Frankenstein and Philosophy

by Michaud, Nicolas

  Derrida says that often those who call out the other as a rogue or monster are trying to hang on to and secure good and moral ideas they hold about themselves by juxtaposing themselves with the other who can then been seen as bad or immoral as a consequence. Frankenstein wants to be seen as a good human being who is entitled to a happy family life and loving wife that waits for him, but he’s trying to reassure himself of this by saying bad things about his creature.

  Being called a rogue by someone else is almost never considered to be a good thing. Derrida says “it is never a neutral attribute . . . it causes a normative, indeed performative, evaluation, a disdainful or threatening insult, an appellation that initiates an inquiry and prepares a prosecution before the law. It is an appellation that looks already like a virtual interpellation.”2 What Derrida is saying here is that the person who calls out the other as a rogue is making a judgment that goes beyond calling someone “wrong”; it shows hatred and ill-intent.

  When Frankenstein calls his creature a monster from the moment it awakens, this is a condemnation that goes beyond a feeling that the creature is not natural or a threat to humanity in general—he’s saying that he hates what is outside because to him it’s a threat that challenges him personally. This means that we often define ourselves through a negation of the Other so that we can see ourselves in a positive light. Those that condemn the Other through a label are always acting out of a certain agenda and out of a power structure that elevates themselves while lowering the Other in the process. Victor Frankenstein has created a system of judgment where the monster can never be “good.”

  In another text by Derrida, The Animal that Therefore I Am, he says that it is a human tendency to name the Other, like how humans often distinguish themselves from animals. What’s interesting is that the term “animal” or “animals” isn’t really a name at all! It’s a generalization that says those who are not humans are animals—where “animals” could mean hundreds of different species, or even refer to someone who has acted “inhuman.” Animals never call themselves that! As Derrida says, the one who says “animal” is, in fact, human. He says “animal” is a word that “humans have given themselves the right and authority to give to the living other,”3 and they have done this in and through language, thus in the very way that is denied to those who are being labeled. In calling his creature a monster, Frankenstein is trying to identify himself precisely as human—as having language, reason, morals, values—and in the process makes the creature inferior because it doesn’t yet have those things.

  There remains one final twist. Derrida says that those who vilify are simultaneously creating an enemy for themselves, and in turn become an enemy to someone who already feels threatened. This power to name and destroy the reputation of others is not the work of a higher moral power, it is a rogue power—a monstrous power—and seems to be a mirror of the thing being said about the other. Frankenstein is a monster because he projected all his fears and anxieties about life onto the monster so that he could feel better about himself, a monster who was seen as his nemesis even before he had done anything wrong. While we could say that Frankenstein saw the monster as a greater threat to all, he could never acknowledge that the monster was only a threat to everyone after everyone’s actions—and his own—toward the monster had provoked him.

  What’s a Monster to Do?

  Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster.

  —FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE, Beyond Good and Evil, #146

  In the end the monster lives up to his name by killing Frankenstein’s brother, his best friend Clerval, his wife Elizabeth, and Frankenstein himself dies in the pursuit of his monster across the continent. Did the monster necessarily have to be a monster? In Romeo and Juliet, Juliet doesn’t care what family Romeo comes from and says: “What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” So what if Frankenstein’s monster had a name, like Adam, or Victor Junior? Would he still be a monster? Why doesn’t the monster just give himself a name? The reality of it is that the monster just doesn’t have that kind of freedom—he can’t recognize his own freedom—a freedom that is different from Frankenstein’s power to name his creation a monster. The monster has bought into all of the horrible things said to him by humans and can’t see any other way of being.

  We’ve been focusing so much on the idea that Frankenstein created a monster of his creature and at the same time he became a monster himself, but we haven’t thought that in Frankenstein becoming a monster, the monster himself has become somewhat human. In the end, the monster cannot really respond to what Frankenstein has done because the loneliness and despair he has felt because of the actions of everyone toward him overshadows his desire to strike out on his own. The monster, backed into a corner, is left with nothing else to do except to react violently to people’s disdain and judgment. We might wonder if there’s any way for the monster to escape these problems, and another way for the monster to live.

  If the monster wants to live his own life, he doesn’t necessarily need a name—especially if he lives on his own—but he does need a sense of self. Everyone has to have an answer to this question of “Who Am I?” from time to time, if only to know what we really want, feel, and value. When the monster realizes that he is interested in friendship, companionship, literature, and questions of truth and knowledge, he simultaneously feels that he is not even entitled to think about these things because he is not a part of the human world. It’s no coincidence that what is at stake in the question of who is a monster is really a question of what is friendship. How can we befriend a monster?

  In his books, Derrida takes up being a “monster” for a different reason. He sees the monstrous—the foreign, the strange, the different—as important because it’s a means of thinking another way, of reaching for something beyond the traditionally human, and as a way to challenge and critique those ideas and categories that keep the Other from being a part. Derrida ends up saying things like “the rogue that I am” and “the animal that therefore I am,” and at first we might think he’s just showing the same kind of defeat that the monster is. But what if he is trying to say just the opposite?

