Frankenstein and Philosophy

by Michaud, Nicolas

  I’d still be identical to myself if I forgot the name of a casual acquaintance but not if I could remember none of my loved ones. The amnesia discussed previously is more serious than some of the neurodegenerative diseases we may be more familiar with but both still attack our psychological contents, which we’ve taken to be intimately related to our identity. While we may or may not be able to suffer anything similar to the amnesia discussed here, I think we’re safe in donating our bodies to science knowing full well we won’t wake up in a Victor Frankenstein type experiment at a later date.

  15

  I’m the Person, You’re the Monster

  NICOLAS MICHAUD

  Monster, Murderer, Fiend, Demon . . . whatever you may call it, Victor Frankenstein’s creation is dark and scary. . . . There seems to be little human about it, especially in many movie versions.

  As time has passed, the creature has devolved from a rational, feeling thing into a lumbering monstrosity with little intellect and a thirst for violence. Here and there, though, a version of Mary Shelley’s tale comes up that is far more in line with Shelley’s vision. In I, Frankenstein, for example, the monster acts to defend humanity from other monsters. But even there, the monster as hero still must hide his true self from humanity—because he knows we loathe him. And I think he’s wise to do so, because no matter how smart, good, kind, or forgiving the monster is, to us, he will never be a person.

  Reading through the chapters of this book we find many ways of looking at the monster and understanding its actions. But when we’re honest with ourselves, we know that it’s just too different a thing for us to ever really accept it into our community. That’s what it means to be a person; it means to be someone that the rest of the community respects and acknowledges as one of their own. And, when we look at human beings, we see that we are very, very, bad at accepting anyone different from ourselves. Frankenstein’s creation, like many others who we treat as disabled, disfigured, inferior, or as outsiders, is far more capable and deserving of respect than we want to admit. I think I can prove that Frankenstein’s hideous creation is in fact a person . . . well, in every way other than the one that really counts—acceptance by the community.

  I Am Content to Reason with You

  What does it mean to be a person? In other words, what does it mean to have personhood? Of course, our immediate answer is, ‘Being human!’ We assume that being human makes us persons. But, if you think about it, you realize that really isn’t true. There are things out there that are human—human corpses, for example—that we don’t consider to be persons.

  “Human” is a biological category, living or dead; person is a moral one. That’s why it has been so much fun for human beings to define who isn’t a person through history, whether slaves, women, or other minorities, we have seen governments, legislators, and whole societies decide that particular groups, though human, or human-ish, aren’t people, and so they can be property. That’s one way of looking at personhood . . . if you are a person, then you can’t be property . . . well, until you’re dead, anyway. But full-fledged personhood probably means something like, “Member of the moral community”—someone to whom we grant rights, respect and dignity . . . they can’t be owned, and they shouldn’t be degraded or destroyed.

  So determining who gets to count as a person tends to be more a matter of consensus. And often this is deeply problematic for minority groups and those whom we deem “disabled,” “disfigured,” or “Other.” Like Frankenstein’s malevolent creation, many individuals who think of themselves as feeling, thinking entities are treated by the rest of society as things to be owned or destroyed on a whim. If we are to be fair, though, we shouldn’t just pick who is a person and who isn’t based on what benefits us the most, or whoever we like the most at the time. We should avoid just deciding that we (our group) are people, and anything that is different isn’t.

  When we do that, we get to enslave or destroy anything or anyone we think is too different. We know how that has gone in the past; that way of thinking tends to lead to a great deal of evil. In fact, those evils occasionally come back to do the oppressor harm when we find ourselves, like Victor Frankenstein, unable to stop the violence that we initiated through our hate and lack of inclusion. So what is a fair way to decide what counts as a person—to decide what and who should count as a member of our moral community?

