A recent LAX to JFK Delta flight afforded me the time and headspace to finally get around to watching Christopher Nolan's Oppenheimer. Recognizing that I am delving into the picture unfashionably late, I don't expect to break any new ground by furnishing a review of the movie.
However, there is one (perhaps overlooked) theme that stuck out to me that I do want to spend time pursuing. Specifically, the film's memorable, repeated line of "Theory can only take you so far" is one that I think merits some unpacking. Oppenheimer presents theory and practice as two separate, perhaps conflicting disciplines that are pursued by different entities that specialize in one or the other wholeheartedly. The movie's main character himself is portrayed as a man who is at the peak of theory but struggles with the moral consequences of applying said theory into practice. This struggle persists not just in Oppenheimer's professional life as he finds himself weaponizing theory in a manner that makes neither the theorists nor the practicals completely satisfied, but also in his personal life as his scientific brilliance clashes with his day-to-day relationships.
I believe the crumbling of what Oppenheimer believes he stands for is a result of the juxtaposition of theory and practice as in conflict with one another. I remember mentioning this in my very first article on this Substack, that there is a frustrating societal norm to place people into boxes. These boxes, whether they're demonstrated as genres, themes, or niches, supposedly represent the most defining quality of a person. With that label of defining quality comes a certain level of pressure that's simply unneeded as it fundamentally misses the key part of the human experience. To explain what I'm getting at in Oppenheimer terms, forcing one's self to either be focused on theory or practice misses the fundamental fact that being a person entails both theory AND practice.
There's a great article from Hugh Clark that demonstrates this paradox in tennis terms. Clarke writes that players should coach and coaches should play because the two functions -- the animalistic experience of playing tennis and the mentally charged experience of observing and critiquing tennis -- are in harmony, not conflict, with each other.
To elevate this phenomenon from the particulars of playing tennis and World War II scientific warfare to something more universal is going to involve a rather abstract, academic thought experiment, but I urge you to stay with me.
As a result of thousands of years of evolutionary development, human beings are fundamentally defined as animals that have been blessed with computer-like brains that have the ability to think, observe, and reason. Defining humanity involves capturing the essence of gray that results from the black and white concepts of the animal and the rationality that is within us all. Of course, the specific gradient and shade of gray depends on one's life experiences that have shaped who they are today, but there isn't a singular grain of humanity that can be completely encapsulated as singularly black or white.
Attempting to simplify our defining quality as one or the other does a disservice to ourselves when being a human is inherently defined by the complex interplay between the animal and the rational brain. An age-old philosophical question asks if we are more defined by the bodily experiences and feelings we have that are a result of the specific apparatuses we have come to embody or by the thoughts that run through our rational brains that are a result of the environments we have been placed in. It might sound like a cop-out, but truly, the answer is both.
I am by no means an expert in all the content that has ever been created, but a hyper-broad general trend I've come to observe is that older, historically important literature urges us towards rationality by warning us of the dangers of excess engagement in the animalistic tendencies of humanity (I'm thinking of Greek and Roman tragedies where the hero has a catastrophic fall from grace due to a fundamental human flaw). On the other hand, the modern content we consume on a day-to-day (Oppenheimer serves as a good example) urges us to more wholeheartedly embrace the animalistic tendencies by proclaiming that always staying in the rational brain misses the essence of what makes life worth living. Perhaps this broadly general trend is an indication of how society as a whole has evolved since its conception, but that's a rabbit hole to visit another time. The better, more practical takeaway for us is that the true best way to live one's life is somewhere in the middle, as a balance of both of the things that make us human.
Our privilege and responsibility with the life we have been given is to embrace the paradox that is the harmony between these two opposite phenomena. As I said above, everyone's specific shade of gray is going to be different, but our onus in life should be to figure out what mix of black and white is right for our specific moment in our journeys in life. It isn't groundbreaking to say growth only happens when we're out of our comfort zone; if we find ourselves most comfortable indulging in our animalistic desires and feelings, it would be valuable to apply a rational, observant lens to our experiences. If we find ourselves most comfortable in our own rational sphere, it's valuable to pursue more doing instead of thinking.
This abstract thought piece perhaps comes off as more convoluted and preachy than I intended it to be. I don't mean to say that specializing in life is a sin; in fact, I am a strong believer in valuing depth over breadth. However, as we specialize in our lives, it's paramount to remember the other half of what makes us human. Embracing and applying secondary and tertiary abilities to our primary pursuits is what makes us each unique and different, and forgetting the fundamentals of what makes us who we are would be as devastating to human life as the A-bombs developed by Oppenheimer.