Tyler Cowen on Life and Fate 11/25/24

Today is November 4th, 2024, and my guest is economist, author, podcaster, and blogger Tyler Cowen of George Mason University. This is Tyler's 19th appearance on EconTalk. He was last here in November of 2023 discussing who is the greatest economist of all time. Our topic for today is Vasily Grossman's masterpiece Life and Fate. We will minimize spoilers, but I'd encourage you to read the book before listening if that's your habit. As I've suggested, you may want to read this on the Kindle, which makes it a little easier to follow the characters because it's easy to search for them if you forget who they are. This episode is also available on Tyler's podcast, Conversations with Tyler. Tyler, welcome back to EconTalk.

Thank you, Russ. Is it a spoiler to tell them who won the war in the Battle of Stalingrad?

I was thinking of that. I think we can reveal that.

Okay, that's fine. Let's start then. You have some introduction.

Uh, well, I wanted to just say a little bit about Grossman and the book, very briefly. Uh, Grossman— Vasily Grossman was born in 1905 in Berdichev. Berdichev at the time was part of the Russian Empire. It eventually, in 1922, after the revolution, became part of the Soviet Union. Uh, he rose to some fame as a war correspondent. He covered the Battle of Stalingrad. People, when they talk about this book, Life and Fate, say it's about the Battle of Stalingrad. No, it's not. Uh, it takes place around the time of the Battle of Stalingrad. There is some war in the book, uh, but that is, I think, a very misleading, uh, summary of what the book's about. The book was, uh, he— so he wrote the book after World War II. Uh, the book was arrested by the KGB in 1961. They came to his house, they took the manuscript, they took all the typewriter ribbons— for those of you who are older than a certain age will know what that is. Um, they tried to find other copies. They ended up digging up the garden of a friend of Grossman's but did not find any other copies. He was successful in hiding a couple of copies, uh, with friends. It eventually Uh, the book was smuggled out in 1980 and published in Switzerland, published in the Soviet Union in 1988. Grossman died in 1964 unaware that his book was, uh, had survived. Uh, and just one other biographical note which, uh, is relevant because of the nature of the book, uh, his mother was killed in 1941 when the Nazis overran Berdichev. Berdichev was a town of about little over 50,000 people, about 40,000 were Jews, had 80 synagogues, and his mother died in that Soviet— in the murders there. And his mother is an important part of this book in a fictionalized role, and we'll talk about that. Tyler, give us your short initial assessment of this book.

Amongst Soviet authors, he is the GOAT, one could say, to refer to our earlier episode. But this to me is one of the very few truly universal novels. So the title itself, Life and Fate, it is about life and fate, but it— the novel is about so much more. So it's about war, it's about slavery, it's about love, motherhood, fatherhood, childbirth, rape, friendship, science, politics. How many novels, if any, can you think of that have all of those worlds in them in an interesting and insightful manner? Very few. The one that comes closest to it is in fact his model. That's Tolstoy's War and Peace. You know, a 3-word title with an 'and' in the middle and 2 important concepts. They're both about war. They're both about the invasions of Russia. Or USSR. There's a central family in both stories. The notion of what is fate or destiny is highly important to Tolstoy as it is to Grossman, though they have different points of view. Napoleon plays a significant role in War and Peace. In Life and Fate, Hitler and Stalin make actual appearances in the novel, which I find shocking when I read it. Like, here they are on the page, and it's actually somewhat plausible. So, uh, he's modeling this, I think, after War and Peace. He actually pulls it off, which is a miracle. I think it is a novel comparable in quality and scope and import to Tolstoy's War and Peace, which is sometimes called the greatest novel ever. So that is a pretty amazing achievement.

Yeah, I think I mentioned on the air in an earlier episode when I was reading it, uh, You know, I enjoyed the first 100 pages. After 200, it got a little better. Somewhere around 300 or 400, I couldn't put it down. There are so many passages that move you to tears or to incredible emotional reaction. It's not a traditional novel akin to War and Peace or akin to other Russian novels such as The Brothers Karamazov or In the First Circle, which we talked about here on the program. Previously, it is what our guest talking about in the first circle, Kevin McKenna, called polyphonic. Here's how he described it. He said Dostoevsky and Solzhenitsyn are so similar. Dostoevsky is famous for what is called the polyphonic structure of his novels. That is, rather than having, as we are used to in the West, one central main character who kind of stands as the centerpiece of everything that happens in the novel, the polyphonic structure of a Dostoevsky or Solzhenitsyn is that there is not a main central character. There is a cast, I would say perhaps 5 to 8 central characters, as well as perhaps 3 to 4 central major themes. And so everything is kind of a fugue of characters, a fugue of plot. In the case of Gro— end of quote— in the case of Grossman and Life and Fate, I would say there are 8 to 10 main characters. There's about 100 characters overall, and that can be discouraging when you start the book, but if you keep reading, you'll realize that only the 8 to 10 who are the main ones are gonna reappear over and over again, and often dozens or hundreds of pages apart when they reappear. But as you point out, Tyler, there are so many interesting intellectual and emotional themes of the book. It really spans an enormous part of the human experience. And in that sense, you could argue it's the greatest novel of the 20th century. And one of the, for me, one of the greatest novels of all time, certainly one of the greatest I've ever read.

I think another influence, and Grossman himself cites him repeatedly, is Chekhov. So the chapters in Grossman often are mirroring Chekhov short stories, but they're woven together in a way that Chekhov short stories are not. But the notion of, How is it you tell a narrative during a war that is so big and important and tragic? I take to be one of his central endeavors, and that too is something he mostly pulls off.

