Welcome, everyone. Or rather, welcome to you,
the learner, sitting right there tuning in for
another journey. We are we're incredibly thrilled
you could join us today. We really are. Because
we have a deep dive that is entirely custom tailored
just for you. Today, we're cracking open a sack
of text that you might think you know. But I
promise you, you don't. Exactly. We are looking
straight at the original source material of Mary
Shelley's Frankenstein or The Modern Prometheus.
Specifically, we're going to be exploring the
opening frame narrative, those first four letters,
and then the first 15 chapters of the novel.
And it's, wow, it is a dense, wild ride. It is
a remarkable piece of literature. And what we
are going to do today is fundamentally shift
how you view this story. Because we have to strip
away the Hollywood mythos, right? Completely.
Forget the green skin. Forget the... bolts in
the neck, the grunting monster with his arms
out, right, or the lightning striking the gothic
castle tower. None of that is in here. It's just
not. Instead, we're going to look at the deeply
psychological, profoundly philosophical text
that Mary Shelley actually wrote when she was
just a teenager, which is still mind blowing
to me. It's a story about unchecked ambition,
the devastating consequences of abandonment and
fundamentally what it really means to be human.
OK, let's unpack this because to get to the real
story. We actually don't start with a mad scientist
in a laboratory. We don't. We don't even start
with Victor Frankenstein at all. The very first
page places us somewhere completely unexpected.
Right in the middle of the ice. Yes. We start
on a ship trapped in the freezing, impenetrable
ice of the Arctic with a man named Captain Robert
Walton. And he's writing these letters back to
his sister in England, Margaret Savelle. Why
do we start at the North Pole, of all places?
I mean, it seems so disconnected. Well, Walton
is our entry point. He's our frame narrative,
and he is absolutely crucial for understanding
the tragedy that follows. How so? Mary Shelley
uses Walton to mirror Victor Frankenstein in
incredibly specific ways. Walton is a man totally
consumed by ambition. He's leading this incredibly
dangerous expedition to the North Pole in the
1700s. And you have to remember the context of
the era there. The North Pole was a total blank
space on the map. It was the ultimate frontier.
Right, the edge of the world. Walton is seeking
a northern passage to the Pacific, but he also
says he wants to discover the secret of the magnet.
The secret of the magnet. What exactly was he
looking for there? In the 18th century, magnetism
and polar forces were major scientific mysteries.
Walton believes that by reaching the North Pole,
he will uncover fundamental laws of physics that
govern the Earth. He tells his sister that these
enticements are sufficient to conquer all fear
of danger or death. He's entirely willing to
risk his own life. And the lives of his entire
crew. Yes, for the sake of glory and scientific
knowledge. He wants to confer an inestimable
benefit on all mankind to the last generation.
But beneath all that grand ambition, he's also
incredibly lonely. Deeply lonely. That's the
part that really struck me in his second letter.
He writes to his sister, I have one want. which
I have never yet been able to satisfy. I have
no friend, Margaret. Even though he's the captain
of a ship. Exactly. He's surrounded by a crew,
but he feels entirely isolated because he wants
someone whose, and this is a quote, eyes would
reply to mine. He's desperate for an intellectual
equal. Someone to really see him. Precisely.
He needs someone who understands his driving,
obsessive passion, but who could also ground
him. perhaps point out when his ambition is clouding
his judgment. He gives us this extensive backstory,
right, about his neglected education. How he
ran wild in his Uncle Thomas's library reading
histories of voyages. How he tried to be a famous
poet for a year and failed miserably. And how
he has now dedicated six years of his life to
this one icy expedition. That loneliness is a
foundational theme of the entire text. Every
major character we will meet is defined by their
profound isolation. So Walton is in this state
of high ambition and deep aching loneliness when
the ship gets completely surrounded by ice. They're
totally stuck. A thick fog rolls in over the
frozen sea. And when it finally clears, the crew
see something impossible. At a distance of about
half a mile out on the ice, they see a dog sled
heading north. And it's being driven by a being
which has the shape of a man but is of gigantic
stature. A truly surreal image. The crew watches
this gigantic figure disappear into the distance
across the uneven ice. But the very next morning
the ice breaks up a bit and they find another
dog sled drifting toward them on a loose fragment
of ice. Only one dog is alive. and inside the
sledge is a European man. He is practically frozen
to death. Dreadfully emaciated, and clearly on
the brink of absolute physical collapse. And
this guy, before he even agrees to be rescued,
asks Walton a question. Which is wild. He's freezing
to death, Walton is offering him a warm ship,
and the guy croaks out, wither are you bound?
Like I won't get on your ship to save my own
life unless you're going the right way. It's
an astonishing moment of stubbornness. It immediately
tells you who this man is. When Walton says they
are on a voyage of discovery toward the northern
pole, the stranger finally agrees to be brought
aboard. And this rescued man is, of course. Victor
Frankenstein. Over the next few days, as Victor
slowly recovers from his exposure to the elements,
Walton finds exactly what he was looking for
in the Arctic wasteland. A friend. Walton is
completely captivated by him. He describes Victor
as a noble creature whose eyes light up with
benevolence. Even though Victor is clearly crushed
by some unimaginable weight of woe. He's melancholy,
he's destroyed, but there's this lingering greatness
to him. And this leads to a pivotal exchange
between the two men. Right, because Walton ends
up confessing his own burning ambition to Victor.
He tells him how gladly he would sacrifice his
fortune, his existence, his every hope for this
polar enterprise. He actually says that one man's
life or death is a small price to pay for the
acquirement of the knowledge he seeks. If we
connect this to the bigger picture, Victor's
reaction to Walden's speech is the catalyst for
the entire novel. Because he totally loses it.
When Walden says a human life is a small price
to pay for knowledge, Victor has a massive physical
and emotional reaction. He covers his face with
his hands, burst into tears and groans in agony.
He looks at Walden and cries out, unhappy man,
do you share my madness? Have you drunk also
of the intoxicating draft? Hear me, let me reveal
my tale and you will dash the cup from your lips.
I want you, the listener, to just pause and think
about a time in your life when you were completely
obsessed with a goal. A career milestone, maybe?
Or a massive project, a relationship. A time
when you wanted something so intensely that you
developed absolute tunnel vision. You lost sight
of everything else around you. Your health, your
family, your normal ethical boundaries all faded
into the background. That blinding, all -consuming
obsession is the core of what Victor recognizes
in Walton. Victor sees himself in this young,
ambitious captain. He sees the exact same hubris.
The exact same dangerous obsession with pushing
the boundaries of human limits, regardless of
the collateral damage. Victor realizes that Walton
is walking the exact same path to destruction
that he just survived or rather fade to survive.
He decides to tell his life story not to entertain
Walton, not to pass the time on a frozen ship,
but as a dire warning to save Walton's soul.
And with that, we transition directly into Victor's
backstory. Chapters one through four trace his
journey. From an incredibly idyllic privileged
childhood in Geneva to his obsessive dark days
at the university in Ingolstadt. And to really
grasp the depth of his eventual fall, we have
to look at how high he started. Who are these
people he comes from? What was his family like?
