Keep in mind that when I started writing the book, computers had not even beaten humans in the game of chess, and the world champion was still a man, Garry Kasparov, who lost his world title in 1997 to IBM's Deep Blue supercomputer, which, despite its power, was still a long way from being artificially intelligent like today's systems are. Nevertheless, in my work I anticipated that the advent of material systems capable of surpassing humans in all their intellectual and emotional capacities would exert an effect on society that would eventually become irreversible. Finally, yet another technological development that has taken place as I write this, and which I mention in the novel, is the ability to implant electronic chips in the human brain, chips capable of serving as an interface between neurons and computers or artificial intelligence systems. It is, in my opinion, an important step towards a world like the one described in the novel, in which computers will control what we believe and what we feel. Do not be alarmed, because they may have been doing it for years through more primitive means, such as cell phones and tablets.

Sometimes, when I reread some parts of the text, while translating it into English with the help of the artificial intelligence DeepL, I had the impression that I had not written it, but someone else did. And how well that person expressed himself at times, what depth of thought he showed! However, it was me, it was the me of a bygone era, who, like the protagonist of this book, lives two different eras in a single life. Something similar is happening to the humans born before 2023.

Despite its age, almost three decades now, the book has still had recent readers who have not seemed to detect a great effect of the elapsed time on the freshness of this work. The reason for this, I believe, is that the story deals with the fundamental problems and concerns of mankind. I am sure that reading it will provide at least some interesting ideas for discussion, even if this is only a personal debate.

The author, May 2024

Dedication

I dedicate this book to my children, although I am sure they would have preferred that I had written something different. I would have preferred it too; I still do, but as you will understand from reading this novel, I had no choice.

Likewise, I dedicate this book to those people who in one way or another take advantage of the ideas of others and take credit that is not theirs. To the plagiarists and intellectual thieves, I thank them. Without them, this book would never have been possible.

Many people will never wake up to the truth; they are totally immune to human reality. Those are the lucky ones. For them, books like this will mean nothing. But others will awaken. To them this book is also dedicated. In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king, says a Spanish proverb. Terrible falsehood. In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is the only one who is unhappy. Only he can see the reality, and it is terrible. I would like to tell the blind and one-eyed of the world that there is still hope for seeing and knowing the reality and yet live happily, but I cannot. This is what I talk about in this book.

Chapter One: Memories as real as yours

I'd like to start by telling you some of my memories, although perhaps I shouldn't, because I haven't yet been able to figure out if they are real or not. Honestly, I have not yet been able to decide which of the two stories of my life is true and which is false. At the end of my days, however, I would like to leave all my memories for posterity, the real ones and the not-so-real ones. Not that posterity matters to me, and I already know that my memories are useless to you, but I confess that my hope is that they will at least serve to convince me that I am a real human being. Of course, this is of no importance either, since neither of my two lives is worth absolutely nothing, even though, in the eyes of many people, my life with a double story, or in other words, my two lives and a story, have helped save humanity from disaster.

True or false, I have many memories of my childhood, which was neither happy nor extremely unhappy. At that time, there was more than adequate food and a wealth of material comforts. The times of the Depression were still relatively distant, some twenty-five years in the future to be precise. It is amazing how things can change in a few short years, even though these changes seem normal since the mid-twentieth century.

I remember learning to read using a personal computer, which my father saw fit to buy just on a whim, or to play kill Martians, which he repeated to me he had done on numerous occasions during his youth. As a child, I never understood how my father could play such boring games. Now, at a more mature age, I understand it better. I too enjoy the computer games that I grew accustomed to in my childhood. Actually, it's the nostalgic feeling they awaken in me that I like about them.

When my father got tired of killing a string or two of ‘Martians,’ he would entertain himself by teaching me the vocabulary with a program that featured Mickey Mouse waving and pronouncing the letters in English. This caused me some confusion with the vowels. In Spanish, the e is e, but in English, the e is i, and the a, e, and the i, a, and that, not always. This didactic experience deformed my linguistic neural networks in an irreversible way, and that is why I now write like this. I hope you will forgive me.

