From Humble Beginnings...

Illustration by Theodor von Holst from the frontispiece of the 1831 edition of the novel, Frankenstein, The Modern Prometheus, by Mary Shelley

Recently, I've been reading  Susan Tyler Hitchcock's Frankenstein: A Cultural History. It's a fascinating look into the many manifestations and interpretations of Mary Shelley's creation. Beginning with the literary roots of the novel in the ancient stories of Prometheus (as evident in the novel's sub-title) to its historical roots in that oft mythologized meeting at Lake Geneva during "The Year Without a Summer"...the summer at Villa Diodati has, perhaps, gone through more interpretations, exaggerations, and hyperbole than Shelley's story.

This being said, one should not overlook the magnitude of the creations that sprung from this rather inauspicious summer get-a-way. Out of this gathering came two of the western worlds most innovative, curious, and culturally influential 'monsters': Frankenstein and Dracula. It is interesting to note, too, that Stoker was present at the Villa Diodati during that same summer that inspired Mary Shelley, although Stoker would not write his novel until 1897.

Without playing favorites, my interest here is in the creation of Dr. Frankenstein and his 'monster' through Mary Shelley. As much as I admire--and often return to--the concept of the Vampire, the more I realize that this creature has really not evolved. It is today much akin to Bram Stoker's Dracula. Stoker's story was built on earlier versions as seen in Sheridan le Fanu's, Carmilla; James Rhymer's, Varney; and, Pollidori's Vampyre. I find it curious that there is no ancient Greek predecessor to Dracula, or the Vampire. The roots of  Stoker's creature rest in legend more than mythology. The roots of this stem from his 'research' into Emily Gerard's 1885 Transylvannia Superstitions. The name of his creature, Dracula, comes from the name the 13th Century Duke, Vlad II, of Wallachia who, upon entering the 'Order of the Dragon', took the name Dracul--interestingly enough, Vlad the Impaler was his son and not, as Coppola's film holds, himself.

Shelley's Frankenstein creation has roots in the mythological not the legendary, and here I must take a moment to express the difference between the two as I see it.

At the core of a legend there is some truth, granted it is not necessarily the truth we would wish.

Case in point: Bigfoot, or the Sasquatch. Basically unknown to the western world until the Patterson-Gimlin film (1967), Bigfoot grew from a local legend stemming from footprints to a wider audience once the film was 'discovered'. This film spurred, for example, Hollywood's own The Legend of Boggy Creek (1972). Titled a 'docu-drama' capitalizing on the popularity of the Patterson film (as it became known). The trailer for the film can be seen here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E9V44D9xZ70.

Because of the creatures popularity people began seeking out the background to this creautre and, out of this, came many other stories (Sasquatch, for example, is from the Salish peoples) and connections to other cultures manifestations, as in the Himilayan's Yeti. The 'truth' of this legend stems from one Ray Wallace who, in 1958, made the first tracks and subsequently capitalized on the popularity by helping to grow the 'sightings'. He did this by creating his own films, photos, and foot castings (He, himself, was not in the suit that Patterson caught on the film. He did, however, say he knew who was in it).

So, at the core of the Bigfoot legend is a truth: some guy (or girl, seeing as Mrs. Wallace is on record saying she wore a suit for husband Ray's films on occasion, just not for the Patterson film) in a suit....but it's not the 'truth' many believers would want (or accept, seeing as people still believe in the big B).

Myths, on the other hand, do not have a 'truth' at their core. That being said, it is erroneous to see them as lies or falsehoods, as they are often presented in contemporary parlance. Myths are very real in the sense that they are collective knowledge, or 'lessons learned', lessons learned sometimes at great expense (e.g. some one else's life). These very real lessons are then passed on to others in the form of the most long-lived and common form of pedagogy: metaphorical and didactic stories. Thus, even today, we have Prometheus--modern or classical. It should be noted that Prometheus' name, in ancient Greek, means 'forethought'. So, at least in part, his story is the story--the lesson--is of thinking before acting irrespective of how noble the act (e.g. stealing fire for humans). Today, we could say that you should 'think before you act'. So, Prometheus' lesson is an important one and it is in our nature to recast it in a contemporary narrative for a contemporary audience. Prometheus didn't exist literally, yet his importance is undeniable--even today. But only if we (re-)interpret metaphorically. Herein lies the problem of those, for example, who hold to the inerrancy of the Bible. Although the lessons and the knowledge of this text are, I believe (as an atheist) are undeniable, they're meant to be read figuratively--metaphorically--not literally, or, worse, as evidence or proof. As a historical text, the bible fails even the most casual rigor of evidence; as literature, however, it is a wealth of knowledge (as seen in Northrup Frye's The Great Code: The Bible As Literature ; a 'required' read by anyone interested in this topic).

In literature we refers to stories as having not 'truth' rather verisimilitude; that is we ask the question: is it believable, for this is what holds us to a narrative (and allows us to 'suspend disbelief'). So, for example, Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings cannot, by any sane person, be seen as holding 'truth' (unless we use truth metaphorically, a pitfall of those who hold to the inerrancy of the Bible, for example). Yet, read as an allegory it has much to tell us--and richly--of the bond between friends, for example. In this sense, it is a great tale, but a tale retold as seen in its roots, for exampe, in the Epic of Gilgamesh or the Song of Roland. Yet, there really are no Orcs, Hobbits, dragons, or Wizards...sadly, perhaps. That being sad, and like the great tales it borrowed from, and was built upon, there is much to be learned in "those quiet watches of the night" when reading them.