  What if Derrida is trying is trying to be more playful, and is trying to come up with something that the rogues and monsters can do? No one has given the monster a name because they do not want to truly recognize him as a somebody and not a something, and as potentially a good being and not merely a violent force of destruction. The only way for the monster to realize that he could have a name is to challenge his label.

  In Shelley’s novel, the monster may never be able to recover any independence of his own because his vengeful actions against Frankenstein and his family may have in fact solidified his status as a monster. The monster was not capable of seeing things any other way than through the eyes of revenge, because he was never shown anything but fear and violence from others. During the time before he killed Frankenstein’s brother, he could have challenged his label, and decided he did not want to be a part of Frankenstein’s rejection.

  Yet by the time Frankenstein hears the monster’s eloquent voice, his hopes and his humanity, it’s already too late.

  _________________

  1Frankenstein (Dover, 1994), p. 35.

  2Jacques Derrida, Rogues: Two Essays on Reason (Stanford University Press, 2005), p. 64.

  3Jacques Derrida, The Animal that Therefore I Am (Fordham University Press, 2008), p. 23.

  VI

  You Can Learn from My Mistakes

  24

  If We Could All Be Dr. Frankensteins . . .

  JOHN V. KARAVITIS

  Beginning with Mary Shelley’s work, which was conceived in a dream one rainy summer night in 1816, there have been countless book and movie adaptations of the Frankenstein legend. At the kernel of this legend is a medical doctor, many times depicted as a mad scientist, whose illicit medical experiments lead to the discovery of the secret of l
ife. By the end of the story, however, the scientist ends up paying the ultimate price for daring to learn this secret.

  A prolific American suspense novelist, Dean Koontz has joined the long list of authors who have tried their hand at reinterpreting or extending the Frankenstein legend. Koontz’s efforts span a series of five novels, with a storyline that has its origins in a slightly modified version of the Shelley tale. Here, Dr. Frankenstein’s first act of creation failed, with the original monster rebelling against its creator, killing his wife, and fleeing to America. Dr. Frankenstein then turned his efforts and advanced knowledge of medical science and biology to extending his own lifespan and modifying his body.

  In Koontz’s alternate world sequel, Dr. Frankenstein now goes by the name Victor Helios, a brilliant scientist and the owner of a biotechnology company in New Orleans. Helios/Frankenstein now applies his advanced knowledge of the medical sciences, specifically genetic engineering, to creating a “New Race” of humanity devoid of moral frailties and physical limitations.

  Biomedical enhancements and genetic engineering are now a major focus of medical research. Cloning, gene therapy, smart drugs, and bionics all provide examples of the continued advances in medical science that may one day offer decay and disease-free immortality. The advanced medical knowledge that Koontz’s Dr. Frankenstein has taken for granted over the last two centuries could become readily available within our lifetime. And conquering disease and disability, even death, may not be the end of the story. Medical science could overcome all fundamental physical and mental limitations making people “more than human,” or “posthuman.”

  But what would it mean to live in a posthuman world, a world where biomedical enhancements are the norm? Could the world of Koontz’s Dr. Frankenstein provide any insights into the consequences of these advances in medical science? Contemporary philosophers are struggling to find a way to deal with the issues raised by these ideas. In a posthuman world, there is no guarantee that human nature as we know it will still exist. Morality is defined by behavior, and behavior flows from an organism’s nature. So, in a posthuman world, the role of morality becomes uncertain. The extreme situation described in Koontz’s Frankenstein novels, applied to our world, could lead to a world without morality.

  Which Way to Dr. Frankenstein’s Castle?

  Contemporary philosophers, pondering the issues raised by advances in medical science, generally fall into one of two camps. In one camp are those contemporary philosophers labeled “bioconservatives.” Bioconservatives question the wisdom of applying the knowledge of genetic engineering to human beings. Some even argue that such research should not be pursued in the first place. These philosophers fear that the unintended consequences resulting from these new biomedical technologies may prove harmful to society, and I think Mary Shelley would have agreed with them.

  In the other camp are the “bioprogressives,” philosophers who appear to be more accepting of, and perhaps even too eager to embrace, the coming possibilities inherent in the advances of medical science. Given the speed with which medical science is advancing, the promise of deliverance from disease, disability, and even death does seem very close at hand. Koontz’s Dr. Frankenstein already possesses knowledge of medical science that today can only be dreamed of, and the consequences of using this knowledge should concern us.

  How eager should we be to embrace the limitless possibilities of such advanced medical knowledge given that, at every turn, Koontz’s Dr. Frankenstein uses it to create soulless and amoral beings, inhuman replacements for humanity? Who’s right, the bioconservatives or the bioprogressives?

  Dr. Frankenstein Vows to Break Nature’s Grasp

  Harvard University professor Michael J. Sandel may be the best example of a bioconservative philosopher. Sandel explores the moral questions raised by advances in medical science, and warns against the hubris these technologies engender.1 He makes a distinction between medical science used to care for and heal people and medical science used to “improve.”

