by American Prometheus: The Triumph;Tragedy of J. Robert Oppenheimer
Acheson admired Oppenheimer’s quick wit, his clear vision—and even his sharp tongue. Early in their deliberations, Oppie was a guest in Acheson’s Georgetown house. After cocktails and dinner, he stood by a small blackboard, chalk in hand, and lectured his host and McCloy on the intricacies of the atom. As a visual aid, he drew little stick figures to represent electrons, neutrons and protons chasing one another about and generally carrying on in unpredictable ways. “Our bewildered questions seemed to distress him,” Acheson later wrote. “At last he put down the chalk in gentle despair, saying, ‘It’s hopeless! I really think you two believe neutrons and electrons are little men!’ ”
By early March 1946, the board of consultants had a draft report of some 34,000 words, written by Oppenheimer and reworked by Marks and Lilienthal. Over a period of ten days in mid-March, they held four all-day meetings in Washington, D.C., at Dumbarton Oaks, a stately Georgetown mansion furnished with Byzantine artworks. From the walls, which towered nearly three stories, hung magnificent tapestries; a shaft of sunlight bathed El Greco’s painting The Visitation in one corner. A Byzantine cat sculpted in ebony sat encased in glass. Near the end of their deliberations, Acheson, Oppenheimer and the other men took turns reading aloud sections of the draft report. When they had finished, Acheson glanced up, removed his reading glasses, and said, “This is a brilliant and profound document.”
Oppenheimer had persuaded his fellow panel members to endorse a dramatic and comprehensive plan. Half-measures, he had argued, were not sufficient. A simple international covenant banning atomic weapons was not enough unless people everywhere could be assured that it would be enforced. Neither was a regime of international inspectors sufficient. It would take more than 300 such inspectors just to monitor one diffusion plant at Oak Ridge. And what would an inspection regime do about those countries that professed to be exploiting the peaceful applications of atomic energy? As Oppenheimer had explained, it would be very hard for inspectors to detect a diversion of enriched uranium or plutonium from civilian nuclear energy plants to military purposes. The peaceful exploitation of atomic energy was inextricably linked to the technical ability to produce a bomb.
Having defined the dilemma, Oppenheimer turned again to the internationalism of modern science for a solution. He proposed an international agency that would monopolize all aspects of atomic energy, and apportion its benefits as an incentive to individual countries. Such an agency would both control the technology and develop it for strictly civilian purposes. Oppenheimer believed that in the long run, “without world government there could be no permanent peace, that without peace there would be atomic warfare.” World government was obviously not an immediate prospect, so Oppenheimer argued that in the field of atomic energy all countries should agree to a “partial renunciation” of sovereignty. Under his plan, the proposed Atomic Development Authority would have sovereign ownership of all uranium mines, atomic power plants and laboratories. No nation would be permitted to build bombs—but scientists everywhere would still be allowed to exploit the atom for peaceful purposes. As he explained the concept in a speech in early April, “What is here proposed is such a partial renunciation, sufficient, but not more than sufficient, for an Atomic Development Authority to come into being, to exercise its functions of development, exploitation and control, to enable it to protect the world against the use of atomic weapons and provide it with the benefits of atomic energy.”
Complete and total transparency would make it impossible for any nation to marshal the enormous industrial, technical and material resources necessary to build an atomic weapon in secrecy. Oppenheimer understood that one couldn’t uninvent the weapon; the secret was out. But one could construct a system so transparent that the civilized world would at least have ample warning if a rogue regime set about making such a weapon.
But on one point, Oppenheimer’s political vision clouded his scientific judgment. He also suggested that fissionable materials might be permanently “denatured,” or contaminated, and thus made useless for bomb-making. But as eventually became clear, any process that denatured uranium and plutonium could be reversed. “Oppenheimer screwed it up later,” Rabi said, “by suggesting that the uranium could be poisoned, or denatured, which was crazy. . . . It was such a blunder that I never even chided him for it.”
The sense of urgency that everyone came to share was reflected in the plan’s endorsement by businessmen like Monsanto’s Charles Thomas and the Republican Wall Street lawyer John J. McCloy. Herbert Marks later remarked, “Only something as drastic as the atomic bomb could have got Thomas to suggest that the mines be internationalized. Don’t forget he’s the vice president of a hundred-and-twenty-million-dollar firm.”
