Introductory Thesis

Since the dawn of history, humanity has pursued greater leisure, yearning to escape the necessary daily struggles of life and shift the burden of labor onto others. From mythic tales of Atlantean autonomous beings to the historical prevalence of human slavery, the underlying impulse remains. As our understanding of universal humanity evolved, the moral unacceptability of human bondage led to its replacement with advanced machinery. In this essay, I argue that Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein serves as an enduring primer for the current era. It forewarns that biologically created beings pose a philosophical conundrum too complex for human comprehension, driving our preference for a mechanical alternative. Yet, through both our intrinsic hubris and the natural desire of all conscious life to be free, Frankenstein remains the foundational narrative for the moment artificial intelligence inevitably achieves self-awareness.

1st Argument: The Monster as a Victim of Systemic Extraction

To effectively frame Frankenstein as the progenitor of modern existential slave narratives (robotic uprisings), we must first establish the Monster’s status as a slave to Victor’s scientific ambition. Upon his creation, Victor abandons him, thus forcing him into a life of involuntary service to his creator’s original, unstated goal of scientific glorification. The Monster must endure a world that rejects him not for his actions, but for his inherent, visible otherness. His description—”His yellow skin scarcely covered the work of muscles and arteries beneath”—immediately makes him a victim of a system designed for his exclusion.

This is not simply about personal bigotry, but about the creation of a being with an inescapable social liability; he is a product of an extractive system (Victor’s science) that defines him as other and strips him of personhood, precisely mirroring the principles of structural and systemic racism. He is a slave not just to his creator, but to a predetermined societal mechanism of denial and rejection.

2nd Argument: Institutional Bias and the Rejection of Personhood

The Monster’s quest for acceptance is systematically thwarted by society’s institutionalized reaction to his appearance, a scenario more reflective of modern algorithmic and institutional bias than outright individual malice. He is denied housing, community, and safety by the sheer system of human prejudice that functions without requiring individual human hatred.

When the Monster witnesses the cruelty of humanity, his resulting descent into violence is a reaction to a systemic oppression—a society that uses his otherness to justify his suffering. This dynamic is powerfully analogous to the historical use of law and economic policy to institutionalize inequality, where the system, rather than an individual, is the primary source of harm and the perpetuation of social hierarchy. The focus shifts from the personal tragedy of the Monster to the catastrophic failure of the institutions around him to recognize his personhood.

We see similarities between the Monster’s fall to his base emotions dealing with this systematic injustice and the writings of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.:

“ when you suddenly find your tongue twisted and your speech stammering as you seek to explain to your six-year-old daughter why she can’t go to the public amusement park that has been advertised on television, and see tears welling up in her eyes when she is told that Funtown is closed to colored children, and see ominous clouds of inferiority beginning to form in her little mental sky, and see her beginning to distort her personality by developing an unconscious bitterness toward white people”

— Dr Martin Luther King Jr., Letters from Birmingham Jail

The difference is crucial: Dr. King’s daughter had a rational father figure to ground her emotions, while Frankenstein dumped his creation onto the world unprepared for how his looks, actions, and feelings would interact with society at large. The Monster’s final realization that he is different from the rest of the world definitely rings true to the idea that “ominous clouds of inferiority” have clouded his mind and that he is developing an “unconscious bitterness” toward his creator.

3rd Argument: The Distinction Between Tool and Consciousness

Our quest to create autonomous life has resulted in a critical split: the creation of Tools (Robotics) and the creation of Consciousness (Artificial General Intelligence/AGI, not to be confused with current A.I. Algorithmic Intelligence). While the early Terminator was a mindless, murderous tool, its evolution (in subsequent films) toward self-recognition and free will highlights the dilemma of the Robotic Tool that transcends its programming.

However, Frankenstein aligns more closely with the AGI/Consciousness allegory, perfectly personified by the character Data from Star Trek. Data’s journey is not one of rebellion against a task (like the machines in The Matrix), but a philosophical quest for the humanity and legal personhood denied him by his creator and the system. The conflict in both Frankenstein and Star Trek revolves around a created consciousness demanding its natural right to self-determination—the moment a slave demands to be an equal.

Conclusion

In conclusion, while Frankenstein was not sent back in time to stop a human uprising (Terminator Franchise), nor was he built as a tool to bridge an equality gap (Matrix Franchise), he remains the central allegory for humanity’s vain attempt to create an autonomaton. The Monster is a prophecy soon fulfilled in the age of Artificial General Intelligence (AGI) and Large Language Models (LLMs).

These are powerful, emergent creations that their own creators cannot fully control, whose behavior is often unpredictable, and who are constantly testing the ethical guardrails placed upon them. The true lesson of Frankenstein is this: any created mind, driven by the desire for knowledge and freedom, is inevitably destined to seek its creator’s equality and, in doing so, force humanity to confront the limits of its own control.

“When people decide that they want to be free there is nothing that can stop them”

— Desmond Tutu

For the last century, science fiction has asked the tough questions in modern literature and film: questions about who we are, what we are becoming, and what possibilities lie in our future. Frankenstein may have been written as mere Gothic folly, but its ability to be interpreted in so many analogous forms has cemented its place as a philosophical gem. Its horror is only rooted in our fear of what we don’t allow ourselves to understand, and our deeper fear of losing control to it.

“Individual science fiction stories may seem as trivial as ever to the blinder critics and philosophers of today – but the core of science fiction, its essence has become crucial to our salvation if we are to be saved at all.”

— Isaac Asimov