His family life is almost aggressively perfect.
It's steeped in the high society and Republican
values of Geneva. His father, Alphonse Frankenstein,
is his deeply respected, wealthy public official.
He spent his younger days entirely devoted to
the affairs of his country. His mother, Caroline
Buford, actually has a rather tragic backstory
that Alphonse rescued her from, didn't she? She
did. Her father was a close friend of Alphonse's,
a merchant who fell into disastrous debt, lost
all his money, and retreated to live in wretched
poverty. Caroline nursed her father until he
died in her arms. And Alphonse steps in right
after the funeral. He comes in like a protecting
spirit, rescues Caroline from her poverty, and
two years later, they marry. And when Victor
is born, they just absolutely dote on him. Victor
describes his childhood by saying he was their
plaything and their idol. The child of their
deepest love. But the family dynamic gets really
interesting and maybe a little strange when we
look at the adoption of Elizabeth Levenza. How
does she enter the picture? Victor's parents
are visiting the shores of the Lake of Como in
Italy. Caroline has a habit of visiting the cottages
of the poor out of benevolence, remembering her
own time in poverty. In one of these cottages,
they find a child living with a peasant family
who looks entirely different from the rest. This
is Elizabeth. She's the daughter of a Milanese
nobleman whose property was confiscated. He either
died or was imprisoned. His fate is a bit vague.
But Mary Shelley describes Elizabeth in these
almost ethereal, otherworldly terms. She has
the brightest living gold hair. cloudless blue
eyes, and is presented as a distinct species,
almost heaven -sent. The way Caroline, Victor's
mother, introduces Elizabeth to young Victor
is so eerie. Very unsettling. She brings this
little girl into the house and tells Victor,
I have a pretty present for my Victor. Tomorrow
he shall have it. And Victor, being a child,
takes this completely literally. He says he interpreted
her words literally and looked upon Elizabeth
as, quote, mine to protect, love, and cherish.
He essentially views another human being as a
prized possession. That sense of possession,
of owning another being, heavily foreshadows
his later attitude toward the creature he builds.
It definitely does. He and Elizabeth grow up
together in perfect harmony, but their minds
are a fascinating study in contrasts. Elizabeth
is drawn to the poetry of the world, the appearance
of things. The majestic alpine scenery around
their home in Switzerland. She finds ample scope
for admiration and delight in the natural beauty
of the world. Victor, on the other hand, is driven
by a fierce desire to investigate the causes
of things. He wants to know the hidden laws of
nature. He wants to know how the world works
underneath the surface. And then you add his
childhood best friend into the mix, Henry Clerval.
Henry is a completely different archetype. He
is all about chivalry. Romance, heroic songs,
the writing of plays, and the moral relations
of things. So you have Elizabeth representing
the aesthetic beauty of nature. Henry representing
the moral and heroic side of humanity. And Victor
just relentlessly obsessed with the physical
secrets of heaven and earth. And Victor's obsession
takes a very weird turn when he's 13 years old.
The family is stuck inside an inn near the baths
of Thunon during a rainstorm. And Victor picks
up a book by a man named Cornelius Agrippa. This
is a critical juncture. Cornelius Agrippa, along
with Paracelsus and Albertus Magnus, whom Victor
also begins to read avidly, were not modern scientists.
They were alchemists from the Renaissance. Correct.
What exactly did alchemists believe they could
do? We hear that term a lot, but what were they
actually trying to achieve? Alchemy was a philosophical
and proto -scientific tradition. They pursued
what we would consider impossible, almost magical
dreams. Yeah, like turning base metals into gold.
Exactly. The Philosopher's Stone. And the Elixir
of Life to cure all diseases and grant immortality.
They even pursued methods for raising ghosts
or devils. They were deeply mystical. Victor
takes this discovery of Agrippa to his father,
eager to share his excitement. But Alphonse carelessly
glances at the title page and simply says, ah.
Cornelius Agrippa, my dear Victor, do not waste
your time upon this. It is sad trash. But the
fatal mistake is that Alphonse doesn't explain
why it's trash. He misses the teaching moment
entirely. He doesn't sit his son down and say,
look, these guys lived hundreds of years ago.
Their theories have been completely debunked
by the scientific method. And this isn't real
physics. So Victor, feeling dismissed, just keeps
reading them in secret. He becomes totally captivated
by the idea of attaining glory, by banishing
disease from the human frame, and rendering man
invulnerable to any but a violent death. He essentially
wants to become a god. But then, when he's about
15, reality forcefully intrudes on his mystical
reading. There's this massive terrifying thunderstorm
at their summer house near Belle Reve. It is
a profound destructive display of nature. During
the storm, Victor watches a stream of fire completely
obliterate an old, beautiful oak tree near their
house. When the lightning flashes and the smoke
clears, nothing is left but a blasted, shattered
stump reduced to thin ribbons of wood. The sheer
violence of it is shocking. A guest of the family
who happens to be there uses this occasion to
explain the modern laws of electricity and galvanism
to Victor. Galvanism. I know that word is deeply
tied to the Frankenstein myth, but for the listener
who might not be familiar with 18th century science,
what exactly was Galvanism and why did it blow
Victor's mind so completely? Galvanism was a
very real, very sensational scientific theory
in Mary Shelley's time, pioneered by an Italian
scientist named Luigi Galvani. Okay. Galvani
discovered that if you applied an electrical
current to the severed legs of a frog, the muscles
would violently twitch and convulse as if the
frog were alive. That sounds disturbing. It was.
In the late 1700s and early 1800s, this led to
a widespread scientific and public fascination
with the idea that electricity might actually
be the fundamental spark of life itself. So people
thought electricity was literally life. Scientists
were literally touring Europe, hooking primitive
batteries up to the corpses of executed chronicles,
causing their limbs to thrash and their eyes
to open. Wow. It was horrifying, but he convinced
many that the boundary between life and death
was merely a matter of electrical current. So
Victor sees this lightning obliterated tree.
learns about electricity and galvanism, and this
sudden display of immense real -world power completely
shatters his faith in his old alchemists. For
a while, he abandons natural history entirely.
He views it as a deformed and abortive creation.
And he turns to mathematics instead, because
math is built upon secure, rational foundations.
He later calls that shift to mathematics the
last effort made by the spirit of preservation
to avert the storm that was even then hanging
in the stars. He recognizes in hindsight that
his brief interest in math was his mind trying
to protect him from the dangerous path of biology
and chemistry. But of course, the preservation
doesn't last. At 17, he is set to leave Geneva
for the University of Ingolstadt in Germany to
broaden his education. But right before he is
scheduled to leave, tragedy strikes the Frankenstein
household. Elizabeth catches scarlet fever. She
is deathly ill. Caroline, Victor's mother, absolutely
refuses to stay away. She insists on nursing
Elizabeth herself. And she succeeds. Elizabeth
is saved. But the cost is devastating. Caroline
catches the fever herself, and within days, she
is on her deathbed. Her dying wish, as she holds
Victor and Elizabeth's hands, is for the two
of them to eventually marry and to act as parents
to the younger children. She dies calmly, leaving
the family in ruins. It's Victor's first... deeply
personal encounter with the irreparable permanent
void of death. This trauma delays his departure
for university, but eventually he arrives at
Ingolstadt. For the first time in his life, he
is completely alone, removed from the protecting
sphere of his family, having to form his own
connections. And almost immediately, he meets
two professors of natural philosophy who will
inadvertently seal his fate. The first is M.