Yeah, the Chekhov part is there's just so many numerous vignettes, unforgettable vignettes of characters struggling with betrayal, struggling with the state bearing down on them, whether it's the Nazis or the communists. One of the themes you didn't mention that, that reverberates throughout the book is the parallels between the Nazis and the Communists. Uh, they're both, you know, in many ways fascist authoritarian states, but what he's really interested in is their— how they grind the individual down and how the individual stands athwart that grinding, stands and says stop. No. I am a human being. I found that when I thought about the title, uh, you know, you'd think, well, why isn't it called Life and Death or Freedom and Fate? Um, and for Grossman, life is really about freedom. So in a certain sense, the title Life and Fate for me is very much one of the— not the only, but one of the central themes of the book, which is how human beings caught in the, in the throes of and, and the gears of the state, managed to maintain their freedom and their essential humanity despite that brutal reality.

This is where I think we might disagree because I disagree with everything else I've read about this book, including Grossman's, the main Grossman biography. So if I had to name a central theme of the book, I think it's in a funny way, a patriotic book arguing that communism, for all of its horrible faults, is actually better than fascism, and explaining or showing to us why it is better than fascism. And I have a riff on that, which I'll do, but let me just put that out on the table and hear your immediate reaction.

Yeah, I, I don't— I'm not sure I disagree with that. I wasn't suggesting that they were, uh, equivalent. It's just that they have certain powerful equivalencies that that the characters in the book find repellent. The idea that the— to the communists, that they have a brother in the Nazis, the idea that to the Nazis they have a brother in the communists would be— is extremely disturbing. And so Grossman forces a number of his characters to confront those similarities. But I agree, it's a very patriotic book. It's a very Russian book. There's a lot of talk in his biographies and biography and in his, uh, and people who write about him, you know, how much he was pro-regime, how much his antagonism to the regime and the Soviet regime, uh, changed over how it grew over time, uh, and like his characters. And it's a very autobiographical book, which is bizarre, but it's a very autobiographical book. The main character, Viktor Shrum, is a is a physicist, a world-class physicist. And, uh, Grossman himself was a chemist, not a world-class chemist as far as I know, but he identified with Strum's marital problems, his problems of keeping faith with his conscience. And, um, in that sense, I, I think he's overwhelmingly certainly on the side of the, of the Russians, but I don't think he has any romance about communism.

I think what he sees as the fundamental difference is that for him, fascism is ultimately just a philosophy of death. So he says on page 94, man and fascism cannot coexist. But the feature about communism— and he's under no illusions about its evils, as you just said— is there's some degree of negotiability built into the system. So if you look, say, when the Nazi commander, Lys, is interrogating Mostowskoy, Lis just keeps on asking questions. There's no dialogue. Nothing can happen. There's no real questions. There are no real answers. And Mostowskoy simply ends up being killed. The other characters going to the camps, they're simply killed. There is no negotiation. But if you look at the main Soviet interrogation scene, when Katzenellenbogen is interrogating Krimov, a scene which goes on for quite a while. They talk back and forth. It's weird, it's sick, it's twisted. There's torture involved, but actually Krimov comes away from that scene alive. He at least learns something. And also you have figures— one of them is Viktor, another is Novikov, the tank commander. Uh, maybe they're imperfect, but they're not just all bad by any means. They're virtuous in significant ways. And fascism in this novel cannot create that. Even the non-believers in fascism, uh, what's the fellow's name?

Oh, Akana.

No, no, no, he, he's a German. He's, uh, do I have this in my notes? He doesn't really believe in Nazism, but he ends up going around raping Russian women. And that's the fascist version of someone who's not a believer. Not nearly as good as the Soviet version. So I think, you know, he knows he rooted for the USSR to win the war. And in part in this novel, he's trying to explain to himself, how could you root for such a horrible society? And how could it have been on the side of the Allies, which of course we would have been rooting for at the time? And that, I think, is part of his answer. The central idea of negotiability, that it never quite goes away under communism. And even Viktor is, you know, saved by this weird intervention from Stalin, which makes no sense, but there's some outcome possible other than just death and destruction.

Yeah, I want to come back to the torture theme, the scenes in Lubyanka with Krymov. Um, I've read a lot of Solzhenitsyn. I've read all the Gulag. I've read many of his novels. I've read about a lot of scenes in Lubyanka. You know, I, I've, uh, I can't say I feel like I've been there, but it's, it's familiar to me. It's the prison where, where, uh, people were tormented, not merely tortured but tortured until they confessed, often sometimes tortured till they confessed things that weren't true, sometimes tortured until they confessed, uh, about loved ones or comrades or colleagues. It's an unbearable, uh, tragic place. And having read all that before, I felt reading Grossman's account an awareness of how hard it was to stay on your principles. It's, it's almost— yes, they tortured their victims and they extracted confessions under torture, but by the end, you feel like Grossman captured this idea that for many of them, they were glad to confess even though they knew what they did wasn't— what they confessed to wasn't true, but they did it out of love for the system. And all the purge, uh, the show trials of the, of the '30s, which in 1938, just in '37, keep coming back into this book. All the trial and the, and the, the purges before that where Stalin's opponents were systematically killed. None of them were killed at night with a firing squad or with a, with a murderer. They all confessed. And, and what Grossman captures, which is— I've never really read it with this level of intensity— the willingness of people to confess even though they know it's not true what they're confessing to, because they think the system itself is worth preserving. They have a You know, I would make a distinction. It's a Dostoevskyan distinction between the church and its practitioners, right? It's a little bit reminds me of the Grand Inquisitor scene. The people who, the officers of the church, and here I'm talking about not any particular church, but any religious dogma, they're flawed. They've lost the original doctrine that inspired the believers. But the idea of giving up that doctrine is so painful to the adherents that they confess the things they didn't do because they they have to believe that's a system, the church still stands. In this case, a secular church, the church of communism. Do you feel that?

