One World Away: Kiang’s Great Unity and Pauling’s Press for Peace

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[Ed Note: With the conclusion of the academic year here at Oregon State University, we say goodbye to Student Archivist Ethan Heusser, who has written extensively on the Special Collections and Archives Research Center’s rare book collections at our sister blog, Rare@OSU. Today and over the next three weeks, we will share three Pauling-related posts that Ethan wrote over the course of his tenure working for us.]

Many Americans – and people around the globe – experienced the 1960s, ‘70s, and ‘80s as an age of political uncertainty and social turmoil. It was a powerful time: everywhere the specter of disaster loomed, yet that fear brought with it a unique capacity for change enabled by commonplace desperation. In the United States alone, mounting resistance to the Vietnam War built confidence among grass-roots activist organizations for their efficacy in up-ending the status quo. And while mutually assured destruction terrified the world, the threat of nuclear war also inspired many thinkers and activists to strive for equally bold solutions. In the light of world chaos and potential mass destruction, the idea of building a global government and abolishing nationalism seemed especially promising – far more promising than what the United Nations seemed ultimately able to provide.

It’s no surprise, then, to see a large proliferation in world peace literature in the Cold War era. Some publications were mild and innocuous, but many took the form of bold declarations and manifestos about the urgent need for radical change.

An excellent example of the latter is One World: The Approach to Permanent Peace on Earth and the General Happiness of Mankind by John Kiang. Self-described as “a manifesto of revolution for world union with the evolutionary law of group expansion as a guiding theory,” it examines shifting technologies and living conditions to build a larger argument in favor of a unified humanity. From that perspective, nations and nation-states can only be seen as counter-productive: the deep-seated but fundamentally arbitrary veil of nationalism impedes sincere appeals to common humanity and mutual accountability.

Although the core text is fairly concise, this copy of One World is a scholarly edition from 1984, replete with extensive sources, commentary, and analysis:

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In this work we see the role that cultural context can play in international movements: though not explicitly outlined, One Worldcontains thematic and rhetorical ties to the utopic vision of “Great Unity” in China. Great Unity represents the goal of creating a Chinese society of mutual accountability and selflessness – a cohesive community where people work to help others rather than harm them.

First described in classic Chinese texts going back millennia, Great Unity was popularized by Sun Yat-Sen in the early 20th century. In doing so, it was used to help build a cultural momentum in favor of a shift towards a communist ideal. The Great Unity message was adopted overtly in China’s national anthem in 1937; though later supplanted with another song in the People’s Republic of China during the Chinese Civil War, it remains in use by Taiwan to this day.

John Kiang left China in 1949 in the wake of the earth-shattering Chinese Civil War. It seems fair to suggest that he nevertheless brought the culturally-specific vision of world peace, prosperity, and harmony with him stateside. It’s hard for those of us living in our countries of birth to imagine the inner turmoil he must have felt during that time, working for global peace a world away while his homeland was experiencing such complete upheaval and division. Perhaps that effort helped him, in some way, to bring his home with him and improve the world as a result.

These efforts manifested in One World. Though a relatively obscure book, One World at last found some degree of traction once it found its way into the hands of two-time Nobel Laureate Linus Pauling – surprisingly, Pauling was willing to attach his name to it in the form of a guest introduction.

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As a famous peace activist, Pauling was a prime recipient of unsolicited manuscripts, book ideas, calls for action, and reference requests. But of all of the texts he received and was asked to endorse, why would he choose one such as this?

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A large factor was undoubtedly Kiang’s persistent correspondence with Pauling. He wrote with Pauling repeatedly between 1983-4, praising Pauling’s efforts and experience and asking for an introduction to One World. Pauling consistently refused, citing his lack of expertise in Kiang’s specific subject area. This pseudo-humble approach to refusing unsolicited (and often wacky) manuscripts was trademark for Pauling during his peak social activism years. Then, somehow, everything changed for One World. Somehow, Pauling changed his mind. We have as proof Pauling’s written introduction documented in the Ava Helen and Linus Pauling Collection, along with letters and cards from the Kiang family thanking him for his collaboration:

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Even when meticulously compiled and researched, correspondence collections can still resist post hoc scrutiny. We hold a substantial set of letters between the two activists, but we lack the connection point between the “before” and “after” of when Pauling agreed to add his name to Kiang’s One World project. Was it a letter that went missing? A phone call? An in-person visit? Kiang later sent Pauling a photo of a meeting between them, but the context for how and when it happened is largely absent.

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Another probable factor is that the content and message of the book aligned well with Pauling’s driving fears for the future. As Pauling writes in his introduction, “[Kiang’s] principal message is that war has now ruled itself out.” For Pauling, the atom bomb meant that “a war in which the existing nuclear weapons were used would with little doubt mean the end of our civilization, and possibly the end of the human race.” Perhaps that in itself built enough common ground between two men of different backgrounds and fields of expertise to collaborate – if only in a minor way – on what must have felt like a higher calling. (Pauling’s endorsement would be used in later work by John Kiang as well, but always from a distanced position.)

On a general level, One World embodies the slippery way that ideas persist, spread, and evolve. Just like how John Kiang built his own vision upon seeds planted by Sun Yat-Sen and many authors before him, it will be fascinating to witness how the Cold War push towards internationally-regulated peace and world government will rear its head again on the world stage in the decades to come.