Kremp. Victor really does not like Kremp. Kramp
is described as a squat man with a gruff voice
and a repulsive countenance. When Victor tells
him what he's been reading, Agrippa, Paracelsus
Kramp, is absolutely appalled. He stares at him
and tells Victor he has burdened his memory with
exploded systems and useless names. He says Victor
must begin his studies entirely anew and gives
him a list of modern scientific books. Crimp
represents the harsh, unromantic reality of modern
science, which Victor finds deeply uninspiring.
But then Victor attends a lecture by the other
professor, M. Waldman. And Waldman is entirely
different. He is benevolent, he has a sweet,
engaging voice, and he gives this incredibly
passionate lecture on the history and future
of chemistry. Waldman's speech is essentially
the fatal match that lights the powder keg in
Victor's mind. Waldman compares the ancient alchemists
with modern scientists. He admits that the ancients
promised impossibilities, immortality, unlimited
power, and performed nothing. But the modern
masters, Waldman says, though they seem to just
dabble in dirt and pour over microscopes, have
indeed performed miracles. He tells the students,
they penetrate into the recesses of nature and
show how she works in her hiding places. They
can command the thunders of heaven, mimic the
earthquake and even mock the invisible world
with its own shadows. It is a speech that validates
all of Victor's childhood desires for godlike
power, but dresses them up in the legitimate
methodology of modern science. Victor hears that.
and his soul basically catches on fire. He says,
so much has been done. More, far more will I
achieve. He visits Waldman privately. Waldman
takes him under his wing, shows him his own laboratory,
and tells Victor that chemistry is that branch
of natural philosophy in which the greatest improvements
are to be made. From that day forward, Victor
is completely lost to his obsession. He becomes
consumed. He spends two uninterrupted years in
Ingolstadt without returning to Geneva a single
time to see his grieving family. He makes brilliant
discoveries in the improvement of chemical instruments.
He gains the admiration of all the professors.
He's a prodigy. But he pushes further. He decides
he wants to investigate the principle of life
itself. And to do that, he realizes he must first
deeply study death. This is where the narrative
plunges into absolute darkness. Victor notes
that he has no supernatural fears. He doesn't
care about ghosts and darkness has no effect
on his imagination. A churchyard to him is simply
a receptacle for bodies deprived of life. So
he begins to spend his days and nights in vaults
in charnel houses. I think we need to talk about
what that actually meant in the context of the
early 19th century. A charnel house wasn't just
a quiet graveyard. No, it wasn't. These were
places where bones and decaying bodies were stored.
and Victor isn't just looking at them, he's actively
dissecting them. He is engaging in the morbid,
illegal, and highly dangerous practice of grave
robbing. He is isolating himself with the dead,
breathing in the stench of decay. He spends time
in dissecting rooms and slaughterhouses. He forces
himself to watch the fine form of man degrade
and waste away, to watch worms inherit the wonders
of the eye and brain. He is systematically breaking
down his own natural human empathy and revulsion.
And suddenly, from the midst of this darkness,
after days and nights of incredible labor and
fatigue, a brilliant light breaks in upon his
mind. He discovers the cause of genera - He realizes
he has the power to bestow animation upon lifeless
matter. It is the ultimate scientific breakthrough.
He possesses the secret of life. But think about
what he does with it. He doesn't write a paper.
He doesn't share this monumental discovery with
the scientific community or his mentors. He hoards
it. He decides, in total secrecy, to create a
human being. And because working on minute human
parts, the tiny veins, the complex muscles, is
too difficult and time consuming, he makes a
highly practical yet deeply disturbing decision.
He decides to make the creature gigantic, about
eight feet tall. It is an act of pure hubris.
He isolates himself in a solitary chamber or
rather a cell at the top of the house, separated
from all the other apartments by a gallery and
staircase. He refers to it as his workshop of
filthy creation. He completely stops writing
to his family. His father notices the silence
and writes letters expressing deep worry. Victor
knows he is causing his family pain, but he justifies
it because... He is convinced he is working on
a transcendent masterpiece. I want to use an
analogy here for those listening, because Victor's
mindset feels incredibly relevant today. Think
about Victor's lab work, like a modern tech founder
pulling months of all -nighters in a garage.
Fueled by energy drinks, coding an incredibly
powerful, totally unregulated artificial intelligence.
They are so caught up in the intellectual puzzle
of can we do it, that they never once stopped
to ask the ethical question, should we do it?
They are completely blind to the societal implications
of what they are building. Victor gets a slow
fever. He becomes emaciated. He jumps when a
leaf falls outside his window. All while he is
dabbling among the unhallowed damps of the grave
to build this new species. His motivation reveals
his deep narcissism. He explicitly states his
belief that a new species would bless him as
its creator and source. He says, no father could
claim the gratitude of his child so completely
as I should deserve theirs. He doesn't want to
be a scientist. He wants to be worshipped as
a god by an entire race of beings. And that brings
us to the climax of his ambition and his immediate
spectacular psychological collapse in Chapter
5. The November night. It's arguably the most
famous scene in all of literature. Let's set
the scene exactly as Mary Shelley wrote it. It
is one in the morning. It is a dreary night in
November. The rain is pattering dismally against
the window panes of his high up cell. Victor's
candle is nearly burnt out. He has collected
the instruments of life around him to infuse
a spark of being into the lifeless eight foot
thing lying at his feet. And by the dim flickering
glimmer of the dying light, he sees the dull
yellow eye of the creature open. It breathes
hard. A convulsive motion agitates its limbs.
The creature is alive. And instantly, in a fraction
of a second, the grand illusion shatters. The
contrast between Victor's two -year dream of
glory and the stark physical reality of his creation
is absolute. He says he selected the features
to be beautiful, but the result is horrific.
The yellow skin scarcely covers the intricate
work of muscles and arteries beneath. The hair
is a lustrous flowing black. The teeth are pearly
white. But these marks of beauty only create
a more hideous contrast with its watery eyes,
which seem almost the same color as the done
white sockets they sit in. Its complexion is
shriveled and its lips are straight and black.
The revulsion Victor feels is instantaneous.
He has completely sacrificed his health, his
sanity, and his relationships for two years.
And the moment his creation draws a breath, breathless
horror and disgust fill his heart. He literally
just runs away. He bolts out of the room, rushes
down the stairs to his bedchamber, and just paces
back and forth. Finally, out of sheer exhaustion,
he falls asleep in his clothes and has this deeply,
deeply disturbing nightmare. The nightmare is
incredibly revealing of Victor's fragile mental
state. In the dream, Victor sees Elizabeth walking
in the streets of Ingolstadt in the bloom of
health. He is overjoyed and embraces her, imprinting
a kiss on her lips. But as he kisses her, her
lips become livid with the hue of death. Her
features change, and suddenly he is holding the
rotting corpse of his dead mother in his arms.