It's a profound book on the psychology of confession. And I think another element of how people come to confess is that in part, they believe they are guilty. They may not believe they're fully guilty. But if you think of Krymov, if you reread the earlier parts of the book, He does in fact whine about his colleagues in such a minor way, but that looms larger and larger in his mind as they talk to him. And he starts wondering, well, have I in fact done something against the system when confronted with the power of the interrogator? And of course, the indirect reference to Dostoevsky and how the system ex ante takes advantage of what a Christian might call original sin. To put people in positions where they almost cannot help but confess because they believed something to begin with. And then the theme that passivity underlies how so many social structures operate, the novel is quite profound on, including how the camps operate, uh, how an army battalion operates, how chains of command operate in the military, that the default of passivity is responsible for so much of social order. Even when that social order can be very, very bad. By the way, it's Lieutenant Peter Bach, who's the German I was referring to in my earlier comment.

And I should just mention, as, as you've already alluded to, there are many historically real characters in the book mixed in with the fictional ones, um, and the list of characters distinguishes those. And there's another parallel between, uh, the Soviet and the Nazi systems that I found just fascinating. Each side has its own, uh, hall monitors in the middle of a war. So you're fighting a war, uh, it's life or death, and yet there's a commissar, meaning an operative of the Communist Party, on the Russian side, Soviet side. And on the German side, you've got the SS, and they're both looking to uncover sense of, you know, errors and dogma errors, and they're looking for heresy, whether it's negative remarks about Stalin or Hitler, or it's something nice about the Jews. They're all looking for things to crack down on. And it's such a handicap in a war. And Novikov, of course, has incredible moments of this. But the idea that you would hamper your war effort with ideological purity questions, and that both sides did, at least in Grossman's version, was really eye-opening for me.

Yeah, absolutely. One thing I found striking in the book is just how many literary references there are, and they all seem relevant. So one thing I did was when reading through, I tried to note what was mentioned twice. So Tolstoy is mentioned more than once, but there's this Chekhov short story called The Bishop, which it's not only mentioned twice, but we're told, you know, you must go away and read The Bishop. So of course I went away and read The Bishop. And The Bishop is about dying, and it's about what is transient in life. It's about the fragility of a social reputation. It's about a mother-child bond. And that when the bishop, who was well known in his lifetime, dies, people were not sure he had ever been there. But the one person he had been real to was his mother, and that was more important. Than his social role as a bishop. And that's the Chekhov story that he takes greatest care to point us to. And I think so much of the novel is about motherhood. It's Vera giving birth that is heralding the turn of the tide with the Battle of Stalingrad itself. It's when life is again possible that the Soviets start to win.

It's a great insight. Um, Victor, the main character, sort of one of the main characters in the book, receives a letter from his mother on her way to her death in, um, in a Nazi death camp. It's quite powerful. It goes on for, I don't know, 10 pages or so.

One of the best parts of the book, maybe the most moving. Yeah.

And Grossman writes this really imagining what his own mother would have written had she been able to write to him before her death in the, in the murders of Berdichev in 1941 that I mentioned earlier. This is just stunning. Um, Grossman wrote two letters to his mother, his actual mother, after her death. One he wrote 9 years after his mother died, and one he wrote 20 years after his mother died, right before his own death. And we have those letters. They're in the back of a collection of Grossman's we're going to talk about in a future episode called The Road. And they're deeply moving. He believed and said in his letter, I think in the letters, that his mother would stay, would be eternal because of Life and Fate, which makes it even more poignant that at the time of his death, he didn't know that the book would survive. But he clearly— motherhood is a major theme in the book. Sophia's scene, the doctor in the death camp, is also overwhelming. And he clearly, he was fascinated by maternal love.

What do you make of the fact that the very final chapter is characters who have no names whatsoever? That reminds me a bit of the Chekhov story. So I took that to be, well, in some longer run, none of the particular identities of these individuals will be remembered. That simply the life and fate of humanity goes on and its people in essence without names.

That's beautiful. I didn't have any thoughts on that other than that I was expecting something more dramatic. I like how you've made that different. I wondered whether he'd had a chance to really edit the final version before it was confiscated. But I like your ending better.

I think it's deliberately not dramatic. It's as far from drama as you can get in a way.

Yeah, that's nice.

Stendhal is also mentioned several times, A Charterhouse of Parma, which is a book about war and individual fate. And I strongly suspect all of the literary references have some meaning to Grossman. So there's Dante and Swift and Homer and Huck Finn, which are all about journeys. And he's taking us, like, on our journey through this war, through this battle, through Soviet and Nazi life. I think that's another way he thought of the book. Dante with the rungs of hell. Obviously we're seeing the 20th century version of the rungs of hell and so on.

Yeah. Yeah. It's an un— it's, um, really a nice way to put it. There's no clean narrative thread. And it captures the chaos of war that way. There are characters who move away, come back. They're always— they're often homeless. They're thrown out of their own houses. They're forced to take in a boarder who's richer than they are, more connected than they are, and they're pushed into a smaller room in the back. They leave their family and yearn to come back. So there is this constant theme of journey and home. And everyone in the book is unsettled, not just by the war, their own emotional journey is troubled. Victor's marriage, as Grossman's marriage was, is deeply complicated. There's a lot of betrayal in the book as well. And at the same time, there's a lot of kindness. And I'll just mention, 'cause you say, you know, maybe the most powerful passage of the book, there's so many. One of my favorite passages, I'm not gonna read it, I don't wanna spoil it, but it's about an act of senseless kindness, an act of kindness that a Russian woman does for a German soldier that she actually says out loud, to her friends. I can't, you know, she says, I can't, she can't explain it. Um, and this idea of senseless kindness standing in the universe up against evil, it says it, uh, explicitly. See if I can— let me see if I can find this, this passage. It's, um, hang on, there it is. He says, "The private kindness of one individual towards another, a petty, thoughtless kindness, an unwitnessed kindness, something we would call senseless kindness, a kindness outside any system of social or religious good. But if we think about it, we realize that this private, senseless, incidental kindness is in fact eternal." It is extended to everything living, even to a mouse, even to a bent branch that a man straightens as he walks by.

