Many readings of Shelley’s novel rest upon a widely accepted cliche: ‘the Monster is just
like us.’ The Creature is taken to represent the ‘us’ in different forms, such as the colonized, the bourgeoisie, or the queer. Behind this cliche of the ‘Creature-as-us’ lies another assumption: It is the possessor of consciousness. For this reason, readers feel sympathy when Victor’s Monster expresses anguish at being ostracized. Observing this scene, they think ‘us humans would react the same way to such injustice; therefore, He must be conscious like us!’ Ultimately, both the cliche and the assumption – as well as the countless interpretations of Frankenstein that rest upon them – are flawed. The Creature is not in fact ‘just like us,’ for one cannot say with any certainty that it possesses consciousness.

If this is the case, then how must the Monster be perceived? The Monster must be perceived of as an unknowable ecological force, similar to the glaciers and mountains that Victor observes. Indeed, this ecological force does not exist in isolation. Rather, it arises from the unknown ecological forces of Shelley’s time. Shelley’s novel isn’t about the a knowable and relatable humanoid; rather, it is about the ways in which ecological unknowns create ecological unknowns.

ECOLOGICAL UNKNOWNS: CLIMATE CHANGE, VIRUSES, AND CORPSES Three major ecological unknowns facing Shelley’s 19th century Britain must be
discussed; the first is climate change. Although Britons feared the encroachment of polar ice
upon their lands, they failed to actually comprehend ice-as-itself. When discussed by the era’s laypeople and scientific thinkers, ice “was often cast in imperial terms, as a spreading dominion.” (Carroll 213). For instance, Erasmus Darwin resorted to describing ice as guided by “nymphs”, while the naturalist Leclerc likened the substance to Islamic crusaders. What is ice- as-itself? Ice-as-itself is a nonhuman entity. By discussing ice as if it possessed a human body, the ecologically-minded of the 19th century failed to discuss it accurately. Instead, they discussed ice-as-itself ‘fused’ with unnecessary parts overlaid onto it. If one cannot discuss an entity-as-itself without discussing unrelated constructs, then one cannot even begin to comprehend it.

Despite its ecological ignorance, Mary Shelley’s society seemed on the cusp of grasping nature’s “mesh of interconnection” wherein one ecological entity can simultaneously affect a multitude of separate ones (Morton, Hyperobjects 130). Those who feared the encroachment of frost suggested “geoengineering schemes” – the movement of polar ice to other parts of the globe – as a remedy (Carroll 212). Although this cosmopolitanism approached an accurate understanding of ecology, it did not quite reach it. The main flaw of this ecocosmopolitan view was that it assumed a one-to-one cause-and-effect relationship between different biospheric constituents. For pre-Victorian geoengineers, ice (and only ice) is what made the world climate colder. As the data conveys, however, reality isn’t so simple. As noted geoscientist Doug MacDougall notes, finding out the origins of past ice ages is “notoriously difficult because there are so many interconnected variables at work…cause and effect are often impossible to discern” (218). Direct one-to-one ecological Causes are an inaccurate fiction. Even if such a ‘Cause’ appears to exist, it is working in conjunction with other ‘Causes.’ The ‘Cause’ in question ceases to be the singular ‘Cause’ and is instead reduced to being one of several contributing factors. 19th century Britons valiantly tried to defeat climate change by conceptualizing ecological interconnection; they failed on both counts tremendously.

The second major ecological unknown of Shelley’s time was the virus. In this pre-Pasteur era, two competing views on disease existed, “contagionism” and “anti-contagionism” (McWhir 23). The former view posited that diseases such as yellow fever and smallpox were transmitted through “contact or body fluids” (23). The latter view posited that these same diseases were spread through miasmatic air. Essentially, Shelley’s contemporaries were talking about viral spread without knowing about viruses. Of course, there was no way for these proto- epidemiologists to even know this; the virus would be discovered years later. Even if 1800s Britons had been aware of the virus, however, their discussion of its spread would still be inaccurate. Viruses cause infection by entering the cells of an organism, not necessarily by body- contact and certainly not by miasma. By lacking an understanding of both the virus and its propagation, Shelley’s contemporaries failed to achieve the understanding of basic virological facts that would have led to a knowledge of the virus itself.
Shelley’s contemporaries exhibited the same reality-defying corporeal-izing towards the virus that they did in regards to polar ice. Xenophobia was a part of the competing contagionist and anti-contagionist perspectives, which both – for different reasons – urged and promoted a separation from the East, in particular “Egypt, Ethiopia” and “Constantinople” (McWhir 28). Within the contagionist and anti-contagionist view, viral contaminants became linked with the Other, both in terms of the Other’s country and physical body. By conceptually attaching viruses to human bodies and their dwelling places, one ceases to talk about the virus-as-itself. Instead, one ends up discussing a human body-virus hybrid that is simultaneously both and neither. The deficiency of knowledge brought about by anthropomorphism, combined with a lack of elementary facts, prevented Shelley’s contemporaries from truly grasping the Virus. Thus, it remained unknown.