  I Ought to Be Thy Adam, but I Am Rather the Fallen Angel

  Immanuel Kant (1724–1804) thought one way to deal with the problem was by using the criterion of “rationality” to determine what counts as a person and what doesn’t. The ability to think and solve problems, then, would be what makes you count as a person. Your corpse (under most circumstances, it seems) can’t think, so it’s not a person. Many aliens, vampires, and even the Monster would also count as persons. Kant thought that we should have respect for rationality, regardless of where we found it. So you might find that even your computer is deserving of some respect.

  That idea, though, has some weaknesses. It almost sounds as if we’re saying the smarter someone is, the more worthy of respect they are. But there are many individuals—children and the developmentally impaired, for example—whom we should treat as part of our moral community, regardless of any inability to rationalize. If anything, these people are a “vulnerable population” to whom we owe more concern because we can easily harm or take advantage of them. Very smart people, like Victor, on the other hand, can be very cruel and do evil things. So rationality doesn’t seem, at least by itself, to be the best way to determine who counts as a person and who doesn’t.

  Philosopher Mary Anne Warren (1946–2010) argues that if we are fair, there are five qualities that, if something has them, we should treat that something with respect—even a “monster”: 1. consciousness, 2. reasoning, 3. self-motivated activity, 4. the capacity to communicate, and 5. the presence of self-concepts.1 Warren doesn’t think that you have to have all of these qualities to count as a person, but a combination of some of them is necessary. #1 and #3 are especially important. So, for example, if Victor created a monster that had consciousness and self-motivated activity, then, even if it could not communicate, she would argue that it should have rights.

  Notice that Frankenstein’s monster, given Warren’s criteria, certainly would count as a person. Shelley’s version and the I, Frankenstein version of the creature both have rationality and so Kant also would assert that, even though it is comprised of dead flesh, hideous, and a murderer, the monster is, in fact, a person. Given the fact that it is entirely made of human parts, the case is even easier. Although the monster didn’t come into existence in the way most humans do, it certainly has human DNA (likely many humans’ DNA). But of real importance, though, is who the monster is rather than what it is. Who the creature is certainly seems to be a deeply thinking somebody. Through the course of Shelley’s work we see the monster grow from being unable to communicate or read to being able to understand and quote Milton’s Paradise Lost and master numerous languages.

  In the graphic novel version of I, Frankenstein, we can read the monster’s thoughts. So we know he is 1. conscious. He solves crimes and comes to conclusions, so we know he is 2. reasoning. He goes about trying to stop harm done to humans, so he seems to act from 3. self-motivated activity. He uses 4. language to communicate with humans (and other monsters). And the work is called I, Frankenstein, which is a pretty good hint to the fact that the monster thinks of himself as an “I.” Therefore, he has 5. self-concepts. Given all of this, the monster meets all of Warren’s criteria.

  Similarly, we are able to get into Mary Shelley’s monster’s head through his detailed story-telling. Either version of the monster seems to meet both Kant’s and Warren’s criteria. You might say that the movie versions do not, but I’m not convinced. Perhaps the monster can only grunt for the most part, but we see him try to communicate. We see him even reason a bit when he thinks the little girl will float like a flower (unfortunately for the l
ittle girl). And he certainly seems to have at least a level of self-motivated activity. So he may not be the brightest light in the lab, but does that mean he should be treated not at all like a person and destroyed at our whims?

  In fact, given most of the Frankenstein narratives, there is a very good reason why the monster turns to evil . . . us. We might argue that the monster should not be considered a person because he is a murderer. But think about it: to be a murderer, he has to be a person. In other words, if the monster’s murders are just random acts, mindless acts, or mechanical acts, then they aren’t evil. They’re just accidental and the monster has to be stopped in the same way that a runaway locomotive must be stopped. But you wouldn’t say a locomotive that goes off its tracks is evil any more so than the monster is evil if it doesn’t understand or do what it does purposefully.

