Selfish History

It is perhaps true that, in the literal sense of the phrase, nothing forges a legacy quite like a creation. To leave the world with a new, tangible, addition represents the transmutation of our unique minds, experience, and expertise into something of value for the planet. Something that will hopefully outlive us. 

Creations aren’t just for monocled, tinkering inventors either. A creation can be fashioned in many forms such as a building, a song, a craft, or even a story. Some creators however, with Victor Frankenstein as their figurehead, produce something they later regret: a monster. 

For example, Peter Benchley’s novel Jaws enjoyed 44 weeks in the bestseller list and sold millions of copies thereafter. You have likely also watched the homonymous film. Peter was deeply saddened that his creation was being used as a justification for shark hunting globally. He also lamented the way his portrait of that infamous great white painted sharks as brutal human hunters, partial to feeding on both our fear and flesh. 

Peter, distraught at the legacy of his creation, spent the rest of his life trying to buff out the cultural impression his novel made through diligent advocacy for sharks, and oceanic conservation as a whole. 

While Peter’s book is a clear example, no creation quite represents the risk of contortion, misapplication, and simultaneous potential for good and bad than a scientific one. Historically, the fence between civilian and military camps is hopped by scientific discoveries with dual-application. This is a space wherein herbicides become Agent Orange, insecticides become nerve agents, and radar transmitters become the microwave oven. 

While the above might not always be the most pleasant of inventions regardless, this shows how once a creation is formed it can have applications unforeseen by its maker. Alfred Nobel represents a chief example of this. Alfred’s attempt to amend his legacy, through making his name synonymous with something altogether more agreeable, remains active and much-lauded today.

Alfred Nobel: lit the fuse on his own unwanted legacy 

Alfred Nobel (1833-1896) was something of a high achiever. Not only did he hold 355 patents in his time, he could tell you about them in six languages. 

The output of many of his constructions are, rather contrarily, to enact destruction. This ran in the family as his father, Immanuel Nobel, was heavily involved in armament manufacturing, most notably that of underwater mines for Tsar Nicholas I during the Crimean War (1853-1856). 

It was Immanuel’s hand that guided Alfred away from his interest in literature and towards chemical engineering. Alfred certainly didn’t shy away from grasping the family baton as, by his death, he boasted 90 factories for the production of various weapons and armaments. 

Vast amounts of materiel could be traced to one of Alfred’s factories, including his most famous creation: dynamite. However, his most well-known invention was never intended for military use, and the story of its inception is a bumpy one. 

While some of us are passionate about a particular charity or dote on our favourite artists, Alfred found himself devoted to nitroglycerin. While its original creator, Italian chemist Ascanio Sobrero, spoke against the use of nitroglycerin as an explosive (due to the fact it was a dangerous and unpredictable mistress) Alfred’s fixation was on bringing this oily, eruptive liquid to heel and making it suitable for industrial use. 

If Alfred was to find a way to safely produce and detonate nitroglycerin, he first needed to unsafely produce and detonate it many times. And so the Nobel family delved into the task presented through the forming of a factory to produce nitroglycerin in Alfred’s desired quantity.

This was predictably dangerous work. A series of accidents ensued, culminating in an explosion killing numerous nearby including Alfred’s youngest sibling Emil. The Swedish Government promptly decided that having an explosives factory in Stockholm probably wasn’t the best idea. So Alfred, now acutely aware of the dangers involved, moved his experiments in-part to a barge on a secluded lake.

Persisting through these tragic incidents, Alfred was eventually successful in rendering nitroglycerin safer and more predictable to handle. For this he could thank a soft sand-like rock called diatomaceous earth which, when mixed with nitroglycerin, stood down the threat of undesired ignition. 

The combined material was then coupled with a detonator. Lit by a fuse, a small pinch of gunpowder here breaks the defence of the inert sand, provoking the nitroglycerin into going ‘boom’. Alfred coined his invention dynamite (from the Greek for power), and was excited for its application. 

Alfred’s vision for dynamite was to revolutionise infrastructure building and quarrying, and it certainly proved useful here. However, dynamite was (inevitably) soon to be found in the hands of those with violent motives- and I don’t just mean Wile E. Coyote.