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A Global Friendship

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Asima Chatterjee (front row, third from right) with her students and the Paulings, February 1967. Credit: Indian Academy of Sciences

[An examination of Linus and Ava Helen Pauling’s relationship with the influential Indian chemist, Asima Chatterjee. Part 2 of 2.]

Asima Chatterjee’s one and only meeting with Linus and Ava Helen Pauling took place during the Paulings’ tour of India, which spanned the months of January and February 1967. During the final leg of this trip, for a mere sixteen hours, the Paulings landed in Kolkata, toured the University, saw Chatterjee’s labs, and met her students. From there the Paulings departed India en route to Honolulu, where they planned to spend a few days visiting with their son, Linus Jr. Before leaving however, the Paulings gave a sum of money to Chatterjee that they later requested she spend on a wedding gift from them for her daughter. Though a small token, this gift was surely an indication of the esteem that the Paulings felt for their friend and fellow scientist.


While 1967 began on a high note for Chatterjee, the year ultimately proved to be profoundly difficult. In the months following the Paulings’ departure, Chatterjee lost both her husband and her father. Congruent with these personal tragedies, the political environment in Chatterjee’s home region of West Bengal, and particularly in Kolkata, began to deteriorate as a radical communist group, the Naxalites, began to gain influence in the area.

While the details of Chatterjee’s personal heartache, as well as India’s mounting regional strife, were communicated in her letters to the Paulings, one is also able to intuit a degree of solace being found in correspondence. In particular, Chatterjee was keen to point out Linus Pauling’s sweeping geniality and friendship, commenting that “we all admire his enthusiasm and unlimited energy. He is so dynamic! We wonder where he gains this energy.”

Though first and foremost a scientist, Asima Chatterjee’s concerns for her home country’s well-being echoed similar frustrations being felt by her stateside correspondents. While the Paulings were focused primarily on global problems of the nuclear age, in India the worries were more acute. In particular, the need to navigate and correct a wide array of political, social and economic dysfunctions left behind by the colonial era proved to be a momentous and primary challenge.

The strains of adjusting to a new era of independence that were felt nation-wide also impacted Chatterjee in a multitude of ways. Professionally, many students at her university abandoned their studies to join the Naxalites in protest. As these demonstrations grew in intensity, splinter groups resorted to attacks on Kolkata’s infrastructure that resulted in damage to the city’s power grid.

During this period of tumult, Chatterjee’s concern for the fortunes of her students, her daughter and, indeed, her country were evident in her communications with Ava Helen. In their letters, the two women discussed a number of social issues, including student unrest around the world, Kolkata’s seemingly intractable troubles, and the escalation of violence in Vietnam. In a 1971 letter, Ava Helen expressed her sympathy for Chatterjee’s plight. “The world gets no better and we have been full of sorrow and anxiety for India the past year,” she wrote. “It is so dreadful that the world refuses to try another method.”

Replying a few weeks later – during the final months of a genocidal campaign that resulted in the deaths of between 300,000 and 3 million people in present-day Bangladesh – Chatterjee expressed growing dismay about the state of affairs on the subcontinent.

Air raid sirens and black outs are frequent occurrences in the city. The number of refugees in India is beyond imagination… It is not possible for India to look after those millions of refugees permanently.

Though she could not have known the final tally at that time, statistics now show that some 10 million refugees fled Bangladesh for India in 1971.

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Asima Chatterjee (at center in white sari) with some of her students, 1997. Credit: Indian Academy of Science.

Chatterjee also noted that academic rigor at the University of Calcutta had diminished, suggesting that “the University has been converted into a machine for turning out [hundreds] of graduates every year.”

And yet, in spite of it all, Chatterjee remained very productive. By 1961 she had published 105 peer-reviewed papers and, in 1972, she was selected to be the honorary Programme Coordinator at the Centre for Advanced Studies in Chemistry of Natural Products. Three years later, she became the first woman to be elected as General President of the Indian Science Congress Association.

In 1982, after retiring from her duties as a professor, Chatterjee received a very different kind of honor when she was selected to a seat in the Raiya Sabha. A component of India’s parliament, the Raiya Sabha consists of twelve nationals who, in the estimation of the President, have made a profound impact on their fields. Chatterjee served in this is position until 1990. She died sixteen years later, on November 22, 2006, and is survived by her daughter Julie Banerji, a professor in the Department of Chemistry at the University of Calcutta.


The global friendship shared by Linus Pauling, Ava Helen Pauling and Asima Chatterjee was certainly unorthodox — in person, the relationship consisted entirely of a single, half-day meeting. Through the power of the pen however, the Paulings and Chatterjee cemented and grew their fondness for one another, regularly exchanging holiday greetings and carrying out various professional favors. Today, their bond stands as evidence in support of the imperative that knowledge flow freely across social and geographic boundaries. Their story also serves as an example of the ways in which science and concerns for humanity are so often intertwined.

Asima Chatterjee

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[Ed note: A Google Doodle published in September 2017 featured a name familiar to us — the groundbreaking Indian scientist Asima Chatterjee — and prompted us to investigate her story a bit more. Today’s post is the first of two reflecting on Chatterjee’s work and her long friendship with Linus and Ava Helen Pauling.]

It is easy to lapse into cliche when discussing female scientists of the 20th century. On the one hand, it is certainly true that women of that era, by obtaining their Ph.Ds. and rising through the ranks of academia, paved new paths for those to come by pushing through environments that were often hostile to their presence. Beyond this however, it is also crucial to acknowledge the multifaceted contributions that these women made to their scientific disciplines and to celebrate the ways in which their work made a profound impact outside of the context of gender relations.

