Splintered Identity: Franken-monster

“In Defense of Lost Causes,” by Slavoj Zizek, advocates the notion that developments in science have taken aim at not only understanding life, “but generating new forms of life that will surprise us [as well as] greater and stronger forms of life” that will eventually surpass us (435). The author also comments that there has become a disjunction between, what he calls, the first and second natures in scientific developments. The first-nature of organisms is confined to interpreting natural development whereby we can understand and utilize them for the benefit of humans. Second-nature involves the development of “natural monsters,” such as genetically enhanced or modified crops and other creations that may be problematic for humans to exercise control over. It seems the problem, as discussed by Heidegger, is the “interdependency of man and nature: by reducing man to just another natural object whose properties can be manipulated, what we lose is not (only) humanity but nature itself” (435). It’s arguable as to how “nature” functions in this sentence, but I’m inclined to believe Heidegger might have intended the meaning to be an extension of humanity or the essence/ origins of human beings against other creatures.

                Frankenstein is quick to reveal the pitfalls of manipulating life or what we can assume was intended to surpass human life. I’ve always been perplexed by the notion that Frankenstein was instantly horrified by a creation he painfully endeavored to create. Upon creating the monster, Frankenstein remarks, “How can I describe my emotions at this catastrophe, or how delineate the wretch whom with such infinite pains and care I had endeavored to form?” (35). Here, we notice a transgression or what I’ll call the true realization of a perversion of nature. It appears the doctor has, in a sense, violated his own conceptions of human life. He is no longer bound to the benign practice of manipulation or experimentation; he has become a creator.  At some point unbeknownst to him, he crossed the line between first and second natures.  There are probably dozens of avenues to explain this classic scene, but it seems this moment is emblematic of two irreconcilable realities; Frankenstein has become both the master of human creation but he has also created something far beyond his control. Frankenstein is stricken with fear and awe, but as Zizek points out, “one can break out of fear not through a desperate search for safety, but, on the contrary, by pushing on to the end, by accepting the nullity we are afraid to lose” (433). Such an idea is paradoxical, yet it is this same contradiction of sorts that fuels the rest of the novel. After expounding his horror, the doctor runs out of the room to collect himself, and by then the monster has already managed to allude him. Frankenstein seems to pursue the monster out of a desire to understand another side of himself, but a side that both repulses and consumes him. Perhaps Frankenstein’s unquenchable anger to destroy the creature is both a reflection of his own discontent and an admission of his own frailty.