The embracement of dynamite in warfare caused Nobel significant distress and was against his original vision; it is said he considered calling his invention ‘Nobel’s Safety Powder’, referring to the safety when compared to pure nitroglycerin.

Applying our Selfish History lens here highlights how our outputs in life, no matter our intentions, can be moulded and used by others in ways that are against our wishes. Our intended legacy, like Alfred’s, can take an unfortunate turn. 

Alfred became concerned that the road of his legacy became a path of destruction thanks to the military use of his explosive. His fears, according to a popular and much-discussed story, became manifest thanks to seeing a preview of his own obituary. 

As the story goes, French papers mistook Alfred’s brother Ludvig’s death as his own. The resulting obituary was a witheringly savage piece. Hardly the celebration of a great inventor, Alfred was faced with labels such as ‘merchant of death’ as part of the scathing narrative. This wasn’t just down to dynamite; it encompassed all of Nobel’s contributions to warfare. 

If the story is true, Nobel was faced with his own legacy while in life. As the exception to the Stoic view of legacy, in that it is never our room to enter, Nobel here was gifted a peek through the window and understandably didn’t like what he saw. Nobel’s unwanted gift (or prize…) was one he refused to believe was non-returnable, and so he devised a new legacy for himself.  

So it was that Alfred, the merchant of death, designated the majority of his estate upon his passing into establishing the Nobel Prizes. Alfred decreed that the individuals who had respectively contributed most to the betterment of humankind in Physics, Chemistry, Medicine, Literature, and Peace would win his prize. 

You might be slightly surprised at the inclusion of literature, but we know Alfred’s first love was writing and poetry. It is, however, peace that raises the eyebrow to the greatest height. It is in fact widely regarded that Alfred Nobel, with his 90 armament factories, was a pacifist.

Alfred’s pacifism was of course a contradiction. His detestation of war in-tandem with his feeding of the beast can be understood in the context of Alfred being an early adopter of belief in mutually-assured destruction. 

Says Alfred: ‘perhaps my factories will put an end to war sooner than your congresses. On the day that two army corps can mutually annihilate each other in a second, all civilised nations will surely recoil with horror and disband their troops’. Regardless if you agree with his path to it, Alfred wanted peace and would reward those who furthered its market-share. 

The Nobel Prizes, still given out on the anniversary of Alfred’s death today, represent one of the most significant and effective reversals of a legacy by an individual. Alfred’s rebrand of his very name reminds one of the way that celebrities and figures today plant stories in search engines through clever use of keywords. (For example, Boris Johnson jovially sharing to the public his love for painting small cardboard buses can be interpreted as an attempt to drag the search results for ‘Boris Johnson bus’ away from the infamous Brexit bus.)

Donning our Selfish History hat, Alfred shows it is never too late to grasp the narrative and affirm our values. Alfred’s pacifism, and his regret at the application of dynamite, is now embedded within the vast majority of discourse surrounding the very harm that his invention wreaked. 

Nobel warns us that our attempts at adding positivity to the world (in his case transforming construction) can be mutated into something which defies our original wishes.

Reassuringly, he also tells us that we are able to mould our legacy while still kicking to ensure that despite our mistakes, we are not necessarily doomed to be defined by them. 

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Alfred Nobel wished to produce a machine or substance of ‘such frightful efficacy for wholesale destruction that it would make wars impossible’.

J. Robert Oppenheimer, to some, may have granted this wish. It left him grappling with his actions and legacy too, and giving out eponymous prizes was an idea already taken.

J. Robert Oppenheimer: living with the fallout of his creation 

In his time at the top of the Los Alamos Laboratory, Oppenheimer knew precisely what he was creating and the consequences of its application. His participation in the Manhattan Project was justified through his duty-bound feeling to ensure the Allies won the race to possess nuclear weapons before Nazi Germany. If the creation of such a weapon was inevitable, felt Oppenheimer and his peers, then it best be on their side.

Once the tragic atomic bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki took place on 6 and 9 August 1945 respectively, Oppenheimer reportedly told President Truman it made him feel he ‘had blood on his hands’. The quote is a key touchstone for Oppenheimer’s growing unease and guilt at the consequences of his work.  

