Chapter 51: If You Were Such a Badass, Why Didn't You Say So Earlier!

Regret—true regret.

Carl Ludwig Siegel was one of the greatest number theorists of the twentieth century. After the war ended in 1947, he returned from Princeton to the University of Göttingen, his research spanning analytic number theory, Diophantine equations, modular forms, and the theory of quadratic forms.

He was also the leading figure in rebuilding the Göttingen mathematics center throughout the 1950s, drawing numerous students and visiting scholars through his lectures.

Because of Siegel’s reputation, Hockheimer sought him out, hoping he would accept a student of nominally Chinese descent.

Hockheimer even personally brought this student, Randolph Lin, to Göttingen University to meet Siegel. Siegel took a liking to the young man; their conversation revealed Lin’s solid mathematical foundation. Siegel felt Lin was more than capable of earning a mathematics doctorate at Göttingen.

Thus, out of both fondness for Lin and respect for Hockheimer, Siegel agreed. He even arranged for Randolph Lin to be officially recorded in the Göttingen Mathematics Department’s files.

As head of the Göttingen math department throughout the 1950s, and in an era before digital records, it was not difficult to add someone to the roster.

But what followed surprised Siegel.

You should have told us earlier that you solved Fermat’s Last Theorem. Does Göttingen University forbid academic presentations?

You should have mentioned your “Randolph Program” to unify mathematics. With my network painstakingly built over years on the European continent, rallying mathematicians from all of Germany to Göttingen would have been effortless.

You developed such a useful tool as linear forms in logarithms. I could have found a way to crown you the emperor of number theory.

Siegel’s regret defied words.

Within Göttingen, other professors began looking at him strangely, accusing him of betraying the university. How could he let such a prodigious student slip away to Columbia University?

Max Dörlin, the current head of the Göttingen math department and editor of the latest issue of Mathematical Advances, was the most restrained of the professors but could no longer contain himself. He came to Siegel’s office to confront him.

“How could you let Randolph go?”

“No, I...” Siegel was at a loss for words. “It’s not that... this matter...”

“It’s complicated,” he finally said. “Yes, it’s not a simple thing.”

He had promised Hockheimer and did not want to reveal the true details.

He didn’t want to because, in front of old friends, it was one thing to be brilliant himself, but to have a student this brilliant was a source of great pride.

Not long ago, during a scholarly visit to Paris, Grothendieck spoke of Randolph, expressing envy that his student could achieve greater results than himself. As a man nearing retirement, Siegel felt a joy as sweet as eating watermelon on a summer day.

Even the Berlin newspapers had to mention that mathematician Siegel’s student, Randolph Lin, had solved the Fermat conjecture that had troubled the mathematical world for over three centuries.

They even praised Siegel himself alongside.

Lin was his prized disciple. Without Göttingen in the equation, this would have been a blessing.

But this was Göttingen—the Göttingen recovering from war, striving to reclaim its place as a mathematical center.

What was worse: Göttingen’s postwar strategy was to rebuild first through number theory.

Why? Because number theory’s conjectures were famous and accessible to the layperson. Solving major problems would restore Göttingen’s stature in public opinion.

Then, leveraging that fame to attract talented youth and expanding into geometry and algebra, it would take decades to fully restore its mathematical glory.

Talk about Fermat’s Last Theorem, the Goldbach Conjecture, the Twin Prime Conjecture—these number theory milestones could be explained by even amateur science communicators. But if you spoke of relations among modular forms, Galois representations, and L-series, who outside the field would understand?

Rebuilding through number theory was the fastest and most effective route.

This was Siegel’s thinking, and so was that of his successor, Max Dörlin, also a number theory master.

At least four consecutive heads of Göttingen’s mathematics department specialized in number theory.

Yet, as they all worked to revive Göttingen through number theory, Siegel had handed over proof of Fermat’s conjecture—a world-class achievement—to Columbia University?

Last time, Dörlin had held back. But now, seeing the latest issue of Mathematical Advances, he could no longer restrain himself.

Hearing Siegel’s evasions, Dörlin finally exploded:

“Professor, once upon a time Göttingen University was the sacred ground of mathematics. The names Gauss, Riemann, and Hilbert still shine in the annals of mathematics.

“But since the dark era, we have lost countless masters. Göttingen’s glory has long faded.

“Now, after much effort, we have a chance at revival. Yet you let someone like Randolph slip through our fingers! Who are you helping?

“Whether I go to Bonn University or the École Normale Supérieure in Paris, mathematicians there quietly mock us!

“As former and current heads of the department, aren’t we both aiming to restore Göttingen as the world’s mathematical center?

“We were once the Mecca of mathematics, attracting the world’s gaze. Now, every promising talent is needed to rebuild this sanctuary. Yet you sent Randolph—who may be the most talented mathematician of this century, whose results already place him among the greatest number theorists today—to New York.

“You are throwing Hilbert’s legacy into the water! Had Randolph stayed, his brilliance would illuminate Göttingen, not Columbia.”

Dörlin’s passionate outburst was unstoppable.

“If Randolph had gone to Princeton, I could understand—after all, Princeton has many famous mathematicians. But Columbia? Columbia offers no allure beyond the stench of money.

“Is it that we couldn’t afford him?

“If you had told me then that Randolph was one step away from solving Fermat’s conjecture, whatever salary he demanded, I would have sought it—from the university, city council, even external sponsors.

“But professor, you completely concealed the existence of this prodigious student.”

Siegel was speechless, rendered mute by the accusation. If he were unaware of the truth, he might have believed he had committed an unforgivable sin against Göttingen’s resurgence.

But he knew.

“Um...” Siegel truly did not know what to say.

After venting, Dörlin calmed, remembering that Siegel had returned permanently to Göttingen from Princeton in 1947 to aid its revival. He did not want to be harsh.

“Professor, would it be possible to invite Randolph back to teach at Göttingen?”