It's—

that's another theme of the book. And he, even when we might wait evil in its magnitude, dwarfing these small acts, he takes them and he elevates them. He makes them shine for us so that In his view, they're the whole thing.

Tanner Greer said on Twitter he thinks kindness is the central theme of the novel.

Who said that?

Tanner Greer. I don't know if you know him or not. There's also a part on page 283 where Grossman gives what I think is just his solution, his intellectual ideological solution to the whole mess. And of course he cites Chekhov. So let me just read a short part here. Chekhov is the bearer of the greatest banner that has been raised in the thousand years of Russian history, the banner of a true humane Russian democracy, of Russian freedom, of the dignity of the Russian man. Our Russian humanism has always been cruel, intolerant, sectarian. And he talks about the partisans, the fanatics, and he thinks Tolstoy is also an intolerant fanatic. But Chekhov says, quote, "Let's put God and all these grand progressive ideas to one side. Let's begin with man. Let's be kind and attentive to the individual man." And that I think is his bottom line. And that too comes from Chekhov. And then he cites Chekhov's book about prison camp, Sakhalin Island, which is also a fantastic story.

Yeah. What other themes did you want to mention that we haven't talked about.

It's the notion of what people will put up with and how they deal with it, of how they will keep on absorbing indignities. And the sort of set point, you could say it gets reset and then something else happens and something else happens. And he's so psychologically astute in presenting that in a wide variety of settings for different people. Whether it's interrogation, torture, being in the camp, seeing your child suffer. It's one of the hardest things about this novel to read. There's so many instances of it, and any one of them is heartbreaking, and you keep on seeing it again and again. I take it you found that hard as well.

Well, it's funny. I think anyone listening to this, what we've said so far, would say, "Boy, this is a depressing book." right? It's about death and war, death under the Nazis, death under the Communists. I did not find it depressing. I did not find it a dark read. The, the— and let me expand on that a little bit, and I want your reaction. Yes, people go through horrible things, but one of the themes of the book is the resilience of the human spirit And, um, and he talks about explicitly in a few places, he talks about the desire to live even when you think, uh, it's, it's quote hopeless. You know, he talks about how people do things that are not going to have an impact for months and, and maybe years even though they think they're about to die, but they do them anyway. That, you know, the human circus or whatever you want to call it, uh, parade goes on. But I don't find it It's weird to say this, I didn't find it a particularly dark book. I was not depressed or down. I found it a nice example of what I talked about with Susan Cain. I found it a very bittersweet book because there's a lot of life in it. How would you, do you agree with that?

I don't find many things depressing. It is tough to read. And I think most ordinary readers, if you just polled them, they would say this is depressing. But that the book itself exists is part of the ultimate reason why it's not depressing. That the book managed to survive. And that's a testament to some of the negotiable elements in the Soviet system. Even though they tried to destroy it, you have to wonder how hard did they try? When you read the stories of how it survived, it seems maybe they could have destroyed it if they had truly wanted to. And one thing I'm struck by, you know, the terror reign of Stalin more generally, for all the terrible things he did, he had some modest tendency to protect his geniuses, whether it was Pasternak or Prokofiev or Shostakovich or Grossman. Those are not the people he killed. Babel was killed, but the geniuses tend to survive and they're able to do something however twisted it may have been or whatever circuitous path it had to go through to come out and be shown to the public. Maybe Shostakovich is the clearest example of that.

It's really interesting. Obviously he was ruthless with respect to his political rivals.

Including just kulaks, right?

He killed many millions of kulaks. Yeah. Oh no, I'm talking about his colleagues from the early days of the revolution, he brutally killed them. As, and as I suggested, he, as I said earlier, he, he killed him after having them confess first, which I don't know if that was, uh, gilding the lily or not for him, whether that added to the, to the delight that he found in that. But I don't know if he protected his, his geniuses. He certainly didn't generally let them thrive. He forced them to conform to his own movement standards.

There's a page— we mentioned it when we agreed to do this— it's page 217 on artificial intelligence. What did you make of that?

Oh, I loved it. You know, I don't agree with every word of it, but it's so, um, I don't know if it's prescient's the right word, but it's, it, it It was eerie. It was one of the two most intellectually interesting things in the book for me, as opposed to, you know, literary, uh, emotional power. We'll come back to the second in a sec. You want to read that passage? It's a great passage. It's a whole chapter. It's the whole chapter. It's only a couple paragraphs.

I'll read part of it. Quote: An electronic machine may carry out mathematical calculations, remember historical facts, play chess, and translate books from one language to another. It is able to solve mathematical problems more quickly than man, and its memory is faultless. Is there any limit to progress, to its ability to create machines in the image and likeness of man? It seems that the answer is no. And there's more, but that's just the opening part. There was, of course, throughout the 1960s, a Soviet obsession with artificial intelligence. That we often forget in the West, but they as a regime were convinced it was going to be the future. It pops up a great deal in Soviet science fiction. There's that book about the science city in Siberia that was created by the Soviets. There's a whole chapter in that book about what they were trying to do with AI. It was one of their top priorities. Obviously they didn't get very far, but Grossman is showing he, he was swept up in that mania. But I think what he says on this page is true, except for You know, the memory being faultless. We know that's not true. There are still hallucinations.

Yeah. Well, today we'll get there. Maybe today. Yeah. And he wrote that in probably late 1950s, uh, sometime in the, in the 1950s, which, um, you talk about the Soviet interest in AI. There wasn't much, uh, eye in AI in those early days, but, um, he was fascinated clearly But that, that page doesn't really change much of the book, if at all. He just threw that in there because he was interested in it. Well, I don't think it's—

it's not thrown in there. It's there for a reason.