I clearly remember my first experience with science, which, although it seems incredible, and despite what I will tell you, is finally considered part of culture, on an equal footing with disciplines such as Literature, Art, or even Cinema. That day, my mother had bought me a balloon full of helium. As she was tired of having to pick it up from the ceiling of the room by climbing on a chair every time it escaped, she decided to tie a long string to it, so that even if the balloon escaped, I could pick it up from four or five feet above the floor where my little hand reached, and the string ended. I was so excited about that balloon that I didn't go to sleep that day without taking it with me, leaving it floating on the ceiling of my room at the foot of my bed. When I woke up the next day, I was surprised to see that the balloon had shrunk, had detached from the ceiling and was suspended in the air, motionless, with the string reaching the floor, where a piece of it was already resting. It was evident that the balloon had deflated, I didn't know which way. Years later, I learned that helium could escape through the pores of the balloon's rubber. I also learned at school that the balloon had detached from the ceiling following the principle of Archimedes, the ancient Greek scholar who became famous for getting out of a bathtub naked and shouting Eureka, as Mr. Rubio explained to us. This experience marked my life, because science would not abandon me for the rest of it, which would cause me many problems.

After the fluid physics experience with the balloon, I had another very interesting experience with the thermodynamics of gases. My little sister and I were playing cooks with some toy pots that the Three Wise Men had brought her. She was always insisting on playing moms and dads with me. I used to refuse because it seemed to me that playing at being grown up and pretending to have a family was very boring, which I have confirmed as an adult. But, being a good big brother, that time I agreed, and we started making food next to what was really cooking in a pressure cooker. When we were most engrossed, because we had managed to boil water in our pots and were about to add the spaghetti, the explosion occurred. We left the kitchen at the same speed with which the chard was smashed on the ceiling. Fortunately, my sister was also unharmed, and the story had no major consequences. Later, after some physics lessons at school, I got the explanation of this adventure and told my mother about it. But she insisted on telling me that the explanation was that the valve had been blocked with a piece of chard. I told her that yes, but that if the pot had not been boiling and under high steam pressure it would not have mattered that the valve was clogged.

You look silly, my son, she told me for the millionth time. This was already a warning that science and ordinary life did not usually get along.

Considering the role religion has played in both my lives, I cannot but tell you about my first contacts with it. Of course, my memories are colored by my current beliefs, which you can guess. During my childhood, religion was much more important than science, and my religious experiences came before my scientific experiences. I remember my mother liked me to pray the ‘Dear baby Jesus’ prayer. When I prayed it, I had no idea who baby Jesus was, let alone what life was. But by dint of praying the ‘baby Jesus’ prayer and listening to the priests at school, I gradually discovered who he was and how my life took on a transcendental and joyful meaning because I knew him.

After getting to know God, I only had to get to know the Devil to complete my religious formation. I remember my first encounter with him. It occurred one day when I woke up at dawn. The shadows of my room let me clearly see a large human figure dressed in black, motionless at the foot of my bed. I decided to cover my head with the blankets and not move a finger to prevent the Demon from taking me with him to Hell. When I finally dared to timidly stick my head out to look, the sun was already over the horizon, the light in the room was more intense, and the Demon had disappeared.

I also remember the first time I attended mass. I did it in the arms of my paternal grandmother, who took me to St. Anthony's Church. It was a very tiresome experience, and I could not understand what so many people were doing there for so long listening and answering the questions asked by a man in a white-tailed suit, very elegant. People sat down, stood up, knelt down, all as the man in the suit pleased. The large table at the back, situated on a marble platform, caught my attention. It had a huge, very elegant tablecloth, on which rested glasses that looked like gold, and napkins to match. My grandmother told me that baby Jesus would soon arrive at that table. When I got tired of watching people stand up, sit down and talk in unison, I got up, left the bench after stepping on one or two ladies, and ran down the aisle shouting to my grandmother that I was going to see if baby Jesus had arrived yet. Another man in a black tails suit stopped me. When I got close to the table, he grabbed me by the arm, looked at me with a very bad face and led me back to the bench from where my grandmother was already running to catch me. The gentleman told my grandmother that little devils like me should not enter the church without first having been educated to respect Jesus. My grandmother was very angry, and I was too. So many nights praying the baby Jesus, and now they wouldn't let me go to see him. My grandmother told me that baby Jesus had to be waited for on the bench and that only the man in the suit could be at the table with the glasses. After an interminable wait, the mass was finally over, but baby Jesus never came. Today I think that my grandmother was smart that day, because if she had told me that, although I could not see him, baby Jesus had arrived at the table and that, to top it off, he was going to be eaten later by the man in the suit, I would have made a real scene. Before we could leave the church, I did not know why, the man in the tailed suit started to walk among the pews and began to splash us all, as a farewell, with what I later learned was holy water. I was amazed that everyone accepted the dunking without saying anything. When he dunked me, I did not miss the opportunity and called him an imbecile so that everyone could hear me, knowing that I should not do it, but that since I was little nothing was going to happen to me. I heard more than one of them laugh. Today I am sure that afterwards some of them confessed that little sin, without knowing it, to the same priest who soaked us.

