Copenhagen (14 page)

The American physicist Jeremy Bernstein says that ‘he
had the first truly quantum-mechanical mind—the ability to take the leap beyond the classical visualizing pictures into the abstract, all-but-impossible-to-vizualise world of the subatomic …’ Cassidy believes that a great part of his genius was his ‘ability to adopt a serviceable solution regardless of accepted wisdom.’ Rudolf Peierls stresses his intuition. He would ‘almost always intuitively know the answer to a problem, then look for a mathematical solution to give it to him.’ The obverse of this, according to Peierls, is that ‘he was always very casual about numbers’—a weakness that seems to have contributed to his downfall—or his salvation—in the atomic bomb programme.

Margrethe always found him difficult, closed, and oversensitive, and this propensity to be withdrawn and inturned was exacerbated as life went on—first by his political problems in the thirties, and then by his efforts to reconcile the moral irreconcilables of his wartime work. His autobiographical writing is rather stiff and formal, and his letters to Bohr, even during the twenties and thirties, are correct rather than intimate. Throughout the period of their closest friendship they addressed each other with the formal
Sie
, and switched to
du
only when Heisenberg also had a chair.

The conversations that Heisenberg claimed such freedom to recreate in his memoirs are stately. Much more plausibly colloquial is the transcript of David living’s long interview with him for
The Virus House
, living’s history of the German bomb programme, though he is still (naturally) watchful. In the transcripts of the relatively unguarded conversations that the German atomic team had among themselves during their internment, where Heisenberg emerges as the dominant figure, both morally and practically, a certain hard-headed worldliness can be detected. He is much concerned with professional prospects, and with how they might make some money out of their wartime researches. When one of the others says that if they agree to work on atomic matters under Allied control they will be looked down upon as traitors ‘in the eyes of the masses’, Heisenberg replies: ‘No. One must do that cleverly. As far as the masses are
concerned it will look as though we unfortunately have to continue our scientific work under the wicked Anglo-Saxon control, and that we can do nothing about it. We will have to appear to accept this control with fury and gnashing of teeth.’

There was always something a little sharp and harsh about him, something that at its best inspired respect rather than love, and that after the war occasioned really quite astonishing hostility and contempt. Even Samuel Goudsmit turned against him. Goudsmit was an old friend and colleague; when the investigators of the Alsos mission, the Allied agency for gathering intelligence on German atomic research, for which he was working, finally broke into Heisenberg’s office in 1945, one of the first things they saw was a picture of the two of them together that Heisenberg had kept there as a memento of happier days. But when Goudsmit subsequently interrogated Heisenberg he found him arrogant and self-involved. Goudsmit had understandably bitter feelings at the time—he had just discovered the record of his parents’ death in Auschwitz. Heisenberg was also caught in a false position. Confident that his team had been far ahead of the Americans, he offered Goudsmit his services in initiating them into the secrets of uranium fission. (Goudsmit did nothing to correct his misapprehension, which gave Heisenberg, when the truth finally came out, grounds for returning Goudsmit’s bitterness.) In his superficial and strangely unimpressive book on Alsos, Goudsmit wrote about Heisenberg and his team with contemptuous dismissal, and in the year-long correspondence in the American press that followed its publication, accused him of self-importance and dishonesty.

Weisskopf gave a reception for Heisenberg during his trip to America in 1949, but about half the guests—including many people from the Los Alamos team—failed to appear, explaining to Weisskopf that they didn’t want to shake the hand of the man who had tried to build a bomb for Hitler. Even Cassidy, who gives full measure to Heisenberg as a physicist in his biography, is notably cool and cautious in his assessment of Heisenberg’s role in the German bomb
programme. Ronald Fraser, the British intelligence officer who escorted Heisenberg back to Copenhagen in 1947 (the British seem to have been frightened that he would defect to the Russians, or be kidnapped by them) replied to living’s inquiry about the trip in tones of patronising contempt that seem slightly unhinged. The whole story of “a kind of confrontation”,’ he wrote to Irving, ‘in the matter of his 1941 natter with Bohr in the Tivoli Gardens [sic] is a typical Heisenberg fabrication—maybe a bit brighter than a thousand others, but like them all a product of his
Blut und Boden
guilt complex, which he rationalises that quickly that the stories become
for him
the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Pitiful, in a man of his mental stature.’