It’s fitting that two major ecological unknowns were linked by 19th century Britons to the materiality of the human body; indeed, the third major ecological unknown of Shelley’s time was the deceased human body itself. Although the corpse may not seem ecological like climate change or the virus, it undoubtedly is, for it is the corpse that disintegrates into matter which nourishes the soil and its microorganisms. The psychoanalyst Julia Kristeva notes that “what is abject…is radically excluded and draws me toward the place where meaning collapses” (2). At the same time, “The corpse, seen without God and outside of science, is the utmost of abjection” (4). In order to possess knowledge about an entity, one must first have a sense of general meaning in order to contextualize the entity and create knowledge about it. By collapsing meaning, the corpse prevents one from gaining the epistemological tools necessary to gain an understanding of it. Through their actions, humans help build upon the corpse’s inscrutability. “The perspective of natural philosophy” is “organized around the corpse, but in order not to see it” (Barker 77). Empirically, the senses are the main medium through which observation (and therefore knowledge) about the universe is gained. By not gazing at the corpse, natural philosophers fail to observe the meaning-collapsing capability of the corpse. By not gazing at the corpse, these philosophers can’t even know about its unknowability! For observers at any point in time, knowing the corpse is an impossible act; both humans and corpses obfuscate.

THE CREATURE AS OBJECT
The Creature’s existence, of course, is the ecological unknown that arises from the aforementioned ecological unknowns of Shelley’s age. In order to discuss the unknown nature of the Monster, the supposed ‘known’ about Its nature must be examined and exposed as flawed. If this false notion can be stripped from the Humanoid, then It will become strange, ‘new,’ and ‘unknown’ to readers and critics alike.

One cannot declare that Frankenstein’s Monster has a consciousness. At first, such an assertion may seem absurd. After all, the Creature appears to display traits which hint at human consciousness; it speaks and appears to act freely. However, the Creature’s body and mind are both dead-matter-turned-living. This is problematic, for human consciousness presupposes a human agent whose physical body and mind are fully active and alive. By being living- nonliving, the Humanoid does not satisfy this crucial prerequisite. Furthermore, human consciousness presupposes that the possessor of it is composed of human ‘parts;’ the Monster isn’t entirely. As Victor reminds his readers, “the dissecting room and the slaughterhouse [emphasis mine] furnished many of my materials” (Shelley 45) Lastly, human consciousness is derived from a childhood of combined physical and psychical maturation. This holds true whether one holds to a Freudian oral-anal-phallic paradigm or a Lacanian Real-Imaginary- Symbolic model. Victor’s Creature does not experience any stage of infancy or childhood, thus he cannot be capable of developing any kind of human psyche. Although the Humanoid appears to have human consciousness, this can never be, as the material forces necessary for such an occurrence to take place are missing.

At first, the Creature’s ability to speak serves as an effective counterargument against Its lack of consciousness. JL Searle’s famous thought experiment suggests otherwise. Searle asserts that an individual trapped inside of a room could formulate Chinese statements if provided with the proper characters and instructions. This would be true even if the individual did not have any knowledge of Chinese. If a computer could become sufficiently advanced, it would be able to do the same thing. However, “the computer has nothing more than I have in the case where I understand nothing” (Searle 418). Simply put, the performance of language by a computer is not a sign of the computer actually being a conscious speaker who understands language. Of course, Searle acknowledges the “Other Minds” counterargument, which states that perceiving the speech performance of the computer as non-conscious necessitates perceiving the speech performance of humans as non-conscious (421). This argument is easy to refute. Since the speaking human individual is aware of her own consciousness, she cannot assume that other speaking humans have no consciousness.
Victor’s Creature is not Searle’s inorganic computer; like Searle’s inorganic computer, however, it is an artificial construct. For the same reason, then, one is also unable to ascribe consciousness to Its speech performance. If the Monster’s apparent existence as not-a-computer dissuades one from accepting this conclusion, one might note that it can be viewed as a type of a computer from a posthumanist perspective. Given the similarities between how circuitboards and body structures operate, the Creature could be viewed as a ““wet computer,” an all-too-fragile device on which…software/data-based identities “run,” hardware we might upgrade or replace altogether without a meaningful loss” (Outka 32). Whether a speaking entity is a computer or not, Searle’s argument applies.