A shroud envelops her, and he actually sees grave
worms crawling in the folds of the flannel. That
is a horrifying psychological break. He's literally
subverting the natural birth process. He bypassed
the role of a mother entirely to create life
out of corpses. And his subconscious is punishing
him by directly associating his creation with
the rotting corpse of his own mother. and inflicting
that death upon Elizabeth. Life and death are
completely inverted in his mind. He wakes up
from this nightmare in a cold sweat, his teeth
chattering. And right there, illuminated by the
yellow light of the moon coming through the window
shutters, is the monster. This is a moment of
immense tragedy that is often completely overlooked
in adaptations of the story. The creature is
standing by the bed. It holds up the bed curtain,
its jaws open, and it mutters some inarticulate
sounds, grinning. It reaches out one hand, seemingly
to detain Victor. If we step back and analyze
what is actually happening here, a newly born
being, possessing absolutely no malice, no understanding
of the world, is simply reaching out for its
parent. It is the most primal gesture of an infant
seeking connection, warmth, and protection from
its creator. But Victor runs. Wait, hold on.
Let me play devil's advocate here for a second.
We always condemn Victor for running away. And
yes, abandoning a child is monstrous. Sure. But
- Put yourself in his shoes. It is one in the
morning, he just woke up from a nightmare about
rotting corpses, and an eight foot tall, horribly
deformed, stitched together giant starts twitching,
grinning, and reaching a massive hand toward
him. Isn't running away just a basic, hardwired
human survival instinct? That is an excellent
point, and we must be fair to the visceral reality
of the situation. Yes, the initial flinch, the
sheer terror of a towering, unfamiliar being
reaching for you in the dark, that is a completely
natural biological response. Right. The ethical
failure of Victor Frankenstein isn't necessarily
that he panicked in the first 30 seconds. The
profound moral failure is what he does next.
He doesn't regroup. He doesn't wait till dawn
and return to take responsibility for the life
he forced into existence. He rushes downstairs,
takes refuge in the courtyard, and spends the
rest of the night walking up and down in absolute
terror, avoiding the creature entirely. He abandons
it. to the world. When morning dawns, he just
wanders the streets of Ingolstadt in the freezing
rain, absolutely paralyzed by fear and the bitterness
of disappointment. He's dreading going back to
his apartment. And then in a stroke of incredible
timing, a coach pulls up right in front of him
and out steps his childhood best friend, Henry
Clairvaux. Henry has finally convinced his father,
a practical merchant, to let him study at the
university. Victor is overjoyed to see a familiar
face, but his physical appearance shocks Henry.
Victor is thin, pale, and wild -eyed. Victor
brings Henry back to his college, terrified the
whole way that the monster will still be in his
apartment. He makes Henry wait at the bottom
of the stairs, nervously checks his room, and
finds it empty. The monster has fled. Victor
is so relieved that the threat is gone that he
basically has a manic episode. He jumps over
chairs, claps his hands, and laughs with this
wild unrestrained hysterical laughter that completely
terrifies Henry. And then Victor imagines the
monster grabbing him, screams, and falls down
in a dead feint. This begins a massive nervous
fever that confines Victor to his bed for several
months. For the entirety of the winter, Henry
Clairvaux acts as his sole nurse. Henry hides
the extent of Victor's illness from the Frankenstein
family in Geneva so they weren't worried. He
puts his own university studies entirely on hold
to save his friend's life. By the time spring
arrives, Victor begins to slowly recover his
senses and his joy in nature. And once Victor
is lucid again, Henry gives him a letter from
Elizabeth. This letter serves to ground Victor
back in his family reality, but it also introduces
the character whose backstory is critical to
the tragedy that is about to unfold. Elizabeth's
letter mentions a young woman named Justine Moritz.
Who is Justine, and why is her backstory so critical
to understand? Justine's history is incredibly
sad, but it highlights the values of Geneva society.
She was the third of four children. Her mother,
Madame Moritz, was a widow who could not endure
Justine and treated her terribly. Victor's aunt,
Caroline Bufort, who herself knew what it was
like to be impoverished and rescued, saw this
abuse and prevailed upon the mother to let Justine
live as a servant in the Frankenstein household.
It is important to contextualize what a servant
meant in the Republican institutions of Geneva
at that time. A servant was not considered a
despised or enslaved class. Justine is educated,
deeply loved by the family, and treated with
immense respect. She practically adores Caroline,
imitating her phraseology and manners. Justine
is forced to go back to her own mother for a
few years when all her siblings die. Her mother
repents, but the mother is terrible, vacillating,
and constantly blames Justine for the deaths
of her brothers and sisters. Eventually, the
mother dies, and Justine returns to the Frankenstein
family. She's gentle, clever, pretty, and a beloved
part of the household. So Victor is reading this
letter, feeling loved, getting better. He even
introduces Henry to his professors, which is
torture for Victor, because he can't even stand
the sight of chemical instruments anymore. He
and Henry spend the summer studying Oriental
languages, reading Persian and Arabic poetry,
and taking a pedestrian tour in the spring. Victor
feels like his old self again. But Victor's newfound
peace walking with Henry doesn't last. In fact,
it's brutally shattered the moment he returns
to the university and finds a letter from his
father waiting for him. The tone of Alphonse's
letter is immediately devastating. He writes
to prepare Victor for woeful news, trying to
cushion the blow before bluntly stating, William
is dead. That sweet child who smiles delighted
and warmed my heart. Victor, he is murdered.
It's an absolute gut punch. Little William, Victor's
youngest brother. The father explains the horrific
details. The family was walking in Klain Palay,
a park outside Geneva. William and Ernest went
on a head plane. William ran away to hide, and
when the family tried to gather everyone to go
home, they couldn't find him. They searched into
the night. At five in the morning, the father
found little William dead on the grass. There
was the print of the murderer's finger on his
neck. He had been strangled. And Elizabeth is
absolutely inconsolable because she blames herself.
She had let William wear a very valuable miniature
portrait of Victor's mother, Caroline, on a chain
around his neck. The picture is missing, so the
family assumes robbery was the motive for the
murder. Victor is thrown into absolute despair.
He and Henry instantly order horses to travel
back to Geneva. The journey is melancholy, and
as Victor approaches his native town, he is overcome
by a nameless, creeping fear. He actually stops
at Lausanne for two days because he is so emotionally
distressed he can't bear to face his family.
When he finally reaches the environs of Geneva,
it is completely dark and the gates of the town
are shut for the night. Unable to enter, he decides
to cross the lake in a small boat to visit Plain
Palais, the exact spot where his brother was
murdered. Here's where it gets really interesting.
Because as he crosses the dark lake, this massive
thunderstorm breaks out. The lightning is playing
on the summit of Mont Blanc. The thunder is echoing
with terrific crashes. It's a beautifully violent
scene. And in the middle of this terrific storm,
illuminated by a sudden brilliant flash of lightning,
Victor sees a gigantic figure hiding behind a
clump of trees near where his brother died. He
knows instantly. He says its gigantic stature
and the deformity of its aspect more hideous
than belongs to humanity instantly informed me
that it was the wretch, the filthy demon to whom
I had given life. The realization strikes Victor
with the force of the lightning itself. He asks
himself what the creature is doing there so far
from Ingolstadt. and the answer is undeniable.