The historian Paul Lawrence Rose, who has focussed upon Heisenberg as an emblem for what he regards as the general failings of German culture, also takes a remarkably high moral tone. In a paper he wrote in 1984, entitled
Heisenberg, German Morality and the Atomic Bomb
, he talked about Heisenberg’s ‘guff,’ his ‘self-serving, self-deluding claims,’ and his ‘elementary moral stupidity.’ After a further fourteen years research Professor Rose returned to the subject in 1998 in a full-length book which was published after the play was produced, and which has attracted considerable attention,
Heisenberg and the Nazi Atomic Bomb Project: a Study in German Culture
. His contempt for Heisenberg remains unmoderated. He believes that Heisenberg failed, in spite of his perfect readiness to serve the Nazi regime, because of his arrogance and wrong-headedness, and because he embodied various vices of German culture in general, and of the Nazi regime in particular, whose values he had absorbed.

It is a difficult book to read—Rose can scarcely quote a word of Heisenberg’s without adding his own disparaging qualification. Here is a selection of his interjections on two facing pages taken more or less at random: ‘ … self-incriminating … a somewhat inadequate explanation … this inconsistency … the falseness of these lame excuses … a characteristic Heisenberg lie … Heisenberg’s usual facile rationalising ability … Heisenberg then went on glibly to
recollect … the delusory nature of Heisenberg’s memory …’

You wonder at times whether it wouldn’t look better if it was handwritten in green ink, with no paragraph breaks. Rose seems to be aware himself of the effect he is producing. He realises, he says, that some readers may ‘find distasteful the recurrent moral judgments passed on Heisenberg.’ They may also, he thinks, be put off by what seems a ‘lack of sympathy with German culture’—he cannot say, he confesses, that his ‘British background’ has made him entirely sympathetic to it. He is at pains to distance himself from any unfortunate echoes that this attitude may awaken: he hopes that readers will not accuse him of ‘unthinkingly preaching a crude view of German “national character,” whatever that term may mean.’ What he is concerned with, he explains, is not that at all, but ‘the enduring nature of what one might call the “deep culture” of Germany … In this book I have tried to penetrate into how Germans think—or rather, perhaps, used to think—and to show how radically different are German and what I have termed “Western” mentalities and sensibilities.’ It is this that underlies what he calls, without apparent irony, ‘the Heisenberg problem.’

Some of his evidence induces a certain dizziness. He quotes without comment, as the epigraph to a chapter, a remark by Albert Speer, the Nazi Minister of Armaments: ‘I do hope Heisenberg is not now claiming that they tried, for reasons of principle, to sabotage the project by asking for such minimal support!’ It’s true that any claim to have sabotaged the project, particularly for reasons of principle, would represent an astonishing departure from Heisenberg’s habitual caution on the subject. But the question is not what Speer hoped, but whether Heisenberg
did
make such a claim.

So did he or didn’t he? Rose doesn’t tell us, and the only reference he gives is Gitta Sereny’s new book,
Albert Speer: His Battle with Truth
. The allusion is to the crucial meeting at Harnack House in 1942, mentioned in the play. Speer said in his memoirs that he was ‘rather put out’ by the very small amount of money that Heisenberg requested to run the nuclear research programme. In an earlier draft of the
manuscript (the ‘Spandau draft’), says Sereny, he had added in brackets the remark that Rose quotes—and Heisenberg, she says, ‘did in fact try precisely that after the war.’

So he
did
make the claim! But when and where? Sereny doesn’t tell us. The only references to the smallness of the sums of money he asked for that I can find in the record are the one quoted, by Speer himself, and another by Field Marshal Milch, Goering’s deputy in the Luftwaffe, who was also present at the meeting. There’s certainly nothing about it in Heisenberg’s memoirs, or in Robert Jungk’s book,
Brighter Than a Thousand Suns
, or in Heisenberg’s long interview with Irving, or in the other two obvious places, his interview with
Der Spiegel
in 1967, when living’s book was published, or his review of the book in the
Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung
. I hardly like to put myself forward to fill the gap, but so far as I know the only reference he made to the subject was posthumously and fictitiously in my play.

