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N. 43, November 2003
Edward Teller, Dr. Strangelove
Physicist Edward Teller has moved on, as the ancient Romans used to
say, to the Elysian Fields. Good riddance, I say, paraphrasing George
W. Bush’s comment in another context. Which is ironic, because
obviously Bush thought highly enough of Teller to accord him the
Presidential Medal of Freedom in 2003, the highest civilian honor in
the United States.
Famously, of a different opinion was physicist Nobel laureate Isidor
Rabi, who remarked that the world would have been a better place
without Teller. E. Teller was a real-life Dr. Strangelove (of “how I
learned to stop worrying and love the bomb” memory), the immortal
character played by Peter Sellers in the film directed by Stanley
Kubrick in 1964. (A Google search revealed that there are three primary
suspects for being the inspiration for Strangelove: Henri Kissinger,
Werner von Braun, and Edward Teller -- I vote for a nicely split award).
Perhaps Teller’s most outspoken critic was Carl Sagan, who wrote a
poignant essay on Teller-Strangelove entitled “When Scientists Know
Sin” (republished in his The Demon-Haunted World: Science as a Candle
in the Dark). Sagan met Teller several times, both in private and in
public debate, and -- as a physicist himself -- was in a primary
position to evaluate not only Teller’s technical work, but also how
accurately he portrayed it to the public and to politicians like Ronald
Reagan. Sagan reminds us of Teller’s advocacy of all sorts of
“civilian” uses for the H-bomb (which Teller helped develop and
aggresively advocated): from scientific experiments (let’s explode one
on the moon to analyze the resulting gas and dust and see what our
satellite is made of), to -- believe it or not -- construction projects
(e.g., to eliminate mountains that may get in the way of roads or dams).
Sagan’ take on it is that perhaps Teller was desperately trying to
justify to the world his life-long work in nuclear weapons development,
truly an attempt to make all of us “love the bomb” (and, by reflection,
his chief inventor and advocate). There are also plenty of personal
circumstances that help explain Teller’s hawkshiness, like the fact
that when he was young the communists confiscated his family’s property
in his native Hungary. That he lost a leg as a result of a streetcar
accident, and was in permanent pain throughout the rest of his long
life, probably didn’t help to soften Teller’s character either.
Be that as it may, Teller took advantage of McCarthyism and the
paranoia that swept the US during the first phases of the cold war, to
attack his colleague Robert Oppenheimer (who coordinated the Manhattan
Project that had led to the development of the atomic bomb) for being
too soft as well as disloyal to the United States. Oppenheimer’s crime,
in Teller’s eyes, was his critical stance on the further development
and use of weapons of mass destruction, tough Oppenheimer was joined in
his campaign by many leading scientific figures of the time, most
famously Albert Einstein.
Teller’s academic life was also rather controversial. While he was
called the “father” of the H-bomb, there is good reason to believe that
his original idea was flawed and would not have worked without
substantial revisions carried out by many people working under him.
When Sagan and other scientists discovered the possibility of a
“nuclear winter” following the launch of a thermo-nuclear attack (even
without retaliation), Teller both claimed that the science underlying
the nuclear winter scenario was flawed, and that he had discovered the
possibility several years earlier, but did not alert the public or
politicians about it.
Now, what sort of monster can stumble on a discovery that could very
well annihilate humankind, or at the very least cause the death and
suffering of hundreds of millions of people, and make the unilateral
and private decision of not sharing such discovery with the rest of the
world? The sheer arrogance of such an attitude is hard to comprehend,
although it would fit very well with the current administration’s
policy of secrecy and military aggression (it may not be a coincidence
that one of the many good things President Clinton did not do was to
award Teller the Presidential Medal of Freedom).
In Kubrick’s movie, in response to President Merkin Muffley’s (also
played by Sellers) question about why the “Doomsday Machine” can be
automatically triggered, but not manually untriggered, Strangelove
answers with perfect il-logic: "Mr. President, it is not only possible,
it is essential. That is the whole idea of this machine, you know.
Deterrence is the art of producing in the mind of the enemy the fear to
attack. And so, because of the automated and irrevocable
decision-making process which rules out human meddling, the doomsday
machine is terrifying. It's simple to understand. And completely
credible, and convincing." That is the sort of ‘reasoning’ that Teller
advocated in real life, and which brought us the hydrogen bomb and Star
Wars (not the movie). Teller is finally now gone, but his twisted logic
is still endorsed by the Hawks currently usurping the White House, and
the War Room is as busy as ever. It is most urgent that each one of us
contribute to write a different finale to this movie than the
apocaliptic one Kubrick chose for his fictional version.