The Effect of Medical Discourse on Early and Late 19th-Century Gothic Novels

A dissertation

Submitted to the Durham University Department of English Studies

in partial fulfilment of the requirements

for the degree of Bachelor in English Literature

Table of Contents

Introduction 

Chapter One: Experimentation in Nineteenth-Century Medical Science

Chapter Two: Exploring the Links between Science, Culture, and Nineteenth-Century Literature

Chapter Three: Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein and the Speculative Science of Creation

Chapter Four: Robert Louis Stevenson’s The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde and the Atavism of 19th Century Villains

Chapter Five: Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray and the Morality of Medical Advancements

Conclusion: Literary Legacies and Modern Implications

Bibliography

Introduction

For centuries, scientists have desired to ‘pioneer a new way, explore unknown powers, and unfold to the world the deepest mysteries of creation’. However, as twenty-first-century scientists remain trapped in debates regarding the ethics and dangers of artificial intelligence, human cloning, genetic modification, and more, a pressing question continues to ring in society’s ears; that is, has scientific exploration gone too far? Many experts fear humans are toeing the fine line between advancement in science and dangerous interference with nature, and the general public is growing more sceptical of scientific practices. In fact, the State of Science Index 2022 conducted by the American company 3M found that public scepticism surrounding scientists has been growing steadily over the past few years, increasing from 27% to 29% from 2021 to 2022. Humans are naturally sceptical of rapid and intense change, and the introduction of new scientific theories has many twentieth-century thinkers on edge regarding the current state of science. However, a uniquely human coping mechanism for this uncertainty exists in the arts, and it is not difficult to come across books, movies, and television shows that deal with the potentially dangerous effects of modern scientific advancements. These dystopian stories seem distinctive to the twentieth century, but there was nonetheless another time in history during an environment of fear regarding contemporary science allowed a new genre of literature to flourish.

Although the advanced nature of twenty-first-century science makes this issue appear to be unique to our time, both literary scholars and historians would point to the prevalence of this question throughout the Industrial Revolution in Europe- and particularly in Britain. The nineteenth century saw major advancements in the fields of technology, science, and particularly notably, in the field of medical sciences. In an environment of rapid change and discovery, fears regarding new science began to build in British society- fears which swiftly began to make appearances in contemporary literature. One of the period’s most famous- or perhaps notorious- scientists, the fictional Victor Frankenstein, gives voice to nineteenth-century fears about emerging medical science by providing a poignant warning against scientific exploration, asserting, ‘learn from me, if not by my precepts, at least by my example, how dangerous is the acquirement of knowledge, and how much happier that man is who believes his native town to be the world, than he who aspires to become greater than his nature will allow’. 

As contemporary science began to permeate the literary world, authors were compelled to include elements of medical science in their works in order to elicit a stronger reaction from their audiences and to bring relevancy to their works. There was perhaps no genre more well-suited to represent apprehension of the medical developments of the time than the Gothic novel, which allowed authors to pervert elements of reality to create a story of supernatural intrigue and, sometimes, horror. In the following dissertation, I intend to analyse the connection between nineteenth-century fears surrounding medical sciences and the success of the Gothic novels Frankenstein, Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, and The Picture of Dorian Gray. By analysing these works in the context of nineteenth-century science, I will describe how the authors utilised societal fears in order to produce realistic and horrifying scenarios that had a foundation in plausible scientific theories. Furthermore, I will demonstrate that the success of the aforementioned novels was largely dependent on the scientific and technological developments of the nineteenth century. 

In his extensively researched 1979 article, Maximillian E. Novak describes the Gothic novel as one which combines the ‘conventionalized organizational structures, ideas, and characters in fiction’ with ‘the supernatural and bizarre’, or the ‘grotesque’. In other words, Gothic literature removes ordinary characters from their typical situations and places them instead in a setting that, despite appearing to be slightly familiar, is actually exceedingly eerie and abnormal. As the characters in Gothic fiction begin to uncover the otherworldly and often hostile elements of their realities that have become riddled with supernatural threats, the reader, too, feels the confusion and concern of the characters. For example, when Charlotte Bronte’s Jane Eyre discovers that her position as a governess is being threatened by the disturbed wife of her employer who haunts the halls of the manor at night, the story turns quickly from a simple fictional story to a tale of Gothic terror. Jane’s situation as a normal nineteenth-century woman might feel familiar to readers, who, upon reading her story would begin to question the otherworldly ways in which their lives, too, could be upturned. This type of supernatural twist on an otherwise standard story is a distinctive aspect of Gothic literature. 