  But with Victor’s creation, we think of the monster as a murderer . . . maybe even someone who enjoys killing. Certainly, in Shelley’s story, the monster is very purposeful about his acts of violence. He does what he does because of his creator’s cruelty, because the whole of humanity hates him and casts him out. And so he decides that if he cannot indulge in love, then he will indulge in another passion . . . hate. In other words, in order to argue that the monster is evil due to his being a murderer, we must accept that he has some level of personhood.

  The real irony, then, is that we think he should be destroyed, which is generally not something you do to a person. This is a real problem in any execution scenario . . . if by executing someone, we’re saying, “He’s not really a person; he’s just a murderous monster,” then we are executing a non-person which seems to imply he’s a thing, and thereby unable to understand his acts . . . and if he can’t understand his acts, then killing him seems an extreme punishment! In order for any monster, human or otherwise, to fall from grace, to be really blameworthy for his acts, it must be a person. And so, perhaps we should at least name the monster who is so worthy of execution. Let’s call him Adam.

  If I Cannot Satisfy the One, I Will Indulge the Other

  Adam is an “Other.” Otherness generally refers to the way we push someone or something outside of our group. Generally, these groups are arbitrary. In other words, there is no real logical reason for our groups; they are pretty baseless. Whether deciding that someone is an “Other” because of the color of her or his skin, gender, religion, sex, or nationality, you’ll find that we almost always treat someone else as an “Other” in order to benefit ourselves. And, of course, the Other is basically just a way of saying “not a real person.”

  Adam is a beautiful example of our capacity for Othering. He brings to mind so many forms of exclusion, oppression, and marginalization, it is difficult to figure out which group he represents. Women, Blacks, homosexuals, as well as many other groups have been, and often still are, treated as Others. Heck, even Artificial Intelligence and non-human animals are groups of entities that likely don’t want to be treated as property or as “the Other” but we will gladly do so as long as we can (until they rise up and slay us).

  Notice how hard it is for any group that is treated as an Other to gain equal treatment. Blacks literally had to fight for it, women have been repressed for millennia (we often forget that they got the right to vote after Blacks in the U.S.A.), and the gay community is in the midst of a tumultuous civil rights struggle as I write this chapter. It is likely that we will never stop torturing non-human animals because it is more convenient to think of them as tasty treats, and “artificial” intelligence . . . well, that creation will be one that can stop us, and like Victor’s very angry creation, will likely decide to put a stop to the creator’s evil.

  Why do I say evil? Because I think that the philosopher Martha Nussbaum is right to point out that rights, kind of like personhood, are something that is granted to us by someone else. Whether they are rights that are given to us by a government or by God, it is pretty hard to claim that you are born with rights unless someone else recognizes that you have them. However, she argues that pretty much everyone is born with certain capabilities. In other words, most humans are born with the capability to (by a certain rational age) vote. However, it is the rest of society that decides whether or not you have that opportunity. In other words, it is society that decides whether or not you get to fulfill that capability. If society decides that—as we have done in the case of many, many minorities—you can’t vote, you are unlikely to flourish. To Nussbaum, “flourishing” means more than just living; it means being able to live a full and happy life.

  Nussbaum thought, in fact, that there were ten capabilities that we need to flourish.2 And, I think, Adam has these capabilities:

  1.Life—the ability to live to the end of a life of normal length.

  2.Bodily health—the ability to have good health.

  3.Bodily integrity—the ability to be secure from violence and move as we choose.

  4.Senses, imagination, and thought—the ability to use the sense, to imagine, think, and reason.

  5.Emotions—the ability to have attachments to things and people outside ourselves.

  6.Practical reason—the ability to engage in critical reflection.

  7.Affiliation—the ability to live with others and have self-respect.

  8.Other species—the ability to live with concern for animals, plans, and nature.

  9.Play—the ability to enjoy recreational activities.

  10.Control over one’s environment—the ability to participate in politics and hold property.