Let's talk about that reason.

Yeah, well, look, the very last sentence on that page, which is its own paragraph, quote, "Fascism annihilated tens of millions of people." So he— before that, he's mentioning that the AI machine will be so large— he didn't know Moore's Law. That it might take up the entire surface of the Earth. And there might not be room for humans on Earth, I think is what he's saying. So I think he's worried about artificial intelligence and he views it as potentially the new fascism. That's how I took the section.

No, I think that's fair. I think that's fair.

So he's saying fascism doesn't go away. It comes back in many forms. There are always forces that can enslave or destroy mankind. And he worried— I'm speculating here— about his own regime's embrace of the AI program. So he's like an early Eliezer, or a worry about technology.

I think, I think the, you know, his worries about the analogies making there between fascism and technology, that they, they enslave us. I don't think it slaves us the way our phones enslave us, but they have the potential to be a system Uh, and I, you know, I think of the, the man of system, the, the Adam Smith quote from The Theory of Moral Sentiments, this idea that, uh, if you have a view of the world that you want to impose on the chessboard of the human experience, uh, you're going to do some bad things. And I, I take it to be in that spirit.

Note also that the middle paragraph where he's talking about humans, he cites first childhood memories A bit later on, a mother's tenderness, thoughts of death. So the main themes of the novel are being echoed by this interlude where he is contrasting humans to the machine. And the machine for him eventually becomes all-powerful. It becomes a kind of god, can create humans in its image that are in a way superior. And I think he's terrified by this.

Yeah, just like I am a little bit. And yeah, fair enough. I didn't mean to suggest it was a— it didn't belong at all. Um, it's just a wonderful little interlude, and I think I was overwhelmed by the fact that it seems like most of it could have been written yesterday. Um, the other part I— that I just was fascinated by was his, uh, comparison of fascism to, uh, quantum mechanics and the cutting edge of physics. What were your thoughts on, on that that analogy and how— I mean, the part— forgetting this particular example, I want your thoughts on that. But this idea that, that scientific metaphor and scientific narrative and the way we see our role in the universe doesn't just affect the progress of science, it comes into our culture in, in all kinds of ways— that, that's a very provocative idea.

I think it's the same theme. So I read him as Basically a humanist like Chekhov, fairly skeptical about science. So Viktor, yes, is, you could say, is hero or certainly center of the novel. But what ends up happening is Viktor— this is not too much of a spoiler because we know what did happen— ends up helping Stalin build nuclear weapons. And he can't be too thrilled by that. He may see a positive side that the motherland could be defended against future fascists. But I think he has strongly mixed feelings about that. And Viktor is co-opted by something that Grossman himself does not quite believe in. And the scientific mentality is part of the problem. So the way science operates in the novel and in this society, uh, there's more betrayal in science than anywhere else. You're highly at risk in science. And I don't think he feels that's entirely accidental to science or fully the fault of communism.

Victor's character deals relentlessly and painfully with the ethical dilemmas of being a favored citizen of the state, very similar to In the First Circle, where, uh, the characters are— they're in a gulag, but it's a privileged gulag because they're doing research that benefits the state. Which puts them as the prisoners in a very unpleasant ethical situation, which is really the essence of that book. You know, in this case, another thing that Grossman captures, I thought, with such accuracy and lets you feel it is the exhilaration of scientific discovery. Viktor makes a discovery. The exact nature of it isn't described, Uh, but he's clearly on the cutting edge, and, and as you say, it may lead to many things, but it's mainly a theoretical discovery, and there's an ego part to it, but most of it's just— he's just pushed out the frontiers of human knowledge, and it's, it's an incredible part of the human experience. He's just, he's so alive after that, and his mood so oscillates with his ability to do that or not do it, depending on his— whether he's in a favored status with respect to the regime. And so I think that's just so much more, um, part of his psychological trials and tribulations. The ability to have that freedom or lose it, clashing with his— with the pressure the regime puts him under to serve its own purposes. Uh, that to me is, is an enormous part of his, his character's, um, dilemma.

I think Grossman's also writing at a time where many, many intelligent people think science perhaps is about to end the world. So there's that possibly apocryphal story that some of the people at the Rand Corporation, the decision theorists, not all of them put money into their retirement accounts because they thought it wouldn't be necessary. A nuclear war would come. It was an extremely common view amongst the elite, and I think he held a Soviet version of that And that pops up in the novel, that yes, you're rooting for Victor, but there's something about the logic of what went wrong that can so easily end up being recreated, but at a more destructive level. And that's in the background of this novel, but I think it's another reason why maybe I find it a bit less— I don't think heartwarming isn't the word, but a bit less inspirational. Than one could otherwise make it out to be.

Fair enough.

We can't get rid of science. And Grossman himself is never quite reassured about science. And that one page about AI is put in there to tell us that.

That's nice. I agree with that. It's very nice, Tyler. He's got an essay in The Road, which we may talk about in a future episode. Where he looks at a painting of Raphael's called Sistine Madonna. And in the Sistine Madonna, Mary is holding the baby Jesus and pushing him forward. And she does it— it's a very Grossman painting because it's about a mother's love for her child and her willingness to put the child in harm's way. Uh, there's a lot more to say about that, but in that essay Grossman talks explicitly about the hydrogen bomb. Says it was written in 1955, uh, and he clearly— which is about the time I think he was writing some of, of this book. So it's— you're 100% right that the potential for human beings to be extinct, uh, and destroy themselves is very much, uh, in his consciousness.

One thing I've been thinking about is the question: to what extent is this Soviet novel, Jewish novel, Ukrainian novel, or Russian novel? And often it's thought of as a Russian novel. I'm not sure how much it is because he's clearly not ethnic Russian. Uh, so how, how does the patriotic side of this differ from how a Russian writer would have presented the same? I've been pondering. I don't have a clear answer, but that's another undercurrent in the book, that it's very subtly not entirely Russian per se.