As I matured in life, I sometimes thought that I was born to be a bad Christian. Perhaps this thought came from the experience I had during my preparation to receive Jesus for the first time, at my first communion. I want to make it very clear that, even before starting the preparatory classes, several priests had already explained to us repeatedly that communion meant common union. By receiving communion, we all became part of a common body, the Body of Christ. The preparatory classes were held in the school chapel. It was quite a big and beautiful chapel. What was most impressive upon entering the chapel was to see on the altar a huge, crucified Christ suspended from the ceiling by metal cables. The stained-glass windows on the sides of the altar gave it a touch of joy. The rest was simple, but elegant, and the chapel communicated very well that feeling of spaciousness and elevation that souls should find in the house of God. I was fortunate that the priest whose job was to prepare us for the big event was crazy, or so they said. He, in any case, seemed to lose no occasion to provide additional evidence to those who thought so. I already knew him for his obsession of gathering in the mornings at the entrance of the school the tender children who had had the misfortune of being brought late by their parents and giving each one two frightful slaps, as if the poor kids were to blame. But God could have forgiven him for this, except that he used the same technique to make good Christians as he did to make latecomers punctual, as I had the opportunity to see for myself. One day I had to sit next to a very funny boy, whose name I have forgotten, who did not stop making me laugh, possibly with all the bad intentions that the communion preparatory classes induced in some souls, already irremissibly condemned at such a tender age. After two or three warnings that there was a child who did not stop laughing and that this could not be done in the house of God, warnings that I never imagined were directed at me, who stopped laughing between jokes, he suddenly left the altar very quickly and headed towards us. With great surprise and horror, I realized that the one he wanted this time was me. He gave me a few resounding slaps, of which Christ Crucified was an eyewitness, and not satisfied with that, he separated me from the rest of my companions and placed me aside in a wing of the chapel, where other unfortunates were already lying. The preparation I received could not have been better: I was excommunicated before receiving my first communion, which, moreover, I had the impression of receiving in sin. The fascinating thing is that I later had the opportunity to share this experience with another companion who had also suffered it. We realized that the circumstances that had led to our premature excommunication were very similar. In both cases a very funny guy had made us laugh non-stop. Conversations with other fellow sufferers left us in no doubt: the funny guy was to blame for our excommunications. Of course, no one remembered the boy's name or had seen him lately. Perhaps he had changed schools, or, as one suggested, was the devil disguised as a child who had come to tempt us. I don't think so. The explanation is more prosaic and that is that priests prefer to look at appearances rather than analyze the evidence that is repeatedly before them, especially if they are crazy, or they pretend to be crazy.

And since I have mentioned it, unfortunately the notion of sin was the high price I had to pay to acquire the belief that life has a meaning. There was a period in my childhood during which everything was a sin, and although I tried to avoid it, it was impossible. One of the most serious sins was to swear. Now I have no doubt what kind of swearing was meant by those who taught me right from wrong, but what I understood then was that making promises was a mortal sin, even if I later fulfilled them. So obsessed did I become that I could not get the words ‘I swear, I swear, I swear…’ out of my mind. Those two words kept repeating themselves in my head, despite all my efforts to avoid them; despite all my efforts not to sin. I spent months of anguish in that state. Little by little, this obsession disappeared without knowing why.

Fortunately, God forgave all sins. The priests told me that if I told one of them, in private, following the ritual of confession, God would forgive me if I repented of having done it and promised not to do it again. Finally, one day I decided to go to confession. If I had not gone before, it was because I was too ashamed to declare one of my sins, the most horrible of them all, and because, although I regretted committing it, I did not know if I would never repeat it. I don't remember the other sins I told the priest that day, but I do remember that when I told him that, from time to time, I farted, the priest looked at me very seriously and told me that it was not a sin. This surprised me very much, considering my mother's insistence that I not fart ‘in front of everyone,’ as she put it. This experience was also the first revelation that, as with science, religion and everyday life don't get along well sometimes and, in particular, the conflicts are very serious with certain physiological functions that, come adolescence, everyone thinks about.