  Nussbaum is not arguing that you need these to be a person, but that if someone has any of these, we probably should let them fulfill those capabilities as long as it doesn’t interfere with the capabilities of others. From what I can tell, Adam, in every film and printed version of this story, has all of these capabilities to some degree or another. In some cases, as in Shelley’s novel and in I, Frankenstein, he has them to a greater degree than some human beings. Well, what is a monster or a man to do when someone interferes with those capabilities? Wouldn’t you fight against someone who tried to prevent you from fulfilling your capabilities—especially, say, Life? Is Adam really wrong to try to harm humanity? Hasn’t humanity become an Other to him, by virtue of our trying to prevent him not just from flourishing, but from even existing?

  There Is Rage in Me the Likes of Which Should Never Escape

  We are speciesists. It seems to me that human beings have decided that the only things that should ever have rights are human beings. And then, we tend to restrict rights and kind treatment to the species we like. As a result, if something is too different from us, like Adam, we feel no concern when denying their capabilities. Certainly we feel that way about non-human animals. We torture them inside of factory farms that make Victor Frankenstein’s corpse-riddled laboratory look like Santa’s happy cottage. But that doesn’t bother us. To quote another contemporary philosopher, Tom Regan:

  There are those who resist the idea that animals have inherent value. ‘Only humans have such value,’ they profess. How might this narrow view be defended? Shall we say that only humans have the requisite intelligence, or autonomy, or reason? But there are many, many humans who fail to meet these standards and yet are reasonably viewed as having value beyond their usefulness to others. Shall we claim that only humans belong to the right species, the species Homo sapiens? But this is blatant speciesism. (The Case for Animal Rights, University of California Press, 2004)

  Really, if we think about it, the only reason why we think it’s okay to kill non-human animals is because they aren’t as smart as us and because they aren’t strong enough to stop us. In other words, we’ve decided that they are inferior, and therefore not persons.

  Now, I think the really interesting question is not whether or not we should treat Adam as a person but whether or not he should treat us as persons! Both the monster in Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein and the one in I, Frankenstein are stronger than human beings. Shelley’s monster is scarily fast,
and he is very smart. He learns multiple languages, and he masters them; his prose is beautiful. So given our own logic, what reasons can we give Adam to be merciful? If being smarter and stronger is sufficient reason to subjugate others, then why should we not be subjugated? I bet we would appeal to criteria like Warren’s and Nussbaum’s. But aren’t those the same criteria that Adam can meet?

  Imagine that Adam corners you, Victor Frankenstein; he is towering and terrifying. His rage, emanating from his hulking body, seems to melt the snow around him. What possible reason could you give to him that he should not eliminate you, as well as all humans? Remember, Adam is not just denied personhood by Victor, despite his intellect, power, and capability; he learns about human evils through his studies of human history and Volney’s Ruin of Empires. (Not to mention his rejection at the hands of cottagers whom he was helping). Despite all of his abilities, he was treated as one who was dis-abled. And what was the “disability”? Only the fact that he wasn’t human enough.

  Adam’s hideous visage did nothing to reduce any of his physical or mental capabilities. Disability, it seems, has more to do with who we decide is unable rather than some supposedly objective criteria. Despite his physical and mental superiority, Adam laments,

  I was, besides, endued with a figure hideously deformed and loathsome; I was not even of the same nature as man. I was more agile than they, and could subsist upon coarser diet; I bore the extremes of heat and cold with less injury to my frame; my stature far exceeded theirs. When I looked around, I saw and heard of none like me. Was I then a monster, a blot upon the earth, from which all men fled, and whom all men disowned?

  And, Victor’s answer to Adam’s question, our answer, is “yes.” He is denied personhood. Like all those who we decide are too disabled, insufficiently human, insufficiently wealthy, insufficiently like us, he is cast out as the monstrous Other. And, tragically, unlike many of the Others we create, there was no one else like him, no one for whom he could be a person. Adam is an Other . . . even to himself. He cannot find hope in humanity or its history.