Acknowledging this point, one may argue that the Creature’s consciousness is a type of animal consciousness. This assertion cannot be comfortably made; the status of consciousness within many animals is currently a question science is still attempting to solve. Even if every animal on Earth were to definitively possess consciousness, the argument towards the Creature’s animal consciousness would not become more valid. One cannot use the cognitive traits of currently existing fleshy beings to describe the inner ‘psyche’ of an artificial fleshy being unrelated to any of them on the tree of life.

A question is raised: if the Creature is neither human or animal than what is it? Indeed, such labels are not accurate, as they suggest a variety of traits that the Creature cannot be said to have. The only other option remaining is the status of ecological object and hyperobject. In order to make this apparent, the work of Timothy Morton – an ecocritic who focuses on objects and hyperobjects – will be applied.

COMPONENTS OF CONSCIOUSNESS WITHIN OBJECTS
While asserting a new ecological definition of objects, Timothy Morton declares: “what
we call consciousness is also present in a host of meaningful senses in the keys on my laptop” (“Waking up” 183). Within the Mortonian view, the ability to contain components of consciousness is not limited to the human. Indeed, any inanimate object can contain consciousness’s building blocks while not actually containing consciousness itself.

Uncanniness, the unfamiliar which is “traced back without exception to something familiar that has been repressed,” isn’t necessarily a human-only trait (Freud, Uncanny 124). Morton observes that every object has an “essence;” i.e. “some kind of withdrawn core that not even the object itself can access” (“Waking up” 183). This appears to be the case even if Platonism is disregarded (which indeed, it is). Morton’s observation has implications for objects as mundane as a shoe or a telephone. When one considers that these objects have an unknowable interiority, their familiarity becomes tinged with the unfamiliar. Since any object will exist “inside an object,” its physical building blocks (i.e. atoms and molecules) will interact with building blocks from a foreign entity (187). On an abstract level, the mixture of the familiar and unfamiliar that give rise to uncanniness is a mixture of the Entity and the not-Entity. Although an Entity can be a conscious being, it doesn’t necessarily have to be. An Entity can most certainly be an object. If an object contains other objects within it, then it thus achieves an abstract sense of uncanniness. Objects, therefore, can possess the unheimlich that is mistakenly attributed solely to the human mind.

UNCONSCIOUSNESS WITHIN THE OBJECT-CREATURE
If Frankenstein’s Humanoid possesses objecthood, then it should be capable of possessing
a building block of consciousness, despite its apparent lack of consciousness. Instead of revealing the presence of consciousness, the speech of the object-Creature reveals what will be referred to as Its Unknown Unconscious.

Lacanian psychoanalysis attempts to hide the fact that speech and unconsciousness are one. While asserting that “the unconscious is structured like a language,” Lacan makes it clear that he is not saying that the unconscious “is structured by a language” (48). Lacan’s desire to keep unconsciousness and language separate is curious, and is reminiscent of Ferdinand de Saussure’s desire to keep speech and writing separate in a hierarchical pair where the first element is privileged. The reason for both Lacan’s and Saussure’s desire for such a separation is clear. Both halves of two different hierarchical pairs – unconsciousness and speech, speech and writing – appear as if they should be separate, since common sense dictates that the former chronologically precedes and gives rise to the latter. However, Derrida’s words in regard to the artificial separation between speech and writing must be heeded:

“Speech seems in its turn the speculum of writing, which “manages to usurp the main role.” Representation mingles with what it represents, to the point where one speaks as one writes…In this play of representation, the point of origin becomes ungraspable” (36).

