GEB is a work of art. Extraordinarily playful, with countless hidden puzzles, GEB is a fugue on the idea of self-reference, braiding together three strands: mathematics (Gödel), art (Escher), and music (Bach). But rather than being ends in themselves, the strands provide a language to explore the deeper concepts of strange loops and heterarchies, which Hofstadter believes can shed light on the truly difficult questions of consciousness and AI.
Ordinarily, I like to try and reduce a book to its core ideas and insights. But it feels profoundly wrong to try and do that for GEB, given that one of the recurring motifs is anti-reductionism, the idea that some systems simply cannot be understood on a lower level of abstraction. Gödel incompleteness is one of the prominent examples of this: there are true statements about number theory that cannot be expressed within number theory.
Doug Hofstadter has a remarkable command of many different fields, which he synthesises together beautifully in GEB. On my first read several years ago, I was most intrigued by the Typographical Number Theory, a minimal number theory (isomorphic to Peano arithmetic) that he uses to clearly explain Gödel incompleteness. But on this read, I was more drawn to his explanation of molecular genetics: the remarkable way that DNA codes for proteins that process the DNA. I think the crowning achievement of the book is the “Central Dogmap”(a pun on Crick’s Central Dogma of Molecular biology – “DNA makes RNA, RNA makes protein”), which provides an astounding mapping between molecular biology and mathematical logic and by extension, computer programming and AI.
Each section of the book starts with an Alice-in-Wonderland-esque discussion between Achilles and Tortoise (and some other minor recurring characters like Crab). These little discussions initially seem innocuous but they are actually astounding intellectual achievements, each acting as a representation of the next chapters of the book on a different level of abstraction: one of them, titled Crab Canon, is a Crab Canon – it reads almost the same in reverse. The final Six-Part-Ricercar mimics Bach’s six-part fugue in the Musical Offering with a high level of fidelity. Also, do you notice anything special in the names Achilles, Tortoise, Crab, and Gödel…
Like the Madeleine biscuits did for Proust, this re-read has evoked wandering (and mostly joyful) memories. I first read GEB shortly after finishing high school and was utterly enthralled by the playful intellectual nature of the book. Not much has changed on this re-read. The book is full of hidden acrostics, self-reference, and subtle humour that I missed the first time, leaving me with a childish grin. I realised just how many things went over my head, and I expect many things will have gone over my head this time round. But that’s a good thing, because I know that the next time I re-read it, perhaps jaded with more years of adult life, I will find that childlike joy once more.
P.S. Forgive me for the weird diction at the start of each paragraph. It is not without purpose