Even more effective at inspiring horror than a sole focus on the supernatural, however, is the harnessing of widespread fears of society and the creation of a narrative based on the potential threats posed by these aspects of reality. Due to the fact that the nineteenth century was a time of great social and technological upheaval in Europe, Gothic novels were able to flourish in an atmosphere of fear and distrust that permeated the air of this ever-changing world. As mentioned previously, one particularly poignant nineteenth-century fear was that of the melding of medicine and science, as well as the potential for immoral medical and scientific practices. Public fears were furthered by the near-constant introduction of new scientific discoveries and theories during this century, which will be expanded upon throughout this essay. As these theories began to be published and spread, public knowledge about the advancements of science grew, and alongside this grew the possibility for literature based on science to become popular. Authors were aware that the inclusion of relevant scientific references in their work would inspire great emotional reactions from their readers, and they were able to harness this into improving their work. The integration of modern scientific and medical discourse into Gothic works of the nineteenth century, especially in Frankenstein, Jekyll and Hyde, and The Picture of Dorian Gray, was the main factor that set these works apart from other fantastical novels of the time and ensured their contemporary and lasting success. 

Chapter One

Experimentation in Nineteenth-Century Medical Science

The nineteenth century saw the introduction of immense social, industrial, and scientific change in Western Europe. The time of technological development between the late-eighteenth century and the mid-nineteenth century has been labelled the ‘Industrial Revolution’ by historians, and the effects of this revolution were keenly felt in Britain. To this point, Jan De Vries asserts in his highly cited journal article that the Industrial Revolution was ‘by far the most important […] monument in economic history’, a statement that outlines just how unprecedented this amount of economic and technological growth was during its peak. Inventors and scientists from across Europe were beginning to create devices that would impact the development of industry and knowledge across the world. Notably, according to William Bynum in his book Science and the Practice of Medicine in the Nineteenth Century, it is during this century that science and medicine began to collide significantly, producing the building blocks for what would soon become the various fields of medical sciences. 

It is the medical aspect of this scientific expansion on which I aim to focus in this chapter. Stephen Jacyna explains in The Western Medical Tradition 1800-2000 that in mid-nineteenth century Britain, practitioners of medicine and medical experimenters faced great resistance in their efforts to formally establish themselves as part of the medical world.  In the twenty-first century, it is difficult to imagine a world in which science and medicine do not intersect; however, Bynum establishes that, although 'medicine in modern times has become so intertwined with science that it is taken for granted', in nineteenth-century England, scientists had to struggle in order to assert their place in the medical field- not to mention the struggles they faced in altering the public’s perception of medical scientists. Experimentation and developments in medicine have always been commonplace, finding roots as far back as ‘at least to the Alexandrians of the third century B.C.[…]’, but these experiments were performed as needed by doctors and midwives, not necessarily by scientists in a dedicated medical laboratory actively attempting to advance medical sciences. In other words, medical science before the nineteenth century was ‘observational, not experimental’. Furthermore, the career that we now refer to as ‘scientist’ did not exist by this name prior to the nineteenth century, and as Bynum explains, 'until the 19th century […] few people earned a living from science'. Inventors and experimenters prior to this time were almost always employed in other lines of work during the time of their technological developments, such as in the case of Johannes Gutenberg, who was a craftsman by trade when he invited the printing press in 1436. However, in a time of rapid technological development, the need for a profession dedicated to the advancement of society’s scientific ability became apparent, and by the mid-nineteenth century ‘laboratories were just beginning to make an impact on medical education, although their direct relevance for medical practice was less clear’. Despite the initial vague understanding surrounding the importance or relevance of these medical experimenters, it was not long before British society began to take notice of this new scientific exploit.

New scientific discoveries quickly began to make an impact on the medical field. Bynum explains the nearly all-consuming effect of these advancements, describing how they 'altered the way medical students were trained, what doctors knew about health and disease, what they could do, and even (gradually) how some of them dressed'. These changes hit the medical world of the nineteenth century relatively quickly, which did not allow the general public much time to adjust to this new and ever-evolving image of the medical professional. As knowledge of medical advancements began to be popularised, Bynum explains that it also became 'simplified and coarsened', leaving much room for speculation and misunderstanding in the public sphere of knowledge. Furthermore, the medical professionals themselves were often apprehensive about the changes that they were facing within their field, and concerns surrounding 'losing the art of medicine, not treating the whole patient, or jumping on every new scientific bandwagon' began to grow among physicians. These fears were particularly poignant during the early nineteenth century, which becomes evident upon an inspection of the literature of the time.