A similar statement could be made: ‘The unconscious seems in its turn the speculum of
speech, which manages to usurp the main role. Speech mingles with what is unconscious, to the point where one’s unconscious is as one’s speech…In this play of representation, the point of origin becomes ungraspable.’ This statement is no mere parody. If deconstruction allows one to view writing as informing speech, then it must also allow one to view speech as informing unconsciousness. Speech, then, must be hopelessly mingled with the unconscious, inseparable despite the best efforts to extricate the two. Lack of empirical evidence prevents one from saying that Frankenstein’s Creature has a human consciousness. Induction, however, allows one to observe the speech of the Monster and assert that it is the product of an Unknown Unconscious.

Of course, one can use deconstruction and Lacan to assert that the speech of non- monstrous humans is also caused by the unconscious familiar to psychoanalysis. Every human possesses such an unconscious; the Monster’s, however, is different. For this reason, the phrase ‘Unknown Unconscious’ is deliberately used when discussing It. The fragmented self of all humans is part of the unconscious. However, “The disabled body is a direct imago of the repressed fragmented body” (Davis, 139). By being composed of mashed-together parts, Frankenstein’s Creature exhibits the fragmentation synonymous with unconscious repression on Its ‘outside’. For human individuals with an apparently ‘whole’ and ‘unified’ body, such unconscious repression occurs on the ‘inside’, in the psyche that lies beneath flesh and skull. The Creature presents a reversal of the Unconsciousness’s location; It thus possesses an inverted Unconsciousness that does not exist for the human analysand. As an object, it thus possesses an Unconsciousness that is Unknown, for no model of it exists.

It should briefly be noted that the maimed body of the disabled individual is not analogous to the Creature whose fleshy garb contains the Unknown Unconscious. While only part of the disabled body is fragmented, the Creature is entirely fragments. The former body cannot display the same Unconsciousness that the latter can.

THE CREATURE AS HYPEROBJECT
The Creature – aside from existing as an ecological object with components of consciousness – exists as an ecological hyperobject. A hyperobject is an entity that differs from a regular object. “The term hyperobjects…refer[s] to things that are massively distributed in time and space relative to humans,” such as “black hole[s]… Styrofoam…plastic bags, or the sum of all the whirring machinery of capitalism” (Morton, Hyperobjects 1) The scale of the hyperobject is far larger than that of the individual human, who is unable to grasp it in its entirety. Hyperobjects “are nonlocal: in other words, any “local manifestation” of a hyperobject is not directly the hyperobject.” Since a hyperobject is so vast, one can only experience “local” components of it (1). An example of this would be the hyperobject of global warming. One cannot experience it in its entirety. Millions on every continent can, however, experience the local climate change that results from it.

The Creature fits the criteria of hyperobject perfectly. Like a hyperobject, It is “massively distributed in time and space relative to humans” (Morton, Hyperobjects 1). Spatially, It is “of a gigantic stature, that is to say, about eight feet in height, and proportionably large” (Shelley 44). This distribution also occurs environmentally and geographically. The Creature crosses vast spaces in the physical environment with ease. Frankenstein personally “saw him descend the mountain with greater speed than the flight of an eagle, and quickly lost among the undulations of the sea of ice” (Shelley 146). Indeed, this Humanoid crosses larger spaces. It traverses (i.e. distributes itself across) the ocean, the North Pole, and multiple countries across Europe.

Victor’s Monster is also atemporal. In Shelley’s text, all journal entries that would provide a chronological frame of reference for Its existence provide a nonsensical number that signifies no existing time: “17—” (7). To complicate things, Its origin adds to its atemporality. Chronologically, the animated body precedes a still corpse. The Monster’s existence reverses the normal temporal flow. Like a hyperobject, then, it must necessarily be “massively distributed in time,” since only something “massively distributed” can be capable of defying its dictates (Morton, Hyperobjects 1). Like a hyperobject, the Creature also causes “local manifestations” of Itself that are simultaneously not Itself to appear across the world. While being chased by Victor across countries, the Monster leaves its markings. “Amidst the wilds of Tartary and Russia,” a “print…on the white plain” is observed (Shelley 205). In Geneva, the “print” of the Creature’s finger is on William’s neck. Instead of being a conscious individual or a mere object, it thus appears that Frankenstein’s Creature is an ecological hyperobject.

Of course, one could protest and assert that the Monster is not a hyperobject, due to the fact that It can be directly experienced by Victor. On the contrary, the Monster never truly is experienced by Victor. The Monster, in its truest form, is a being that does not act according to human conventions. When Victor encounters the Monster, it is only after It has ‘picked up’ these skills. When Victor is talking to the Monster, he Is dealing with a layer of artifice that is overlaid onto it. Thus, the actual Monster remains vaster than Victor’s comprehension, like metropolitan smog or the Genevan mountains.

