“When We Cease to Understand the World” by Benjamín Labatut

“I know you’re trying to skirt around it,” says Benjamín Labatut when I propose that his books focus on individuals with extraordinary intelligence grappling with profound problems. “But the best way to sum it up is: ‘Why am I interested in mad scientists?’” Fair point. Indeed, his deeply researched books revolve around this theme.

Both of Labatut’s books available in English – the International Booker-shortlisted When We Cease to Understand the World (2020) and The Maniac, recently published in paperback – explore the early 20th-century period when our dream of a rationally comprehensible world was upended. This was the era when quantum physics shattered the notion of a clockwork universe, and Kurt Gödel’s incompleteness theorem permanently dismantled the positivist project of creating an irrefutable foundation for mathematics.

This period also marked the dawn of the atomic age, with the accompanying global anxieties. Labatut’s fascination lies with those who pursued these groundbreaking discoveries, often at the expense of their mental peace and sanity. Figures such as Karl Schwarzschild, who predicted the existence of black holes; Werner Heisenberg, who nearly lost his mind on Helgoland; and Alexander Grothendieck, a mathematical genius who ended his days raving about the devil in the Pyrenees.

“It’s like mystics who reach their Godhead,” says Labatut. “And you know, God kinda whispers: ‘There’s something … back there.’ I think we’re growing up as a species, which is why it feels like the end is near. It’s been 100 years since quantum mechanics and modern relativity. One hundred years after Christ’s crucifixion, you start to get the Gospels. That’s where we are.”

In John von Neumann, the protagonist of The Maniac, Labatut identifies “the spirit of our age”. Von Neumann was involved in the effort, thwarted by Gödel, to rethink the foundation of pure mathematics. He was central to the Manhattan Project, designed the first recognizable computer, established the basis of game theory, and was a pioneer in artificial intelligence. However, Von Neumann was also a troubled, sometimes seemingly amoral character, with what Labatut describes as a “cold, calculating, sharp and cutting intelligence.”

Labatut’s portrayals of some of the most rational men are imbued with religious sentiment. In our pursuit of a secular paradise, he suggests, we replaced God with reason, but “humankind will never rid itself of its apotheosis impulse. We’re driven by a thirst for the absolute baked into our minds.”

Already a celebrity in the Spanish-speaking world, Labatut is gaining attention in the Anglosphere thanks to the International Booker and Barack Obama’s endorsement. Fresh from an on-stage interview with Stephen Fry at the Hay festival, Labatut reminisces about his upbringing, split between Chile and the Netherlands, speaking English despite not being truly Chilean or Dutch.

How well does Labatut grasp the complex mathematical and scientific concepts in his novels? “I can’t teach my 12-year-old daughter simple math,” he says. “I know nothing about mathematics. A writer’s mind works with sympathy, not understanding.”

He is particularly captivated by mysteries and unsolved issues. “In my books, I invite people to descend back into the darkness, to enjoy the rare pleasure of facing something enormous and very subtle; that is quiet yet raging.”

“I’m not a serious thinker,” he insists. “I’m a writer: there’s a big difference. A writer’s intelligence must be alive, incomplete, and contradictory.”

Labatut is dismissive of traditional novelistic skills, especially capturing different idioms or voices. “I’m not interested. Most great writing is about the talent for voices and character, but that doesn’t interest me.”

He aims to convey ideas and evoke emotional responses to the fundamental crises in mathematics and nuclear physics. “The hardest part isn’t capturing a voice; it’s getting those characters to say something interesting!”

Labatut admits he lost his passion for fiction after a crisis at 30 that “damaged that part of my brain that enjoys the games of narrative.”

He admires the ability of great minds to allow their unconscious to influence their work. “I knew I didn’t have that, so I did irresponsible things to kickstart it. The ordeal was catastrophic but eventually paved a path to my writing.” He hints at using unconventional methods to inspire creativity but remains elusive about specifics.

If one labeled Labatut as a nonfiction novelist, they might mistakenly group him with the autofiction trend, something he finds unappealing. He prefers exploring the immensely interesting world over reflecting common experiences. “This art that mirrors our common experiences of the world… Well, there’s EastEnders for that.”

Traditional fiction characters, feelings, and relationships don’t interest him much. “I’m not that good of a writer, so I write about the most profound and confounding things out there.”

The closing section of The Maniac depicts AI triumphing over a human Go champion. Labatut sees AI as Von Neumann’s legacy and is wary of dismissing it as just “spicy autocomplete.” He notes, “Mathematics and language together are immensely powerful. We are on the verge of something significant, maybe even past it. The first AI catastrophe seems inevitable.”

He enjoys feedback that his book induces anxiety. “Books should give you a panic attack – or at least point you in that direction.”

Source: The Guardian