Example of a paper written for a COLLEGE freshman English class. Notice:

1. Quotes longer than three lines are indented

2. Page numbers are put in parentheses ( ) after the quote

3. The book title is italicized (or underlined if you are writing)

4. I use MANY quotes to back up what I'm saying

5. The paper is DOUBLE SPACED

Science and language in Frankenstein

I knew my silence disquieted them; and I well remembered the words of my father: “I know that while you are pleased with yourself, you will think of us with affection, and we shall regularly hear from you. You must pardon me if I regard any interruption in your correspondence as a proof that your other duties are equally neglected.” (49)

 These lines from Mary Wollstonecraft Shelly’s Frankenstein combine two of the most important issues found throughout the rest of the book – those of science and language. Indeed, these two very distinct yet somehow analogous concepts are so often linked that whenever one is brought up, the other is almost always introduced. Look, for example, at Frankenstein’s “silence” with respect to communicating with his family. In this case the use of language, or lack thereof, is directly related to science. “I seemed to have lost all soul or sensation but for this one pursuit” Frankenstein says, making a direct reference to his attempt to create a human being and using his passion for exploring science as the reason for neglecting his family (48). Thus, because of science and the “unremitting ardour” with which Frankenstein pursues knowledge of it, language, if defined in this case as the ability to communicate effectively with other human beings, is sacrificed (48). Yet this is not the only bond that can be seen between science and language. Rather, it is only the readers’ first introduction to two of the most important ideas in Shelly’s novel. But what is this “science” about which Mary Shelly speaks, and can it be defined in terms of language, just as one of the aspects of language in Frankenstein was defined by science?

“Science,” as it appears in Shelly’s Frankenstein, seems to be the study of nature and the application of the scientific method for the betterment of humanity. “I betook myself to the mathematics, and the branches of study appertaining to… science” says Frankenstein. And, by looking at the language Victor Frankenstein uses to philosophize his creation of a human being, his ultimate scientific achievement, we are able receive a better understanding of science as it is meant to be seen in the book (33).

If the study to which you apply yourself has a tendency to weaken your affections, and to destroy your taste for those simple pleasures in which no alloy can possibly mix, then that study is certainly unlawful, that is to say, not benefiting the human kind.

                                                                                    (49)

These words of advice that Frankenstein gives to Captain Walton serve as yet another link between language and science in the book, while at the same time putting forth Shelly’s belief that scientists must delve into their research and studies only with the utmost caution. Indeed, Shelly’s tale becomes, whether intentionally or not, a tale of caution and moderation. “I had worked hard for two years, for the sole purpose of infusing life into an inanimate body… I had desired it with an ardour that far exceeded moderation; but now that I had finished, the beauty of the dream vanished, and breathless horror and disgust filled my heart” (51). Through Victor Frankenstein, Shelly seems to say that if science is not “benefiting mankind,” then it is not legitimate. Furthermore, she seems to say that if involvement with science causes the destruction of one’s ability to enjoy “[those simple pleasures which no alloy can mix,]” it cannot possibly be “legitimate.” Thus, if “breathless horror and disgust” filled his heart, could that which he had created possibly be good for humanity? If it caused him to loose his very “affections” for the “simple” pleasures in his life like communication with his family, an action he failed to make that should have given him support with which he might have balanced his reckless passion, could Frankenstein’s creation even be “healthy” for “science”? 

            The latter question can only be answered by looking at the creature itself and interpreting it as Shelly’s way of giving science a voice. By giving the creation linguistic capacity, Shelly gives to us an example personified of what science might say were it to have a voice of its own. “I found that people possessed a method of communicating their experience and feelings to one another by articulate sounds,” Frankenstein’s creature tells him (115). This is, perhaps, one of the strongest bonds between science and language found throughout the novel. If we are to interpret the creature as one aspect of science incarnate, then its ability to speak and, later, to read is of the greatest importance. By speaking, the creature lets the reader understand some of the main concerns that the book addresses – concerns centering around the idea of exercising prudence when dealing with science.

