Mary Shelley's Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus (1818) is far more than a gothic horror story; it is a profound philosophical inquiry into the very essence of humanity. Through the tragic intertwined fates of Victor Frankenstein and his creation, Shelley dismantles simplistic definitions of what constitutes a human being, suggesting that humanity is not an inherent state but a quality forged through experience, connection, and moral responsibility. The novel challenges the reader to consider whether the capacity for love, empathy, and self-awareness, rather than biological origin, truly defines us, and how the absence of these can lead to monstrous outcomes, regardless of one's lineage.
Victor Frankenstein, a man of science driven by ambition, ironically becomes the antithesis of humanity through his actions. His obsessive pursuit of knowledge, culminating in the animation of inanimate matter, is born from a desire for glory and a god-like power to bestow life. However, the moment his creature opens its eyes, Victor recoils in horror, not out of concern for the being he created, but from disgust at its appearance. This immediate rejection is the first severing of a potential human bond. Instead of nurturing and guiding his creation, Victor abandons it, an act of profound inhumanity that sets in motion the novel's tragic trajectory. His subsequent refusal to acknowledge his responsibility, his denial of the creature's pleas for companionship, and his relentless pursuit of vengeance all demonstrate a character increasingly devoid of the compassion and empathy that Shelley implies are central to the human experience. Victor’s intellectual brilliance and his status as a biological human are ultimately overshadowed by his moral failings.
The Creature, conversely, begins his existence as a tabula rasa, a blank slate yearning for connection and understanding. His initial experiences are marked by attempts to understand the world and to engage with it positively. He observes the De Lacey family with deep affection, learning language, empathy, and the nuances of human relationships from their interactions. He saves a drowning girl and secretly leaves wood for the impoverished cottagers, acts that are driven by a nascent sense of altruism and a desire to be good. This capacity for kindness and learning suggests an inherent potential for humanity. However, the universal rejection he faces, stemming solely from his grotesque appearance, warps his perception and his soul. Each instance of fear and revulsion he encounters – from villagers, from children, and most devastatingly, from his own creator – reinforces his isolation and breeds resentment. It is this profound, unrelenting loneliness and the denial of any social bond that ultimately transform his potential for good into a desire for revenge, leading him to commit acts of violence. His monstrosity is not an innate quality but a consequence of the inhumanity he has experienced.
Shelley uses the creature’s narrative to highlight the social construction of identity. The creature’s attempts to integrate himself into society are met with universal prejudice. His eloquence, his reasoned arguments for companionship, and his capacity for deep sorrow are all dismissed because his form does not conform to societal norms. This suggests that the human community itself plays a crucial role in defining who is considered human, often through superficial judgments. The novel questions whether society’s intolerance, its fear of the other, is itself a form of dehumanization. By denying the creature the basic needs of connection and acceptance, humanity inadvertently creates the monster it fears. The creature’s existential angst, his profound questioning of his own being and purpose, mirrors human existential concerns, further blurring the lines between man and monster.
Ultimately, Frankenstein argues that true humanity lies not in birthright or appearance, but in our capacity for empathy, our willingness to connect, and our acceptance of responsibility for our actions and for others. Victor’s intellectual achievements are hollow without moral grounding, while the creature’s physical otherness is less significant than his capacity for suffering and his yearning for love. The novel concludes with both creator and creation utterly alone, consumed by their mutual destruction, a stark testament to the devastating consequences of abandoning the principles of compassion and connection that might have allowed them both to find a semblance of humanity. The enduring power of Shelley’s work lies in its persistent, unsettling question: in a world that often judges by appearance, what truly makes us human?