The idea of ​​voluntary creation, of giving birth to something entirely original from some established foundation, immediately attracts unanswered questions about morality and the nature of newness and life. However, when the invention is attempted on a large scale and entire social structures and ideologies are threatened by the newborn, the question of responsibility takes precedence. In Frankenstein by Mary W. Shelley; or, The Modern Prometheus and "Song of Myself" by Walt Whitman, Whitman and Frankenstein create anomalies, "monsters" of overwhelming magnitude (a brutally realistic American identity and a physical demon, respectively), and deal with the consequences of the resulting relationships . Ultimately, from different perspectives on God-like positions, these "mad scientists" veer in opposite directions from their paternal obligations, one merging with his beloved creation, the other reacting violently with revulsion and seething hatred. Say no to plagiarism. Get a tailor-made essay on "Why Violent Video Games Shouldn't Be Banned"? Get an original essay Both “children” present themselves as experiments. Frankenstein, unlike the morally inclined Clerval, obsessively studies the most ambitious sciences, "the secrets of heaven and earth... the mysterious soul of man..." (Shelley, ch. 2). Its purpose, ironically, is to test the most fundamental (and formless) powers with the methodical and impartial precision of its cold technological "art". His personal distance from the sinister ethical ramifications of his research is striking. He "never remembers trembling before a tale of superstition... I was now led to... analyze all the details of causality, as exemplified in the change from life to death, and from death to life..." (Shelley , chapter 4) Fixed in his research, he ignores human feeling and the social norms necessary to conceive an emotionally aware child. He creates life simply because he can, without ever weighing the repercussions. Whitman, however, experiments as a poet. Its science is that of present and emotional human experience, and its malleable tools are fiery compassion and tolerance. His entire study is based on an intense investigation of emotions, knowing that “a fundamental element of creation is love” (Whitman, part 5). The antithesis of Frankenstein, Whitman is fully aware of the social purpose his model should achieve. Once finished, “…he will play marches not only for the accepted victors, [he will play] marches for conquered and killed people” (Whitman, part 18). Therefore, although the birth of both extraordinarily new beings shakes the foundations of the current social order, highlighting cracks in its solidity, only Whitman's son, born from the understanding of the very society in which he will exist, will be ready to assimilate seamlessly into the society in which he will live. the chaos it caused. Ultimately, the creators' different attitudes about their experiments will strongly influence the well-being of the resulting relationships. Despite varying degrees of emotional investment, both Whitman and Frankenstein eagerly enter God-like positions. Shelley links the tale of Frankenstein to a kind of deified situation with the subtitle "The Modern Prometheus." The god's insolence in bringing fire is a fusion of munificent intentions and condescension towards the divine. Frankenstein features the same mix; indeed, his egomania is most evident in his self-sycophanic praise: "...Life and death seemed to me ideal limits, which I should first cross and pour a torrent of light into our dark world" (Shelley, chap . 4). He considers himself a reserved authority, who deigns to improve humanity by creating beingssuperior to his image. Ironically, the spoiled outcome ultimately explains that the creation of power is not an appropriate end in itself. However, infatuated with the idea of ​​playing the role of God who fashions his Adam, Frankenstein ignores the complications and reflects, savoring the gratitude of entire populations: "A new species would bless me as its creator and source; many happy and excellent natures should their existence to me" (Shelley, ch. 4). Promoting himself to such high and holy levels, he is blinded by fantasies of superior intelligence and magnanimous (if condescending) skill, forgetting that fire, however hot and bright, often burns and devastates. Like the Greek god, Frankenstein ultimately finds punishment through his "gift to man": his monster. One might speculate that his self-centeredness caused, in part, the creature's overwhelming horror. Invisible justice seemingly rewarded his intentions. selfish with misery for him and his loved ones. Whitman's self-exaltation plays out very differently. He, like Frankenstein, believes himself to be omniscient and ever-present, professing sacred imagery and even biblical rhythmic phrasing, "the pleasures of heaven are with me and the pains of hell are with me... / ...every part and every label of me is a miracle. / Divine am I inside and out, and I make sacred everything I touch or am touched by" (Whitman, Parts 21, 24). However, although he constructs a mythological and prophetic image as “Walt Whitman, a kosmos… ..” (Whitman, Part 24), he is constantly aware of his claim to unity and similarity with his subject. He achieves his divine status through people, who do not tolerate a "voice" that degrades them with pomposity, and so, he is extremely sensitive to his role not simply as "poet", but "the poet