The creature is the murderer of his brother.
Victor says the mere presence of the idea was
an irresistible proof of the fact. You have to
remember two full years have passed since the
night of the creation. This is the very first
time Victor has laid eyes on his creation since
abandoning it. He realizes in this moment that
he has turned a depraved superhumanly strong
wretch loose into the world. He spends the rest
of the night shivering in the wet and cold, imagining
the being is his own vampire, his own spirit
let loose from the grave, driven to destroy all
he loves. So when the town gates open in the
morning, he rushes to his father's house, but
he pauses before he speaks. He desperately wants
to declare a pursuit of the murderer to tell
everyone what he saw, but he stops himself. Why?
Because his story sounds completely insane. He
reasons that if he tells the magistrates he made
an eight -foot tall monster out of dead body
parts two years ago, and it just showed up in
a lightning storm and climbed a perpendicular
mountain, they will instantly lock him in an
asylum. So he resolves to remain completely silent.
It is a profound moral failing. Victor prioritizes
his own reputation. His fear of being seen as
a madman over the pursuit of justice for his
murdered brother. When he enters the house, his
brother Ernest greets him and tells him that
the discovery of the murderer has completed their
misery. Victor, terrified, assumes they mean
the monster has been caught. But Ernest reveals
something far worse. Justine Moritz, their beloved
friend and servant, has been accused of the murder.
Victor is absolutely shocked. He says, Justine.
Poor, good Justine, it's impossible. A servant
examining the clothes she wore that night found
the missing miniature portrait of Caroline Beaufort,
the presumed motive for the murder hidden in
her pocket. Victor is entirely convinced of her
innocence because he knows the true culprit is
his own creation. He confidently tells his family
Justine is innocent, but crucially he does not
provide his evidence. His father, Alphonse, places
his faith entirely in the justice of the laws,
believing the trial will exonerate her if she
is truly innocent. Elizabeth relies on her deep
emotional intuition, declaring she relies on
Justine's innocence as certainly as her own.
And so... They all attend the trial. The trial
scene is excruciating to read. Victor sits in
the courtroom suffering living torture. He says,
a thousand times rather would I have confessed
myself guilty of the crime. But such a declaration
would have been considered as the ravings of
a madman. He just sits there. The prosecution
lays out a very compelling circumstantial case.
Justine was out the whole night of the murder.
She was seen by a market woman looking strangely
and giving confused answers near the exact spot
where the body was found. When she was later
shown William's body, she fell into violent hysterics.
And most damningly, she had the stolen picture
in her pocket. Justine's defense is simple, honest,
but unfortunately lacks any physical proof. She
calmly explains her movements. She had been visiting
an aunt in a neighboring village. On her way
back, she heard the child was lost and spent
hours frantically searching for him. The gates
of Geneva shut, trapping her outside. So she
slept in a barn. She woke up, searched again,
and eventually returned home. Her bewilderment,
when questioned by the market woman, was simply
exhaustion and desperate worry. As for the picture,
she has absolutely no idea how it got into her
pocket. She correctly assumes the true murderer
must have placed it there while she slept in
the barn, but she doesn't know who or why. And
her character witnesses are completely useless.
These are people who have known her for years,
but out of fear and intense public hatred for
the horrific crime against a child, they are
timorous and unwilling to speak up forcefully
on her behalf. Seeing this cowardice, Elizabeth
becomes violently agitated. She steps up and
addresses the court herself. She gives this incredibly
passionate defense, saying she lived with Justine,
saw her nurse, her aunt, and mother, and knows
her to be the most amiable and benevolent creature.
She points out that Justine loved William dearly,
had no temptation for the crime, and if she had
simply wanted the bauble, Elizabeth would have
freely given it to her. Elizabeth's intervention
is courageous, but it completely backfires. The
public and the judges, rather than being moved
to pity for Justine, turn their indignation upon
her with renewed violence. They view her alleged
crime as an act of the blackest, most unnatural
ingratitude toward a family that loved and protected
her so much. The ballots are cast and they are
all black. Justine is condemned to die. Victor
rushes out of the court in agony, feeling the
fangs of remorse tearing at his bosom. And then
the next morning, Victor finds out something
even worse. Justine has confessed to the murder.
Victor and Elizabeth go to visit her in the gloomy
prison chamber. She's sitting on straw, her hands
manacled. Elizabeth is devastated, weeping, asking
her why she would confess to something so horrific
if she was innocent. Why on earth would Justine
confess to a murder she didn't commit? It is
a profound critique of religious institutional
pressure and the vulnerability of the isolated
individual. Justine explains to Elizabeth, I
did confess, but I confessed a lie. I confessed
that I might obtain absolution. Her confessor,
a Catholic priest, had besieged her in prison.
He prayed on her terror and exhaustion. He threatened
her with excommunication and eternal hellfire
in her last moments if she continued to deny
the crime. She was completely isolated, looked
upon by the entire town as a monster. Broken,
exhausted, and terrified of spiritual damnation,
she submitted to the lie to appease the priest.
And now that falsehood lies heavier on her heart
than the impending execution. It's so utterly
tragic. She tells Elizabeth, in an evil hour,
I subscribe to a lie, and now only am I truly
miserable. She just wanted Elizabeth, the one
person she loved most, to know the truth before
she died. Elizabeth promises she will never distrust
her again, but there's nothing they can do. The
judges won't change their minds based on a recanted
confession. Justine is executed the very next
day. And Victor has to live with this. He says
he bore hell within him which nothing could extinguish.
He recognizes that there are now two innocent
lives, William and Justine, who are the first
direct victims of his unhallowed scientific arts.
The psychological toll on Victor in the aftermath
is staggering. He is consumed by a dead calmness
of inaction and certainty. He shuns the face
of man wandering alone. He deeply contemplates
suicide, frequently taking a small boat out onto
the lake in the dead of night, tempted to plunge
into the dark water and let it close over him
forever. The only thing restraining him is the
thought of leaving his surviving family, his
father, Elizabeth, and his brother, Ernest. unprotected
against the malice of the fiend he let loose.
His hatred for the creature bursts all bounds
of moderation. He fantasizes about revenge. He
says he would have made a pilgrimage to the highest
peak of the Andes if he could precipitate the
monster to its base. Meanwhile, Elizabeth is
just a shell of her former self. Her worldview
has been shattered. She tells Victor that misery
has come home and men appear to her as monsters
thirsting for each other's blood. She realizes
the world is fundamentally unjust, that innocence
is no protection against destruction. To cope
with this sullen, suffocating despair, Victor
decides to leave Geneva temporarily and seek
relief in the sublime power of nature. He travels
to the Valley of Chamonix in the French Alps.
Mary Shelley deeply utilizes the romantic concept
of the sublime, the massive, indifferent, enduring
power of the natural world that dwarfs human
sorrow and reminds us of our own insignificance.