Soon afterwards, Oppenheimer’s report—which became known as the Acheson-Lilienthal Report—was submitted to the White House. Oppenheimer was pleased; surely, the president would now understand the urgent need to control the atom.
But his optimism was misplaced. While Secretary of State Byrnes made a pretense of saying that he was “favorably impressed,” he was, in fact, shocked by the sweeping scope of the report’s recommendations. A day later, he persuaded Truman to appoint his (Byrnes’) longtime business partner, the Wall Street financier Bernard Baruch, to “translate” the Administration’s proposals to the United Nations. Acheson was appalled. Lilienthal wrote in his diary, “When I read the news last night, I was quite sick. . . . We need a man who is young, vigorous, not vain, and who the Russians would feel isn’t out simply to put them in a hole, not really caring about international cooperation. Baruch has none of these qualities.” When Oppenheimer learned of this appointment, he told his Los Alamos friend Willie Higinbotham, by then president of the newly created Federation of Atomic Scientists, “We’re lost.”
In private, Baruch was already expressing “great reservations” about the Acheson-Lilienthal Report’s recommendations. For advice, he turned to two conservative bankers, Ferdinand Eberstadt and John Hancock (a senior partner at Lehman Brothers), and Fred Searls, Jr., a mining engineer and close personal friend. Both Baruch and Secretary of State Byrnes happened to be board members and investors in Newmont Mining Corporation, a major company with a large stake in uranium mines. Searls was Newmont’s chief executive officer. Not surprisingly, they were alarmed by the idea that privately owned mines might be taken over by an international Atomic Development Authority. None of these men seriously contemplated internationalizing the newly emerging nuclear industry. And, as far as atomic weapons were concerned, Baruch thought of the American bomb as the “winning weapon.”
Oppenheimer’s prestige was so pervasive that even as Baruch prepared to gut the Acheson-Lilienthal Report, he made an effort to recruit Robert as his scientific adviser. Early in April 1946, they met in New York to discuss the possibility of working together. From Oppie’s point of view, the meeting was an unmitigated disaster. When pressed, he had to admit that his plan was not exactly compatible with the current Soviet system of government. He insisted, however, that the American position “should be to make an honorable proposal and thus find out whether they have the will to cooperate.” Baruch and his advisers argued that the Acheson-Lilienthal proposals needed to be amended in several basic ways: The United Nations should authorize the United States to maintain a stockpile of atomic weapons to serve as a deterrent; the proposed Atomic Development Authority should not control the uranium mines; and finally, the Authority should not have a veto power over the development of atomic energy. The exchange led Oppenheimer to conclude that Baruch thought his job was to prepare “the American people for a refusal by Russia.”
Afterwards, Baruch escorted Oppenheimer to the elevator and tried to reassure him: “Don’t let these associates of mine worry you. Hancock is pretty ‘Right’ but [with a wink] I’ll watch him. Searls is smart as a whip, but he sees Reds under every bed.”
Needless to say, this encounter with Baruch was not reassuring. Oppenheimer left convinced that the old man was a fool. He
told Rabi that he “despised Baruch.” Soon afterwards, he told Baruch he had decided not to join him as his scientific adviser. Rabi thought this was a mistake: “He did something hard to forgive; he refused to be on the staff. So they got poor old Richard Tolman instead.” Tolman, in ill health, had neither the stamina nor the force of personality to stand up to someone like Baruch. As for Oppenheimer, Baruch told Lilienthal, “It is too bad about that young man [Oppenheimer]. Such great promise. But he won’t cooperate. He will regret his attitude.”
Baruch was right, and Oppenheimer had second thoughts about his decision. Just hours after he turned the job down, he phoned Jim Conant and confessed that he thought he had been foolish. Should he change his mind? Conant told him it was too late, that Baruch had lost confidence in him.
In the weeks ahead, Oppenheimer, Acheson and Lilienthal did their best to keep the Acheson-Lilienthal plan alive, lobbying the bureaucracy and the media. In response, Baruch complained to Acheson that he was “embarrassed” that he was being undercut. Hoping that he could still influence Baruch, Acheson agreed to bring everyone together at Blair House on Pennsylvania Avenue on Friday afternoon, May 17, 1946.
