The idea of ​​voluntary creation, of giving birth to something entirely original from an established foundation, instantly attracts unanswered questions about the morality and nature of novelty and life. However, when invention is attempted on a large scale and entire social structures and ideologies are threatened by the newborn, the question of responsibility takes over. In Frankenstein by Mary W. Shelley; or, Walt Whitman's The Modern Prometheus and "Song of Myself", Whitman and Frankenstein create anomalies, "monsters" of overwhelming magnitude (a brutally realistic American identity and a physical demon, respectively) and face the consequences of relationships that ensue. Eventually, from different perspectives on God-like positions, these "mad scientists" stray in opposite directions from their paternal obligations, one merging with his beloved creation, the other reacting violently in repulsion and seething hatred. Say no to plagiarism. Get a tailor-made essay on “Why Violent Video Games Should Not 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 goal, ironically, is to test the most fundamental (and formless) of powers with the dispassionate, methodical precision of its cold technological "art." His personal distance from the sinister ethical ramifications of his research is surprising. He does not remember "ever having trembled at a story of superstition... Now I have been led to... analyze all the details of causality, as evidenced by the change from life to death and from death to life..." (Shelley, Ch 4) Fixated on his quest, he ignores human feeling and the social norms necessary to conceive an emotionally conscious child. He creates life simply because he can, without ever weighing the repercussions. Whitman, however, experiments as a poet. His science is that of present, emotional human experience, and his malleable tools are blazing compassion and tolerance. His entire study is based on an intense investigation of emotion, knowing that “a Kelson of creation is love” (Whitman, part 5). The polar opposite of Frankenstein, Whitman is fully aware of the social goal his model should accomplish. When finished, he "...will not play marches for the accepted victors only, [he] will play marches for the conquered and slain" (Whitman, part 18). Thus, although the birth of the two sublimely new beings shakes the foundations of the current social order by revealing cracks in its solidity, only Whitman's child, born from an understanding of the very society in which he will exist, will be ready to smoothly assimilate into the chaos this has caused. Ultimately, creators' differing attitudes toward their experiences will strongly affect the well-being of the resulting relationships. Despite varying degrees of emotional investment, Whitman and Frankenstein enthusiastically adopt God-like positions. Shelley connects the story of Frankenstein to a kind of deified fate with the subtitle “the modern Prometheus.” The god's insolence in bringing fire is a fusion of generous intentions and condescension towards the divine. Frankenstein characterizes the same mixture; in fact, his egomania is more evident in his self-sycophantic praise: "...life and death appeared to me as ideal limits, which I had to"first break through and pour a torrent of light into our dark world" (Shelley, Ch. 4). He sees himself as a reserved authority, deigning to improve humanity by creating superior beings in his image. Ironically, this result ruined ultimately explains that the creation of power is not an appropriate end in itself However, enamored with the idea of ​​playing God shaping his Adam, Frankenstein ignores the complications and the muses, relishing the gratitude of entire populations: “A short story. species would bless me as its creator and source; many happy and excellent natures would owe their existence to me” (Shelley, Ch 4). of magnanimous (although condescending) capacity, forgetting that fire, however, warm and luminous, often burning and devastating, like the Greek god, Frankenstein ultimately finds his punishment through his “gift to man”: his monster. One might assume that his self-centeredness caused, in part, the creature's overwhelming hideousness. An invisible justice apparently rewarded his selfish intentions with misery for him and his loved ones. Whitman's self-aggrandizement plays out quite differently. He, like Frankenstein, considers himself omniscient and omnipresent, professing sacred images 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. / I am divine within and without, and I sanctify all that 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 conscious of his claim to unity and similarity with his subject. He achieves his divine status through the people, who will not tolerate a "voice" that pompously degrades them, and thus, he is extremely sensitive to his role not only as a "poet", but as a "poet of woman as well as man .../through me, many long silent voices” (Whitman, parts 21, 24). impossible from his own male flesh, producing a child inexorably bound to him in an indestructible blood bond however, both holy aspirations are compromised, to the detriment of one and the joy of the other. fully engaged in his conception of the nation, ironically infatuated with the same grotesque sublimity that repels Frankenstein. For him, beautiful America is built from a multitude of brutal and raw forces, as opposed to the revolting whole of the monster, mastering the sum of several perfect parts. He desires to become the objective but involved 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, he shares every experience, but is simultaneously suppressed, hovering disconnected from the daily activities of America like an enthusiastic scientist, a responsible parent. This precarious balance between character and narrator, a result of the communal quality of his piety, allows Whitman to successfully nourish his creation by mingling with it, although he "... [has] no mockery nor argument, [and he] will witness and wait” (Whitman, part 4). He is a god who walks among his people, the 29th invisible bather, and yet he identifies himself as one of them, claiming "...every atom that belongs to me as good belongs to you.../[I am] no. sentimental, who is not above men and women...". (Whitman, part 24) He supports this assertion through language, refusingthe intellectual elegance of traditional European writing and instead employing the popular diction of his subjects, declaring: "I too am not at all tamed, I too am untranslatable/ I make my barbaric howl heard on the roofs of the world. » (Whitman, part 52) ​​In this way, he fulfills his parental duties through balance, carefully controlling his child's potential indiscipline, while encouraging his exuberance. Unlike his fellow creator, who descends into furious and vengeful resentment, Whitman allows his creation to thrive on a healthy stability between a multitude of binary oppositions, allowing just enough conflict for vitality, just enough pacification for objectivity. duty by interacting constructively with America. He expresses fatherly feelings towards his child, writing protectively that "anyone who degrades another degrades me / and everything that is done or said comes back to me at last" (Whitman, part 24), as if detractors should take care of him . However, the undercurrent of helpless adoration is much stronger. There is an ongoing relationship between Whitman's "I" and America's "you" that powerfully underscores their intimate and infinitely continuous union. The familiarity of the I/you connection gives the poem a private air, like a personal lullaby or a hymn loaded with confidential meaning. He also expresses this tender affection in snapshots, recalling when, figuratively or literally, "the little one sleeps in his cradle/I lift the gauze and look long, and silently brush away 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 "a few light kisses, a few hugs, some outstretched arms" (Whitman, part 2), which encourage one to feel, and thus accept the creation of Whitman. This acceptance is unfortunately something that Frankenstein's creation never experiences. The monster's story is miserable and tragic, completely lacking the enthusiasm and awesomeness of Whitman's creation; it is created needlessly, then abandoned because it was (helplessly) ugly. Unlike Whitman, who chose to interweave his name with that of his child, Frankenstein gave no name. Without any guidance, intellectual or otherwise, the demon cultivates his mind on his own, naively seeking human companionship, only to be rejected with unwarranted hatred. Repulsed, he "declared eternal war against the species" and then commits his killing spree, only to be cursed with stunning regret. He reflects: “Once I wrongly hoped to meet beings who, forgiving my outward form, would love me for my excellent qualities... but now crime has degraded me below the meanest animal. No guilt, no wrongdoing, no malignity, no misery, can be found comparable to mine.. [T]he fallen angel becomes a malignant devil. (Shelley, Ch 24) The source of the child's despair can be traced to the selfish prejudices of his creator. When a divine angel, created from nothing, proves defective, its very existence becomes a rebellion against the homogeneous image of divinity. He is metaphorically cast out from the peace and perfection of Heaven, sinking even lower than Satan, exclaiming: "Satan had his companions, his fellow demons, to admire and encourage him; but I am lonely and abhorred!” (Shelley, chapter 15). All obligations were ignored; Unable to nurture such a crude being after being raised in a beautiful environment with beautiful people and beautiful minds, Frankenstein flees his natural duties. Once the "yellow eye.