Just Drop a Bomb

When my sister and I were in Scotland back in the early 1970’s, we were staying in a bed-and-breakfast that offered a lounge room in which guests could meet one another. We were joined by two couples—one English and one Scottish—who had definite opinions about how the Vietnam War should be conducted. “Drop a bomb on them,” the Scottish father insisted. “We should drop a bomb on the lot of them.” The other couple nodded. My sister and I remained silent, glad our companions weren’t politically powerful.

In a blog post called “Has Human Intelligence Gone Awry?” (May 17, 2024), I discussed a theory that we humans are almost entirely incapable of prioritizing benefits that might lie in a distant future. I had climate in mind at the time, but as elections approach, I can’t help thinking about a socio-political-psychological future, as well. The choices humans the world over make are changing us.

Yesterday, my husband and I had an opportunity to watch the film Oppenheimer, focused on the man who was director of the laboratory at Los Alamos, New Mexico, as his team developed the first atomic bomb. When he opposed developing a more powerful hydrogen bomb after the devastating second explosion at Nagasaki, his popularity with many U.S. national leaders diminished. They liked the idea of having the biggest stick on the global stage. Control is addicting.

At first for the Los Alamos scientists, the most worrisome aspect of creating a non-specific, devastating nuclear explosion to wipe out whole cities lay in the remote chance that the reaction would multiply beyond limits, ultimately destroying the world. However, a very real wartime advantage overshadowed that concern for decision-makers such as President Truman. It echoed teenagers shrugging as they say, “It’ll probably be okay.” Hurrying the end of a war versus destroying all civilization…with the added impetus of “beating” other nations to the achievement—the priorities were obvious.

When the bomb didn’t set off a chain reaction, the scientists were relieved. WWII ended. Their gamble had paid off. But the possibility that the wanton non-military destruction had forced all humanity to turn a corner into a different moral reality remained. The bombs were created in a time when war was propagandized as gloriously courageous, the final solution to knotty global problems. Today’s older citizens all recall being taught to curl up beneath their desks in school for protection—protection that couldn’t exist. We weren’t supposed to think about that, because there were no viable alternatives. Back then, teachers weren’t tasked with pretending there were no risks. We all learned about losing hair and teeth and dying from radiation poisoning. But of course such a bomb hitting our soil would be the work of some evil empire—not us. The United States was strictly defensive—wasn’t it? With the present in mind, has humankind learned enough?

Of course there will be bigger, deadlier bombs to come. And who will wield them? Who will refuse? We hear potential world leaders referring to nuclear warfare without predicting what would happen next. How casually do we consider bombs that will alter the ability of the earth to sustain life? In the film, Oppenheimer wonders if using the first bomb has already doomed us to eventual annihilation of all we say we hold most precious. What evidence do we see in industrial societies that humankind has crossed a line? Has the risk taught us to cherish life more dearly or to think bombs “probably won’t mean total destruction?” We’d kill only our enemies, wouldn’t we? Perhaps both answers are true. Who are we now? What path are we building? Do countries with nuclear capabilities take care to choose leaders who are capable of thinking realistically and morally about consequences? Do we?