One of my favourite public figures is Robert Oppenheimer, a tragic, passionate scientist who was martyred for politics. JRO reminds me of Naked Snake, another character who suffered for his nation at the expense of both his personal creed and his relationships. I read American Prometheus around the time that the movie Oppenheimer hit theatres, taking copious notes and replaying Metal Gear Solid 3 at the same time. Snake and Oppenheimer both altered their respective worlds, sacrificing themselves in the process.

A Haunting Faith Within

It’s strange to realize how tightly connected the world’s greatest scientists were during the mid-20th century. Names like Niels Bohr, Enrico Fermi, and Albert Einstein often seem separated by time, tucked away into different chapters of physics textbooks. But in reality, they all crossed paths, often literally sitting at the same tables, drinking together, arguing, and shaping the modern world in real time. J. Robert Oppenheimer, the theoretical physicist most associated with the Manhattan Project, wasn’t simply a solitary genius in the desert. He was right in the center of it all, surrounded by peers whose names would later become synonymous with science itself. Oppenheimer’s life wasn’t just a story of intellectual achievement. It was a case study in how absolute dedication to a single pursuit can both elevate and destroy a person. He lived in full commitment to his craft and to his country. The price of that commitment was high.

Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.

There is a quote he often referenced from the Bhagavad-Gita, which he first cited upon the death of Franklin D. Roosevelt. He said, “Man is a creature whose substance is faith. What his faith is, he is.” It became clear that Oppenheimer’s faith had always been tied to science and, later, to his nation. That faith defined him completely. One of the more unsettling revelations in his story is the way the United States deployed the atomic bomb. The common belief is that the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki were necessary to end the war. Oppenheimer himself was surprised to learn that Japan was already close to surrender. The Soviet Union was preparing to enter the Pacific theater, which would have likely ended the war without the need for such devastation. Nevertheless, American leadership chose to proceed with the attacks, targeting cities with large civilian populations to make a global statement.

We knew the world would not be the same. A few people laughed, a few people cried. Most people were silent.

Oppenheimer became haunted by this decision. Though he had dedicated years of his life to building the bomb, he began to fear what he had unleashed. He warned against further escalation, particularly the development of even more destructive hydrogen bombs. His warnings were not welcomed. Instead, the government began to treat him as a political liability. His security clearance was revoked after a series of hearings designed not to seek truth but to publicly humiliate him. Key evidence was hidden from his defense team. The outcome had been decided before the hearings even began.

Deep Betrayals

His story mirrors the arc of Naked Snake in Metal Gear Solid 3, a character punished by the very nation he served. Snake, much like Oppenheimer, carried out his mission with complete loyalty, only to find himself discarded once his usefulness ended. Both men became weapons for their governments. Both were ultimately left behind once their missions became inconvenient. In both cases, the betrayal wasn’t accidental. It was calculated. Oppenheimer’s mistakes were not just technical but personal. He had previously cooperated with federal investigators, providing information about friends and colleagues with communist ties. He seemed to believe that his scientific stature would insulate him from consequences. When those same conversations were later used against him, he denied them, but it was too late. The damage was irreversible. He had been naive about how Washington worked. His own words became the rope with which his enemies tied the noose.

Lewis Strauss, a powerful figure in the Atomic Energy Commission, had long sought to discredit Oppenheimer. The political climate of the Red Scare gave Strauss the perfect opportunity to erase Oppenheimer from public life. His downfall wasn’t just political. It was total. He lost his position, his influence, and his role within the scientific community. His health deteriorated. His wife, Kitty, and his daughter, Toni, both died not long after. The man who had once stood at the center of the scientific world died feeling abandoned and erased. Oppenheimer once described the nuclear standoff between the United States and the Soviet Union by saying, “We may be likened to two scorpions in a bottle, each capable of killing the other.” He also warned, “You can’t have this kind of war. There just aren’t enough bulldozers to scrape the bodies off the street.” His vision for the future was clear and terrifying. Yet after his fall from grace, he was left without any meaningful role in shaping the world he had helped create. The story feels painfully familiar today. As Russia wages war in Ukraine, many analysts have noted parallels between Vladimir Putin and earlier Soviet leaders. There is a passage in American Prometheus that captures this mindset, describing how Stalin sought to protect his internal empire but was not necessarily seeking external war, knowing that such a conflict could destabilize his regime. The same pattern appears to be playing out again, with internal strife reportedly growing in Russia as the war drags on. Leaders who lash out in fear of losing control often accelerate their own downfall.

Devoted To Nation & Man

Oppenheimer’s life raises an uncomfortable question. What happens to those who devote themselves entirely to serving a cause, only to discover that their sacrifice means nothing in the end? His tragedy wasn’t simply that he created something dangerous. It was that he believed his loyalty and achievements would shield him. In reality, the system he served was eager to discard him the moment he became a liability. His life was a warning, both about the dangers of unchecked technological power and about the brutal cost of idealism in a world that rewards control above all else. Just like Naked Snake, Oppenheimer learned that serving a nation doesn’t guarantee honor. Sometimes, it guarantees exile.