Victor looks at the massive glaciers, the rushing,
violent river Arve, the destructive avalanches
and the towering, eternal peak of Mont Blanc.
These majestic scenes temporarily elevate him
from the littleness of his own human feeling.
Seeking further isolation, He decides to climb
the Montanvera glacier entirely without a guide.
It is a terrifically desolate, dangerous environment.
Trees lie broken from avalanches. It takes him
nearly two hours to cross the Sea of Ice. He
stands in a recess of the rock, looking at the
glittering peaks, and he has this rare moment
of faint spiritual happiness. He cries out to
the wandering spirits of the Alps, asking them
to either allow him this faint happiness or take
him away from the joys of life entirely. And
literally as he speaks these words, he sees a
figure emerging from the ice. It is a man advancing
toward him with superhuman speed, bounding effortlessly
over the treacherous deep crevices in the ice.
As it approaches, Victor perceives the abhorred
gigantic shape of his creation. Victor's reaction
is instantaneous, furious rage. He doesn't flee
this time. He stands his ground. He yells, Devil,
do you dare approach me? Begone, vile insect.
Or rather, stay. that I may trample you to dust.
Victor is absolutely ready for mortal combat.
He wants to kill it right there on the ice. But
the creature easily eludes him, possessing strength
far beyond a normal human. And this is the massive
aha moment for you listening. If your only exposure
to Frankenstein is pop culture, the creature
doesn't grunt. He doesn't smash things in a blind
rage. When he opens his mouth, he speaks, and
he is incredibly breathtakingly eloquent. The
creature's dialogue is a masterpiece of rhetorical
argument. He remains remarkably calm in the face
of Victor's murderous rage. He says, I expected
this reception. All men hate the wretched. How
then must I be hated, who am miserable beyond
all living things? The creature acknowledges
Victor's power as his creator, but he demands
justice. He lays out his core ultimatum, a line
that perfectly encapsulates the entire philosophical
debate of the novel. I ought to be thy Adam,
but I am rather the fallen angel whom thou drivest
from joy for no misdeed. I ought to be thy Adam,
but I am rather the fallen angel. We have to
break that down because it is so powerful. He
is directly invoking the biblical creation story.
He is saying, you made me, you brought me into
this world, and therefore you owe me the care,
love, and guidance that a creator owes his first
man. But instead of treating me like Adam, you
cast me out like Satan, the fallen angel, even
though when you abandoned me, I hadn't done anything
wrong. I was innocent. The creature openly admits
he is capable of terrible violence now. He says,
if you will comply with my conditions, I will
leave them in you at peace. But if you refuse,
I will glut the maw of death until it be satiated
with the blood of your remaining friends. The
creature argues fundamentally that his malevolence
is not innate, but learned. He states, I was
benevolent, and good misery made me a fiend,
make me happy, and I shall again be virtuous.
He demands that Victor listen to his story before
passing judgment. He invokes the idea of basic
human law, that even the most guilty criminals
are allowed to speak in their own defense before
they are condemned to die. Victor hates him with
every fiber of his being, but as the creature
speaks, Victor realizes something profound. He
actually doesn't know what happened to the creature
after that night in Ingolstadt. For two years
this being has been navigating the world alone.
Victor feels the weight of the duties of a creator
for the very first time. the realization that
he ought to render his creation happy before
complaining of his wickedness. So Victor agrees
to listen. They cross the ice together, enter
a small desolate hut on the mountain, sit by
a fire the monster has lit, and the creature
begins his tale. The creature's narrative, spanning
chapters 11 through 15, is a master class in
developmental psychology and societal critique.
Mary Shelley essentially explores the concept
of the tabula rasa, the blank slate. The creature
has to explain how he went from a newborn mind
trapped in a gigantic, powerful adult body to
a highly articulate, deeply aggrieved, and violent
outcast. In chapter 11, he describes his very
first days of sensory awakening. It is just a
confusing, overwhelming wash of input. He sees,
feels, hears, and smells all at the same time.
He doesn't know how to distinguish anything.
The light of the sun is oppressive, so he shuts
his eyes. Darkness comes, and that troubles him.
He wanders instinctively into the forest near
Ingolstadt, finds some berries to eat, drinks
from a cold brook, and falls asleep. When he
wakes up, it's dark, he's freezing, and he's
wearing practically nothing, just a few garments
he snatched from Victor's lab. He sits down by
the stream and just weeps. He's an eight -foot
tall giant, but emotionally he's a poor, helpless,
miserable infant. What's fascinating here is
his gradual mastery over his environment, especially
his discovery of fire. He finds a fire left behind
by some wandering beggars. He's immediately overcome
with delight at the warmth it provides against
the freezing winter air. But acting purely on
naive instinct, he thrusts his hand directly
into the live embers and cries out in intense
pain. This is a crucial moment of cognitive development.
He deduces that the exact same cause, fire, can
produce opposite effects, wonderful warmth and
terrible pain. He learns through trial and error
to gather wood, to dry wet branches, to keep
the fire alive overnight by covering it with
leaves. And eventually he discovers that fire
can be used to roast nuts and roots, making them
far more savory than raw food. It's the Prometheus
myth playing out in real time. He is learning
to harness the power of the gods, but eventually
the food in the forest runs out and he is forced
to migrate. He leaves the woods, enters the open
snowy country, and finds a small shepherd's hut.
He enters, seeking shelter. The old man inside
takes one look at him, shrieks loudly, and runs
away across the fields as fast as he can. The
creature doesn't understand why the man ran,
but he loves the hut. It protects him from the
snow and rain. He eats the shepherd's breakfast
of bread and cheese and sleeps peacefully. This
is his first encounter with human prejudice based
solely on physical appearance. The next day,
he encounters an entire village. The reaction
is violently escalated. Children shriek. A woman
faints. The whole village is roused in a panic.
They attack him. Some flee, but others attack
him with stones and missile weapons until he
is forced to escape back into the open country.
Bruised, battered, and deeply traumatized, he
fearfully takes refuge in a low hovel, essentially
a wooden shed or pigsty, attached to the back
of a neat cottage in the country. He hides in
this freezing hovel, absolutely terrified of
humans. He resolves never to show himself again.
And from this hidden spot, looking through a
tiny chink in the boarded -up window, he begins
to secretly observe the family living in the
attached cottage. This takes us into his intense
period of observation. He sees a blind old man,
a younger man named Felix, and a young woman
named Agatha. And through watching them day after
day, he experiences a vicarious socialization.
