THE NATION : Hiroshima: The Rorschach Test of the American Psyche

Americans are bitterly divided over the meaning of the atomic bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki 50 years ago. The sequence of events is beyond dispute: the United States dropped the first bomb on Hiroshima (Aug. 6, 1945); the Soviet Union declared war on Japan (Aug. 8); the United States dropped the second bomb on Nagasaki (Aug. 9); Japan offered to surrender on condition that the imperial throne be preserved (Aug. 10), and the surrender was accepted (Aug. 14).

More than 200,000 Japanese, mostly civilians, died in the atomic attack. But we do not agree on the military necessity, morality, motivation, timing and lasting consequences of President Harry S. Truman’s decision to use the bombs. The ghastly images of August, 1945, are an historical Rorschach test. What each of us sees reveals much about our attitudes toward the fundamental character of the American nation and its leaders and the course of history since 1945.

The classical Rorschach test, invented by a Swiss psychiatrist a century ago, involves interpreting an individual’s personality on the basis of what he or she sees in a series of randomly shaped ink blots. The Hiroshima Rorschach test, however, is more complicated. In the psychiatrist’s office, the ink-blot images are confined to the dimensions of sheets of paper and do not change over time. But the perceived meanings of Hiroshima have no fixed boundaries in time or place.

For some observers, Hiroshima was the victorious finale of the war against Japan--that and nothing more. For others, it was part of the 20th-Century brutalization of war through technology and corrupted morality; or a deliberate--and militarily unnecessary--taking of life in order to demonstrate American power to the Soviet Union--with innocent Japanese civilians as the victims but the mind of Joseph Stalin as the target.

Americans fighting in or on their way to the Pacific in August, 1945, were close to unanimous in the meaning they gave to Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The bombs ended the war and saved them from the high probability of being killed or wounded. They could now return to civilian life and watch their children grow up.

These men are now mostly in their 70s. Their Hiroshima Rorschach has not changed. They do not take kindly to the notion that the bombs were not the cause of Japan’s surrender or that the United States was morally guilty in the slightest degree for the Japanese atomic deaths.

Their perception was supported by the public statements of Truman and Secretary of War Henry L. Stimson. Conventional wisdom through the 1950s held that the Japanese would have fought to the last grandmother against an invasion of the home islands. There would have been 1 million U.S. casualties.

Four interconnected things happened in the 1960s to produce a competing Rorschach meaning, a radical revisionist challenge to the original consensus. First, archival records began to open up and revealed there was more to the story than bombs dropped, war ended, lives saved. Second, the Vietnam War led some of a younger generation to distrust all official explanations of U.S. behavior--past as well as present. Third, many who opposed the Vietnam War placed primary responsibility for the Cold War, and the nuclear-arms race, on the United States; they believed the world might have been safer if the bombs had not been dropped. And fourth, racial turmoil in the United States led some Americans to ask difficult questions about racism in U.S. foreign policy.

The revisionists argued that Truman and his advisers knew full well that Japan was already defeated, that Soviet entry into the war (about to occur, as promised by Stalin in February, 1945) would be decisive, and therefore no invasion would be necessary. Furthermore, some scientists and high-military officers were opposed to using the bombs--certainly not without adequate warning.

The revisionists contended that the bombs saved no American lives, did not end the war and were really used to send an intimidating signal to the Soviet Union. At the same time, racial hatred of the Japanese, the wartime denial of their inherent humanity, inhibited potential qualms about such a murderous action.

The battle between the two perceived meanings escalated with the approach of the 50th anniversary of the end of the war. The plans for an exhibit by the Smithsonian to be organized around the B-29 Enola Gay, the plane the Hiroshima bomb was dropped from, became the principal battlefield. Veterans’ organizations, members of Congress and other staunch adherents to the first and simple meaning of the events of August, 1945, protested that the plans dishonored the American war by overlooking Japanese aggression (“Remember Pearl Harbor”) and by suggesting there were morally problematic aspects to using the bomb.

Under pressure, the Smithsonian abandoned the planned exhibit, deleted photographs of victims and displayed the bomber as if it were just another famous plane. Anodyne labels gave no hint there was anything controversial involved.

But this battle is fueled by more than the anniversary. The deteriorating state of Japanese-U.S. relations, because of trade disputes and exploited by popular Japan-bashing novels, plays a part. So does the proposed constitutional amendment aimed at criminalizing disrespect for the flag, the reflection of a simplistic view of patriotism and fear of criticism. Even the normalization of diplomatic relations with Vietnam is tied in, with some critics saying normalization dishonors the U.S. dead and missing from the Vietnam War.

Find someone who attacked the plans for the Smithsonian exhibit and chances are high you have found a proponent of the flag-burning amendment and an opponent for normalization of relations with Vietnam. Find a defender of the alternative meanings of Hiroshima and you are likely to find someone opposed to the flag amendment and in favor of normalization.

Unfortunately, the polarization of meanings obscures a more complex reality. The decision to drop the bombs was filled with ambiguity. Truman knew the Japanese might surrender without the use of the bomb--but he was not certain. He saw his primary responsibility, and his political advantage, in ending the war as fast as possible with the least loss of American life. His penchant for quick decisions and aversion to hand-wringing over alternatives made the choice easier.

His attitude toward the Soviet Union was also ambiguous. He still wanted them to declare war on Japan--but he wanted to deny them a role in the postwar occupation and limit their influence in China. That was another reason for ending the war quickly. The demonstrated power of the bomb did bolster his self-confidence in dealing with Stalin. But it seems likely that he would have ordered the use of the bomb even if relations with the Soviet Union had been as friendly and cooperative as, say, those between the United States and Canada.

Opposing sides typically resist any concession to the other. In this case, the extremes believe either that the use of the bombs against Japan was essential for ending the war and saving lives--with no other purpose; or that the bombs had nothing to do with ending the war and their use was morally inexcusable.

Both extremes ought to accept the tragic ambiguity of what happened. A touch of charity toward Truman does not mean being callous toward the Japanese who died or engaging in uncritical celebration of nuclear weapons. A willingness to admit that motives behind the decision were mixed, and that a case can be made for not dropping the bomb, does not mean condemning Truman as a moral monster or absolving Japan of the commission of atrocities during the war.