Achievement and Moral Cowardice: Who Is the "Real Monster" in Frankenstein?
by John Devlin
With Guillermo del Toro’s Frankenstein adaptation recently hitting movie theaters and streaming services, it’s worth revisiting Mary Shelley’s classic gothic novel (originally published in 1818 as Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus) and a persistent misunderstanding of the story’s meaning.[1]
The idea that “man is the real monster” has long been a popular takeaway from the novel, as evidenced in countless published essays and public discussions about its cultural impact. This interpretation, prevalent as it may be, is not only mistaken but morally insidious; it excuses violence and damns human achievement.
The classic tale depicts the young science student Victor Frankenstein creating a sentient humanoid being by assembling organic matter and galvanizing it into life before later fleeing from it in horror. The creature, left to its own devices, teaches itself to read and speak (displaying outstanding levels of intelligence and eloquence) before experiencing rejection by humankind due to its grotesque appearance. It subsequently responds to this rejection by murdering innocent people, including women and children.
Despite this, critics have often claimed that the creature’s creator, Victor, is himself more monstrous than his creation. Numerous essays on education sites claim “the real monster in this novel is, in fact, Dr. Victor Frankenstein himself . . . an unnatural, hostile, and selfish being whose rejection of his creation led to his and his family’s demise.”[2] Several online memes carry variations of the phrase “Intelligence is knowing Frankenstein isn’t the monster. Wisdom is knowing Frankenstein is the monster.”[3] Professor Nick Groom (editor of an Oxford University Press edition of the novel) has pointed out that “there’s been a gradual shift. . . . for years Victor Frankenstein’s creation was known as the Monster, then critics seemed to identify him as a victim and called him the Creature. That fits more with students’ sensibilities today.”[4]
Setting aside for a moment the question of the novel’s theme, which is more nuanced than many people realize, attitudes like the one above should be vociferously challenged wherever they appear.
Victor does commit acts of cowardice and evades moral responsibility. The neglect he displays toward a problem of his own creation is a major moral failing; and in line with all the conventions of a classic tragedy, this moral failing turns out to be his fatal flaw. But to suggest that this flaw makes someone worse than a child killer is bizarre.
The rejection experienced by the creature isn’t insignificant, either. His craving for connection and companionship with others is one of the most humanizing aspects of his arc, and many readers have empathized with the emotional wounds he suffers from being rejected in part because of his physical appearance. The creature recounts such sorrows to his creator after they become reacquainted in the novel’s second part: “Everywhere I see bliss from which I alone am irrevocably excluded. I was benevolent and good; misery made me a fiend” (103).[5]
However, the monster’s emotional anguish soon gives way to vengeful thoughts: “I am miserable and they shall share my wretchedness. . . . there was none among the myriads of men who existed who would pity or assist me. Should I feel kindness towards my enemies? No. From that moment, I declared everlasting war against the species” (103, 138).
To be fair to the creature in the novel, he is not human despite having many human characteristics and faculties. However, his violent, terroristic vengeance in response to spurned affection has modern, real-life parallels in some respects. In 2014, twenty-two-year-old Elliot Rodger murdered six people in a killing spree in Isla Vista, California, having first created a 137-page manifesto and a YouTube video outlining his intention to “punish” women for his lack of success in finding a romantic or sexual partner. Rodger became something of a “heroic” martyr on certain online “incel” forums among young men who expressed similarly violent sentiments regarding their own experiences of rejection.[6] Sections from Frankenstein’s monster’s monologue to his creator could almost read as a 19th-century version of Rodger’s manifesto:
It was a portrait of a most lovely woman. . . . For a few moments I gazed with delight on her dark eyes fringed by deep lashes, and her lovely lips. But presently my rage returned. . . . I only wonder that at that moment instead of venting my sensations and exclamations into agony, I did not rush among mankind and perish in the attempt to destroy them. . . . Not I, but she, shall suffer. The murder I have committed because I am forever robbed of all that she could give me—she shall atone. (144–45)
However, whereas Rodger’s actions were universally detested and condemned by all but a fringe community of online extremists, Frankenstein’s monster remains an object of unqualified sympathy in the world of literary criticism.