Nevertheless, Oppenheimer’s public renown grew significantly. He found himself on the cover of Time and was generally thrusted into the chasmic fallout of his work on nuclear weaponry. 

Soon, however, proceedings turned sour. In 1954, against the backdrop of anti-communist hysteria during the Cold War, Oppenheimer attended a tribunal of the Atomic Energy Commission.

Under the microscope was Oppenheimer’s connections to communism, his objection to the development of the more powerful hydrogen bomb, and his support of nuclear non-proliferation. The question of whether Oppenheimer was indeed a Soviet spy was a central one.

The hearing resulted in Oppenheimer losing his security clearance, and the general disgrace of his name. Now a victim of McCarthyism, in conjunction with his already-established disapproval of nuclear proliferation, it was time for a change of scene. Time to leave behind the nuclear and political fallout that now underpinned his legacy. 

So, later in 1954, Oppenheimer escaped his legacy on a sailboat with his family. It was bound for the secluded St John, part of the US Virgin Islands. His small abode on a private St John beach is where he spent much of his time up until his death, earning him, for some commentators, a pariah status. 

Oppenheimer was here afforded anonymity and a distinct lack of oversight and surveillance, not least thanks to the sparse communication network on the island. Some say that Oppenheimer replanted his roots on the Virgin Islands in particular due to the trade winds- which would make this area as protected as possible from nuclear fallout..

Others on St John saw the kindly man who enjoyed hosting friends, dancing, and writing poetry. This detachment from his legacy must’ve been cathartic for Oppenheimer, who unwound himself from his entanglement in the biggest questions of the day. He died of throat cancer in 1967, his ashes scattered in view of his St John cottage.

‘Oppenheimer Beach’, now in public ownership, remains a tucked-away paradise today. Its soft sands and peaceful shores represent an escape from life’s problems for its many visitors each year who may not know they emulate the man himself. 

J. Robert Oppenheimer’s legacy was partly-healed in 2022, when the ‘flawed process’ of the 1954 hearing was cited in voiding the verdict. The man himself isn’t here to experience this payoff, though I imagine he achieved some semblance of his desired peace of mind already, writing poetry gazing out at the warm waters on the horizon.

His 2023 movie shook cinema (literally, if you watched in IMAX like me) by proving people did indeed want to see a three hour biopic, partially in black and white, saturated with history and science. Oppenheimer’s sequel however would be much more casual, daytime TV than the first instalment and, just like much of his work, that was by his own design. 

If you believe he should remain a maligned and deeply-controversial figure due to his Los Alamos stint, you are not alone. What we can learn from Oppenheimer regardless is to detach ourselves from concern around our legacy, especially if our attempts to make matters right are spat back in our face. 

Oppenheimer’s example dictates that finding your own peace in life is more important than misplacing your time fighting your legacy. 

Simmering down 

Here we have two men who created the most powerful explosives of their day. For both, the seed of guilt grew as their outputs- physical manifestations of their legacy- were used to cause human suffering. 

Cases such as these engender controversy over the supposed amorality of science, and strengthen the connective tissue between scientific and military interest when many believe this ought to be severed.

The ensuing impact on both men’s legacy in life was profound, and evidence suggests they were keenly aware of this. The difference lies in the way each approached their unwanted legacies. 

Nobel morphed his guilt and fault into motivation to perform a U-turn on his name and legacy. The outcome, I suspect, will still be in-play on the 10th December in the year you are reading this.

Conversely, Oppenheimer’s outspoken opposition, and the subsequent dragging of his name, led him to escape to brighter shores. Where Nobel sought redemption in death, Oppenheimer left his legacy to us- finding quietude while breathing. 

Should you see divergence in your incoming legacy versus how you wish to be remembered, you can hereby decide which of these controversial figure’s route to follow. 

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Selfish History’s book recommendation: 

The Making of the Atomic Bomb by Richard Rhodes 

For a gripping read on what the book promises in its title, look no further than this interdisciplinary narrative from Richard Rhodes A simultaneous scientific history, collective biography, and political thriller this is the first stop in immersing yourself within the Manhattan project.