Asima Chatterjee, born in Kolkata (previously Calcutta) in 1917, is a terrific example of a pioneering woman scientist whose impact has been felt in many ways and on many levels. Chatterjee, a brilliant and passionate scholar, was the first woman to obtain a Doctorate of Science from an Indian university; just one in a succession of accomplishments. In so doing, she both smashed cultural expectations and demonstrated the ways in which sexism is detrimental to society as a whole.

The importance of a woman’s perspective – in particular, the capacity for empathy so often engendered by the roles, expectations and cultural norms traditionally assigned to women – is a quality that Linus Pauling revered. The strongest piece of evidence that one might put forth in support of this argument was the genuine respect and affection that characterized his long relationship with his wife, Ava Helen Pauling. By her husband’s own admission, Ava Helen was crucial in building and maintaining the compassion, selflessness, concern and, indeed, courage that were fundamental to Linus Pauling’s peace work, which was honored by the Nobel Peace Prize committee in 1963.

It is unsurprising then, that the friendship which flourished between Asima Chatterjee and the Paulings was steeped not only in mutual scientific interests, but also in a shared concern for social welfare. In fact, the two were not discrete nodes of their relationship: the desire for a more equitable and peaceful world was tethered to their mutual passion for science and, ultimately, became a central reference point in the constellation of their friendship.


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The Paulings’ relationship with Asima Chatterjee likely found its start during Chatterjee’s stint as a fellow at the California Institute of Technology, though not in a typical way. In the years following the completion of her doctorate in 1944, Chatterjee and her one-year-old daughter, Julie, traveled abroad for a series of fixed-term research appointments, including a position at Caltech. While in Pasadena, Chatterjee studied carotenoids under Laszlo Zechmeister, a Hungarian scientist who had been hired by Pauling. Presumably because of his connection to Zechmeister, it seems clear that Pauling knew of Chatterjee’s visit, even though he was in England at the time, serving a year-long term at Oxford as Eastman Professor.

What is certain is that the Paulings’ and Chatterjee’s friendship was almost entirely facilitated through letters, dozens of them, penned over the course of nearly two decades. In their lengthy correspondence, Chatterjee and the Paulings touched upon a wide variety of topics ranging from professional favors to the shifting fortunes of India to the various exploits and undertakings of their children. Not until 1967, in Calcutta, did the correspondents finally meet face-to-face.

Chatterjee’s research focused primarily on natural products and phytochemistry, and placed prominent emphasis on the potential medicinal properties of the substances under study. Fascinated with botany early in childhood and, as a professional, inclined towards investigations in organic chemistry – the subject in which she received her doctorate – Chatterjee’s passions aligned in such a way as to enable in-depth studies of the structures and properties of plants native to India. One of Chatterjee’s especially prominent achievements emerged from her research on vinca alkaloids, used today for chemotherapeutic treatments. Chatterjee’s program of work made similarly important contributions to the attack on malaria and epilepsy.

However, despite her obvious promise as a scientist, Chatterjee’s research program was regularly hamstrung by funding problems. India achieved independence from the United Kingdom in 1947 (around the time of Chatterjee’s U.S. fellowship tour) and, as a recently sovereign nation, had a great deal to figure out both politically and economically. Working within this climate, Chatterjee routinely experienced difficulty in acquiring the basic resources and supplies necessary to conduct her research. This reality made her international connections, at Caltech in particular, a lifeline for the progress of her work.

One example of this somewhat unorthodox international collaboration was documented in a March 1953 letter. In it, Chatterjee asked Pauling to provide a degree of technical support with an alkaloid, Rauwolscine, that she would later become well-known for studying. In particular, Chatterjee needed Pauling’s assistance with a form of x-ray analysis that was not beyond her level of expertise, but instead was inaccessible to her for lack of technical infrastructure. While in this insistence Pauling decided against heeding Chatterjee’s request – citing various stipulations of institutional policy – other letters provide numerous examples where he and his colleagues were able to aid in her work.


Asima Chatterjee’s tenacious nature and focused dedication to her field were formally recognized by her peers in 1961, when she became the first woman to be awarded the Shanti Swarup Bhatnagar Prize. (An extremely prestigious honor for Indian scientists, this award has, to date, been bestowed to sixteen female recipients in total.) In next week’s post, we will examine the ways in which Chatterjee’s work, as well as her relationship with the Paulings, continued to flourish throughout the 1960s and beyond.

 

David Pressman

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David Pressman, 1937

[Part 6 of 6 in our series exploring Linus Pauling’s work on the serological properties of simple substances, and the colleagues who assisted him in this work.]

After a meeting with Karl Landsteiner in 1936, Linus Pauling began serious investigations into the link between antibodies and antigens, compiling notes for what would eventually become his serological series, a collection of fifteen papers published during the 1940s. Landsteiner had specifically piqued Pauling’s curiosity on the question of the human body’s specificity mechanism – e.g., how could the body produce antibodies tailored to lock onto and fight specific antigens?

Pauling ultimately surmised that the answer lie in the shape of the molecules, and in the type and number of bonding sites. He described this as a “lock and key” mechanism, otherwise termed as molecular complementarity. Throughout this project, which made a significant impact on the modern study of immunology, Pauling enlisted the help of many undergraduate, graduate, and doctoral students, including a promising young scholar named David Pressman.