of woman as well as man. ./Through me many long and silent voices" (Whitman, Parts 21, 24). the divinity holds in its soul the collision of the souls of all mankind, and is ubiquitously present and servile. This deity gives birth impossible from his own male flesh, producing a child inexorably linked to him in an indestructible bond of blood. in existence, however, both holy aspirations are compromised, to the detriment of one and the joy of the other. Whitman is fully committed to his conception of the nation, ironically enamored of the same grotesque sublimity that repels Frankenstein. For him, the beautiful America is built by a multitude of brutal and crude forces, as opposed to the revolting totality of the monster, which prevails over the sum of several perfect parts. He longs to become the target, but engaged voice, of America, to be “both in and out of the game” (Whitman, part 4). To achieve this, he enters a paradoxical existence: a devoted father, sharing every experience, yet simultaneously removed, looming disconnected over America's daily activities as an enthusiastic scientist, a responsible parent. This precarious balance between character and narrator, a result of the communal quality of his divinity, allows Whitman to successfully cultivate his creation by mingling with it, although he "...[has] no sneers or arguments, [and will] witness and wait " (Whitman, part 4). He is a god who walks among his people, the 29th invisible bather, yet he identifies himself as one of them, stating "...every atom that belongs to me as good belongs to you.../[I am] no sentimentalist, not superior to men and women...". (Whitman, Part 24) He supports this claim with language, rejecting the intellectual elegance of traditional European writing, and instead employing the popular diction of his subjects, stating: "I too am not at all domesticated, I too am untranslatable/ I make mine resonatebarbaric barking on the roofs of the world." (Whitman, part 52) ​​In this way, he fulfills his parental duties through balance, carefully curbing his son's potential unruliness, while encouraging his exuberance. In contrast to his fellow creator , falling into furious and vengeful spite, Whitman allows his creation to thrive on healthy stability between a series of binary oppositions, allowing just enough conflict for vitality, just enough pacification for objectivity Whitman satisfies furthers his duties by interacting constructively with America. He expresses paternal feelings toward his son, writing protectively that "whoever degrades another degrades me / and whatever is done or said ultimately comes back to me" (Whitman, part 24). ), as if detractors should deal with him. However, the undercurrent of impotent adoration is much stronger. There is a continuing relationship between Whitman's "I" and America's "you", which he forcefully emphasizes their intimate union, infinitely continuous. The familiarity of the I/Thou bond gives the poem a private air, like a personal lullaby or a hymn full of confidential meaning. He also expresses this tender affection in snapshots, remembering when, figuratively or literally, "the little one sleeps in his crib / I lift the gauze and look for a long time, and silently swat the flies with my hand". (Whitman, part 8) Yet his love is also passionate; the words "touch" and "contact" appear constantly with descriptions of physically suggestive activities, such as "some light kisses, some hugs, a movement of the arms" (Whitman, part 2), which encourage everyone to feel, and therefore accept the creation by Whitman. This acceptance is unfortunately something that Frankenstein's creation never experiences. The story of the monster is miserable, tragic, completely devoid of the excitement and brilliance of Whitman's creation; it is created needlessly and then abandoned because it was (helplessly) ugly. Unlike Whitman, who chose to intertwine his name with that of his son, Frankenstein gave no name. Without any guidance, intellectual or otherwise, the demon cultivates his mind alone, naively seeking human camaraderie, only to be rejected with unwarranted disgust. Rejected, he "declared eternal war against the species" and then committed his killing spree, only to be cursed with shocking remorse. He reflects "I once falsely hoped to meet beings who, forgiving my outward form, would love me for my excellent qualities... but now the crime has degraded me to the level of the meanest animal. No guilt, no malice, no malignity , no misery, can compare with mine... [T]he fallen angel becomes an evil devil." (Shelley, ch. 24) The source of the child's despair can be traced to the selfish prejudice of his creator. When a god's angel, created from nothing, proves flawed, his very existence becomes a rebellion against the unbroken image of divinity. He is metaphorically hurled from the peace and perfection of Heaven, falling even lower than Satan, exclaiming, "Satan had his companions, fellow devils, who admired and encouraged him; but I am solitary and abhorred!" (Shelley, chapter 15). All obligations were ignored; unable to cultivate such a gross being after growing up in a beautiful environment with beautiful people and beautiful minds, Frankenstein runs away from his natural duties. Once "the creature's dull yellow eye" (Shelley, chapter 5) opens and gasps to life, Frankenstein shudders in horror, immediately reacting as a "catastrophe," a "demon," a "devil," or a " unfortunate". Unprepared for a.