Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus

Frankenstein asks the reader to consider what qualities make someone human. Throughout the novel, characters’ humanity and goodness are often tied to their appearance. People like Clerval and Elizabeth are regularly described as beautiful and perfect; they are lavished with praise to underscore their legitimate humanity. On the other hand, despite exhibiting human qualities—namely, intelligence and a capacity for love—the creature is barred from being treated as human because of his hideous appearance.

When Frankenstein first sees the creature awaken, he is horrified, calling him a “wretch” and a “demoniacal corpse.” However, the creature’s recounting of his life shows his humanity. He takes pleasure in beautiful sights of nature and weeps in the cold loneliness of the forest. He is not even aware he is different; when he tries to imitate the chirping of birds, he is surprised by the “uncouth and inarticulate sounds” of his voice (88). Later, he is dismayed by his reflection in the water.

The creature’s time with the De Lacey family further proves his innate humanity. He is moved by music, learns to speak, and is eager to discover the knowledge contained in books. He even performs acts of kindness by ceasing to take food from the De Laceys and by chopping wood for them. Indeed, the creature’s empathy surpasses that of many humans. In listening to Felix read books to Safie, he feels “disgust and loathing” at humans’ “vice and bloodshed” (104).

The creature thus laments that he is human enough to understand love and companionship but not seen as human enough to receive it. People scream and attack him, driving him into the forest. Even the De Laceys, whom themselves have been wrongfully judged, are frightened of him. The creature learns that what is in his heart is secondary to his appearance and that even the innocent deem him subhuman. Driven into the forest for the last time, he becomes the monster people believe him to be, screaming “in fearful howlings […] like a wild beast” (121). However, his prior reflections on humanity’s capacity for cruelty suggest that even and perhaps especially after his moral fall, he is fundamentally human.

As if to underscore this point, the creature shows his humanity even after the deaths he caused. He tells Walton that he yearns for Frankenstein’s forgiveness and took no joy in any of his killings. Knowing he will never be accepted, he vows to kill himself on a funeral pyre and leave humanity for good. That he will die without ever having a name or anything to identify him as an individual reiterates his rejection by humankind even as the details of his story frame him as deeply human.

Frankenstein is a novel in the Romantic tradition. Romanticism, an artistic movement in the late 18th and early 19th centuries, was a response to the Enlightenment, or Age of Reason, and industrialization. Romantic writers, artists, and thinkers advocated a return to nature, where people could once again experience the sublime, away from the hectic, unnatural quality of industry.

Throughout the novel, nature remains unmoved and omnipotent even as suffering blights the human world. When Frankenstein returns to Geneva following William’s death, he notices that despite his sadness, the “summits are clear” and “the sky and lake are blue and placid” (59). The implacable nature of the mountains is evident again after Justine’s death, when Frankenstein admires the mountains, rivers, and waterfalls that “[speak] of a power mighty as Omnipotence” (78). He sees that though he “[is] a wreck […] nought [has] changed in those savage and enduring scenes” (78). After alienating himself from nature while he works on the creature, Frankenstein finds comfort in this grandeur.

That nature can be “savage” does not mitigate its sublimity; in fact, its very wildness and uncontrollability soothe Frankenstein, who has learned by hard experience the cost of trying to tame it. In his darkest times, Frankenstein desires instead to lose himself in nature. After William’s death, he is “tempted to plunge into the silent lake, that the waters might close over [him] and [his] calamities forever” (75). As he takes in nature’s majesty, Frankenstein is reminded of his smallness and delights in it. This directly contrasts with the hubris he felt when seeking to discover nature’s secrets. Only when he returns to his appropriate role—one that is subservient to nature’s power—is his pain alleviated.

The creature also finds solace in nature. As he weeps alone in the forest, he sees “a gentle light [that] stole over the heavens and [gives] [him] a sensation of pleasure” and finds comfort in the moon’s “radiant form” (88). Though rejected by humankind, the creature feels “thankfulness towards the blessed sun, which bestow[s] such joy” (125). In the context of a novel like Frankenstein, this awe in the face of nature is another quality that marks the creature as fundamentally human.

The question of whether a person is primarily the product of innate qualities or of the environment in which they are raised is a primary theme in Frankenstein, most notably expressed through the creature’s story.

In his tale, the creature describes performing acts of kindness and being inclined toward music and literature. He tells Frankenstein that he “was benevolent” and that his “soul glowed with love and humanity” (84). However, he changes the more he experiences cruelty. He is abandoned by his creator and feared and attacked in every encounter with humans, even his beloved cottagers. When he is shot trying to save a woman from drowning, he cries, “This was then the reward of my benevolence!” (126). At that moment, he declares “everlasting war” upon humankind and fully becomes the monster they always saw.

The creature therefore tells Frankenstein that his “vices are the children of a forced solitude” and that if he were accepted and loved as a human being, his “virtues [would] necessarily arise” (133). He believes having a companion will make him virtuous once more and begs Frankenstein to create one. When Frankenstein fails to fulfill this promise, the creature retaliates in a violent fashion, killing Clerval and Elizabeth. In his mind, he has no choice; Frankenstein’s actions forced his hand.

At the end of the novel, though he committed much violence and crime, the creature again shows his gentle heart. Standing over Frankenstein’s body, he grieves and seeks forgiveness. He laments that he has “murdered the lovely and the helpless” (204), telling Walton that he hates himself more than anyone ever could. This suggests that, while environment may affect behavior, one’s nature can never truly change.

Although Frankenstein largely understands that creating the creature was his fatal error, the novel suggests that his response to that creation is equally responsible for his misfortunes. Throughout the novel, Frankenstein is compared to God and the creature to Adam and Satan. However, where God punishes Adam and Satan for transgressions, Frankenstein “punishes” the creature for no reason, abandoning him at “birth.” Frankenstein thus fails as a creator, and the result is the destruction of them both. Ultimately, the novel suggests that the creator has a duty to his creation and that playing God is dangerous precisely because humans lack a divine capacity for love and understanding.

Even by human standards, however, Frankenstein’s treatment of the creature is suspect. Early in his story, Frankenstein describes the idyllic nature of his childhood—how his parents loved and doted on him with “inexhaustible stores of affection” (19). His childhood contrasts drastically with the creature’s early days, during which he must find his own food and warmth and learn about the world all by himself. While Frankenstein’s parents created a world in which he is “guided by a silken cord that all seemed but one train of enjoyment” (19), Frankenstein abandons his own “son.” Upon their reunion, the creature chastises Frankenstein for hating his own creation, telling him, “Remember that I am thy creature” and that he “ought to be [Frankenstein’s] Adam” (84). He resents Frankenstein not only for failing to create him a companion—unlike Adam, “no Eve soothe[s] [his] sorrows or share[s] [his] thoughts” (116)—but also for creating “a monster so hideous that even you turned from me in disgust” (115).

Additionally, Frankenstein’s disgust at his own creature is ironic. He deliberately makes the creature huge in stature to more easily facilitate his work. Upon seeing his work come to fruition, however, he is horrified and concludes that the creature must be evil even though his appearance is Frankenstein’s own doing. This shows that Frankenstein gives no true thought to his creation’s life beyond his own needs and desire for fame.