David Pressman was born in Detroit, Michigan in 1916. He attended Caltech as an undergraduate, studying under Pauling and completing his degree in 1937. He stayed in Pasadena for his doctorate, earning it in 1940. During this time, he became a part of Pauling’s quest to unravel the structure of proteins, and was particularly involved with the antibody and antigen work.

By this point, Pauling and his colleague Dan Campbell felt confident enough in what they had learned about antibody specificity to attempt creating artificial antibodies. Pauling was enthusiastic about the practical application that such an endeavor might promise for physicians. Warren Weaver, Pauling’s primary contact at the Rockefeller Foundation, which was funding the work, cautioned Pauling against becoming overconfident, but still granted him enough money to hire Pressman full-time. Thus began Pressman’s career in immunology.

At Pauling’s request, Pressman stayed on at Caltech as a post-doc, and during this time the two became friends. In 1943, after failing to prove that they could synthesize antibodies, Pauling’s research team changed their focus from understanding the structural components of antibodies and antigens, to looking for the binding mechanism that allowed antibodies to attach to specific antigens through Van der Waals bonds. One outcome of this was their development of the theory of complementarity, a “lock and key” model in which molecules fit together because of the high levels of specificity that they show for one another.

Pressman authored three papers with Pauling during this phase, including a very important one titled “The Nature of the Forces between Antigen and Antibody and of the Precipitation Reaction,” published in Physiological Reviews. In this paper, the researchers discussed the historical significance of immunology within the context of structural chemistry. Speaking of the tradition in which they worked, Pauling and his colleagues wrote that “two of the most important advances in the attack on the problem of the nature of immunological reactions were the discovery that the specific precipitate contains both antigen and antibody, and the discovery that antibodies, which give antisera their characteristic properties, are proteins.”  In this paper, they also theorized that the immune system depends on structural and chemical forces to function.


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Pressman (at right) in the lab, ca. early 1960s.

In 1947, Pressman decided to pursue an interest in cancer research and moved on to the Sloan Kettering Institute in New York City to investigate the use of radioactive tracers as they pertained to cancer treatment.  The West Coast was never far from his thoughts however, and he often wrote back to friends comparing the two regions and asking for information about life in Pasadena. Of his new arrangements he observed, “The mechanics of living take a much greater part of the time in New York, so that I do not have as much time to do as much as I would like to or could do in Pasadena.”

Pressman’s first few years at Sloan-Kettering were difficult, not only because of the nature of the research that he was conducting – a continuation of the research that he started with Pauling – but because he was frequently forced to move both his lab and his residence, a source of continuous disruption for himself and his family. Sloan Kettering had just been established in the early 1940s and wasn’t formally dedicated until the year after Pressman moved there. Though it eventually became one of the nation’s leading biomedical research institutions, Pressman’s early experiences there coincided with institutional growing pains.

Eventually, as the environment at Sloan-Kettering became more stable, Pressman settled in to his position and provided Pauling with regular updates on his progress. The two often traded manuscripts back and forth, and each solicited technical advice from one another on their specific endeavors, which gradually grew further afield as time moved forward. At Kettering, Pressman continued to study antibody specificity and explored the potential use of radioactive antibodies for tumor localization to develop immunotoxins. In 1954, he left New York City for the Roswell Park Institution in Buffalo, remaining there until his death.


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60th birthday greetings sent to Pauling by David and Reinie Pressman, February 1961.

Pauling and Pressman remained in frequent contact for many years, focusing their voluminous correspondence primarily on work that Pressman continued to do as an outgrowth of their time together in Pasadena.  In July 1961, Pressman wrote that he and a colleague, Oliver Roholt, had potentially made a breakthrough with regard to the sequencing of the polypeptide chain associated with the region of specific binding sites in antibodies. He sent his manuscript, “Isolation of Peptides from an Antibody Site,” to Pauling for review prior to submission to Proceedings of the National Academy of Science. Pauling felt that the manuscript had been put together too quickly and challenged Pressman to do better. He annotated the manuscript with numerous suggestions, most of which Pressman adopted. Less than a week later, Pressman sent the manuscript back to Pauling with the corrections and Pauling transmitted it in to PNAS, where it was received favorably.

The late 1960s were a period of great activity and advancement for Pressman. In 1965, he received the Schoellkopf Medal, a prestigious award granted by the Western New York section of the American Chemical Society. In 1967, he became assistant director at Roswell and, in 1968, he published a book, The Structural Basis of Antibody Specificity. By all outside indications, Pressman’s life was going well.


In 1977 however, tragedy struck when Jeff Pressman, David and Reinie Pressman’s son, committed suicide at the age of 33. Jeff was an up-and-coming professor of political science at MIT, where he was well-liked by faculty and students. Up until a few months before his death, Jeff had seemed happy, both with his career and his life at home. In a letter to Pauling, Pressman described Jeff’s descent into depression as sudden, severe, and uncharacteristic. He also documented the events leading up to his son’s suicide, conveying that he and his wife had become increasingly convinced that the responsibility for the tragedy lay at the feet of a rheumatologist to whom Jeff had been seeking assistance for back pain.

