Evolution

By Roberto Rizzo

What is evolution? How and why did it begin? What are its origins and what course is it taking? Did it come before our presence on Earth? Is it an anomalous phenomenon that concerns only our planet or is it one of the infinite number of processes scattered through the Universe? Why, in the millions of years since life began, such a multitude of new species were born and have mutated? What are the great changes that have changed the destinies of our world and why are the dinosaurs extinct? Is it an eternal process or is it going to end? In a context where the Whole and Nothing assume the same meaning for us, what sense does an evolutionary process hold for us? Is it maybe the mutation of a Nothing that transforms into a Whole could be considered to be an evolution and perhaps not identified as something different, even if the transformation should be inverted? To these and many other queries, through the unquestionableness of logic that is stripped of all conditioning and prejudice, a profound, articulated experience offers complete answers that are above all also convincing.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Roberto Rizzo
• Release date: Sep 27, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005159955

Roberto Rizzo

I do not think of myself as being a homebody type of person. Perhaps this is because I took my first flight before I was nine months old.From Africa to Europe, from Libya to Italy, at the yoke of the plane was my father. However, my never revealed desire to travel exploded at the age of eighteen when, without any money, I decided to wander across Europe.However, I wandered for more than two years travelling throughout Europe with a friend of mine, hitchhiking and working in different places to scrape together the little money I needed to survive.It was in Copenhagen that we found ourselves in serious difficulty, because we lost our job and, with a just few cents in our pocket, we were certain to be in a position of constraint. The humiliation of the travel warrant was in our hands but we had to think up a solution that could delay, at least temporarily, an inevitable surrender. Then a sudden brainwave gave me the solution. I could draw, we still had a few cents to buy a box of colored chalks and being in a situation which did not allow hesitation but which fostered enterprising action, I had an inspirational idea: we would work as pavement artists! From that moment everything changed. No more empty stomach, fears or hardships, but beautiful women, smart restaurants and nightclubs. Qualified begging but, above all, well-paid, during the day. It was during that long period of “dolce vita” that I met a Danish girl; I married her and took her to Italy, where I started a business. In the meantime I kept on writing and composing my first songs and I had the chance to share some musical experience with Fabrizio de Andrè. I took part in many literary and poetry competitions and got gratifying results. Then I began to collaborate with “Panorama”, a Yugoslav magazine written in Italian.Some of my poems were published in the prestigious journal “Fenarete” and in other qualified periodicals. Then I met Eugenio Montale who, at that time, had not yet won the Nobel Prize. Luckily he liked me and understood me and I grew fond of him. In that period he lived in Milan at 11 Via Bigli and I used to visit him every Monday when I went to Milan for my job. Even if at first I had gone to him to ask his opinion, for a long time, a kind of fear kept me from showing any of my poems to him and submitting them to his judgment. But the day came when he asked me why I had not brought him one of my works yet, and he finished with a sentence I will never forget: “I have not yet figured out if you’re one of the most honest and fair man I have ever known or just a very smart guy.”It was just this kind of straightforwardness which made me understand I was with the wittiest man I had ever happened to meet. Not only, my opinion never changed and was strengthened over time.The following Monday I took him almost everything I had written until then.For two weeks he told me nothing. During our conversations I was pleased with his encyclopaedic knowledge and with his intelligence. He was conversant or knowledgeable in so many things ranging from philosophy to politics, from art to science, from psychology to religion, and, of course, from literature to poetry. From our conversations I realised that I shared almost the same point of views with the person I had learnt to consider as being my teacher. The following week, for the second time, he approached the subject: “Don’t you want to know what my opinion of your work is?”I felt like I was going to sink: “Sure! Of course!” I said eagerly.“So why didn’t you ask me?”“Because I’m afraid of your judgment. Moreover, simply because you haven’t spoken to me before now has convinced me that your opinion is that my work is useless. ““I want to give you some advice. Don’t enter any more competitions. “I felt like I was going to die. My doubts were changed into certainties. What I wrote was worthless or at least of very little value, and therefore, implicitly, his advice was to consider myself a writer no more.“Got it”. - I said, mortified. - “I’ll stop writing.”“You have understood nothing.”He replied and, smiling, he added a sentence that satisfied me beyond all expectations. I will keep it forever in my heart, but my discretion has always prevented me from reporting it to someone else. However, encouraged by his exhortations then and his memory after his death, I have tried never to abandon my passion for Literature, Poetry, Philosophical Theory, Music and similar works.In the mid-eighties I was elected President of a cultural association in my town. I accepted the post with enthusiasm because the organisation promoted new talents by publishing their literary works and offering them the chance to express their opinions through the medium of its magazine. It was a commitment which I could carry on for only a few years but which I give credit to for having made me find at least a few minutes to write every day.I have always supported the idea that a life with no novelties is not worth living and maybe just because of this from time to time I have tried to create or take advantage of new situations. The last chance I had was when, going to the Russian consulate to get some information, I asked a young Russian tourist for some help. I soon found out that this same person was fond of literature. What could I do but marry her?However, today, thanks to a chain of events, not least as a result my marriage, I am at last able to put Montale’s urgings into practice and I am able to write full time. Furthermore, I am sure that it is consequential that I often have the sensation that he himself is pleased because I’ve continued to follow his advice.And now, roving the intricacies of my mind, I get inebriated by space, formulating theories that recklessly try to stretch out their hands to embrace those who desire to think, to know, to understand. Just as I try to do too.