The works of nineteenth-century literature that best represent the public’s feelings towards medical science at the time mostly emerged from the Gothic genre. I have already described the general themes and subject matters of nineteenth-century Gothic novels, as well as the ability of Gothic authors to incorporate contemporary events and social issues into their work in order to inspire a stronger connection between the reader and the work itself. It is thus not difficult to imagine the effectiveness of linking the Gothic supernatural with fears surrounding the sudden, rapid growth of medical science faced by the nineteenth-century occupants of Britain. In upcoming chapters, I will elaborate on how Mary Shelley, Robert Louis Stevenson, and Oscar Wilde each wove elements of medical science into their unique Gothic style in order to capture the British population’s fears, and how each of these authors proposed a new and disastrous scenario regarding the misuse of contemporary science. These fictional depictions of science cannot be separated from their real-world inspirations; for example, the connection between The Picture of Dorian Gray and the Atomic Theory of the early nineteenth century is made clear not only in close reading of the text but also explicitly described by Dorian himself’s mention of the atoms that make up his famous portrait. Other references to medical science in these novels are less explicit and will be expanded upon further throughout this essay; for the time being, it is simply vital to understand the knowledge these authors held about both the field of medical science itself and the feelings of the British public towards this scientific field. The immense success of these works is inextricably linked to the involvement of both reader and author in the scientific discourse of the nineteenth century.

By the end of the nineteenth century, 'medical science came to maturity,' and scepticism towards the medical field began to lessen. The change in attitude towards medical science and experimentation in Britain was gradual, and it came as the direct result of several social and political movements, which will be outlined in the following section. As information became more concrete and easily accessible towards the beginning of the twentieth century, public fears around medical science slowly began to fade- as did the popularity of literature based on the catastrophisation of medical scenarios. However, despite the growing popularisation of more lighthearted novels at the beginning of the twentieth century, such as L. Frank Baum’s The Wonderful Wizard of Oz or E.M. Forester’s A Room With a View, the Gothic genre has been able to maintain a relatively high level of popularity due both to the genre’s significant contemporary cultural relevance and its portrayal of nineteenth-century cultural anxieties. By effectively melding medical science with literature- and particularly horror- the Gothic novels covered in this paper ensured their continued status as some of the most influential works of nineteenth-century literature. 

Chapter Two

Exploring the Links between Science, Culture, and Nineteenth-Century Literature

The growing prominence of scientific involvement in medicine was undoubtedly a product of the more general scientific discussions and advancements taking place in Europe at the time, and the growing popularity of scientific discourse left this new field of medical science and experimentation open to the scrutiny and criticism of the public. As experimental medicine began to develop into a more prominent field of science, fears regarding these experiments' moral and societal implications began to spread through nineteenth-century populations. It is important to note that much of the unease felt by the public towards medical professionals was due to the perception of these scientists as being cold and disconnected from their patients. Bynum explains in the comprehensive book The Western Medical Tradition 1800-2000 that in nineteenth-century medical science, it was often the case that 'those who produced scientific knowledge were not necessarily those who used it', meaning that the scientists involved in the important medical developments of this time might not have much personal involvement with real-life medical cases. This disconnect led to great public distrust, which was only furthered by the unorthodox methods of some of these physicians. Experimental scientists such as Claude Bernard were widely criticised for their use of vivisections on animal subjects. Critics were outspoken against the seemingly needless cruelty towards innocent animals, and many others feared that the experimenters' indifference towards the suffering of their animal subjects for the sake of scientific advancement would open a gateway into human experimentation and suffering, and that 'people who treated animals cruelly would harm humans if given the opportunity'. Public outcry eventually lead to the passing of the 1876 Vivisection Act in Britain, which banned the use of animal vivisection for scientific purposes in the country. However, this did not quell the public’s mounting fear of immoral scientists, nor did it stop speculation surrounding the other immoral ways in which these scientific developments could be employed.

Nineteenth-century authors were neither blind to nor exempt from the societal reactions to the changing field of medical science. They observed the fear and apprehension among the population, and they also witnessed 'A general desire by an increasingly powerful and commercially minded middle class to hear what the new science, especially chemistry, had to say to them about their new world'. Thus authors saw a market in which they could both capitalise off of a commonly shared fear and propose a direction in which science might lead society. As fictional works slowly began incorporating elements of science and medicine, their stories became both more realistic and more engaging. Many novels of the time that referenced medical science placed their focus on a mad or immoral scientist who was using misunderstood science in order to accomplish nefarious goals. The protagonists of these novels were often deceptively smart and well-educated, with a darker spirit lurking just beneath their facade of a man dedicated to his scientific craft. 