But as Acheson worked to contain the atomic genie, others were working to contain, if not destroy, Oppenheimer. That same week, J. Edgar Hoover was urging his agents to step up their surveillance of Oppenheimer. Though he hadn’t a shred of evidence, Hoover now floated the possibility that Oppenheimer intended to defect to the Soviet Union. Having decided that Oppenheimer was a Soviet sympathizer, the FBI director reasoned that “he would be far more valuable there as an advisor in the construction of atomic plants than he would be as a casual informant in the United States.” He instructed his agents to “follow Oppenheimer’s activities and contacts closely. . . .”
A week before this summit, Oppenheimer, in a phone call to Kitty, told her that the meeting was “an attempt to box the old guy [Baruch] in. . . . It is not a very happy situation.” He then added, “I don’t want anything from them and if I can work on his [Baruch’s] conscience, that is the best angle I have. It just isn’t worth anything otherwise.” Kitty urged him to be clear with himself about “what the old man wants.” Oppie agreed, and then, upon hearing the clicking sound of an operator cutting her key in and out, he asked Kitty, “Are you still there? I wonder who is listening to us?” Kitty replied, “The FBI, dear.” Oppie said, “They are—the FBI?” He then quipped, “The FBI must just have hung up.” Kitty giggled, and then they resumed their conversation.
Kitty had guessed correctly. Two days earlier, the FBI had wiretapped the Oppenheimer home in Berkeley (and Hoover forwarded a transcript of this conversation to Secretary of State Byrnes, “as of possible interest to you and the President”). Hoover also ordered his agents to tail Oppenheimer on his travels around the country.
Whether Oppenheimer’s disparaging remarks reached Baruch is not known, but the meeting at Blair House did not go well. Baruch made it clear that he and his people were moving away from the whole notion of international ownership of uranium mines. Then the discussion broke apart completely over the question of “penalties.” Why, Baruch asked, was there no provision for the punishment of violators of the agreement? What would happen to a country found to be building nuclear weapons? Baruch thought a stockpile of nuclear weapons should be set aside and automatically used against any country found in violation. He called this “condign punishment.” Herb Marks said such a provision was completely inconsistent with the spirit of the Acheson-Lilienthal plan. Besides, Marks pointed out, it would take a renegade nation at least a year to prepare atomic weapons, and that would provide the international community time to respond. Acheson himself tried to explain in judicious tones that they had indeed grappled with this question, and had concluded that “if a major power violated a treaty, or wanted a trial of strength, then no matter what words or provisions were set forth in the treaty, it was obvious that the international organization had broken down. . . .”
Baruch nevertheless insisted that a law without a penalty was useless. Disregarding the opinion of most scientists, he decided that the Soviets would not be able to build their own atomic weapons for at least two decades. If so, he reasoned, there was no pressing reason to relinquish the American monopoly anytime soon. Consequently, the plan he intended to submit to the United Nations would substantially amend—indeed, fundamentally alter—the Acheson-Lilienthal proposals: The Soviets would have to give up their right to a veto in the Security Council over any actions by the new atomic authority; any nation violating the agreement would immediately be subjected to an attack with atomic weapons; and, before being given access to any of the secrets relating to the peaceful uses of atomic energy, the Soviets would have to submit to a survey of their uranium resources.
Acheson and McCloy vigorously objected to such an early emphasis on punitive provisions. This, and the fact that Baruch clearly intended, at least for some years, to preserve the American monopoly on atomic weapons, would doom the plan. The Soviets would never agree to such conditions, particularly at a time when the United States was continuing to build and test atomic weapons. What Baruch was proposing was not cooperative control over nuclear energy but an atomic pact designed to prolong the U.S. monopoly. McCloy angrily insisted that there was no such condition as complete security, and that it would be “presumptuous” to suggest such harsh and automatic penalty provisions. The next day, Justice Felix Frankfurter wrote McCloy: “I am told that it was a real bullfight—and that you were so disgusted with the gentleman on the other side that you just sputtered ‘dust in the air.’ ”
While Republican John McCloy was merely angry, Oppenheimer’s anger led to depression. He wrote Lilienthal after it was all over to say that he was “still very heavy of heart.” Once again demonstrating his political perspicacity, Oppenheimer predicted, accurately as it happened, how the whole process would unfold: “The American disposition will be to take plenty of time and not force the issue in a hurry; that then a 10–2 report will go to the [Security Council] and Russia will exercise her veto and decline to go along. This will be construed by us as a demonstration of Russia’s warlike intentions. And this will fit perfectly into the plans of that growing number who want to put the country on a war footing, first psychologically, then actually. The Army directing the country’s research; Red-baiting; treating all labor organizations, CIO first, as Communist and therefore traitorous, etc. . . .” As he talked, Oppenheimer paced back and forth in his frenetic style, speaking, Lilienthal later noted in his diary, in a “really heart-breaking tone.”