Book preview

Evolution

Published by Roberto Rizzo

Copyright © 2020 - Roberto Rizzo

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Title page

License Notes

Roberto Rizzo

Cover

Evolution

CHAPTER I - INTRODUCTION

CHAPTER II - TIME

CHAPTER III - THE EVOLUTIONARY PROCESS

CHAPTER IV - THE RANDOMNESS OF THE UNIVERSE

CHAPTER V - UNIVERSAL INTELLIGENCE

CHAPTER VI - ROBOTICS

CHAPTER VII - THE UNIVERSAL CONQUESTS

CHAPTER VIII - DEATH AND TRANSFORMATIONS

CHAPTER IX - FAITH – GOD

CHAPTER X - ETERNAL LIFE

CHAPTER XI - AFTER DEATH

CHAPTER XII - THE DISAPPEARANCE OF THE DINOSAURS

CHAPTER XIII - MALE-FEMALE INVOLUTION

CHAPTER XIV - EVOLUTIONARY SENSATIONS

CHAPTER XV - SLEEP

CHAPTER XVI - FOOD

CHAPTER XVII - LYING

FINAL ANALYSIS

License Notes

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Roberto Rizzo

I do not think being a homebody type of person. Perhaps this is because I took my first flight when I was before nine months.

From Africa to Europe, from Libya to Italy. At the yoke of the plane was my father, a Tripoli air force pilot who, at the beginning of the war, was moved to Novi Ligure airport where I am still living and where I have been writing since the age of fifteen. But my always hidden desire to travel burst forth at the age of eighteen when, without any money, I decided to wander across Europe. Other times, a different Europe, other borders. Real borders and in some cases almost impassable. However, I wandered for more than two years traveling throughout Europe with a friend of mine, hitchhiking and working in different places to scrape together the few money needed to survive.

It was in Copenhagen that we were in serious difficulty, because we lost our job and, with a few cents in our pocket, we were certain to be in a position of constraint.The humiliation of the travel warrant was in our hands but we had to think up a solution that could delay, at least temporarily, an inevitable surrender, when a sudden inspiration, gave me the solution. I could draw, we still had a few cents to buy a colored chalk box and being in perfect physical condition to overcome any hesitation, I had the winning idea: we would work as pavement artists! From that moment everything changed. No more empty stomach, fears and hardships, but beautiful women, smart restaurants and nightclubs at night. Qualified begging but, above all, well-paid, during the day. It was during that long period of dolce vita that I knew a Danish girl, I married her and took her to Italy, where I started a business. In the meantime I kept on writing and composing my first songs andI had the chance to share some musical experience with Fabrizio de Andrè. I attended many literary and poetry competitions where I got gratifying results, and began to cooperate with Panorama, a Yugoslav magazine written in Italian.

Some of my poems were published in the prestigious journal Fenarete and in other qualified periodicals, until it happened to me to know Eugenio Montale who, at that time, was not the Nobel Prize yet and who, luckily, expressed me sympathy and which I grew fond of him a lot to. In that period he was living in Milan at 11 Via Bigli and I was accustomed to visit him every Monday when I went to Milan because of my job. Even if at first I had gone there because of it, for a long time a kind of fear kept me from submitting to his judgment even one of my poems. But the day came when he asked me why I had not brought him one of my writings yet, so that he finished with a sentence I will never forget: I have not yet figured out if you're one of the most honest and fair man I have ever known or just a very smart guy. "

It was just this honesty to give me a confirmation of being faced to the wittiest man I had ever happened to meet. Not only that conviction kept unchanged but was strengthened in time.