The status of the Monster as hyperobject means that it must be perceived exactly the same as continental plates, wind currents, oceans, and other natural features. Indeed, all of these aforementioned constructs share a common bond; they are all hyperobjects, for they meet the criteria of vast spatiotemporal distribution with local manifestation. Although the assertion that the Monster is equivalent to such things seems absurd, the sublime supports the claim. Facing Mont Blanc, “Victor sets out alone to scale the summit in the midst of a rainstorm, hoping that the sublime scene will restore him” (Outka 36). The natural sublimity is interrupted by the intrusion of the Creature, who bears a new anti-Romantic “organic sublime, in which subjectivity and materiality are fused” (37). Although differing definitions of sublimity exist, one thing is commonly agreed upon; it is tied to the vast and the natural. By serving as a bearer of the sublime (albeit a different ‘flavor’ of sublime), the artificial Humanoid becomes a natural force in the same category as a Mountain range. Thus, Monster should not be interpreted as an individual character like Safie or Clerval. Instead, It should be read with the same ‘character’ as an ocean or a cloud system. As will be discussed later, the Creature embodies certain environmental entities, namely climate change and the virus.

THE CREATURE AS ECOLOGICAL UNKNOWN
An issue arises due to the Creature’s dual status as object and hyperobject. Although
Morton’s ecocriticism has perceived objects and hyperobjects as ecological entities, it has failed to consider the existence of a third entity that is a combination of the two. One cannot simply say that the Humanoid’s objecthood is part of its hyperobjecthood; the two cannot be synonymous. Morton’s ecocriticism notes consciousness-components within the object while failing to observe them within the hyperobject. By being both object and hyperobject, Victor’s Creature presents a fusion, an ecological force that not even an innovative and astute thinker like Morton could perceive. What would the name of such a thing be? An object-hyperobject? A hyperobject+? The Creature contains both objecthood and hyperobjecthood and is thus simultaneously something beyond both of them. Current ecocriticism does not possess the language to describe such an ecological force. Unfortunately, things get even more incomprehensible. Aside from being the indescribable hyperobject and object, Victor’s Monster also contains the essence of other hyperobjects and objects within it.

UNKNOWN HYPEROBJECTS WITHIN THE CREATURE
The two unknown hyperobject-essences that the Creature contains are climate change and the virus. As previously mentioned, 19th century Britons lacked sufficient knowledge of these phenomena; thus, from their perspective, they were ecological unknowns. Of course, these two entities are undeniably hyperobjects, for they meet the criteria of vast spatiotemporal dispersal which locally manifests.

For Victor Frankenstein and the reader of Shelley’s novel, the Creature is inherently tied to climate change on a microcosmic level. Indeed, the Monster causes the climate to change from the individual perspective of Victor Frankenstein. The starting point of his journey is Geneva, a place where elements of cold exist in the background, as glaciers on the mountains. From Geneva, Victor travels to Ingolstadt to create his Monster. Since Ingolstadt is Northwards, it follows that it is a colder place. Ingolstadt is where one is “oppressed by cold” (Shelley 99) and “a great fall of snow” (100). After going back and forth from Geneva and Ingolstadt for reasons unrelated to the Monster, Shelley’s protagonist finally travels to Britain at Its behest. Since Britain is even more Northward, cold is more of a constant there than in Ingolstadt. Victor takes great pains to emphasize “the wind that blew me from the detested shore” (Shelley 184), the “strong north wind” (176), and “the northeast breeze” that “chilled” (171). After resolving to have nothing more to do with his Creature, Victor returns to the cooler climes of Geneva. However, the Monster spurs Victor on to seek vengeance. Victor’s desire for revenge can be characterized as one of mostly Northward movement, where the presence of cold increases constantly. As the pursuer, Victor first sees the Creature in the Mediterranean, a place known for its warm and temperate atmosphere. On his creation’s trail, Victor ends up “Amidst the wilds of Tartary and Russia.” Amid “the white plain,” Victor declares: “the snows descended on my head” (205) Moving on “northward, the snows thickened, and the cold increased in a degree almost too severe to support” (207). The presence of cold reaches its climax when his northern travels lead him to the polar ocean with its “Immense and rugged mountains of ice” (209). The Creature – both directly and indirectly – causes Its creator to travel from a southern Geneva where ice decorates the mountains to the frigid Arctic where ice is the mountains.