            Indeed, these are the very concerns which the creature voices when he says, “Cursed, cursed creator! Why did I live? Why… did I not extinguish the spark of existence which you had so wantonly bestowed” (143)? Thus, the creature presents the reader with the idea that scientists must be careful not to “wantonly bestow” life into a being, only to abandon it as Frankenstein did. Nor should the scientist feel it necessary to charter uncharted lands by taking unnecessary risks that endanger both oneself and one’s fellow human beings. The creature, empowered by the ability to speak and tell Frankenstein why it has turned to violence, explains that because it was forced by its “hideous” appearance to live a life where it was unwelcome both in the community and even in its creator’s own heart, it rebelled against society. Murdering Frankenstein’s younger brother and then seeing Justine sleeping innocently in a barn, the creature frames her for the murder, remembering in his fit of rage that he is “forever deprived of the delights that such beautiful creatures could bestow” (151).

Can you wonder that such thoughts transported me with rage? I only wonder that at that moment… I did not rush among mankind and perish in an attempt to destroy [all of] them. While I was overcome by these feelings, I left the spot where I had committed the murder, and seeking a more secluded hiding-place, I entered a barn which had appeared to me to be empty. A woman was sleeping on some straw… Here, I thought, is one of those whose joy-imparting smiles are bestowed on all but me… I bent over her and placed the portrait securely in the folds of her dress [and thereby set her up for a crime she didn’t commit].

                                                                                    (151-152)

When the creature tells this to his creator, it is clear that its ability to speak enables it to voice some of Shelly’s more poignant concerns about science and the responsibility of the scientist toward its creation. By having the creature place the portrait “securely in the folds of her dress,” and set up Justine for a murder she didn’t commit, Shelly speaks through the creature’s actions about the evil that is product of abandonment and misery. This misery, caused by Frankenstein’s abandonment of his own creature, is one of Shelly’s most significant warnings. If science is going to create, it must, on the threat of letting loose unpredictable evils and unforeseen horrors into society, take care of its creations and be careful of what it creates. When the creature looks back and says, “I only wonder that at that moment… I did not rush among mankind and perish in an attempt to destroy [all of] them,” Shelly is making a clear point that scientists and creators have a responsibility not only for the well-being of their creations but for the well being of humanity (95). Thus, the answer to the question of whether the creature is “good” for science, or, better put, whether or not the creature benefits science in any way, seems to be positive. Despite the fact that Frankenstein abandoned his creation without ever saying a word to the scientific community of his rather astounding conquest over nature, and thereby denying science of any profit it could gain by the knowledge, the creation nevertheless benefits science. The benefit comes in the form of Frankenstein’s warning to the scientific community. “You seek for knowledge and wisdom as I once did; and I ardently hope that the gratification of your wishes may not be a serpent to bite you, as mine has been,” Frankenstein tells the Captain, both as a wish that his friend might have greater happiness in his pursuits than he had, and as a warning to be careful (19). Yet it is not the spoken wish for future happiness that interests us in Frankenstein’s statement as it is the wish’s warning-like undertones. The warning directly stems from the creature’s ability to speak and tell its tale of abandonment. When the creature relates its story to Frankenstein about the pain of having nothing in the world except for sorrow and confusion, Frankenstein is then able to tell a complete tale to the Captain.

“Seek happiness in tranquility and avoid ambition, even if it be only the apparently innocent one,” Frankenstein ultimately warns his listener, realizing that the quest for scientific “glory” is not always gratifying, and understanding by means of his own creature’s tale that knowledge might result in unhappiness (236). For, although Shelly is certainly not making a case for the abandonment of all sciences, her book reminds us countless times of the proverbial phrase that ignorance is often bliss. Thus, the creation seems neither markedly bad or good for science.

But perhaps the ultimate example of science’s close-knit relationship to language is not from the creature’s own mouth, but from the mouths of those that condemn its hideousness. “Who can describe their horror and consternation at beholding me?” With this rhetorical question, the creation of science expresses with words its deep sense of abandonment by all the world. Having helped the cottagers with their daily chores, and having revered them for their “virtues," the creature is turned away in “horror” when it reveals itself to them (133). Likewise, when the creature stumbles upon Frankenstein’s brother, the child “[utters] a shrill scream,” at first sight of the creation (150). When the child cries out, calling the creature a “hideous monster” (150) in his fear, the creature becomes enraged at its own deformity and strangles the child to death. Because Frankenstein’s creation is so repulsive in appearance, it is unwelcome in society despite the fact that its heart is good and its words are powerful and compelling. In fact, Frankenstein even warns the Captain not to trust the creature if it appears to him. “He is eloquent and persuasive; and once his words had even power over my own heart,” says Frankenstein, alluding to the time when his creation had persuaded him to create a companion which could be by its side in its extremely lonely existence (226). Thus, language once again appears in relation to science. And through the creature’s linguistic capacity Frankenstein is convinced to create him a partner.

