The dropping of atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki resulted in the end of World War II. Like many other commentators, I have defended the decision by President Truman to drop the bombs on utilitarian grounds. That case has been made by many, Richard B. Frank among them:
The critics [of the use of the A-bomb to defeat Japan] share three fundamental premises. The first is that Japan’s situation in 1945 was catastrophically hopeless. The second is that Japan’s leaders recognized that fact and were seeking to surrender in the summer of 1945. The third is that thanks to decoded Japanese diplomatic messages, American leaders knew that Japan was about to surrender when they unleashed needless nuclear devastation. The critics divide over what prompted the decision to drop the bombs in spite of the impending surrender, with the most provocative arguments focusing on Washington’s desire to intimidate the Kremlin. Among an important stratum of American society–and still more perhaps abroad–the critics’ interpretation displaced the traditionalist view….
[I]t is clear [from a review of the evidence now available] that all three of the critics’ central premises are wrong. The Japanese did not see their situation as catastrophically hopeless. They were not seeking to surrender, but pursuing a negotiated end to the war that preserved the old order in Japan, not just a figurehead emperor. Finally, thanks to radio intelligence, American leaders, far from knowing that peace was at hand, understood–as one analytical piece in the “Magic” Far East Summary stated in July 1945, after a review of both the military and diplomatic intercepts–that “until the Japanese leaders realize that an invasion can not be repelled, there is little likelihood that they will accept any peace terms satisfactory to the Allies.” This cannot be improved upon as a succinct and accurate summary of the military and diplomatic realities of the summer of 1945. [“Why Truman Dropped the Bomb,” Washington Examiner, August 8, 2005]
Among the “countless lives” saved were those of Japanese as well as American nationals. I have in the past defended the dropping of the A-bombs because of the saving of “countless lives”. As a convert to the ranks of anti-utilitarianism, I now reject that argument. I cannot, in good conscience, assert with god-like authority that the killing of X people was worth the saving of Y lives, even where Y is vastly greater than X.
But I am nevertheless able to defend the dropping of the A-bombs because doing so very possibly saved certain lives. Six of my mother’s seven brothers served in the Navy and Coast Guard during World War II. (The seventh had been in service several years before the war, and was ineligible for further duty because his skull was fractured in a civilian accident in 1941.) Had the war continued, a long and bloody invasion of Japan would have ensued. One or more of my uncles might have been killed or injured seriously. My maternal grandmother, to whom I was greatly attached, would have suffered great emotional distress, as would have my aunts and many of my cousins. Their emotional distress and sadness would have become my emotional distress and sadness.
Beyond that, many Americans who had fought to defend the United States from the militaristic, authoritarian regimes in Tokyo and Berlin would have died. Their deaths would have affected many of my friends and their families, and would have made America a sadder and poorer place in which to live.
I empathize with the Japanese victims of the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and with the Japanese victims of other attacks by U.S. armed forces. I hate the thought of death and suffering — unless they are deserved as punishment for wrong-doing — regardless of the nationality, religion, race, ethnicity, social class, or political views of the victims. But I do not equate the lives of those nearest and dearest to me with the lives of those distant from me. Leftists, “liberals” (if there any left), and left-libertarians like to pretend that they do, but they are either fools or liars when they say such things.
All critiques of the use of atomic weapons to subdue Japan in World War II commit the sin of presentism. Nobody can recreate the anger we had toward Japan, the way Japanese forces fought, and the way they treated prisoners.
It began with the Panay Incident in December, 1937. The US river gunboat Panay was sunk by Japanese aircraft while evacuating American citizens trapped by Japan’s invasion of Nanjing. Two U.S. sailors were killed; more than 40 servicemen and civilians were injured. The attack like Pearl Harbor, stood out both for its mercilessness and the fact that the US and Japan were not at that time at war. (The Nanjing Massacre saw Japanese troops kill more than 200,000 unarmed men and civilians and rape and torture tens of thousands of women and girls, according to the post-war Judgment of the International Military Tribunal for the Far East.) China estimated the number of dead at more than 300,000.
Then there was Pearl Harbor, and the bloody battles at sea and in the island-hopping campaign that led eventually to the carnage at Okinawa. Japanese forces strafed sailors in the water from sunken ships and treated prisoners inhumanely (Bataan death-march).
The battle for Okinawa, the last in the island chain, resulted in more than 12,000 U.S. soldiers, sailors and Marines killed during the fighting.
In the waters around Okinawa, the Japanese launched the largest kamikaze attack of the war. Japanese planes sank 26 allied ships and severely damaged 168 others.
So, we were really angry with the Japanese, who held over 200,000 prisoners of war (mostly Chinese) and said they would kill them all if we invaded the home islands.
The atomic bombs were dropped after Japan continued to resist despite the USAF fire-bombing Tokyo and many other Japanese cities. We were incendiary in our anger.
The bombs at Hiroshima and Nagasaki killed fewer Japanese than Japanese troops killed in the "Massacre of Nanjing," where our anger had been kindled.
All the cost benefit analysis and retro-reflectoscopic reflections have no way to understand, or measure, how angry we were at the Japanese.