On July 16, 1945, in the barren deserts of New Mexico, a blinding flash illuminated the early morning sky. As the first atomic bomb test succeeded, J. Robert Oppenheimer, the father of the atomic bomb, recalled a line from Hindu scripture: "Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds" (Decision). This moment marked both the pinnacle of human ingenuity and the terrifying potential of our intellect. Since then, humanity has lived in caution, knowing that the world could be destroyed with the single press of a button.  Many expressions of literature express this paradoxical tension between our iron-clad will to survive and innovate, and the unforeseen outcomes that we bring upon ourselves. In our quest for immortality and progress, we ultimately overlook the inherent beauty and value of life as it is, giving in to the fear of death rather than welcoming the purpose of living.

The fear of death is one of the most defining traits of humanity. Death, the inevitable end of life, has reigned over not only humans but all forms of life since the beginning of time. A short but thought-provoking documentary Ten Meter Tower, shows us that even the most trivial situations, such as jumping off a 10-meter diving board into a pool, can make us hesitate and shrivel up in fear. Equally significant is our innate ingenuity and ability to observe and apply our findings in the world around us, no matter where we come from, a trait Christina Ruddy writes as being "inherently mathematical” (208). Almost everything we see around us in our day-to-day lives is the product of our innovative intelligence, which is a definitive display of our inherently mathematical nature. Our innate fear of death has forced us to make use of every ounce of this inherent ability in order to outrun this eventual doom in a game of cat and mouse.

Then, the question becomes: what price is too high to defy nature and conquer mortality? The environment around us? Our happiness and individuality? Or at the cost of our existence—the very thing that we want to preserve?

One of the most basic things that we need to survive is food. For thousands of years, we used to be simple hunter-gatherers who lived in small groups. However, about 11,000 years ago, our ancestors began manipulating the lives of animals and plants (Foraging). This was a major turning point in how humans lived, and ever since, humans have spent their lives farming and escaped the gruelling and dangerous life of hunter-gatherers and enjoyed the luxury of farming. However, this shift came at a great cost. While the Agricultural Revolution allowed humanity to produce food in abundance and support larger populations, it also brought unforeseen consequences. It is something that can only be described as “the ability to keep more people alive under worse conditions" (Harari 94). As populations grew, so did inequality, disease, and environmental degradation. Humans became tethered to the land, spending long hours cultivating crops, often at the expense of their health and happiness, as this is not what we have biologically evolved to be enslaved to. In striving to quench hunger and ensure survival, humanity inadvertently created a more arduous and confining way of life.

This cycle of innovation, solving one problem while creating another, has continued into the modern age, where humanity's technological advancements have reached new heights. The scientific and industrial revolutions within the last couple of centuries have propelled us into an era of invention and discovery that has dramatically reshaped our world in such a short period of time. Yet, these innovations carry a threat that can erase everything that has been ever built. The atomic bomb is one of the most haunting symbols of this. In the novel Hiroshima, at the first moment when the atomic bomb was ever used in warfare, at “the first moment of the atomic age, a human being was crushed by books" (Hersey 16). This scene paints the price of knowledge; it shows us how our own knowledge is the agent of our destruction. This is very reminiscent of a quote from the fictional character Obi-Wan Kenobi, “you've become the very thing you swore to destroy” (Revenge).

Perhaps this is simply the way of nature. The universe, at its core, seeks balance. When one force grows too great, when humanity’s pursuit of progress crosses a certain threshold, it will inevitably trigger forces that restore equilibrium. Just as a thriving ecosystem collapses under overpopulation or an economy faces recessions after a massive spike in growth, humanity may be bound to the same universal law, the law that will ultimately stop us from reaching the realm of divinity.

In our relentless pursuit of progress, we often shut down the very things that make life meaningful: our ability to reflect, to connect, and to express our humanity. Just as Melinda in Speak loses her purpose and identity after trauma, just as Melinda loses her voice and withdraws into herself, humanity may risk losing its collective voice as we prioritize advancement over introspection. If we do defy all laws of nature, and someday, we achieve immortality, what will we live for then? Will there be any purpose for us to strive for, in our own unique and individual ways? David Richards recalls in his descriptive essay My Old Newcastle that over time with industrialization, his hometown, once a vibrant and close-knit community, transformed into something cold and unrecognizable. The changes that promised progress instead drained the town of its life, replacing its beauty with fast-food franchises and malls (Richards 297).

In my opinion, in order for humanity to achieve true satisfaction, it is not outrunning inevitable doom we must be concerned about—as nature will eventually bring us back to equilibrium; it is appreciating the natural world and the uniqueness of our individual lives because it is something limited, something that you can only experience once. In the Letter of Recommendation: Candle Hour, Julia Scott describes the experience of turning off all artificial lights and returning to the simplicity of candlelight. Only then, did she “find the less conditional, more indomitable version of [herself]” (Scott 2). In all of our existence in this world, we have studied the universe, “but had overlooked its clearest message: For small creatures such as we the vastness is bearable only through love” (Sagan 430). Therefore, I say then, the purpose of life is not to conquer death or build endlessly, but to embrace the beauty of our existence and pursue our own purpose, knowing our time is finite. True fulfilment can only come from the ability to connect with the world and the people around us.

 Humanity's pursuit of immortality and progress, while a display of our intellectual brilliance, often causes us to overlook the inherent beauty of life as it is. Through literature and history, we see the consequences of prioritizing survival over meaning, such as in Hiroshima, where knowledge, used to advance humanity, ultimately brings destruction. Similarly, industrialization, as described in My Old Newcastle, transforms vibrant communities into soulless, mechanized environments. The true purpose of life is not defying death, but embracing the finite nature of our existence, finding fulfillment in the connections we make, and cherishing the time we are given. As Carl Sagan wrote, the vastness of the universe is bearable only through love (430), and it is through love and meaningful reflection that we truly find purpose.