Believing Jeff’s back pain to be primarily muscular in cause, the rheumatologist had prescribed Indocin in January 1977. According to multiple sources that Pressman later consulted, Indocin was a mood-changer, so much so that other patients had reported sudden depressive symptoms and, in severe cases, committed suicide a few months after starting the medication. To complicate matters, the rheumatologist had increased Jeff’s dose to a level that few patients could tolerate well, and had done so more rapidly than was advisable. When Jeff began complaining of insomnia, the rheumatologist prescribed two additional medications, both of which had the potential to worsen his depression. Jeff finally stopped taking Indocin, but the effects lingered. Jeff’s wife, Katherine, reported that Jeff had felt increasingly hopeless about his depression, even though he continued to work at MIT up until his death.


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David Pressman’s former secretary, Cheryl Zuber, posing with a plaque mounted in Pressman’s honor at the Cancer Cell Center, Roswell Memorial Institute, 1981.

In the wake of Jeff Pressman’s death, his colleagues at MIT published a collection of political essays dedicated in his honor. The dedication specifically called out Jeff’s commitment to his students and his impact as a teacher. In it, his colleagues wrote, “He cared deeply about public affairs and immersed himself in them because he genuinely felt that government at its best could improve peoples’ lives.”

Nonetheless, the loss took its toll and, for David Pressman, the only source of solace that he could identify was a return to work. In 1978, his focus in the laboratory was on localizing radio-iodinated antitumor antibodies. He later wrote to Pauling about chronic shoulder pain that he was experiencing, as he was aware of Pauling’s vitamin research and was in search of an alternative to the shoulder replacement surgery that had been recommended by his physician. Pauling put forth an argument for a megadose of vitamins, but Pressman was eventually diagnosed with osteoarthritis. By the end of the year, he was slowing down, both in his work and in his correspondence.

Two years later, in June 1980, Pauling received the news that David Pressman had jumped from the roof of Roswell Park Memorial Institute. In a letter to Pauling informing him of her husband’s death, Reinie Pressman cast about for answers. She wrote at length about the health problems that he had been experiencing, including partial hearing loss, prostate trouble, and chronic problems associated with the osteoarthritis in his right shoulder. She also confided that “You were a significant part of Dave’s happier past.” Pauling replied in kind, stating

I was very fond of David. Also, I owe much to him, because of the vigor and effectiveness with which he tackled scientific problems during the eight years that he worked with me. Much of the success of our program in immunochemistry was due to his contribution.

Carol Ikeda and Miyoshi Ikawa

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Linus Pauling, 1942

[Ed Note: Parts 5 and 6 of our series detailing Linus Pauling’s work on the serological properties of simple substances both focus on the intriguing life stories of three individuals with whom Pauling worked on this program of research.]

Over the years, Linus Pauling forged close relationships with many of his graduate and doctoral students, offering guidance that, in numerous cases, changed the course of a student’s career. During World War II, he fought particularly hard for two of his research assistants, Miyoshi Ikawa and Carol Ikeda. In both cases, Pauling’s intervention prevented these colleagues from being forcibly interned. Instead, Ikawa and Ikeda each moved on to graduate studies and fruitful careers in science.


Miyoshi “Mike” Ikawa was born in California in 1919 to first generation immigrant parents. He pursued undergraduate studies at Caltech, where he was a member of the Chemistry Club and Tau Beta Pi, and competed on the Fleming House wrestling team. When he graduated in 1941, he was already working in Pauling’s lab, preparing compounds and helping with the first three serological papers. Pauling subsequently served as his graduate advisor.

Carol Ikeda came to Caltech from Texas in 1939, having started his education at Paris Junior College in Texas. He transferred to Caltech with the intent to study chemistry and become an organic chemist. At Caltech, he stood out among many other very bright students; Pauling described him as “one of the top men in the class.” Not one to give compliments lightly, Pauling recognized Ikeda’s potential not only from his performance in class, but also from his work in organic research labs on campus. Before Ikeda had even decided to continue onto graduate studies at Caltech, Pauling had recruited him for the serological project as an assistant in the Immunochemistry department. Indeed, it is especially noteworthy that Ikeda and Ikawa both are listed as co-authors for Pauling’s first three serological papers, given that the first two papers were published while Ikeda and Ikawa were still undergraduates.


Up until World War II, it appeared that Ikawa and Ikeda were each moving well down the path toward successful careers in immunology, organic chemistry, or biochemistry. This all changed when President Franklin Roosevelt issued Executive Order 9066 and declared Pasadena to be a military zone.

Even before the attack on Pearl Harbor, U.S. citizens of Japanese descent faced discrimination on the basis of race as well as suspicions that they would prove more loyal to Japan than to the United States even if they were second- or third-generation citizens. Acutely aware of the mounting tension faced by American-born Japanese, Pauling was determined to support students bearing this burden and to make sure that they could find positions at Caltech for which they were suitably qualified.

Pauling was likewise clear in his understanding that other universities did not share his point of view. In the recommendations that he wrote, he provided full disclosure and acknowledged potential discomforts regarding race, an issue that many administrators would have preferred be left unacknowledged. In one particular reply to a request for recommendations, Pauling wrote

…the two best men scholastically in our graduating class are American born Japanese, Ikawa, and Ikeda. Although one of them has, I think, a satisfactory personality for teaching work, I doubt that you would be interested in appointing him because of his racial handicap.

Some universities responded positively to recommendations of this sort; the University of Iowa, for one, confirmed that race wouldn’t be a problem at all. Rather, Pauling’s Iowa contact assured that the institution shared Pauling’s stance and was committed to considering the qualifications of their applicants regardless of race. The reply went on to state,

While we have not had any American-born Japanese on our teaching staff, I see no reason why they would not get along satisfactorily, if they have the necessary intelligence and ability.


