I re-read the Frankenstein novel recently. If you haven’t, I highly recommend it.

I’m growing to love reading again. Who you are at the time of reading a book, changes what you perceive from the story and what themes you extract. Recently, I’m thinking about storytelling and my goals to make more art. So I saw Frankenstein in a new way.

To me, Frankenstein is the ultimate horror story for artists. Let me explain.

If you haven’t read the story or have forgotten the plot, let me summarize:

The story actually starts at the end. Frankenstein is found by sailors in the Arctic. Seeing his frenzied mind, they wish to know his story and who he’s chasing. So Frankenstein explains:

He discusses his college studies, particularly how the human body works. Becoming a workaholic, he ignores family and friends to focus on his work: creating a synthetic man. Instead, he creates a monster.

Ashamed of his hideous monster, Frankenstein flees once it awakes. The monster, humiliated at his creator’s shame, also departs.

In later months, Frankenstein finally starts reconnecting with family. Then, he learns his younger brother is murdered — strangled by inhuman hands. One of the servants is framed. Frankenstein is torn, feeling responsible for the servant’s death, but unwilling to confess it was His creation — therefore potentially killed himself, unable to cast vengeance.

Later, the monster meets Frankenstein. In a last attempt at a positive reunion, the monster relays its story the past few months. While hiding behind a house in the countryside, it watches and learns from an unsuspecting family living there: language, writing, culture, love, and kindness. The monster attempts to introduce itself to the family, but is cast out. Embittered with humanity and loneliness, the creature goes on a murderous rampage. It tries to be humane again by saving a girl in a river, only for the girl’s father to attempt shooting at the monster. And then of course, it murders Frankenstein’s brother.

The monster gives an ultimatum to Frankenstein: make a female monster to satisfy its loneliness, and it promises to never interfere with humanity. Frankenstein initially agrees and starts making her. However, Frankenstein worries: if this monster turned evil on a dime, what’s stopping the female monster from doing the same? Why should he trust the next monster to be benevolent, when the first monster hasn’t so far?

So, in an act of protest, Frankenstein burns what is made of his second creation. The monster goes on a final rampage. First killing one of Frankenstein’s childhood friends, then his bride on their wedding night. Frankenstein’s father dies of grief.

Left with no loved ones, Frankenstein chases the monster into the arctic, bringing us back to the flash-forward at the beginning. Frankenstein dies of the cold soon after. The monster visits Frankenstein’s corpse to mourn. With a promise to make a pyre to burn itself, the creature departs to the arctic sea.

I remember reading this story the first time in high school. I’m glad I chose to read it then. At the time, I thought that calling this novel a “science fiction horror” was a stretch. Sure, creating a human is sci-fi. But what’s the horror here? Just making a monster?

The horror has grown more palpable as I’ve gotten older. But now that I’ve finished it the second time, I realized the deeper horror: your greatest creation becomes your, and others’, undoing. This can apply to creating life as a parent, but also to creating as an artist.

To create a human, from scratch, was this man’s crowning achievement. If it had went through, Frankenstein truly would have been heralded for generations.

But the horror wasn’t the invention failing. No, He could have continued his life’s work in other ways, and found happiness elsewhere.

His invention succeeded, which led to the destruction of his family, livelihood, sanity, and ultimately, his own life.

Obviously, none of us have created our own human monsters (okay parents, no jokes here). But like any good horror, there’s a warning the protagonist chooses to ignore. It’s cited during Frankenstein’s college life:

Never allow passion to disturb tranquility. Frankenstein’s workaholic-ism and obsession over this project led to his undoing. There’s mention of how he received family letters pleading for a report, even a letter with a single sentence saying he’s alive (remember kids, it’s the 1800s). But he ignored them, and went full force into his passions.

In a modern world, how could we apply this?

On a related note: what do Frankenstein and Elon Musk have in common? No, this isn’t about politics.

