studied him, like a pathologist performing an autopsy. “I suppose that I am to decide whether you will be accepted at the institute, is that correct? Your future, sitting here in my hands. It’s a terrible responsibility, my friend, just terrible. How should I know whether you’re a genius or a fool?”
“I sent you my CV, Professor.”
“You’re a physicist, is that right?”
“That’s correct, sir.”
“Have you ever heard of such foolishness?” Von Neumann muttered. “Just because I wrote that tiny little book on quantum theory, why should that mean I have to review the file of every silly fool who decides to take up physics, right? Don’t look at me like that, my friend, I’m not talking about you, of course not. Well, I’m afraid that those imbeciles have sent me nothing.” Von Neumann got up from his chair in search of a mushroom vol-au-vent. When he located the tray, he picked it up and took it with him; he offered one to Bacon, who declined. “Can you believe it? Nothing. And the worst of all is that I bet it’s time for me to present my evaluation of you to the committee, Bacon. What can I do about it?”
“I don’t know, Professor.”
“I’ve got it!” he shouted, excited by his sudden revelation. “You are aware, are you not, that we are about to enter a war?”
Bacon didn’t seem to understand Von Neumann’s quick change of subject.
“Yes,” he said, just to say something.
“Mark my words, Bacon, we are going to war with Adolf and the Japs.”
“So many people oppose the idea of a war—”
“Are you afraid, is that what you’re trying to say? That you don’t want to save the world from the clutches of that monster?”
Bacon didn’t understand exactly where Von Neumann was headed; it almost seemed as though he was making fun of him, and so Bacon just tried to keep his answers noncommittal.
“Tell me, Bacon, what is a war?”
“I don’t know, a confrontation between two or more enemies?”
“But what else than that?” Von Neumann was getting agitated. “Why do they fight, Bacon, why?”
“Because they have contradictory interests,” Bacon spat out.
“For God’s sake, no; it’s precisely the opposite!”
“Because they have common interests?”
“Of course! They have the same objective, the same goal, but it is only available to one of them. That is why they go to war.”
Bacon was confused. Von Neumann, meanwhile, was trying to calm himself down with more mushroom sandwiches.
“Let me give you a simple example. Let’s take the Nazis and the British: What is their common objective? The same pie, Bacon: the Europe pie. Ever since Hitler took control of Germany in 1933, all he’s done is ask for pieces. First he wanted Austria, then Czechoslovakia, then Poland, Belgium, Holland, France, Norway. Now he wants the whole pie. At first, the British tolerated his expansion, like they did at that abominable conference in Munich, but then they realized that Germany had too much. You see?”
“I follow you, Professor. War is like a game.”
“Have you read my little article on the topic, the one published in 1928?” Von Neumann inquired, narrowing his eyes.
“‘On the Theory of Games of Strategy,’” replied Bacon. “I’ve heard about it, but I haven’t read it yet.”
“Right,” the professor mused. “All right. Suppose, then, that the war between Churchill and Hitler is a game. I will add one other condition—something that in the real case isn’t necessarily true at all, but in any event—the players that intervene in the game do so rationally.”
“I think I understand,” ventured Bacon. “They will do whatever it takes to obtain the result they desire: victory.”
“Very good.” Von Neumann finally smiled. “I’m working on a theory right now together with my friend, the economist Oskar Morgenstein. The theory states that all rational games must possess a mathematic solution.”
“A strategy.”
“You’ve got it, Bacon. The best strategy for any game—or war—is the one that leads to the best possible result,” Von Neumann cleared his throat with a swig of whisky. “Now, to my understanding, all games fall into one of two categories: zero-sum games and everything else. A game can only be considered zero-sum if the competitors are fighting over a finite, fixed object and if one person necessarily loses what the other one wins. If I only have one pie, each slice that I obtain represents a loss for my rival.”
“And in the non-zero-sum games, the advantages earned by one player don’t necessarily represent a loss for the other,” Bacon pronounced, satisfied.
“Right. Therefore, our war between the Nazis and the British …”
“… is a zero-sum game.”
“Correct. Let’s use it as a working hypothesis. What is the current status of the war? Hitler controls half of Europe. England barely puts up a fight. The Russians are holding out, waiting to see what happens, chained to their nonaggression pact with the Germans. If this is what things look like, Bacon, you tell me: What will be Hitler’s next move?” Von Neumann asked excitedly, his chest heaving up and down like a water pump.
It was a tough question, and Bacon knew there was a catch to it. His response shouldn’t reflect his intuition, he reasoned, but rather the mathematic expectations of his interrogator.
“Hitler is going to want another piece of that pie.”
“That’s exactly what I was hoping to hear!” Von Neumann exclaimed. “We’ve said that to Roosevelt over and over again. Now: Which piece, specifically?”
There were two possibilities. Bacon didn’t even flinch.
“I think Hitler’s going to start with Russia.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s the weakest of all his potential enemies, and he can’t allow Stalin to continue building his war chest for much longer.”
“Perfect, Bacon. Now comes the hard part.” Von Neumann was enjoying the young man’s astonishment. “Let’s take a look at our position on this issue, that of the United States of America. Right now we’re not involved, so we can be more objective. Let’s try to decide, rationally, what our course of action should be.”
Bacon and Von Neumann sat talking for over half an hour. In the meantime, the maid busied herself placing the plates and tablecloths in their proper places in the dining room, next to the drawing room. After a while, Klara, the professor’s wife—his second wife, actually—called out to Von Neumann from the staircase, chastising him for being late for his own party. Von Neumann waved his hand dismissively and signaled to his companion