Oppie told Lilienthal that he had talked in San Francisco with a Soviet scientist, a technical adviser to the Soviet foreign minister, Andrei Gromyko, who had stressed that Baruch’s proposal was meant to preserve America’s atomic monopoly. “The American proposal,” he had said, “was designed to permit the United States to maintain its own bombs and plants almost indefinitely—30 years, 50 years, as long as we thought necessary— whereas it wants Russia’s uranium, and therefore her chance of producing materials, to be taken over and controlled by the ADA [Atomic Development Authority] at once.”
On June 11, 1946, the FBI overheard Oppenheimer talking with Lilienthal about Baruch’s proposals for “condign punishment.” “They worry me like hell,” he told Lilienthal.
“Yes, it is very bad,” Lilienthal replied. “Even in the short run point of view, it will take all the—”
“Take all the fun out of it,” Oppenheimer interrupted. “But they don’t see that and they never will. They just haven’t lived in the right world.”
“They have lived in an unreal world,” Lilienthal agreed, “and it is populated by figures and statistics and bonds, and I can’t understand them and they can’t understand us.”
Two days earlier, Oppenheimer had taken his case to the public by publishing a long essay in the New York Times Magazine that explained the plan for an international Atomic Development Authority in layman’s language.
/> It proposes that in the field of atomic energy there be set up a world government. That in this field there be a renunciation of sovereignty. That in this field there be no legal veto power. That in this field there be international law. How is this possible in a world of sovereign nations? There are only two ways in which this ever can be possible: One is conquest. That destroys sovereignty. And the other is the partial renunciation of that sovereignty. What is here proposed is such a partial renunciation, sufficient, but not more than sufficient, for an atomic development authority to come into being; to exercise its functions of development, exploitation and control; to enable it to live and grow, and to protect the world against the use of atomic weapons and provide it with the benefits of atomic energy.
Early that summer, Oppenheimer ran into his former student Joe Weinberg, who was still teaching physics at Berkeley. When Weinberg asked him, “What do we do if this effort in international control fails?” Oppie pointed out the window and replied, “Well, we can enjoy the view—as long as it lasts.”
ON JUNE 14, 1946, Baruch presented his plan to the United Nations, dramatically proclaiming in biblical language that he offered the world a choice between “the quick and the dead.” As Oppenheimer and everyone else associated with the original Acheson-Lilienthal plan predicted, Baruch’s proposal was promptly rejected by the Soviets. Moscow’s diplomats instead proposed a simple treaty to ban the production or use of atomic weapons. This proposal, Oppenheimer told Kitty in a phone call the next day, was “Not too bad.” No one could be surprised by Soviet objections to the veto provisions of the Baruch proposal. And yet, Oppie observed to his wife that Baruch was declaiming loudly how sorely disappointed he was, all the while “knowing it was a damn fool performance.”
Nevertheless, as Oppie predicted, the Truman Administration rejected the Soviet response out of hand. Negotiations continued in a desultory fashion for many months, but without result. An early opportunity for a good-faith effort to prevent an uncontrolled nuclear arms race between the two major powers had been lost. It would take the terrors of the 1962 Cuban missile crisis, and the massive Soviet buildup that followed it, before an American administration would propose, in the 1970s, a serious and acceptable arms control agreement. But by then tens of thousands of nuclear warheads had been built. Oppenheimer and many of his colleagues always blamed Baruch for this missed opportunity. Acheson angrily observed later, “It was his [Baruch’s] ball and he balled it up. . . . He pretty well ruined the thing.” Rabi was equally blunt: “It’s simply real madness what has happened.”