Well, his Jewishness was not always front and center in his mind, and he was forced to confront it as the Holocaust arrived, and eventually as the Soviets, you know, Stalin accused Jewish doctors of trying to kill him, and it was, uh, so there was, there's a strong anti-Semitic thread in Soviet and Russian life. Um, it's not a Jewish novel, uh, I don't think I would call it that, but it is written by a Jewish Ukrainian living in a Soviet state. So in that sense, uh, with a Russian culture So in that sense, in a certain sense, I think it's the ultimate Russian novel. Uh, it's polyphonic, it's, uh, it's about, uh, life and fate. So there's really few things more Russian than that. And yet at the same time, he writes as a Jew, and the Jewish parts of the book, which are not that many, but he gives you a flavor of what it's like to live in a place where antisemitism can be openly, uh, espoused. And it's painful for some of the characters. They try to hide their Jewishness at times. And of course, we have the Shoah, the Nazi, the Holocaust going on at the same time, which, you know, an editor would probably have, might have said to him, you know, the book's got a lot in it already. Do you need to put that in? But he did. He did need to put that in. And so that's a good question, Tyler.

It strikes me as more Jewish than you're making it out to be. Not in the—

What?

Sense.

No.

But the notion of how tragedy is possible and how tragedy can befall you in quite arbitrary ways, or the sudden twists and turns of fate, come very much from the Hebrew Bible, I think. He probably was aware of that, but he must have been brought up learning it. And for me, it's a highly Jewish novel, not only by any means, it's a universal novel above everything else. It's interesting to me, my wife, Natasha, a Jew from the Soviet Union. This and Master and Margarita are her two favorite novels, uh, and that she so much relates to this, uh, it tells me something because she's uneasy with a lot of what you might call purely Russian fiction, including Tolstoy. Very uneasy with Tolstoy. Uh, it's only one data point, but worth thinking about.

Yeah, that's interesting. I was going to say, when you talked about the twists and turns, it's— that makes it more of a Yiddish novel.

Well, that, of course, Tale of Settlement.

Yeah, it wasn't written in Yiddish, um, but, uh, there's a certain, um— I'll say it a different way to take it a little more seriously. There's a certain fatalism in Jewish fate, a feeling that, that we are the, um, endlessly the punching bags of, of the rest of the world, and we are that is our fate. Obviously, we're living in a moment where that's— the world's a little different with the current situation in Israel. But I think the characters in Life and Fate obviously do feel that they are beleaguered. And that has a certain— there's a certain Yiddish flavor to that that I can't explain.

But also consider the Book of Job. You know, who is it who can himself or herself actually defend what he or she has done in the eyes of God is another underlying theme in this book. And is it Victor, in fact? Not entirely clear, even though he's the center, mostly a sympathetic character. Who really is doing right under the eyes of God? Is highly unclear, I think, in Life and Fate.

Oh, I agree. But it's just— I don't— we shouldn't mislead readers. There's very little God in this book. He doesn't mention God a lot. God looms over the book to some extent, uh, indirectly, implicitly, uh, but what it means to be a human being, uh, and to live a life that is defensible whether it's to God or to your friends or to whomever, is a central part of this book. And, um, Grossman himself— again, not— no spoilers here, but look up Grossman's entries in Wikipedia, articles that were written about him, that have been written about him. Uh, there's a nice article in 2006 in The New Yorker, uh, by Keith Gessen Uh, Grossman himself did some things he was deeply ashamed of. Uh, he was ashamed, I think, as far as we know, that he didn't get his mother out of Berdichev and that she'd perish there at the hands of the Nazis in 1941. He does sign some things publicly, uh, that benefit the regime that he, I think, regrets. And Viktor goes through similar very similar throes of conscience.

Let me talk a bit about how I read this book. Yeah. Which was extremely absorbing, highly worthwhile, but it was tough. One thing I did that helped more than anything else was an extensive use of large language models, in particular the 0.1 version of GPT. So whenever I would come across a name and not feel I had a full command of what that person had done, I would just ask GPT, give me the account of what this person did in the book. I did that dozens of times. As you mentioned, many characters, uh, I didn't catch any hallucinations actually. It was extremely useful. I don't think I could have read the book nearly as well as I read it without doing that. Interestingly, there's one character where it just failed. It, delivered for me dozens of times. But when I asked it about Vera, like, tell me the story of Vera, it just gave me back the, oh, I'm a large language model, I don't know who Vera is, you know, check your other sources. I don't know why, but other than that, it was flawless and highly useful.

Well, she doesn't get a lot of airtime and she hasn't written about a lot, so it might have had trouble finding any kind of references to her. Uh, as you point out, she plays a very powerful symbolic role, but she doesn't take up a lot of pages. I'll just mention— I mentioned the essay a minute ago, the Sistine Madonna. I asked ChatGPT what it was about, and it totally got it wrong. Uh, it said it was about beauty and art. It is not what it is about at all. Uh, Claude got it right exactly, um, which is just, uh, maybe neither here nor there other than it's good to have sometimes two LLMs to ask questions of. I found my reading of the book was very inconsistent. I struggled in the early pages, as I've mentioned, to get my momentum going. You know, when I read Brothers Karamazov, I read it over a fairly long period of time, but the last 300 or 400 pages I read in a couple days because they were so, it's such a page-turner. This book is not a page-turner. As I said, you might get discouraged, but I found myself more, if I may say so, engrossed in it, engrossed in a Grossman novel. There's no— there's almost no, very little narrative suspense. We know how the Battle of Stalingrad turns out. The tide turns, and I found it interesting that Novikov, I think, is part of the lead tank group going into Ukraine, and he's very excited to reclaim Ukraine for the Soviets and take it back from the Germans. It was a slightly eerie shadow of the current moment. But I just kept going. One of my followers on Twitter, I apologize to you because This is such a good joke, and we'll put a link to it in the show notes. I don't have it, but he said, when I said, we're reading this book, you should get started, it's gonna air soon. He wrote back, all the characters, he said, I'm on page 12, and all the characters are named Stroganoff. I need more time.