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Miyoshi Ikawa, 1941

Ikawa and Ikeda had been working on the serological project for more than a year when Pasadena was declared a military zone. Cognizant of the need to help his assistants relocate to a safer area, Pauling had a relatively easy time finding Ikawa a position as a graduate student at the University of Wisconsin, where he worked under Karl Paul Link. This move ultimately changed the course of Ikawa’s career. Before receiving his doctorate, Ikawa, along with Link and Mark A. Stahmann, synthesized warfarin and obtained a patent for it to be used as a rat poison. By 1950, warfarin (now commonly referred to as Coumadin) was being used to treat blood-clotting disorders such as thrombosis, because it was a strong anticoagulant. It still serves this purpose today.

With the war over, Ikawa was free to return to the West Coast, where he conducted postdoctoral research at Caltech and UC-Berkeley, before moving on to the University of Texas. In the early 1960s, he settled down and became a professor at the University of New Hampshire, where he began focusing on marine biotoxins. In 1972, he and his colleagues established the Paralytic Shellfish Monitoring Program for the state of Maine, a course of action that followed the first evidence of a red tide in the southern Gulf of Maine. Ikawa taught at the University of New Hampshire for twenty years and then spent most of his later career advising technical panels and partaking in peer review committees for federal research grants. He passed away in 2006.


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Carol Ikeda, 1941

Pauling had a harder time finding a position for Ikeda. In February 1942, shortly after Roosevelt released his executive order, Pauling sent a letter to Robert Millikan – the chairman of the Caltech Executive Council – about Ikeda’s progress and position. In this, Pauling tried to make the case that, while his serological research wasn’t directly related to defense work, its results could be valuable for their medical application. He also pointed out that finding someone as competent as Ikeda to continue these studies would be nearly impossible.

As it turned out, this approach backfired for Pauling, because so many people were nervous about having American-born Japanese involved in any war effort. Consequently, Millikan asked Pauling to vouch for Ikeda’s loyalty in order to allow Ikeda to continue “to undertake, under special arrangement, research work which may involve defense matters.” Pauling vouched for Ikeda’s work, but hesitated to comment on his loyalty, because he felt that someone with a more personal working relationship with Ikeda could give a better answer. He also suggested that Ikeda could be transferred to a teaching position if the issue of loyalty could not be resolved to Millikan’s satisfaction.

As Millikan deliberated, Pauling began to feel that Caltech might not be the best environment for Ikeda, even if he was transferred to a teaching position. In short order, Pauling contacted Michael Heidelberger, a faculty member at Columbia University’s College of Physicians and Surgeons. In doing so, Pauling offered Heidelberger a quid pro quo of sorts, suggesting that Heidelberger accept Ikeda into his program at Columbia in exchange for Pauling hosting one of Heidelberger’s researchers in Pasadena. This plan broke down when the Columbia researcher that Pauling had in mind wrote back to say that he could not accept an appointment at Caltech and that he wished to stay on at Columbia instead.

The situation was not improved much by Heidelberger’s blasé attitude toward the internment camps. Recognizing that “wholly” patriotic people would be unjustly punished, Heidelberger remained unconvinced that there was much that he or Pauling could do to alleviate the issue, an opinion shared by many. As would later become the norm, Pauling stood out here as a lonely voice in the scientific community.

For Ikeda, things worked out at the last minute. In April 1942, just two weeks before Ikeda was assigned to report to a camp, Pauling managed to find him a graduate position at the University of Nebraska, where he completed his Ph.D. in 1945. In 1947, Ikeda accepted an offer of employment from DuPont in Delaware, and then later moved within the company to Philadelphia. In 1962, he received a patent for a resinous coating material that he developed while working for DuPont. He passed away in Phoenix, Arizona in 1996, having enjoyed a successful life and career.

A Lifelong Quest for Peace

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Pauling and Ikeda at Soka University in Los Angeles, 1987

[Part 2 of 2 in a series on Pauling’s interactions with Daisaku Ikeda.]

Linus Pauling’s 1987 meeting with Japanese peace activist Daisaku Ikeda, in which the two discussed their lives and philosophies in great detail, clearly made an impression on both men. Not long after, Ikeda’s assistant, Tomosaburo Hirano, wrote to Pauling again, thanking him for meeting with Ikeda and asking about the possibility of his composing a manuscript for publication in Japan.

Later in 1988, just about a year after their first meeting, Ikeda wrote to Pauling directly to express interest in co-authoring a dialogue in order to “provide some suggestion for the young generation who are to shoulder the responsibility in the 21st century, as well as serve the cause of peace and prosperity of humankind.” The dialogue would be published in an interview format, based on the transcript of their meeting in Los Angeles and supplemented by additional material. The first step toward completion was for Pauling to answer a series of seventy-three questions regarding his outlook on life. Pauling was interested in the project and promptly responded to the questionnaire.


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Pauling and Ikeda in dialogue, 1987

Many of the questions developed for the dialogue concerned the evolution of Pauling’s views on war and peace over the course of his life. Pauling began by explaining that, as he was only thirteen years old when World War I started, he had few thoughts about international relations at the time. He did recall the conclusion of the war in 1918, as he participated in a victory parade held in Corvallis, Oregon, where he marched alongside other cadets serving in the Oregon Agricultural College Army Reserve Officers Training Corps.