Sereny, like Rose, is markedly unenthusiastic about Heisenberg in general. She goes on to argue that Heisenberg’s claims about his intentions in meeting Bohr in 1941 ‘are now shown by Speer’s Spandau account to be false’, though quite how this is so she doesn’t explain. About what she calls ‘the facts’ of the Copenhagen meeting she is remarkably brisk. In the conversation ‘ … which Bohr subsequently reported to his associates at the Niels Bohr Institute, Heisenberg had made his political stand crystal clear. His team, he told Bohr, had gone some way towards discovering a way to produce an atom bomb. Germany was going to win the war, probably quite soon, and Bohr should join them now in their efforts.’

The idea that Heisenberg was inviting Bohr to work on the German bomb is on the face of it the least plausible out of all the possible interpretations that have been offered. It is completely at odds with what Weisskopf recalls Bohr as saying in 1948, and with what Bohr is on record as telling Chadwick at the time. In any case, the suggestion that Heisenberg thought he might be able to import someone half-Jewish into the most secret research programme in Nazi Germany is frankly preposterous.

So what is Sereny’s evidence for her account of the meeting? At this point the sense of vertigo returns, and one begins to have the feeling that one is in an Escher drawing, where the stairs up to the floor above somehow lead back to the floor one is already on, because the only reference she gives is … Powers, Heisenberg’s great champion, in
Heisenberg’s War
.

And it’s true—Powers
does
quote an opinion to this effect (and it’s the only possible source for it anywhere, so far as I know). He says he was told by Weizsäcker that some person or persons unnamed in Copenhagen, 44 years after the event, had told
him
that this is what Bohr had said he had believed Heisenberg’s intention to be. One might think that this is rather faint evidence. In any case, even if it really is what Bohr believed, it is of course not what Weizsäcker believed, or Powers either. They are reporting Bohr’s alleged belief as a possible misapprehension on his part which might have explained his anger. Indeed, Powers’s own reading of the situation is precisely the one that Sereny claims to be discredited by Speer’s remark.

*

Goudsmit gradually modified his opinion, and his final judgment on Heisenberg, when he died in 1976, was a generous one which goes some way to expunging the dismissive tone of his book: ‘Heisenberg was a very great physicist, a deep thinker, a fine human being, and also a courageous person. He was one of the greatest physicists of our time, but he suffered severely under the unwarranted attacks by fanatical colleagues. In my opinion he must be considered to have been in some respects a victim of the Nazi regime.’

Robert Jungk, one of the few authors who have ever attempted to defend Heisenberg, modified his opinion in the opposite direction. In
Brighter than a Thousand Suns
, originally published in 1956, he suggested that the German physicists had managed to avoid building nuclear weapons for conscientious reasons, and quoted Heisenberg as saying that,
‘under a dictatorship active resistance can only be practised by those who pretend to collaborate with the regime. Anyone speaking out openly against the system thereby indubitably deprives himself of any chance of active resistance.’ But Jungk later changed his mind, and described the notion of passive resistance on the part of the German physicists as a ‘myth’. He had contributed to spreading it, he said, out of an ‘esteem for those impressive personalities which I have since realized to be out of place.’

For a really spirited and sustained defence Heisenberg had to wait until Powers published his book in 1993. It is a remarkable piece of work, journalistic in tone, but generous in its understanding and huge in its scope. A little too huge, perhaps, because Powers is unable to resist being sidetracked from the main narrative by the amazing byways that he perpetually finds opening off it. I recommend it particularly to other dramatists and screenwriters; there is material here for several more plays and films yet.

His central argument is that the Allied bomb programme succeeded because of the uninhibited eagerness of the scientists to do it, particularly of those exiles who had known Nazism at first hand, and who were desperate to pre-empt Hitler; while the German programme failed because of the underlying reluctance of scientists in Germany to arm Hitler with the bomb, however strong their patriotism, and however much they wanted to profit from the possibilities for research. ‘Zeal was needed,’ he says; ‘its absence was lethal, like a poison that leaves no trace.’