The names are hard.

The names are hard.

Here's the other thing I did, and this was difficult. But once I finished it, the next day I started over again at page 1, reread the whole thing. I'm a big advocate of doing that. And I realized I had understood very little of the first 200 or 300 pages the first time I read it. Not that I didn't understand the words, but I didn't understand how any of it fit into the story. And I don't think you can. It's not a question of, well, if I'd been a better reader or paid more attention or been less distracted by the dog. I just think many books, the best thing to do is read them twice directly in a row. And as you get to the latter third of the book, actually, probably you could stop. You don't have to reread the last third, but certainly the first half, you just have to do it again.

So I read, uh, this version. I'm holding this up for YouTubers.

Um, yeah, me too.

Same, same print. It's, uh, same publisher. It's, uh, New York Review of Books Press, who issued a lot of, um, issued a lot of Grossman. Um, it's about 872 pages. We haven't actually mentioned that. It's really long. And I should also mention there's a prequel, uh, which was issued initially under the title For a Just Cause that you can read in English under the title of Stalingrad, which is confusing because The Life and Fate, people say, is about Stalingrad. But he wrote a book called Stalingrad in English anyway. That's also about 900 pages. Uh, I may read that next. It's funny, when I finished the book, I had the exact same urge, and I'm not a rereader the way you are, Tyler. I thought, I want to read this again, and I want to do justice to it. Uh, you know, there's a certain, uh, I felt a certain ethical virtue in honoring this man who had written this book and to give it even a second reading. But I felt, well, I should read The Road, these, this collection of shorter pieces that he wrote in preparation for our conversation, but I wanted to read it again. I hope I will read it again.

The great, great novels from the '20s, there's Thomas Mann, there's Proust, there's James Joyce from around that time. I think it's hard to compare this to those, but if you think of the somewhat latter part of the 20th century, This has a claim to be the best novel of a very, very important century. And it's remarkable how few people know it. I wouldn't say it's a page-turner, but I never lost interest. I would say that. Not once. I was never thinking, well, if I wasn't doing this podcast with Russ, would I keep on going? Just was never a question. So in that sense, it was a page-turner for me.

I wanna make sure I say this, Tyler. I'm very grateful you agreed to do this because I think the quote is from William F. Buckley. I want to say it's— I want to say it's Moby Dick. I might get it wrong. But he said he read it late in life, and he said it would have made me really sad to have died without reading this book. And that's the way I feel about Life and Fate. I feel it would have been a loss for me not to have finished it. I read the book in a very strange way, by the way. I read it both on my phone, on my Kindle app, where I highlighted, uh, profusely. And then I read it on Shabbat, on the Jewish Sabbath, when I couldn't use my Kindle. I read the paper version, and you can see where I bent down page corners. I'm holding this up for YouTube watchers. I bent down page corners thinking naively I would go back and re-highlight those in the Kindle version because they were so good. Uh, it's a compulsion I have. It doesn't really make sense, but, um, it's, um, I'm glad I read it both ways. It was— they were both helpful.

Did you ever get in touch with Robert Chandler, the translator?

I did. He's scheduled to appear on this program shortly. I, I want to talk to him about two things. I want to talk to him about The Road, which he edited. He translated it and edited it. And I also wanna talk to him about the art of translation. And obviously we'll talk a little bit about life and fate and passing, but I'll put an ad in for "The Road." "The Road" has short stories of Grossman. It has his remarkable essay on Treblinka. It's about a 40, 50-page essay on entering Treblinka. He was the first journalist to enter a death camp.

And it's a must-read for anyone.

It's, it's, um, it's an incredible, incredible essay. Um, but the short stories are really, are really lovely. Um, uh, the short story The Road is this— is a short story from the perspective of a donkey, which, uh, and it's interesting, Tolstoy wrote a wonderful short story called The Pace-Setter that is life from the perspective of a horse. I assume Grossman was riffing on that in, in some way. This idea that this dumb— meaning mute— creature, uh, that its observations of the human being might be more accurate than our own and give us insight is really a— is a beautiful idea. So that's a— and it's also peppered with lovely pieces from Chandler in, uh, and with biographical detail. So I can't imagine what it's like to, I'll ask him, but to translate a book of this size, which of course, Russian translators are doing this all day long, Constance Garnett and others are translating very large books from a very different language. It must be a fascinating experience. And I'm sure it took longer to translate than it took me to read it.

I want you to ask him, how funny is the book in Russian? Because in English, it's basically not funny. But I hear my wife tell jokes in Russian to her friends all the time. Everyone laughs. I get an English translation. It's not funny. I suspect the joke in fact was funny. The Russian jokes don't translate well. That's what I want you to ask him. Well, what I had on the question of how is this not quite a Russian novel, though it's in the Russian language. If I think of Tolstoy, a lot in Russian culture, he even says this about Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, Scriabin, it's fanatical of different sorts. Obviously Bolsheviks were fanatical. And this novel is extremely anti-fanatical. It's like Montaigne in France, right? It's like Chekhov is his model for how to be an anti-fanatic. So part of what he's doing, I think, is trying to retell Tolstoy, but from a humanist, anti-fanatical point of view.

I feel a certain fanaticism about certainly Solzhenitsyn, certainly about Dostoevsky. What do you find? I can think of a few things that are fanatical about Tolstoy. What comes to mind?

Well, his views on everything were extreme. They show up in Shakespeare, religion, property. It's hard to think of a more fanatical human being.

Sex, sex, God, marriage. Yeah, it's true.