By the dawn of the Second World War, Pauling was well-established in Pasadena, working at the California Institute of Technology. During the war years he directed much of his energy toward projects sponsored by the explosives division of the National Defense Research Committee, where his research was used to support the killing and maiming of enemy soldiers, including the Japanese. Though he would spend much of his life working to limit the amounts of human suffering on Earth, Pauling commented that he felt satisfaction at the conclusion of the war, heartened that Hitler “and his associates” had been denied their goal of gaining control of the planet.

Nonetheless, despite Pauling’s scientific support for the war effort, it was also the case that when J. Robert Oppenheimer asked him to head the Manhattan Project chemistry department at Los Alamos, he refused. Likewise, after the war’s end, it was the emerging development of nuclear weapons and the ongoing threat of nuclear war that prompted Pauling’s peace activism. Over time, this point of view evolved into a desire to eliminate all war from Earth.


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In 1990, the agreement for the Japanese version of the Pauling-Ikeda dialogue, In Quest of the Century of Life, was finalized, and this version of the book was subsequently published. That same year, Pauling delivered a commemorative lecture at the second Soka University Pacific Basin Symposium, held at the Los Angeles campus of Soka Gakkai University.

Pauling used this talk to reflect on the genesis of his peace activism in some detail. Pauling recalled that, following the detonation of nuclear bombs over Hiroshima and Nagasaki in 1945, the public first became aware of the existence of nuclear weapons. In short order, businessmen’s clubs and other civic groups began to request that Pauling deliver after-dinner talks on the nature of these powerful new weapons. The talks were meant to be purely educational, according to Pauling, and focused mostly on the nature of atomic nuclei and nuclear energy.

Pauling soon discovered however, that as he gave more talks of this kind, he found himself ending them with a short commentary on war in general. In these, he expressed his hope that the existence of nuclear weapons would act as a deterrent to future conflicts, which would instead be handled by an international system of law. Albert Einstein had conveyed a similar sentiment as early as 1946.

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Pauling speaking at Soka University, August 24, 1990.

But with the passage of time, as nuclear stockpiles grew and the magnitude of the bombs being produced increased from 20 kilotons to 20 megatons – more than a thousand times more powerful than the weapons used in Japan – Pauling and many others began to call for global disarmament. While this directive was partially heeded the world’s governments, many large militaries began looking for ways to profit on their slow but steady draw down in arms. As Pauling pointed out, this ambition led to sales of military surplus.

“What do we have going on in the world now?” Pauling queried at the podium.

Wars, a lot of wars. And thousands, tens of thousands of people killed every year in wars…And what does the United States do, and the Soviet Union do, and the Chinese People’s Republic? They all sell advanced military weapons to other countries, the underdeveloped countries, countries that have a lot of money because of oil.

Pauling’s rhetoric had sharpened over the years, and now, before a packed house in Los Angeles, he demanded a change from the military-industrial status quo that had emerged in the wake of the Second World War.

Now we are forced to eliminate from the world forever the vestige of prehistoric barbarism, this curse of the human race, war. We, you and I, are privileged to live at a time in the world’s history, this remarkable extraordinary age, the unique epoch in this history of the world, the epoch of demarcation between the past millennia of war and suffering and the future, the great future of peace, justice, morality, and human well-being. The world community will thereby be freed, not only from the suffering caused by war, but also from hunger, disease, and fear through the better use of the earth’s resources, the discoveries made by scientists and the efforts of human beings through their work. And I am confident that we shall, in the course of time, build a world characterized by economic, political and social justice for all persons and a culture worthy of man’s intelligence.


In 1991, the year following Pauling’s Soka University address, Linus Pauling and Daisaku Ikeda, along with Johan Galtung, the Norwegian founder of the discipline of Peace and Conflict Studies, signed the Oslo Appeal. This document urged the United Nations to require that nuclear member states issue a global, joint Nuclear Test Ban Treaty as well as a Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty; outlaw the production and stockpiling of chemical and biological weapons; prohibit the international weapons trade; and sponsor an international conference to discuss the redirection of resources released through disarmament to support development in the Third World.

Subsequently, Linus Pauling received the Daisaku Ikeda Medal for Peace, awarded by Soka Gakkai International in 1992. Later that year, the English translation of his and Ikeda’s dialogue was published in the West under the title of A Lifelong Quest for Peace.

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Visitors at the San Francisco opening of the “Linus Pauling and the Twentieth Century” exhibit, 1998.

Following Pauling’s death in 1994, Ikeda expressed a desire to honor his friend with a travelling exhibition that would be funded by Soka Gakkai’s resources. The exhibition was initially conceived of as a means for educating the public on ideas in chemistry and as a mechanism for introducing children to Pauling as a role model.

As it moved forward, the exhibit shifted toward honoring all facets of Pauling’s career as a humanitarian, activist, scientist, and medical researcher. Once finalized, the exhibit toured the world for six years. Millions of people saw it in Europe and Japan, as well as multiple locations in the United States, including Washington D.C., San Francisco, Boston, and Pauling’s birthplace, Portland, Oregon.

Pauling and Ikeda

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Daisaku Ikeda, 2010

[Part 1 of 2]

“If the people are not misled by false statements by politicians and authorities, they will recognize the need for world peace and their own responsibilities in achieving this goal.”

