‘I have become Death, the destroyer of worlds’
The man behind America's pursuit of the atom bomb spent the rest of his life tormented by the destructive forces he had unleashed, discovers John Hinton
28 March 2008

J Robert Oppenheimer

A doorstop at more than 700 pages, this biography of J Robert Oppenheimer has a gigantism about it appropriate to a study of the man called "the father of the atom bomb", a brilliant figure and polymath and the most famous scientist of his generation. Here in American Prometheus we have a story about a gifted German-American whose energies were critical in a pell-mell race to ensure America had the atom bomb before Hitler.

Drawing on thousands of pages of FBI reports accumulated over a quarter of a century of surveillance, American authors Kai Bird and Martin Sherman draw out a study of a man whose rise was only too short and his fall of his own making.

For in his own eyes he "became Death, the destroyer of worlds" tormented by the thoughts of the nuclear exchanges already being rehearsed by the USAAF with their fleets of B-52 bombers armed with H-bombs en route to Russia.

The guys in charge weren't quite as crazy as the lunatic Dr Strangelove, portrayed by Peter Sellers in Stanley Kubrick's masterly film of the same name.

What actually drove Robert Oppenheimer - of the unruffled, chiselled face - bonkers was the volte face of the administration in seeking to check his quite understandable caution about nuclear power.

Quite some time after the nuclear attacks on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, his career, his life, even his sense of self-worth suddenly spun out of control. Speeding in his car to his lawyer's office in Washington just four days before Christmas 1953, he couldn't believe what was happening to him.

In his pocket, a letter from the Atomic Energy Commission, coming out of the blue, had declared him to be a security risk following a review of his background and policy recommendations. There were, believe it or not, 34 charges to be answered. Among them, the plain ridiculous: "It was reported that in 1940 you were listed as a sponsor of the Chinese people" (perhaps at that time the Chinese could have used any sponsor against their Japanese oppressors). And another: "In the autumn of 1949 and subsequently, you opposed the development of the hydrogen bomb."

Ever since the comprehensive devastation of the Japanese cities by the A-bombs, Oppenheimer harboured premonitions that something dark and ominous lay in wait for him. He and his team unleashed the dreadful power of the nuclear weapon at the hush-hush Manhattan Project in Los Alamos, New Mexico. Now he was being stalked, some might say, by his own conscience. In the late 1940s he had been caught up in a rush of popularity as America garlanded him with praise for ending the Pacific War. He was even featured on the covers of both Time and Life magazines. He enjoyed iconic status comparable to that of a film or rock star.

Then he happened to read Henry James's short story The Beast in the Jungle, in which the protagonist is haunted by a premonition that he was being kept for something "rare and strange, possibly prodigious and terrible that was sooner or later to happen". Somehow, he was travelling along Shakespeare's "flowery way that leads to the broad gate and the great fire".

The "beast in the jungle" came in the shape of the FBI. It was the day of Senator Joe McCarthy, the coarse prosecutor of "Commies" whose Red-hunting congressional committees fed on rumours and hearsay, including Oppenheimer's brief forays into Left-wing politics at Berkeley in the 1930s.

His belief that, in the Cold War, strategic nuclear bombing would be genocidal had angered the Right, including the FBI director J Edgar Hoover. He had cocked the nuclear revolver, changing the nature of war for all time. Now he had the nerve to tell those in authority not to pull the trigger. And the new Republican administration of Dwight D Eisenhower declared him a security risk, a crushing blow to a man who deeply loved his country.

That evening, he went over events with his lawyer, Herbert Marks, and his wife Anne, both trusted friends. He seemed, as she put it, "in a despairing state of mind". With their help, Oppenheimer decided he had to draft a letter refusing to resign his position as scientific consultant to the Atomic Energy Commission - and therefore avoid the charges against him. "This course of action would mean... I concur in the view that I am not fit to serve this government which I have served for 12 years. This I cannot do."

By the end of the evening, he was exhausted. He had several drinks, then retired upstairs to the guest bedroom. A few minutes later, the couple heard a "terrible crash". Racing upstairs, they found he had collapsed on the bathroom floor. He had taken some prescription sleeping pills and they revived him with difficulty after their doctor had warned over the phone: "Don't let him go to sleep." (He subsequently recovered.)

Oppenheimer's "beast" had finally pounced and the ordeal that would end his career of public service had begun. But so had a new phase in his life which would eventually enhance his reputation and secure his legacy. A prominent martyr of the witch-hunt against "Reds", he re-built his reputation through his passionate belief. His main contribution remains his accomplishments as a scientist and the unique role he played as an architect of the nuclear era.

In the eyes of his many admirers - from Nobel laureates, politicians, novelists, and students at Princeton who called their gentle teacher "Oppie"- he was a giant of recent times which this impressive study treats with judicious detail as well as the full and sympathetic justice which this far-sighted man surely deserved.

American Prometheus: the Triumph and Tragedy of J Robert Oppenheimer
by Kai Bird and Martin J Sherwin, Atlantic Books £25