He'd make a great podcast guest, but where would you even start? Dostoevsky, clearly a fanatic. From the biography, from his works, if you read Armenian Sketchbook, which is also a great short book to read by him, he just seems so much not a fanatic. And that's the most inspiring thing for me about this novel. That you can be, for him, committed to principles and morality and not a fanatic. And he's pulling that from Chekhov. And when you're from the smaller part of the empire, uh, you're probably going to be less fanatical. It's a bit like Americans and Canadians, perhaps. Uh, and that to me really shone through in Life and Faith, the anti-fanaticism.

Let me ask you a personal question. Yeah, I really like that, by the way. And it's a certain— it's a certain detachment is the way I would describe it. His anti-fanaticism takes the form of a detachment, uh, of the observer who, who hovers over his characters and, and describes them, uh, calmly without over— overdoing it. Um, I'm less fanatical than when I was younger. Would that be true of you?

Of course. I mean, it's true for almost everyone, but especially if you have libertarian roots. Well, no, it's not true of almost everyone, but if you have libertarian roots, you either go crazy or you become less extreme, right?

What do you mean, right? Expand.

Well, we each know some people who just went crazy, often in non-libertarian directions. Some of them become, oddly enough, fans of Putin, while we're on the Russian topic, uh, or they just stop believing in scientific argument and discourse. But the saner thing to do— and you see this with many people from the progressive left as well— is just to become, uh, more, more moderate, more uncertain, to have better epistemic practices and take a broader swath of history more seriously. And I think Grossman is doing that. How much of history he's taking seriously, not just the one point in front of his eyes, Battle of Stalingrad, but the AI section, whether you agree or not, he's looking to the future. He's definitely looking to the Russian and Soviet past as well, the Ukrainian past, Jewish history, the Hebrew Bible. So it's spanning a lot. And that's one reason why I think it's epistemically pretty non- or anti-fanatical and pretty rational.

So, you know, I have a couple fanaticisms. I've got my libertarian flavor, uh, and my religious observance, and they've both become tempered in some dimension as I've gotten older. I don't think it's to avoid insanity, by the way. I'm sure why you did it, but if you hadn't done it— yeah, maybe the people who don't do it can just get worse, right? I'm curious why you think that is. Why do you think people— because I don't think it's true, by the way. You know, you did suggest it might not be. It's not obvious to me that people get less fanatic as they get older. In fact, you know, supposedly as people get older— it's not my personal experience, I'm grateful for that— but A lot of people when they get older just get crankier and they get more obsessed with their obsessions, more fanatical about their fanaticisms. I think I've been spared that. But why do you think it's, it's that happens?

I think I should have said it's a bimodal distribution that you go one way or another. Look at it this way. In the simplest Bayesian model, your views should be a random walk that the recent evolution of your views shouldn't predict where you'll end up tomorrow. But that's not the case really with anyone that I've ever met. There's some kind of trend in your views. You're either getting more fanatical, getting more moderate, getting more religious, more or less something. And that to me is one of the most interesting facts about human belief is how hard it is to find belief as a random walk. So what's, what's wrong with all of us? If you're getting more moderate all the time, that's wrong too. That's a funny kind of— you could say almost fanaticism, where you ought to say, well, I see the trend, so I'm just going to leap to where I ought to be. And then the next day, maybe 50% chance I'll take a step back toward being more dogmatic or less moderate. But again, that's not what we see from the moderates either.

I wonder how much of it is the fact that it's really convenient to have a system, right? Gives you something to shove into the box. You've got this black box that you take the world's events and you, and you've decided how they should be processed. And then something new comes along and you know how to deal with that because you've got this box, you've got all these great examples from the past. And at some point, for me, I just started thinking that maybe the box doesn't work all the time. Uh, I think a lot of people love the box. It's a great source of comfort, whether it's religion or ideology or other things. And maybe there's just something peculiar about me. I— when, you know, when you're younger, certainty is deeply comforting because the world's a bit too complicated to deal with. It still is, but I'm just less certain.

There's also a more charitable interpretation of what you're describing. So think of yourself as working through problems, which is fine, right? And Working through problems takes some time. You can't every day pick up a new problem. So the problems you're working through, as you— I wouldn't say solve them, but as you somewhat make progress on them, that's going to give you some persistence in the deltas of how your beliefs change. And I'm not sure, you know, the pure Bayesian model might just be wrong. It's so far from actual human practice. Maybe we shouldn't just damn humans for not meeting it. But realize there's structures to how you work through things, and they are going to imply certain trends that go on for periods of time.

You want to say anything else about this book? About it as a— Will it persist with you? Will you think about— I mean, I've had a number of the stories and vignettes I think will stick with me for a long, long time. I haven't talked about many, many, many of them that I loved. I did not talk about. Reader, you will have to— listener, you will have to read them for yourself and make your own list. But this book will haunt me. And I wonder, part of it's because I'm reading it recently. I'm not haunted by a lot of the books I read when I was younger because I've forgotten most of the haunting parts and I read this recently. But it's quite an achievement in that way. I think it will It will last with me. Do you want to add anything else?

You're living under wartime conditions in a way that I am not. I would just say my reading opportunity costs are very high. For me to read an 872-page book twice in a row and be glad I did it, uh, there's no higher endorsement I can give to a novel than that.

My guest today has been Tyler Cowen. Tyler, thanks for being part of EconTalk.

Russ, thank you for thinking of me for this and thinking I might be crazy enough to actually do it. It's been a great, great pleasure, both the reading and the chatting with you.

Ditto. This is EconTalk, part of the Library of Economics and Liberty. For more EconTalk, go to econtalk.org, where you can also comment on today's podcast. And find links and readings related to today's conversation. The sound engineer for EconTalk is Rich Goyette. I'm your host, Russ Roberts. Thanks for listening. Talk to you on Monday.