They’ve attempted to create or revitalize technological innovations. Musk reinvigorated technological and economic possibilities of both the electric car and space travel.

And both have been questioned for their work ethics.

Elon Musk has claimed to work 100+ hours some weeks, even sleeping in his own workplaces. He micromanages his own schedule into minutes, not hours. He’s been known to expect similarly high expectations of his employees. People have noted he believes in his goals and dreams with absolute certainty (noted by Sam Altman, who took a SpaceX tour by him, fun fact).

Even other tech moguls, while leaning towards this direction, are often not nearly as extreme. Zuckerberg is often considered to work 50-60 hours a week, as noted in 2015 by workplace peers. I couldn’t find much about Sam Altman’s work ethic (apparently he has a book now, so time will tell), but he’s publicly said that while he too focuses on (over)productivity, he warns about overcommitting too much.

And another similarity: all three tech moguls have been in legal hearings over what they’ve created.

Now, you may believe these inventions are for the greater good. Or that they’re stepping stones towards the apocalypse.

But think about it through their eyes, for just a moment:

Note: I say this without necessarily condoning Facebook, Zuckerberg, Musk, or anyone else mentioned. This is imagery, not my agreeing with them.

But imagine creating what you believe is your finest work, only for people to hate it. Worse, they hate you for it.

Frankenstein takes this a step further: the creator hates his own work. And even the work hates the creator.

I’m sure each of these creators — Frankenstein, Musk, Zuckerberg, Altman — have had a moment of considering: was all this worth it? Is all this hatred against my work, against me, worth the innovation?

But this is software and engineering, you say. Not artworks.

How about Michelangelo? Remember his big painting on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel? Yeah, “Last Judgment.”

I’m grateful to have seen it in person, over a decade ago now. If you ever go to Italy, see as many churches and artwork as you possibly can. It’ll leave you awe-struck.

But why was this one hated at the time? Because many of the characters are nude.

As noted in Angels and Demons, later on, people desecrated many statues and artworks with fig leaves to “cover them up.” Except for the most extreme cases, these have been removed in restoration projects.

Now, this is not as extreme as Frankenstein. But that’s what makes the novel a horror: it’s a worst nightmare for creators. In a way, all artists have this fear, at different levels, to create something that:

Frankenstein literally does all these things, all at once.

Worst artist ever, amirite? 😜😜😜

Jokes aside, here’s the takeaways.

I’ve learned that both programming and art are as freeing as they are taxing. Remember Mary Shelley’s warnings, often echoed in other popular stories as well. Take Jurassic Park’s “Your scientists were so preoccupied with whether or not they could, you didn’t stop to think if you should.”

“I won but at what cost” is a common storytelling theme for a reason. And even if you don’t feel the consequences of your own work, others will.

Legal debates fight over “how much” of this is true. If a Tesla crashes, who’s financially responsible? The driver not driving? The software developers who wrote the code? Musk?

Who’s financially responsible for an LLM that costs a company thousands, if not millions, of dollars in damages?

Answers may vary based on how sentient one believes electronics to be. As someone whose dad coded individual computer chips all day, I can tell you they’re not.

So, the creation itself isn’t responsible. And the person using or viewing the creation is at least responsible for their own actions.

Can the creator be responsible? My answer — in some cases, absolutely yes.

While an artist can’t control how something is received, they certainly control what they’re transmitting. Note that I’m mostly referring to technology and artistic content targeted to younger audiences, like children and toddlers. Seeing how my child is transfixed by movies and videos, makes me ever more sensitive to how digital media affects the mind.

That’s not all art, obviously. But just being self-aware of how your art will be received will work wonders for you.

This also comes up with usage of AI. I’ve noticed some people using AI mentally shift accountability to it: “It’s not the AI’s fault, it’s what it told me to do.” That’s not responsibility. Own what you produce, and that includes the tools you use.

In short: be aware of what you’re creating. Be aware of who’s receiving. Act responsibly and with ownership.