  Sandel focuses on a handful of examples where the application of medical science and genetic engineering is raising serious ethical questions—the use of performance-enhancing drugs in sports, the off-label use of FDA-approved drugs and technologies, the creation of designer children through genetic engineering, and eugenics.

  The most prominent example today of biomedical enhancements lies in the field of sports. Performance-enhancing drugs are banned from use in sporting events because they’re seen as conveying an unfair advantage to those who use them (imagine trying to play football against one of Dr. Frankenstein’s monstrous creations). Although the use of training programs, diet, special clothing, and other approved technologies, along with the result of the “genetic lottery” that gives the lucky few a natural ability that the many lack, are all perceived as legitimate forms of enhancement, there is a moral outcry when performance-enhancing drugs are used.

  Legitimate forms of enhancement require hard work, consistent effort, the sacrifice of time, and the exercise of free will. The moral issue here is that illegitimate forms of enhancement provide sought-after benefits without requiring any effort. Koontz’s Dr. Frankenstein has no moral qualms whatsoever about applying his vast medical knowledge to enhancing his own body to eliminate all of his physical frailties. The bodies of the “New Race” are also physically superior to those of normal humans, and they acquire these superior bodies with no effort.

  FDA-approved drugs prescribed for “off-label” use raise further moral questions regarding biomedical enhancements. That is, once a drug has been approved by the FDA to treat or cure an illness or disorder, doctors are free to prescribe such drugs for any other physical or mental ailment or condition. One example of this is the use of human growth hormone. Once used to treat dwarfism, it’s now also used by professional athletes (for its effect on promoting rapid healing), older people (who seek to forestall the effects of aging), and growing children (who fall into the “less than average” height range). In the academic arena, college students have begun to use drugs like Ritalin, which are approved by the FDA for attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, in order to allow them to study for longer periods of time.

  We may wonder if there could be any moral issues in the off-label use of FDA-approved drugs. However, we find the same problem here that we do with performance-enhancing drugs in sports. Here, the benefits of studying are obtained without the same level of internally-motivated hard work and effort, without the same expression of human agency and free will. Who earns the “A” grade in a class? Is it the student, or his medicine cabinet?

  For Koontz’s Dr. Frankenstein, these moral questions are irrelevant. As with performance-enhancing drugs in sports, all that matters is going beyond nature to achieve one’s goal, regardless of the cost or the consequences.

  By Playing God, Dr. Frankenstein Destroys Human Nature

  Whether society should aspire to using biomedical enhancements at all becomes the ultimate question. Sandel sees biomedical enhancements and genetic engineering that go beyond medical care as eroding human agency and freewill. Sandel worries that people may be so focused on the fruits of biomedical enhancements and genetic engineering that they will ignore the risk that such changes will result in the re-making of human nature to something other than what it now is.

  Sports provide an excellent example of this risk. Even though athletic skill is, in part, dependent upon a genetic lottery (“if you want to win at the Olympics, choose your parents wisely,” the saying goes), nevertheless, success in sports requires years of diligent and willful practice and sacrifice. Indeed, one of the main points of sports is to exalt the virtues of sportsmanship and goal-oriented hard work.

  Success in sports celebrates and rewards diligent practice and effort undertaken over years. Another example of the remaking of human nature lies in genetic engineering which will allow parents to dictate the physical and mental characteristics of their children. As Sandel puts it, the use of medical sc
ience beyond simply restoring health constitutes “a Promethean aspiration to remake nature.” (Recall that the complete title of Mary Shelley’s novel is Frankenstein: Or, the Modern Prometheus.) For Sandel, the threat here is not the specter of eugenics, that perfect human beings will be created, but rather that these choices represent an attitude of willfulness against human nature.

  For Sandel, the only enhancements which would be morally acceptable would be those applied to capabilities which could generally improve the quality of life. Other than this single exception, Sandel’s position is clear: biomedical enhancements that go beyond medical care are morally wrong. Taken to the extreme, Sandel’s examples seem to suggest that, in a posthuman world, human nature may be so radically altered that morality may cease to exist. With everyone having access to the biomedical enhancement technologies of Dr. Frankenstein, would anyone still be considered “human?”

  In the first book of Koontz’s Frankenstein series, Prodigal Son, Dr. Helios muses about “the power of the human will to bend nature to its desires. . . . All that mattered was the triumph of the will.”2 We seem to be following the same path as Dr. Frankenstein, bending nature to our will. Hubris indeed.

  Dr. Frankenstein Re-writes the Book of Life

  A more assertive and permissive approach to the issues surrounding biomedical enhancements has been taken by philosopher of bioethics Allen E. Buchanan. Buchanan argues that biomedical enhancements are not fraught with the dangers that more conservative philosophers would have us believe.3 Rather, biomedical enhancements and genetic engineering should be looked at from a rational vantage point. Evolution has done, in its own blind, haphazard, meandering way, what medical science is now allowing us to do (at least with lab animals). Although there are indeed risks and benefits to any endeavor related to biomedical enhancements and genetic engineering, in Buchanan’s opinion, the benefits would far outweigh the manageable and controllable risks.