The following Monday I took him almost everything I had written until then.

For two weeks he told me nothing. During our conversations I was pleased with his encyclopaedic knowledge and with his intelligence ranging from philosophy to politics, from art to science, from psychology to religion, and, of course, from literature to poetry. From our conversations I drew confirmation to have almost the same point of views with the one I considered my only teacher. The following week, for the second time, he was approaching the subject: Don’t you want to know what my opinion on your writings is?

I felt like I was going to sink: Sure! Of course! I said eagerly.

So why didn’t not you ask me?

Because I fear your judgment. Moreover just because you haven’t spoken to me before about it, convinced me that your opinion was negative.

I want to give you an advice. Enter the competitions no more.

I felt like I was going to die. My doubts were changed into certainties.What I wrote was worthless or at least was of very little value, and therefore, implicitly, his advice was to consider myself a writer no more.

Got it. - I said, mortified. - I'll stop writing."

You have understood nothing.

He replied and, smiling, he added a sentence that, satisfying me beyond all expectations, I will keep for ever in my heart, but my discretion always prevented me from reporting it to someone. However, encouraged by his exhortations, even after his death, I tried never to leave my passion for Literature, Poetry, Theory, Philosophy, Music and Related Texts.

In the mid-eighties, somebody thought of electing me as President of a cultural association in my town. I complied with enthusiasm because it was intended to promote new talents by publishing their literary works and offering them the chance to express opinions through the magazine of the association. It is a commitment I could carry on for few years only but whom I give credit to for having given me the opportunity to carve out a short time to write everyday.

I have always supported the idea that a life with no news is not worth living and maybe just because of it I have occasionally tried to breathe new life. The last chance I had was when, going to the Russian consulate to get some details, I asked about a young Russian tourist who, by chance, as I could verify very soon, was fond of literature. What could I do but marry her?

However, today, thanks to a chain of events, not least as a result my marriage, at last I was able to put into practice the exhortation of Montale by being able to write at full time and I am sure that it is consequential that often happens to me to feel the sensation that he himself could be pleased because I've heard him.

And now, traveling into my mind, I get high on space, formulating theories that recklessly try to stretch out their hands to embrace those who desire to think, to know, to understand. As I try to do so..

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Evolution

CHAPTER 1

INTRODUCTION

That we ask ourselves why all that surrounds us is, derives from a condition of illusoriness which stems from the sensation that we exist, a sensation that is given us by our psycho-physical conformation by means of a fake personality, a fake being, a fake existence that induce us to ask ourselves questions.

We might that we are an agglomerate of nothing which needs to feed itself to survive and procreate, perpetuating and multiplying the illusion of life. Illusory because in reality we do not exist, just as nothing that we repute to be existent really exists and therefore, the fact that one analyses life, analyses the Universe, analyses existence, analyses the various universes, planets and stars that surround us is of no importance because it is all the fruit of sensations. On the other hand, even were we not, the fact would make no difference. In truth, that the universe exists and that the earth upon which we place our feet exists makes sense only and exclusively for us and our perceptions.

If we invert the factors, we can say that if we did not exist, for any universal entity, the fact would not have the slightest importance.

We have always been convinced that the existence of all that we see must, of necessity, have both a scope and a cause because we repute it to be impossible that there might be something void of motivations, whilst it is evident that any substance, even should it not be, would in no way change that which is present in the whole of the Universe. In fact, the infinite renders any presence whatsoever, however important it might be, superfluous and makes it paltry.

It is thus understandable to presume that no scope whatsoever exists but that our convictions merely derive from our ancestral need to give an explanation to all things, in order to be able to react in case of necessity.

Basically, it is a perpetual yearning for explanations that is stimulated subconsciously by our instinct for survival.

Not being able to make use of an intelligence that can be considered average implies the impossibility of being able to understand concepts and deductions, and this essentially determines the differences between humans themselves and also humans and animals.

In Man, that which more than any other prerogative differentiates us is not our species, our race, our social status or our culture but our awareness. Incidentally, it is well known that cognizance is the result of having a certain minimum number of neurones. It is also widely accepted that below a certain limit there is no possibility of gaining awareness. It is unknown what levels might be reached should this limit be overcome but it is highly probable that we would regret the conditions which we live in now should the limit be surpassed. Indeed, it is the degree of awareness that quantifies our intellectual quotient and determines the standing of any individual compared with another. It is inevitable then that the only substantial difference between a man without awareness and an animal will be determined by intelligence.

What happens in this case is that there is less intellectual distance between a man with little intelligence and an animal that is gifted