He watches them interact and is profoundly moved
by their gentle manners. He sees the old man
play a musical instrument that produces divine
sounds. He watches Agatha and Felix perform every
little office of affection and duty for their
father with incredible gentleness. But he also
notices that despite their love, they're often
sad. and he eventually discovers the cause is
deep poverty. They are suffering from hunger,
often reserving their scanty food for the blind
father while the younger two go without. And
when the creature realizes this, it absolutely
breaks your heart, because prior to this realization,
he had been sneaking out at night and stealing
some of their food to survive. But the moment
he realizes he is causing these gentle people
pain, he completely stops. He goes back to eating
tough berries and nuts from the woods, even though
he's starving. Not only that, he nurses Felix
spends a lot of time exhaustingly chopping wood
for the fire. So at night, while they sleep,
the creature takes Felix's tools and chops enough
wood for several days, leaving it neatly piled
by the door. He performs these intense physical
labors invisibly, acting as a benevolent protective
spirit for the family. The cottagers are astonished
to wake up and find the work done, calling it
the work of a good spirit. During this time of
observation, the creature makes a discovery of
monumental importance. He discovers language.
He realizes these people communicate their complex
feelings and experiences through articulate sounds.
He views it as a godlike science. He applies
his whole mind to learning it. Over many months
listening through the wall he learns nouns like
fire, milk, bread, and wood. He learns their
names. Father, sister, Agatha, brother, Felix.
He feels absolute delight when he can match the
sound he hears to the object or idea it represents.
But his growing awareness of the world also leads
to a devastating He begins to understand the
contrast between the perfect, beautiful forms
of the cottagers and his own body. One day he
views his own reflection in a transparent pool
of water. He says, He internalizes the visual
bias of humanity. He realizes his own hideousness.
He decides that he cannot possibly reveal himself
to the cottagers until he completely masters
their language, hoping that if they hear his
eloquent words first, they might overlook his
physical deformity. So he spends the entire winter
shivering in the hovel, just listening and learning.
Spring arrives and the dynamic in the cottage
shifts dramatically because a stranger arrives
on horseback. A lady in a dark suit with a thick
black veil. When she lifts the veil, she reveals
a countenance of angelic beauty shining raven
black hair, dark gentle eyes. Felix is absolutely
ravished with delight. He calls her his sweet
Arabian. Her name is Safi. Safi's arrival is
the perfect narrative device for the creature's
formal education. Because Safi is a foreigner
and does not speak French, the language of the
cottagers, Felix begins to instruct her systematically.
And the creature? listening intently from his
hovel, learns alongside her. Felix uses a specific
historical text to teach her, Volney's Ruins
of Empires. What exactly is Ruins of Empires?
Because the creature says this book blows his
mind and teaches him about the whole world. Constantine
de Volney's Ruins of Empires, published in 1791,
was a highly influential philosophical and historical
text of the Enlightenment. It surveys the rise
and fall of ancient civilizations, detailing
human history, the formation of governments,
the division of property, the bloody reality
of human wars and religious conflicts. Through
this book, the creature learns the grand violent
history of the world. He learns about the Greeks,
the Romans, the discovery of the Americas. He
hears about wars and the slaughter of entire
species. It confuses him deeply. He asks himself,
was man Indeed, at once so powerful, so virtuous
and magnificent, yet so vicious in base. He is
learning that humanity is capable of incredible
beauty, but also horrific cruelty. But the societal
education he receives from Volney is even more
painful on a personal level. He learns about
the division of property, immense wealth, and
squalid poverty, rank, and noble blood. He learns
that in human society, a man without unsullied
descent or riches is considered a vagabond and
a slave, doomed to waste his powers for the profits
of the chosen few. This brutally forces the creature
to turn his reflections upon himself. He asks,
and what was I? He realizes he has no money,
no friends, no property, and a hideously deformed
figure. He understands he is completely and permanently
shut out from the entirety of human social structures.
He talks about the burden of this knowledge.
He says, of what a strange nature is knowledge.
It clings to the mind when it is once seized
on it, like a lichen on the rock. He actually
wishes he could shake off all thought and feeling
and just go back to being an ignorant beast in
the woods, because understanding his isolation
is agonizing. He learns about the concept of
family. how fathers dode on infants, the unconditional
love of a mother. And he realizes he never had
any of that. No father watched his infant days.
No mother blessed him with smiles. He remembers
nothing of his creation except waking up fully
grown and abandoned. To deepen his understanding
of human injustice, the creature manages to piece
together the history of the cottagers themselves.
This backstory is not just filler. It is critical
because it teaches the creature about systemic
human betrayal. The old man, De Lacy, was once
a highly affluent and respected citizen of Paris.
Safi's father was a wealthy Turkish merchant
living in Paris who became obnoxious to the government.
He was unjustly condemned to death, largely due
to prejudice against his religion and his immense
wealth. Felix was at the trial. He was outraged
by the blatant injustice and he vowed to free
the merchant. He visited the prison grate where
the Turk promised him great wealth and eventually
the hand of his beautiful daughter Safi in marriage.
Felix orchestrated a daring escape, successfully
getting the Turk out of Paris and to leghorn
Italy safely away from the executioner. But the
French government discovered the plot. In retaliation,
they threw the blind old De Lacy and his daughter
Agatha into a noisome, terrible dungeon. Felix,
out of profound devotion to his family, turned
himself in to face the law, hoping to free his
father and sister. Instead, the government kept
them all in prison for five months, stripped
them of all their wealth and property, and condemned
them to perpetual exile. They lost everything
because Felix tried to do the right thing. And
here is the brutal kicker that teaches the creature
about human hypocrisy. The Turkish merchant,
after promising Felix everything and being saved
by him, totally betrays him. When the merchant
finds out Felix is ruined, impoverished and exiled,
he decides he doesn't want his daughter marrying
a poor Christian anymore. He insultingly sends
Felix a tiny pittance of money and prepares to
take Safi back to Turkey against her will. Safi,
however, was raised by a Christian Arab mother
who taught her to aspire to independence and
higher intellect, things forbidden to women in
her father's culture. She refuses to return to
Turkey to be locked in a harem. Taking some jewels
and a trusted attendant, she flees, travels dangerously
across Europe, and eventually finds her way to
Felix's exile cottage in Germany. This entire
saga deepens the creature's understanding of
profound virtue and love, but also of profound
human treachery and institutional injustice.
This brings us to the intellectual climax of
the creature's story. One night in August, while
scavenging in the woods, he finds a leathern
courtmanteau, a traveling bag containing clothes
and three specific books. Because he has been
studying alongside Safi for months, he can read
them and these three books become his entire
psychological foundation. We really need to break
down why Mary Shelley chose these three exact
books. Each imparts a distinct, profound lesson
that shapes the creature's soul. From the Sorrows
of Young Werther, a highly emotional novel about
a sensitive young man who eventually commits
suicide out of unrequited love, the creature
learns about deep interpersonal emotions, domestic
manners, despondency, and gloom. He deeply identifies
with Werther's intense feelings and questions
about life, but Werther had friends who loved
him. The creature realizes his own profound,
unbridgeable isolation. Then he reads Plutarch's
Lives, which is all about the founders of ancient
republics and great military leaders of Greece
and Rome. This book elevates him above his own
wretchedness. It teaches him high thoughts, public
affairs, and the heroes of history. He learns
to admire peaceable law -givers like Numa and
Solon over violent conquerors. He feels this
intense ardor for virtue and a deep abhorrence
for vice. He wants to be good. But the most consequential
text by far is Paradise Lost. The creature reads
Mildon's epic theological poem about the creation
of the world, the fall of man, and the rebellion
of Satan. Crucially, Because he has no concept
of fiction versus non -fiction, he reads it as
literal history. He compares his own situation
to the figures in the poem searching for his
place in the cosmos. He analyzes his existence
through Milton's lens. He says, like Adam, I
was apparently united by no link to any other
being in existence. But the comparison stops
right there. Adam came from the hands of God
as a perfect creature, happy, prosperous, guarded
by his creator's care, and allowed to converse
with angelic beings. The creature realizes he
is wretched, helpless, and alone. So he finds
a far more accurate, much darker comparison.