And speaking of physiological needs, I soon discovered the enemies of humankind: the World, the Devil and the Flesh. The Demon was the only one whose enmity to humankind was clearly explained to me. The World was never explained to me. Only today, in my second life, I understand why the World was the worst enemy of humankind and why the more he was known, the worse enemy it became. But in my first life, I never understood what the problem was with the World, although it seemed to be more the enemy of women than of man, judging by the times my mother argued with my father to tell him that he had no right to fool around with world women. Of course that was an implication, rather than an explanation. You know what I mean... The meat, however, was never explained to me, nor did I understand it, no matter how hard I tried. I liked meat, even if sometimes the veal made a paste in my mouth that was impossible to swallow. On those occasions, my mother would get very angry and tell me that God would not forgive me if I did not swallow it, with so many children dying of hunger every day in the world. This insistence that I eat meat seemed very strange to me if meat was, in truth, an enemy of humankind. Although I was a child, my father ate it too. So, I concluded that I did not know what kind of meat they were referring to, but that it was not veal, nor mutton, nor, unfortunately, rabbit. Besides, why wasn't fish an enemy of humankind, if it had spines? And we all know how fish smells! My classmates told me that what they were referring to was the meat that was forbidden to eat during the Fridays of Lent. So, things became clearer to me, until a few years later, when I began to crave ‘meat’ and smell of ‘fish’, especially on Fridays after dinner, including those during Lent.

Undoubtedly, the most important discoveries of my childhood and early youth were those of death and the immortal soul. Death was an everyday fact, as television made us not forget every day. But, in reality, death was unreal, and not only in the movies, since the soul did not die, only the body. The good guys and bad guys I saw dying on the screen might go to heaven or hell, but that mattered little compared to the fact that their spirits were alive and would be forever. Apparently, this was what William Shakespeare's famous ‘to be or not to be’ meant, as the priest who taught us literature explained. Therein also lay the magnanimity of God, who could have created you to rot in Hell at the end, but would never annihilate you. You would always exist, just as He did. I found that idea comforting, because, of course, what were the odds of going to Hell, if a repentance of all your sins an instant before your death guaranteed you eternal glory?

According to what I learned in religion classes, the intelligence and the will of human beings reside in the soul. It happened to me that shortly after receiving this catechism lesson, I passed a poor mongoloid child in the street on my way home, accompanied by his sad mother. The intelligence of my soul was set in motion, and I began to think. The mongoloid child was as much a child of God as I was, but evidently, he did not have the same intelligence. Perhaps his soul did, but as manifested by his body, the poor child was stupid. These thoughts led me to wonder why on earth God had created a soul equal to mine for him, if then that poor child could not use it. But at that point, I thought no more because it was clear that, as Friar William used to tell us, the ways of the Lord are incomprehensible. I must tell you that I have always considered the existence of this memory an improbable coincidence considering what my life would later become, but in any case, improbable as it was, I have not been able to obtain proof that it was not just a coincidence.

Gradually a time came when I stopped worrying about questions of the soul and death. It was enough for me to know that I was eternal and that to go to heaven, I had to be a good boy, go to mass on Sundays and go to confession from time to time, lest I die in mortal sin, suddenly in a road accident, on the way to or from my vacation. I was also happy with the idea that whatever I needed, all I had to do was ask God, who would eventually grant it to me if I was worthy enough. So, with these ideas I continued my exploration of other regions of life that were far from clear to me.

It is curious how in the life of any human being, the acquisition of knowledge can change the course of existence. There are multiple examples of this, and not just what you are thinking about, such as the discovery of fire, of the wheel, or, much more recently, the invention of the condom and the pill. But in addition to those insights that have practical implications for everyone, others have them on an intimately personal level, as you know much better than I do. You will agree with me that one of the most impactful experiences in everyone's life is discovering what love is, and the contradictory feelings it produces. I, like almost everyone, had my first contact with love in my childhood, but I did not experience all the varieties of love until well into my teens. I can say that, for me, there were different kinds of love, different feelings encompassed within the same word, already well discernible from my childhood. There was a clingy, maternal love, a desired, paternal love and a contradictory, fraternal love. Then there was my grandfather's love, and finally there was the obligatory love of God. The truth is, try as I might, as a child, I could not love God. Although I was very worried about it then, I gradually learned to love him more and more, as my sensitivity matured and the capacity to love other people, including certain young girls, also developed in me. Now I think that the inability to love in childhood is normal. In those years one loves only those who are needed to satisfy one's material needs. And perhaps the development of the capacity to love in adolescence is also due to the appearance of new needs, both material and spiritual. It is evident, for example, that it is much easier to love God when one realizes the fragility of the existence. I don't think I am saying anything new. What is extraordinary is that I can say it.

The different varieties of love were difficult for me to understand until I was able to experience them all and compare them with each other. It also helped me to understand it that we also called many different feelings with the same name of pain. A twist of the gut does not hurt the same as catching one's fingers in the door, and yet we call both sensations pain. Of course, in life one enjoys many more opportunities to compare different kinds of pain than different kinds of love. In any case, our language is limited in expressing what we feel, and that only adds to the mystery that these feelings possess.

And speaking of mysteries, it is still not clear to me why I became interested in biology,