Of course, one is a fictional example, whereas the other concerns real human lives destroyed by a real-life monster. One of the benefits of fiction is that it allows us to explore complex moral questions more freely than is often possible in real life. But we might also consider the antihuman element that is so common among popular interpretations of Frankenstein.
The titular scientist, as mentioned above, is clearly guilty of cowardice and recklessness, which ultimately derails his life. But who is the character of Victor Frankenstein beyond these flaws? Rational readers of the novel will discover in its titular narrator a devoted son, fiancé, and friend who cares deeply about his loved ones; and perhaps more importantly for our purposes, a man of unprecedented genius who is responsible for what, in the world of the novel’s setting, could only be considered the greatest scientific breakthrough of all time: the creation of conscious life.
According to many literary conventions, he must be punished specifically for this last sin. For one thing, pride has been a capital offense since antiquity. In the Romantic literary movement with which Shelley and her contemporaries were associated, there was also a prevalent Rousseauian suspicion of technology and modernity, as seen in William Blake’s famous “dark Satanic mills,” for example. In keeping with the attitudes of its time, Frankenstein is a warning against self-confident scientific carelessness, unbridled ambition, and man “playing god.”
There is enduring value to be found in cautionary tales about moral cowardice, foolhardiness, and irrationality—all of which Victor Frankenstein is guilty of. But we should be wary about damning achievement, ambition, and purpose—especially if this leads people to sympathize with real-life monsters. Perhaps defending Elliot Rodger is a bit beyond the pale for such people—he was a violent misogynist, after all—but there are more “politically correct” means of sympathizing with the monstrous. Think of the violence committed against Salman Rushdie, or United Healthcare CEO Brian Thompson, or the October 7 victims. You don’t have to look far to find people who, if not explicitly defending the attackers in these and similar cases, nonetheless say, “I understand where they’re coming from.” Like Frankenstein’s monster, these perpetrators are framed as victims of circumstance, pushed to their limits until, understandably, they snap.
Stories like Frankenstein need to be read through a pro-human lens if we want to celebrate humans rather than monsters. This is why we need to emphasize the fact that Victor Frankenstein’s sin was not his scientific ambition but his failure to pursue it rationally and to take full accountability for the resulting consequences. Of course, if Victor had taken full accountability for his creation, perhaps the story would have looked more like a celebration of human triumph rather than a punishment of hubris. Modern literary convention might damn Victor, but readers should take care to unpack the novel’s characters with nuance and to judge them accordingly.
Frankenstein is a cautionary tale, but it cautions against moral cowardice, not human potential. The real monster is not the creative potential of the human mind—it’s the kind of ideological culture that vilifies human achievement while excusing unjustified violence.
[1]Tim White, “Frankenstein, Directed by Guillermo del Toro (Review),” TOS Blog, November 6, 2025, https://www.theobjectivestandard.com/p/frankenstein-directed-by-guillermo.
[2] Anna O’Malley, “Frankenstein: The True Monster,” Owlcation, December 25, 2023, https://owlcation.com/humanities/frankenstein-invention-vs-inventor.
[3] “9GAG Post,” 9GAG, https://9gag.com/gag/a9P0PB0 (accessed October 21, 2025).
[4] Chris Smyth, “Frankenstein’s Monster? He Was Stitched Up, Say Millennials,” The Times, March 5, 2018, https://www.thetimes.com/culture/books/article/frankensteins-monster-he-was-stitched-up-say-millennials-ddmvcrpxg.
[5] Mary Shelley, Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus, ed. Maurice Hindle (London: Penguin Classics, 2003).
[6] “Incel” means “involuntary celibate.” The term is used to describe people who supposedly are “forced” to remain celibate, as though they are entitled to sex or romance.