Pythagoras held a belief that numbers govern reality, and each numeral carries its own influence. The philosopher was not weak—the successes of his students were attributed to his guidance. Even sacral rituals accompanied his demonstrations, such as a grand offering to the gods when the Pythagorean theorem was proven. Resources were abundant then, it seems. He professed hearing a music of the spheres, a sound imagined to come from within his own chest.
While the music and the rib imagery invite doubt, the power of numbers remained compelling. Numerologists continue to draw on this lineage, explaining how a person’s year, month, and day shape potential, destinies, and talents. A modern student of the Pythagorean square might claim that numerical patterns reveal the traits and futures of those around them.
The author who shares this view notes a different reality: data streams from departments of science run at unimaginable speeds, tallying billions of numbers every second. Life is brief—mere three billion seconds on average—and such scale dwarfs symbolic numerology.
In contrast to folklore, some cultures avoid certain numbers. The Chinese avoidance of the number four, tied to a word for death, stands out as a cultural superstition in everyday life, though many still observe the practical world beyond superstition.
Yet coincidences persist.
In 1973, the film Committee-19, directed by Savva Kulish and written by SV Mikhalkov, graced cinema screens alongside Dead Season. The story follows a UN body known as the Committee of the 19s, which sends an expedition to Africa to study a mysterious outbreak. The plot reveals a hidden laboratory used by fugitive Nazis to test a biological weapon on locals. The film left a lasting impression on schoolchildren who debated whether a small team could conceive such a weapon.
Time moved on, bringing new scenarios: the COVID-19 pandemic, masks, ventilators, and vast sums of money centered on vaccines and politics, all shaping a rebuilt world. Bill Gates has spoken of the need to invest billions to prevent trillions in losses and millions of deaths, framing it as insurance against catastrophe. The maxim often shared is that war and epidemics affect those least prepared for them, while the more prepared shoulder the burden.
Several leading biotechnologists in Russia were asked how long and costly it would be to stage a more severe epidemic than COVID-19. The consensus pointed to roughly two years of work, around two million dollars, and a small team of nineteen to twenty skilled experts. The 1973 film had a prophetic edge, and the current reality already reflects greater collaboration and scale. The work required to produce advanced weapons in a country underscores the broader human and institutional effort that accompanies large-scale risk management.
Is nineteen too few? Opinions diverge. In Bashkiria, a renowned string orchestra once enjoyed tours and acclaim in leading world companies. The ensemble faced a collapse in the turbulent 1990s, losing rehearsal spaces and livelihoods. A notable chemist, Valery Kazakov, then a deputy head at the Bashkir Scientific Center, helped the orchestra endure by securing resources and opportunities. He recognized the need to balance cultural excellence with institutional stability, steering attention toward sustaining the art form even when funds were scarce. The anecdote underscores a broader truth: people rise to meet challenges when asked to do difficult work, and numbers can both empower and reveal limits.
As years passed, medical realities reminded the speaker of the body’s fragility. After several misdiagnoses, a correct diagnosis led to surgery and a long recovery. The discussion with the surgeon touched on medical education and the role of institutions in shaping future practitioners. The department and its mentors emphasized ongoing learning, experimental approaches, and the 19-person circle that can drive innovation in domestic surgery. The lesson was clear: a dedicated group of nineteen professionals can push a field forward, often more decisively than larger but diffuse efforts.
The sentiment echoed: nineteen is not enough for medicine on a national scale, yet it remains a hopeful nucleus. Those twenty had become nineteen in practice, but the core idea persisted—that a focused cohort can sustain progress, create new guidelines, and mentor the next generation. The narrative suggests a future oriented toward disciplined practice, with mentorship and collaboration as cornerstones.
The current landscape may fade, but the hope rests with the nineteen who carry the flame forward. If such experts are asked for help, the answer should be yes. They will welcome support, and progress will follow in time.
The text reflects a personal viewpoint and invites readers to consider broader implications without binding commitments from its editors.