What do you think?
Rate this book
368 pages, Hardcover
First published October 3, 2023
With the creation of the atom bomb physicists have known sin, and this is a knowledge that they cannot lose ~ J. Robert Oppenheimer.
By its very nature the hydrogen bomb cannot be confined to a military objective, but becomes a weapon which, in every practical effect, is almost one of genocide ~ Enrico Fermi.
In a second, battle-hardened soldiers who had fought and bled in World War II dropped to their knees and prayed. They sensed that something unspeakably wrong was occurring when they saw their bones appear as shadows through their flesh ~ on the testing of the first hydrogen bomb that was 700 times more powerful than the bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki.
At around the same time von Neumann became enamored with biology and self-replication, Alan Turing considered what it would take to birth a nonhuman intelligence.
“A novel to me is just the worst possible form,” Labatut says. “If I was a dictator, I would outlaw them.”
[What is it then?]
“Nothing. A book. A novel is just a novel. But books are wonderful, books are weird, books are rare. To write a book is a difficult thing. I know I did it with my last book—I am absolutely sure of that. I think I failed with this one. People will call it a novel, and I will be ashamed.”
His melancholy and humor, the density of information that they hold, the beauty of his prose—which has a deeply strange effect, somniferous and hallucinogenic, that prevents you from remembering everything you’ve read, no matter how much you try—make him a complete exception. His oeuvre is an unreachable monolith, a summit that exits our world. In my opinion, he’s the best writer of the 20th century.
He knew the real challenge was not building the thing but asking it the right questions in a language intelligible to the machine. And he was the only one who spoke the language.
We christened our machine the Mathematical Analyzer, Numerical Integrator and Computer.
MANIAC, for short.
He was a fifty-three-year-old Jewish mathematician who had emigrated from Hungary to America in 1937, and yet at his bedside, hanging on his every word, sat Rear Admiral Lewis Strauss, Chairman of the Atomic Energy Commission; the Secretary of Defense; the Secretaries of Air, Army, and Navy; and the military Chiefs of Staff — all waiting for a final spark, one more idea from the mind that had birthed the modern computer, laid down the mathematical foundations of quantum mechanics, written the equations for the implosion of the atomic bomb, fathered the Theory of Games and Economic Behavior, heralded the arrival of digital life, self-reproducing machines, artificial intelligence, and the technological singularity, and promised them godlike control over the Earth’s climate, now wasting away before their eyes, screaming in agony, lost in delirium, dying, just like any other man.
The thing about my husband that people don’t understand is that he truly saw life as a game, he regarded all human endeavors, no matter how deadly or serious, in that spirit. He once told me that, just as wild animals play when they are young in preparation for lethal circumstances arising later in their lives, mathematics may be, to a large extent, nothing but a strange and wonderful collection of games, an enterprise whose real purpose, beyond any one stated outright, is to slowly work changes in the individual and collective human psyche, as a way to prepare us for a future that nobody can imagine.