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230 pages, Paperback
First published August 22, 2006
"There is no beginning. I've tried to invent one but it was a lie and I don’t want to be a liar. This story will end where it began, in the middle. A triangle or a circle. A closed loop with three points.
At one apex is a paranoid lunatic, at another is a lonesome outcast: Kurt Gödel, the greatest logician of many centuries; and Alan Turing, the brilliant code breaker and mathematician. Their genius is a testament to our worth, an antidote to insignificance; and their bounteous flaws are luckless but seemingly natural complements, as though greatness can be doled out only with an equal measure of weakness."
"Your incompleteness theorem was hard for him to accept. It was hard for all of us, for every mathematician alive. But then Moritz always knew that it did not matter what he believed. What matters is the truth. And somehow you found it hidden where none of us could see. We all came to realize that mathematics is still flawless—no paradoxes, contradictions—just some truths that cannot be proven. Not so bad. We can live with that. He could live with that. [...] I myself worried from the start. Kurt, you worried us. It was hard for us for a time, to be sure. If not even arithmetic is complete, then what could we hope for from our philosophies, from our sciences, from the very things that were to be our salvation? The buoys that we clung—perhaps, I would admit now, with too much desperation—were taken away. [...] And here we are again with our hopes being crushed. I used to believe that when I was older I would come to some kind of conclusion, some calming resolution, and then the restlessness would end. I would know something definitive and questions would fade. But that will never happen. [...] We wanted to construct complete worldviews, complete and consistent theories and philosophies, perfect solutions where everything could find its place. But we cannot. The girls I hear playing in the park when I walk to the institute, our neighbor the old woman who will die soon, our own circle, we all prize a resolution, a gratifying ending, completeness and unity, but we are surrounded by incompleteness.
In 1931 he [Godel] is a young man of twenty-five, his sharpest edges still hidden beneath the soft pulp of youth. He was just discovering his theorems. with pride and anxiety he brings with him this discovery. His almost, not-quite paradox, his twisted loop of reason, will be his assurance of immortality. An immortality of his soul or just his name? this question will be the subject of his madness. Can I assert that suprahuman longevity will apply only to his name? And barely even then. Even now that we live under the shadow of his name? And barely even that. Even now that we live under the shadow of his discovery, his name is hardly known. His appellation denotes a theorem; he's an initial, not a man. Only here he is, a man in defense of his soul, in defense of truth, ready to alter the vie of reality his friends have formulated on this marble table. He joins the Circle to tell the members that they are wrong, and he can prove it.200 pages of this sort of writing will wear anyone down. The worst part is that the book barely even dips into the achievements of these men. We barely get a cursory explanation of Godel's Incompleteness Theorems and no explanation as to why it is important. Likewise we don't see any of the fruits of Turing's code breaking work or the consequences of his computer theories. A reader with no background knowledge of these men would be at a loss to explain why they mattered. Or, for that matter, why they are even in the same book. they make a passing reference to each other once or twice but it was as if the author stapled together a story about Turning and a story about Godel and decided to call the resulting mass of pages a novel.
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He [Turing] is uncomfortable and irritable, bloated with ideas. And something abrades him. His materialism escalates with these incredible epiphanies even as his awkward faith cloys and whines and nags him into misery. His materialism versus his faith. With a kind of morbid fascination, Alan stares at the brutal flaying of his beliefs with pity and a smudge of contempt for the loser. His own elaborate framework of spirit stacked on elements of matter, a frail house of cards that he easily blows apart