            Yet language cannot, in the end, overpower science and rationality. In the midst of his work, Frankenstein, at a crucial moment in the making of the creature’s mate, sees his creation and is reminded of his original “fit of enthusiastic madness” that led him to create his first human being (225). And, in an equally “mad” fit, Frankenstein rips his second creation apart and thus dooms himself to his creature’s revenge, forgetting his “duty” to make happy the creature he brought into the world (235).

“Slave, I before reasoned with you, but you have proved yourself unworthy of my condescension. Remember that I have power” (178). With these words the creature attempts to overpower Frankenstein. Yet the creature, if we are to continue to see it as the personification and voice of science, never seems to be able to say enough to convince humanity to accept it. Thus, its ultimate fate is death. With the creature’s death, science is once again without a voice through which it can convey the idea that all creators have a responsibility towards their creation, or the notion that passion must be checked with reason. But does this mean that language is at odds with science? Or, more appropriately, does this mean that science is at odds with language? For, just as science is struggling to be heard, it is crushed by humanity and its voice fades away. The answer to this question must be no, for when the creature did have a voice it clearly struck a chord in one of Shelly’s characters. Take, for example, the Captain who, after hearing Frankenstein’s story and thus, the story of the creature, decides not to pursue his quest to become distinguished in “science and discoveries” and instead heads back to England (236). Here, Frankenstein himself, by means of telling his story to the Captain, acts as yet another bridge between science and language in Shelly’s work.

Yet, just because the creature and Frankenstein die, both of whom served as essential links in the book which brought together science and language, this is not to say that science ultimately dies. But could this mean that all ties between language and science are severed? The answer is, undoubtedly, no once again. The creature, assuming that we still see it as being a metaphor, is only one aspect of science. Although the creature is a symbol of how science is potentially dangerous if its creations are unattended, abandoned and ignored, it is not Shelly’s only view of science. Science lives on in various other forms, such as in the classes at the university of Ingolstadt which Frankenstein once attended. There, it is very likely that students continue to study and experiment, and it is hardly questionable that science will live on through written language in books by natural philosophers like Cornelius Agrippa and Albertus Magnus. Thus, just because Shelly’s foremost examples of science ultimately disappear, it does not mean that the relationship between science and language cannot remain strong.

In fact, not only is the relationship between science and language strong, the effect language has on science is quite powerful. Language both covers and exposes science in Frankenstein. Take, for example, how language covers science by means of silence. When Frankenstein refuses to say anything about having created a being, this is, perhaps, the ultimate example science being buried beneath language. “For the guilty there is no peace” (205), Frankenstein laments after the creature has killed his brother and best friend and he has remained silent. Indeed, he says, “I avoided explanation, and maintained a continual silence concerning the wretch I had created… I could not bring myself to disclose a secret which would fill my hearer with consternation, and make fear and unnatural horror the inmates of his breast” (200). By remaining silent and “avoiding explanation,” Frankenstein allows language to smother science, making his creation “nonexistent” in the scientific community because he has not introduced it or even acknowledged its existence. His “continual silence” attempts to cover science by the power of what can be called a kind of denial, and through this silence that Frankenstein maintains throughout most of Shelly’s book science is pushed below the surface where the community is not allowed to understand it – only to feel its effects. But science is not always silenced by language. In fact, one of the turning points in the novel comes when science is actually exposed by language in the written form. “I learned from your papers that you were my father, my creator” (146), the creature tells Frankenstein after it read the written account of its birth. Because Frankenstein kept a record of how he had created a human being, his creation was able to “hunt” him down and ultimately take its revenge upon his family and friends. By allowing language to expose science, Frankenstein makes what might be the strongest bind between science and language. It is a bind that is, by its very nature, both the beginning and the end of Frankenstein’s life and thus, Shelly’s tale in which language preserves and buries science, and science begets both silence and literature.