Many times I considered Seton as the fitter emblem
of my condition, for often, like him, when I
viewed the bliss of my protectors, the bitter
gall of envy rose within me. To connect this
back to your earlier analogy about modern tech
founders and artificial intelligence, imagine
creating a highly intelligent, self -aware AI.
and the only text it has to understand its relationship
to its creator is Paradise Lost. It recognizes
that it has been abandoned by its god, and it
begins to identify with a fallen angel who declares
war on heaven out of pure, envious spite. This
tragic self -realization is compounded by one
final, devastating discovery the creature makes.
In the pocket of the clothes he took from Victor's
laboratory the night he fled, the creature finds
Victor's journal. It's the journal detailing
the four months preceding his creation. Because
he can read now, he deciphers it. He reads the
exact minute descriptions of his own odious and
loathsome construction written in language that
paints Victor's absolute horror and disgust at
what he was building. The creature is devastated.
He reads firsthand how disgusted his own creator
was by him. He cries out, hateful day when I
received life, God in pity made man beautiful
and alluring after his own image. But my form
is a filthy type of yours, more horrid even from
the very resemblance. Satan had his companions,
fellow devils, to admire and encourage him, but
I am solitary and abhorred. Despite this overwhelming
despair, despite knowing his creator hates him,
the creature clings to one final desperate hope.
He has spent an entire year observing the Dalacies.
He knows their benevolence. He reasons that the
old man Dalacy is completely blind. A blind man
cannot be prejudiced by unnatural hideousness.
The creature forms a brilliant desperate plan.
He will approach the old man when the younger
family members are away, win his sympathy through
his eloquent gentle voice, and have the father
mediate on his behalf with the younger generation.
It is a profound test of human nature. Will the
spoken word, the content of the creature's character,
overcome the visual prejudice of humanity? Autumn
passes, winter arrives, and the perfect moment
finally comes. Felix, Agatha, and Safi go on
a long country walk. The blind old man is left
alone in the cottage playing his guitar. The
creature gathers all his courage, walks up to
the door, and knocks. The conversation that ensues
is incredibly tense. The creature enters and
introduces himself as a traveler in want of a
little rest. DeLacy welcomes him warmly, offering
him a chair and a fire. The creature slowly begins
to explain his situation. He says he is going
to claim the protection of some friends he dearly
loves, but he fears they are prejudiced against
him because although his life has been entirely
harmless, and he has even performed secret favors
for them, they behold him only as a detestable
monster. DeLacy, acting as the ideal of blind
justice and compassion, is deeply moved. He says
the hearts of men, when unprejudiced by any obvious
self -interest, are full of brotherly love and
charity. He tells the creature not to despair
and offers to help undeceive these friends, noting
that there is something in the creature's words
that persuades him of its absolute sincerity.
The creature feels a massive surge of hope. He
thinks he's about to secure his place in the
human family. He calls DeLacy his best and only
benefactor. But then the old man asks for the
names and residents of these friends. The creature
hesitates, overwhelmed by the magnitude of the
moment. He sinks to the ground, sobbing. And
just at that exact moment, he hears the steps
of Felix, Safi, and Agatha returning from their
walk. The creature panics. The window of opportunity
is closing. He grabs the blind old man's hand
and cries out, Now is the time. Save and protect
me. You and your family are the friends whom
I seek. The old man, suddenly realizing the mysterious
benefactor is in his house, exclaims, Great God!
Who are you? The door flies open. and the reaction
from the younger generation is absolute violent
chaos. It is heartbreaking. Agatha takes one
look at the giant and faints dead away. Safi,
the brave woman who crossed Europe alone, is
so terrified she rushes out of the cottage. Felix,
seeing this horrifying giant monster clinging
to his blind father's knees, assumes his father
is being attacked. Felix darts forward with supernatural
force, tears the creature away from the old man,
and begins violently beating him with a heavy
stick. The creature explicitly notes that he
was vastly stronger. He could have torn Felix
limb from limb in a second, but his heart is
so utterly broken by this ultimate violent rejection
from the very people he loved that he does not
strike back. He simply covers his face, flees
the cottage, and takes refuge in his hovel. And
that agonizing moment of shattered hope is where
the source material we are examining today concludes.
It's... Just devastating. We've gone on this
incredible journey from Victor's isolated unchecked
ambition in a laboratory in Ingleshot, creating
life purely out of scientific hubris to the creature's
forced agonizing isolation, culminating in this
violent rejection by the only people he sought
to serve. The tragic arc is perfectly symmetrically
mirrored. Victor chose isolation to acquire God
-like power, actively neglecting his family and
abandoning his ethical responsibilities. The
creature, thrust into existence without his consent,
desperately seeks the warmth of family and social
connection, only to be violently denied it at
every turn solely because of the physical form
his creator gave him. I want you, the learner.
to really think about this, because this text
completely flips the script on who the real monster
is. Is the monster the eight foot tall being
who was born entirely benevolent, who spent a
year learning language just to make friends,
who chopped wood for a starved family in the
dead of winter, and who only considered violence
after being subjected to relentless physical
and emotional misery? Or is the true monster
the brilliant, privileged creator who brought
a conscious life into the world and then immediately
abandoned it in terror? because it wasn't aesthetically
pleasing. This raises an important question,
one that resonates heavily today in our age of
rapid technological innovation. Victor Frankenstein
represents the profound danger of knowledge pursued
without empathy, without foresight, and without
a commitment to the consequences of what is created.
We are constantly pushing the boundaries of science,
whether it's artificial intelligence, bioengineering,
or data collection. But like Victor, are we preparing
ourselves for the immense responsibility of caring
for, regulating, and integrating what we create?
Or are we simply intoxicated by the power of
the spark? It is the ultimate cautionary tale
for innovators. And I want to leave you with
one final provocative thought to mull over on
your own. It all comes back to that dreary rain
-soaked night in November. If Victor had not
run away in terror, if he had fought his flinch
reflex, stayed in that room, if when that newborn
creature reached out a massive hand and muttered,
Victor had offered it a single look of parental
love or even just basic human compassion, would
the murders of little William and Justine Moritz
have ever happened? Was the creature destined
for violence from the moment his dead parts were
stitched together, or was his violence entirely
manufactured by his creator's superficial disgust
and abandonment? It is a question that challenges
the very nature of creation, responsibility,
and the social contracts that bind us all together.
Thank you so much for joining us on this deep
dive into the true heart of Mary Shelley's masterpiece.
Until next time, keep questioning, keep learning,
and remember to always look beyond the myth.