Of every tree of the garden you are free to eat, but you must not eat of the tree of knowledge.
--Genesis 2:16-17

Human beings are curious and clever, but rarely wise. We have been defined (incorrectly) as the tool-making animal, but we all too often make tools that harm us rather than aid us. From Genesis to Jurassic Park, stories have been written to caution people regarding the danger of discovery.

Thus far, this book has emphasized the contributions of scientific understanding and technological advance to nearly every area of human endeavor. But, as "The Madness of Chairman Mao," "Gin and Tonic," and "Arms and the Mind" have demonstrated, science and technology are not a panacea; they entail serious dangers when they are misused, misunderstood, or overestimated. It can be said, without exaggeration, that many of the worst episodes in recent history have at their root the abuse of science.

Throughout history, there have been voices which expressed concern about the steady advance of science and technology. Sometimes, this has taken the form of ignorant, destructive behavior (such as that displayed by the Luddites, who destroyed labor-saving machinery in early 19th-century England, and, more recently, by the Unabomber's attacks). However, there have been many negative responses to scientific and technological advance which were well- reasoned, wise challenges to the abuse of either scientific ideas or technological capabilities. It is to these--and, specifically, those responses to technology which took the form of great literary achievements�that we will now turn. Genesis has not one, but two, stories cautioning its readers on the dangers of discovery: the expulsion of Adam and Eve from the Garden of Eden (for eating of the Tree of Knowledge) and the failed attempt to build the Tower of Babel to the heavens. For another ancient criticism of the attainment of knowledge, the Prometheus story serves well; though humans were empowered by fire, the god who gave it to them was severely punished. Moving towards modernity, the story of Faust, in its various guises, also indicates that the hunger for knowledge can be highly destructive. A fairly recent work which puts technology on trial is R.U.R., which introduced the word "robot" (Czech for worker) into the global vernacular. In Karel Capek's vision, engineers on a remote island create humanoid robots which are intended to be the perfect industrial workers. The issues of mass unemployment among humans and "obsolescence" of our species are raised, which demonstrates some remarkable foresight for a play published in 1923. The play also raises questions about the fate of the human soul when an industrial age primarily demands efficiency of labor. The robots' eventual takeover of the world, eliminating all the human beings save one, is intended to shock a complacent audience into recognizing the perils which scientific and technological progress entail.

The most outstanding (and influential) literary work whose message focuses on the dangers of scientific discovery is Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley's Frankenstein. Frankenstein is not the story of the monster, but the story of a man who sought to know and create too much. He was initially driven by the overwhelming desire to understand the phenomenon of life, that he might prolong the lives of those who would otherwise die. Losing track of his primary goal, he thirsted for the attainment of a very different one, namely the infusion of life into lifeless matter. His success quite literally haunted him until death. The monster wreaked vengeance on his creator for cruelly installing him in a world in which all hated and feared him. When Frankenstein refused to make a mate for his monster, the creature murdered his remaining loved ones. He taunted Frankenstein to pursue him to the end of the earth--the remote Arctic regions--where the creator, tormented by cold, finally succumbed to a miserable death.

Shelley subtitled her work "or the Modern Prometheus," reminding the reader that we have not yet tamed fire, though we continue to play with it. The subtitle captures only one of the many stories that contributed to Shelley's work, though; other sources range from the previously cited verses of Genesis to The Merchant of Venice.

Even more striking than Frankenstein's great antecedents is the frequency with which it has been echoed since. Written at the beginning of an age of rapid scientific discovery, Frankenstein recognizes the hazards of superficial understanding without the maturity to control our impulses, themes later woven into works great and small such as Moby Dick, Little Shop of Horrors, the movie Wargames, the previously cited R.U.R., and the book Jurassic Park. This last writing is not about dinosaurs, any more than Frankenstein is about the monster; it is about the failure of human beings to control their desire to alter their world for the sheer thrill of seeing that they have made a mark. It is human nature to want to leave footprints and trash on the moon, to spear butterflies for our collections.

Frankenstein is a classic, by definition, because it is at least as relevant today as it was when it was published. Recent advances in genetic engineering and computer science have raised challenging philosophical questions regarding our responsibilities when people create intelligent entities. As human beings attain ever-greater power over their environment, our wisdom and restraint do not increase in proportion to our technological capabilities. The warnings of discovery's peril emerge from the pages of Genesis; if not heeded, they will contribute directly to the Apocalypse.

Now I am become death, destroyer of worlds.