From Victor’s perspective, the world grows increasingly colder; for him as an individual, the climate changes. Travel from geographic region to geographic region isn’t necessary for this micro-climate change to happen either. Within Geneva, Victor climbs Mont Blanc. “In a thousand spots the traces of the winter avalanche may be seen.” This changes when he sees the Creature (Shelley 91). “Traces” (91) of winter turn into winter in full, and Victor sees a “field of ice…almost a league in width” (92). It is then that he observes the climactic “figure of a man,” his malformed invention (92). However, Geographic place itself isn’t necessary for the intrusion of micro-climate change (i.e. the intrusion of cold). When the Creature enters his creator’s thoughts the latter notes: “the thought made me shiver…a cold shivering came over me” (Shelley 52) When discussing the Monster, Victor acknowledges climate change once more: “when revealed to you, it will chill your frame with horror” (190).

The Creature’s ability to bring about climate change is connected to Victor’s refusal to create a companion for it. The Creature “suggests, from the moment of its creation, that the human race is [in] imminent danger of being supplanted” by beings immune to cold (Carroll 222). Thus, Victor’s fear that “a race of devils would…would make the very existence of…man a condition precarious” is in a twisted way an eco-conscious one (Shelley 165). Victor’s Monster brings about micro-climate change on the individual level. If Victor creates more than one Monster, then who’s to say that the same can’t happen on a scale larger than the individual? After all, what hypothetical “race of beings” does Victor picture as having “habitations” among the Alps? (88) As Carroll suggests, it’s the “race of devils” he decides not to create (Carroll 222). From an eco-conscious perspective, to create more Creatures is to create more climate change. Its telling that Victor “shuddered to think” about such an act of creation prior to refusing it (Shelley 166). Indeed, the Creature (as well as the very idea of it) serves as the embodiment of the ecological unknown of climate change and the polar frost that it brings.

Frankenstein’s creation also serves as the embodiment of the virus-as-itself as conceived of by modern science. Thus, the Creature embodies the ecological force that 19th century Britons thought they knew, but didn’t. What closely connects the Monster to the notion of the virus is its inscrutably mysterious nature. “The question whether or not “viruses are alive” has caused considerable debate over many years” (Koonin and Starokadomskyy 125). The question is itself an unanswerable mystery. The question of whether the Creature is alive is similarly mysterious. Like a living organism, the Monster is composed of fleshy parts; unlike a living organism, the parts the Monster is made of come from corpses. The appearance of being simultaneously living and dead is thus achieved within the Creature, making Its status as life akin to the virus’s due to the fact that it is inscrutable. One can certainly claim that the Monster is alive or dead, however, any such claim would be operating off of comparisons to organisms that are wholly living or wholly dead. Thus, such a claim would be a fallacious false analogy. (The question of the Monster’s living nature, of course, is separate from the question of its consciousness; a bacteriophage can be alive and not conscious).

From the perspective of scientists, the virus is defined by its ability to reproduce in a non- sexual manner; from the perspective of Shelley’s scientist, his invention is also defined by Its ability to reproduce in a non-sexual manner. Within biology, one cannot understand the virus without understanding where it is “readily defined within the replicator paradigm” (Koonin and Starokadomskyy 125). Similarly, Victor requires the concept of replication to understand his invention. Shelley’s protagonist declares:

“one of the first results of those sympathies for which the dæmon thirsted would be children, and a race of devils would be propagated upon the earth, who might make the very existence of the species of man a condition precarious and full of terror. Had I a right, for my own benefit, to inflict this curse upon everlasting generations?” (165)

Sexual reproduction involves both the act of coitus and an interval of pregnancy afterwards. Victor perceives his daemon as reproducing at a hyper-pace exponential enough to overtake an entire species. Victor may picture his own ‘Adam’ in the act of coitus, however, his vision of Its rapid sequence of offspring-creation precludes the possibility of any meaningful pregnancy period. Thus, the reproduction that Victor perceives his daemon partaking in can’t be sexual, since it fails to allow for one of sexual reproduction’s crucial stages. The Creature’s reproduction must therefore be perceived as nonsexual, like the reproduction of the virus. Of course, reproduction at a hyper-pace is a trait of the virus in the first place; the millions quickly killed by smallpox throughout history would readily attest to that.