And, so, we return to Frankenstein, as a myth not a legend.

Shelley's creation has gone through several manifestations and, perhaps sadly, distillations. In some instances it has stagnated since Karloff's wonderful portrayal, although Karloff can hardly be held responsible. In other instances, it, like any great myth, has been recast to suit the times the tale was told (and as a reflection of the times it was told in, for monster tales are always expressions of our unconscious fears and, so, sometimes they transcend time, and other times they are tied to it.). And, in regards to this latter point, I think one of the most interesting of these interpretations comes in Karel Capek's play, R.U.R.(Rossum's Universal Robots). It is, in fact, Capek's play that gave us the term 'robot'.

During the latter half of the 19th Century Frankenstein made a re-appearance and gained immense popularity on stage. It was used as a metaphor, for example, for things as seemingly un-connected as the growth of the corporation (as a creation of man run out of control). Capek's play was also influenced by the Frankenstein creations, yet he manifest the story--the lesson to be learned--in a different form, a form to suit the fears and challenges of the times: the automation of work. Today we have forgotten the impact automation had upon society, although I think we still have some of the same fears of being made 'redundant'. Robots have gone through a recent revival based, in no small part, on the actual advances of robotics. But we still see them as mostly mechanical creations.

However, Capek saw the creations as chemically created entities, entities that would reach their pinnacle when they attained a soul; that is: consciousness. This, as should come as no surprise by now, was due to the advances and claims (sometimes wild) made in biology, chemistry which gave birth to a entirely new field: biochemistry. Sciences that were claiming--in some truth--to be reaching for the 'essence' of life. We we're becoming much more god-like than anyone before had realized. In this sense, and like the Jewish story of The Golem, Frankestein is a creation of man through science. Although the Golem is more a creation of magic, but here the narratives of science and myth cross-over in the 'science' of alchemy, something which bio-chemistry, to many observers--even scientists' themselves--appeared. This interpretation of the myth as a threat to the very existence of man is seen as an extension of man's creation. This can be seen in other mediums re-telling the story: Edison's 1910 Frankenstein and the characters of Maria in Fritz Lang's 1927 Metropolis. Both of these films take their cue from the late 18th Century concern of science and technology  replacing humans and the effect this would have. This shouldn't be surprising seeing as the advances of sciences, into hereto unheard territory, were occurring at break-neck speeds, speeds well beyond the capacity of the average person to comprehend and for the scientists' to see where they might go. Hubris, indeed.

Then, in 1931, Whale and Karloff brought their version of the creature to film, granted in a rather reductionist and overly simplistic (albeit the most popular and iconic!) version. This interpretation--great for its time--certainly does little justice to the mythological aspect. We see this in the static nature of the creature since that time. That is to say that many of the re-creations since this film have taken their cue directly from the Whale/Karloff 'monster', yet have not adapted it 'to the times' they present it in.

However, because the story is a mythological one, other manifestations have cropped up based on the underlying message, the message of hubris. However, I would add that the message is not simply one of hubris; rather, many new interpretations also draw attention to the more subtle thoughts about the effects of a lack of forethought, remembering the ancient meaning of the name Prometheus. Now, what I mean by this is simply that, although there certainly is the lesson of hubris, there is also the accompanying shock and realization of the responsibility the creators have to that creation once said creation is alive. In essence, what happens after the famous: "It's alive....ALIVE!!"

So, here we see new interpretations of the message in such stories that, at first glance, my not seem directly influenced by Shelley's creation. For example, in Asimov's robot series (seen quite clearly in the 'character' of Sonny in the Will Smith version). Also, Asmiov's Three Laws of Robotics speak directly to this post-hubris realization. Other examples include: the replicants (including Deckard) in Bladerunner; Data in Star Trek: The Next Generation episode, The Measure of a Man (or, for that matter, just Data in general); or David in A.I.: Artificial Intelligence, from Brian Aldiss', "Super-Toys Last All Summer Long."

I think this is also a testament to the fact that science fiction has picked up the dead end left by the static version of the Whale/Karloff's Frankenstein. Sci-Fi--especially in its dystopian traditions (as seen in Phillip K. Dick's, Do Android's Dream of Electric Sheep, the source of Ridley Scott's, Bladerunner)--evolves the messages in the traditional myth making them relevant to today's audiences, yet the lesson is still present as we would expect. Perhaps this is why Kenneth Branagh's attempt to return to the traditional--accurate--version of Shelley's story failed so miserably (bad acting, editing, and directing aside).


The message in the Frankenstein myth--that which resonantes Prometheus--is alive and well in the concept of how our modern day science may be on the verge of actually creating living human beings. We've done so as clones to sheep, as in the (in)famous, Dolly; and, we know it is possible to clone higher life forms. We have, in a round about way, already done so in in vitro fertilization. How long then before we have the capacity to create another human-like being? Therefore, the lesson of forethought, of hubris, of thinking ahead are all still present just as we would expect in a mythical tale.



The message of hubris is one, we could say, that we're actively aware of and are at least trying to deal as seen in the areas of law and ethics that deal with these issues both reactively and proactively. However, are we ready for the responsibility that will come when--not if--we create such a being..? In essence, have we learned the lessons from previous expeditions into this realm..?

Where, in essence, is evidence of our forethought..? Or, will we find ourselves, metaphorically, all alone on a desolate ice flow searching for the creature we created with an aim to destroying it due to our lack of forethought and, in so doing, destroy 'the monster, ourselves'..?