-Linus Pauling, 1988

In August 1945, Daisaku Ikeda, a resident of Tokyo and the son of a seaweed farmer, witnessed first-hand the devastation that two nuclear bombs wrought upon his homeland. The experience instilled in Ikeda an insatiable yearning to understand and eliminate the sources of war.

In pursuing this ambition, Ikeda studied political science at what is now Tokyo-Fuji University, and committed himself to the pacifist lifestyle of a Nichiren Buddhist. Ikeda’s chosen faith, named after a twelfth-century priest who emphasized the Lotus Sutra as the authoritative text for adherents of Buddhism, was becoming extremely popular among East Asians following World War II. Fundamental to the practice’s message was a strong call to treat others with respect and compassion, recognizing that all will become Buddhas in the end.

Ikeda also joined a new religious organization called the Soka Gakkai, which followed the teachings of Nichiren, and ultimately became the group’s president in 1960. In his capacity as chief executive, Ikeda focused intently on opening Japan’s relationship with China, and establishing the Soka education network of humanistic schools from kindergarten through university. He also began writing a book titled The Human Revolution.

As his tenure moved forward, the Soka Gakkai grew into an international network of communities dedicated to peace and to cultural and educational activities. In 1975, Ikeda founded an umbrella organization known as Soka Gakkai International (SGI) to fund, direct the resources of, and help facilitate communication between the dispersed Soka Gakkai members. In the 1980s, he turned his attentions toward anti-nuclear activism and citizen diplomacy, and it was in this capacity that he came into close contact with Linus Pauling.


Pauling’s first interaction with SGI came in the early 1980s, by which time the non-governmental organization was already actively cooperating with the United Nations’ department of public information to mobilize citizens for mass movements demanding peace. Seeking to increase SGI’s influence in propelling the peace movement, Ikeda decided to initiate communications with Pauling, who was by now splitting the majority of his time at the family ranch in Big Sur, California and the Linus Pauling Institute of Science and Medicine in Palo Alto. It was at the latter location where Ikeda’s associate, Mr. Tomosaburo Hirano, would make contact with and interview Dr. Pauling.

This meeting proved to be the first step in a lengthy “courtship” that involved extensive correspondence between Pauling’s secretary, Dorothy Munro, and Ikeda’s assistant, Hirano. Indeed, more than six years would pass before Pauling communicated directly with Ikeda and, a bit later on, finally meet Ikeda in person.

Over the course of those six years, Hirano met with Pauling for two more interviews, focusing primarily on Pauling’s views on peace, but also, to a lesser degree, on his scientific work. Extracts from these sessions were often published in the Seikyo Simbun Press – the Soka Gakkai’s daily newspaper in Japan – for which Hirano served as associate editor. The pieces typically highlighted Pauling’s work toward nuclear disarmament and were often published in tandem with Ikeda’s release of new strategic proposals bearing titles such as “A New Proposal for Peace and Disarmament” and “Toward A Global Movement for a Lasting Peace.”


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Pauling and Ikeda pictured together in an article published in the Kanagawa Shimbun newspaper, February 2005.

Finally, at the end of 1986, Pauling received a New Year’s card from Ikeda. The following year, during a trip to Los Angeles, Ikeda requested a personal meeting with Pauling, which Pauling obliged. Face to face at last, the two men developed an instant rapport with one another, quickly exhausting the allotted time for their meeting with discussion (aided by a translator) of a wide range of subjects: science, peace, childhood and adult life. The conversation even drifted into Pauling’s hobby of collecting and studying different editions of the Encyclopedia Britannica.

Ikeda was fascinated by Pauling’s warm recollections of major figures such as Albert Einstein, Albert Schweitzer, Bertrand Russell and, of course, Ava Helen Pauling, whose life and accomplishments Pauling cited as having been directly responsible for his peace activism. The two also talked about Pauling’s Nobel Peace Prize lecture, in which he had said that he believed the world had inevitably to move into a new period of peace and reason, that no great world war would again threaten the globe, and that problems should be solved by world law to benefit all nations and people.

In that same lecture, Pauling emphasized that, were it up to him, he would prefer to be remembered as the person who discovered the hybridization of bond orbitals, rather than through his work toward reducing nuclear testing and stimulating action to eliminate war. Nonetheless, Pauling considered the Nobel Peace Prize to be the highest honor that had ever received, in particular because of the onus that it placed upon him to continue that work. By contrast, Pauling felt that his Nobel Chemistry Prize, awarded in 1954, had plainly been earned for work already accomplished.

Over the course of their conversation, Ikeda also learned that being dedicated to peace, for Pauling, meant working toward the prevention of suffering for all human beings. In this, Pauling’s point of view as a humanist matched up well with Ikeda’s Buddhist philosophy. Specifically, Ikeda’s faith taught that one should regard others’ sufferings as their own and should seek out to eliminate it – a principle also expressed in the teachings of Christ, Kant’s Categorical Imperative, and in the Analects of Confucius, and more generally known as the Golden Rule.

Though Pauling was an avowed atheist, Ikeda pointed out that he did not feel his own religion to be an impediment to his rationality – the same rationality that Pauling believed guided his own desire for peace. Rather, Ikeda argued that

Religions must make every effort to avoid both bias and dogma. If they fail in this, they lose the ability to establish a sound humanism and can even distort human nature. The twenty-first century has no need of religions of this kind.

So concluded the long-awaited first meeting between two men of like interests. The communications and collaborations that were still to come will be explored in our next post.