Viruses – whether they be lytic, non-lytic, or lysogenic – must enter a cell in order to replicate (Koonin and Starokadomsky, 128); Frankenstein’s Monster, like a virus, enters a “cell” in order to achieve (a type of) replication (Shelley 45). As Frankenstein notes: “in a solitary chamber, or rather cell, at the top of the house…I kept my workshop of filthy creation [emphasis mine]” (Shelley 45). The contents that enter the cell are body parts from different human and non-human corpses. Indeed, these Monster parts can be said to be the Monster in a different and unassembled form. After putting the parts together, Victor creates a replica – albeit an imperfect one – of a human being in the form of the Creature. The act is as follows: (Creature-)parts enter a “cell” to create (Creature-)replication. If the “cell” is the host from which the virus-Monster arises, Victor’s reactions after being exposed to it are telling. After such exposures occur, Victor experiences the same maladies multiple times: “delirium” (181), “fatigue” (205), and “a nervous fever” (53). It makes sense for him to experience physical illness after witnessing his hideous progeny; exposure to virological agents tend to have that effect.

UNKNOWN OBJECTS WITHIN THE CREATURE
The corpse, previously mentioned as an unknown entity for both 1800s and modern
observers, exists as an object. Its objecthood, of course, is apparent according to the contemporary non-theoretical view of what an object is. This is also the case according to the ecological definition of an object, which defines an object is “a real entity that is withdrawn from access” (Morton, “Waking up” 184). When living, the human body is an entity that contains a set of characteristics: consciousness, personality, voice, etc. When turned into a corpse, these same qualities that were once present in the body are forever made inaccessible, even though they were once present. Going along with the ecological definition, one can also say that the corpse has elements of consciousness. The permanent inaccessibility of living traits previously contained within it can be read as a type of unheimlich, an abstract version of the same unheimlich that characterizes the conscious mind.

Thanks to theorists like Kristeva and Barker, readers know about the unknown that is attached to corpses. Frankenstein’s Monster, however, pushes the unknowability of corpses into an even further direction. As an entity that is corpse-shaped (i.e. it has a head, legs, arms, and a torso), it appears as a single corpse. However, the Creature is made up of multiple corpse parts. Therefore, it is made up of multiple corpses. If one corpse is “where meaning collapses,” then certainly multiple corpses in one area can cause the same effect on a magnified scale (Kristeva 2). By presenting multiple corpses within a confined space, the Monster presents a corpse-caused collapse of meaning that is far greater than what Kristeva envisioned. By functioning as both multiple corpses and one corpse, the Creature occupies a contradictory existence, akin to the Christian trinity that is both One and Three. This occupation of two contradictory states creates a sense of paradox, which only exacerbates to the hyper-collapse of meaning caused by multiple corpses existing in a closed space. It is certainly true that the unknowability of the corpse is known. The Monster, however, presents a corpse-unknowability that is unanticipated, and therefore unknown, by both theorists and laypeople.

THE CREATURE AS A (GREATER) ECOLOGICAL UNKNOWN
The Creature, due to existing on its own as a hyperobject-object, is unknown and near-
unspeakable in relation to modern ecocritical paradigms. This ecological unknowability doesn’t solely arise from the Creature. By containing a fusion of ecological hyperobjects and objects that Shelley’s contemporaries couldn’t understand (climate change, the virus, and the corpse), this unknowability is exacerbated. The union of these ecological unknowns creates a greater ecological unknown, the Creature.

ECOLOGICAL IMPLICATIONS
First, Shelley’s Creature conveys the insufficiency of current ecocritical paradigms.
Although Timothy Morton’s explanations of both the ecological object and hyperobject are immensely illuminating, they do not go far enough. For instance, if an object-hyperobject fusion can exist, it may be possible to conceive of a hyperobject with components of consciousness. The notion of any object as being imbued with such qualities serves to create a sense of empathy within the human towards other entities that she may share a space with; what if the same empathy could be extended towards hyperobjects like cloud systems and mountain ranges?

 

Certainly, a greater ecological consciousness could take place. At the same time, the Creature warns of taking the hyperobject category as the ultimate ecological truth. Morton asserts that “hyperobjects end the possibility of transcendental leaps “outside” physical reality” (Hyperobjects 2). If multiple hyperobjects can exist in a mesh within an entity, then perhaps there exists something beyond the hyperobject. Perhaps a transcendental leap is possible; instead of leaping “outside” of physical reality, perhaps one can leap towards new types of material realities larger than currently anticipated.

In their ignorance, Shelley’s contemporaries conceptually attached human body parts to ecological unknowns like (nymphish) polar ice and (Egyptian, à la contagionism) viruses; the Monster reveals that this reaction is part of a larger human response towards ecology. For Freud, dreams are characterized by “the possibility of creating composite formations;” this process is called “condensation” (Freud, Interpretation 207). Dreams – and by extension, condensation – are a way for the conscious mind to deal with what it can’t comprehend. Since polar ice and the virus all served as unknowns for Shelley’s contemporaries, their act of mentally combining them with the equally unknown body-devoid-of-consciousness makes sense; 1800s Britons were engaged in condensation in order to psychologically handle the incomprehensible elements of nature.
This act isn’t merely limited to inner psychic space, however. As Victor’s act of creation shows, eco-condensation is a behavior can result in eco-unknowns actually being physically combined. Perhaps it wasn’t nihilistic hubris that caused early 1900s industrialists to cast factory smog into the atmosphere. Perhaps they were attempting to make two incomprehensible ecological forces comprehensible. (Parallel to the Monster, this combination of incomprehensible elements created the greater unknown of global warming, a phenomenon whose full future
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effects are still being discovered). Shelley’s novel – and the history surrounding it – suggests that the human approach to ecological unknowns is to combine them. This isn’t to say that ecological knowns are never combined, they most certainly are (the world is filled with fruit smoothies and alloy metals). However, there is something about the mysterious ecological force that almost demands that it be meshed with something else. Its telling that current posthuman discourse is fixated on melding the conscious mind and artificial intelligence. Ignorance clouds perceptions of both; the mind has yet to be fully mapped by neuroscience, and AI’s future capabilities are still being furiously debated.
The conscious mind, as Mary Shelley’s novel conveys, can be perceived in places where it is not. The creature, the combination of eco-unknowns, gives the illusion of possessing a mind, when in reality, one cannot say that It possesses it. On a textual level, this has implications for how various nonhuman characters in other works of literature are read. How can one confidently say that C3PO, Jesus Christ, or Kal-El of Krypton are conscious? One cannot, for Frankenstein’s monster problematizes that notion. On an ecological level, Shelley inadvertently provides an interesting revelation. Eco-unknowns give rise to illusion. Prehistoric peoples – lacking astronomical knowledge – saw the stars and instead perceived gods. Shelley’s contemporaries, lacking knowledge of objects and hyperobjects, saw the Monster and perceived consciousness.
What is the consequence of combining eco-unknowns? At the end of Shelley’s novel, the Creature destroys itself, and Captain Walton is left to ponder the story that he has just heard. The end is a return to normalcy, albeit a new normal. Given the disastrous consequences of Victor’s actions, Shelley’s novel suggests a course of action for the environmentally minded: increase the amount of ecological knowns. Victor knew the bodies of Elizabeth Lavenza and Henry Clerval, and he acted with love and tenderness towards them. It was towards the bodies that he didn’t know, the bodies that he could never know – the corpses of the dead – that he disastrously experimented in. If Victor had known natural phenomena in its real material sense – and not in some abstract scientific way – then perhaps he would have never used them for such harmful purposes. There is nothing wrong with harnessing ecological matter – even the matter of the dead – for the purposes of gaining knowledge. However, the biological forces harnessed must themselves first be fully known in all their intricacy and reality; this is what Shelley’s novel suggests.

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Carroll, Siobhan. “Crusades Against Frost: Frankenstein , Polar Ice, and Climate Change in 1818.” European Romantic Review , vol. 24, no. 2, 2013, pp. 211-230.

Davis, Lennard. Enforcing Normalcy: Disability, Deafness, and the Body. Verso, 1995. Derrida, Jacques. Of Grammatology. JHU Press, 1998.

Freud, Sigmund. The Interpretation of Dreams. Translated by A.A. Brill, Wordsworth Editions,
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Freud, Sigmund. The Uncanny. Translated by David McLintock, Penguin Books, 2003. Koonin,

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McWhir, Anne. “Mary Shelley’s anti-contagionism: The Last Man as “fatal narrative.” Mosaic: A journal for the interdisciplinary study of literature, vol. 35, no. 2, 2002, pp. 23-28.
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