Medical professionals in the nineteenth century, aware of the overwhelming public scepticism directed towards their profession, worked incredibly hard to establish a favourable reputation among the people of Britain. Physicians desired to appear altruistic and knowledgeable to the public, and many efforts were taken legally to maintain this appearance. The establishment of the General Medical Council, which was created in Britain following the terms of the 1858 Medical Act, served to regulate the behaviour of doctors and prevent the practice of immoral medicine. Doctors were highly encouraged to help all those who sought out their assistance, whether through a cure or simply the management of a condition. However, these efforts did little to curb public apprehension surrounding the morals of doctors. George Bernard Shaw made a crack at the medical profession in his 1906 play The Doctor’s Dilemma, stating that 'all professions are conspiracies against the laity'. Despite the play’s twentieth-century context, the sentiment is decidedly that of one who lived through the uncertainty of nineteenth-century medical developments. Most common people, especially those in the lower classes, felt that medical professionals sought only to further their own gains and cared less for helping patients than they did for acquiring money and fame. William Bynum describes how 'the most important determinants [in quality of medical care] were the class and social status of the patient, and the personality of the practitioner'. The general public did not feel that they could trust physicians, much less the experimental scientists who were committing the immoral acts previously outlined in this paper. Just as Shaw incorporated these anxieties into his works, his nineteenth-century literary predecessors weaved the contemporary anxieties surrounding medicine into their works to produce extremely effective Gothic and horror novels. 

Despite the fact that the most recognisable themes of Gothic literature often involve supernatural entities and events, the most popular Gothic novels seem to be those that combined the supernatural with contemporary science. The ability to ground supernatural happenings in the world of science and experimentation was one that had never before been available to authors, and they were quick to utilise this. As early as the 1810s, authors were beginning to take notice of developments in medical science and incorporate them into their literature. Mary Shelley’s Gothic novel Frankenstein, published in 1818, is considered by literary scholars to be one of the first works of what we now know as the genre of science fiction, and Shelley’s use of science in conjunction with the otherworldly and supernatural elements typical of a Gothic text encouraged other nineteenth-century authors to do the same. The inclusion of contemporary medical science in the production of Gothic ‘monsters’ such as Frankenstein’s Creature, Mr Hyde, and Dorian Gray sets them apart from other Gothic villains of the time. For example, the 1897 novel Dracula written by Bram Stoker is indeed a textbook example of a Gothic novel, but few contemporary readers or modern literary scholars would argue for the realism of the work, or for the probability that the events of the novel could occur in the real world. In novels such as the three on which I intend to focus, however, the events are rooted in the medical science that would have been readily available in educated circles of the nineteenth century. This meant that, upon finishing the novel, readers could not simply brush off the story as one of fantasy- however exaggerated the events were, they could theoretically come to fruition in the world of the reader. The suggestion of a genuine possibility that is emphasised by the inclusion of real medical science is what made these novels, both in their time and to this day, particularly disturbing and memorable. 

Chapter Three

Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein and the Speculative Science of Creation

One of the first Gothic novels to touch on the nineteenth-century fear of immoral medical experimentation was Mary Shelley’s renowned 1818 Gothic horror novel, Frankenstein, also aptly titled The Modern Prometheus. As I previously mentioned, Shelley’s novel is often cited as the earliest work of science fiction in English literature, and it is her unprecedented exploration of science and morality that situates the novel as the first in a new literary genre. The novel explores 'romantic fears, offering a dystopic tale of certain demise, one that demonizes technology in the form of Frankenstein’s monster', and Shelley’s portrayal of science and the dangers posed by reckless experimentation was heavily influenced both by her own life and the society within which she wrote Frankenstein. The loss of Shelley’s own mother, Mary Wollstonecraft, shortly after her birth, as well as Shelley’s own loss of a child, likely influenced her perception of motherhood and the effects of a motherless upbringing on a creature such as the one created by Frankenstein in her novel. Frankenstein’s obsession surrounding the creation of life and his desire to, as he describes it, 'renew life where death had apparently devoted the body to corruption',  is perhaps a reflection of Shelley’s own wishes that modern science could somehow overcome the death that had pervaded her life- although she shows a keen understanding of the danger posed by these wishes in her depiction of Frankenstein’s ill-fated experiment. Shelley recognises that fear of and disdain for death are commonly held human emotions, and she uses her novel as a warning against attempting to overrule nature, however strong the urge may be. 

Despite the tragedies she faced early in life, Shelley was provided with an extensive education by her father, who himself was a renowned novelist and philosopher. Besides being remarkably well-educated herself, Shelley was often in the company of the great artists and academics of her time- including during the summer in Geneva when she began composing her celebrated novel. Journals and letters from both Shelley and the others with whom she spent that summer- Percy Shelley, Lord George Byron, and John Polidori- make reference to the many scientific conversations held that summer, especially conversations between the physician Polidori and Mary Shelley. These conversations, alongside her experiences living through the beginnings of the industrialisation of England, allowed her to effectively create a provocative story about the dangers of modern science that would both enthral and horrify readers. Shelley’s novel was written not only before public knowledge surrounding medical sciences was as widespread as it was during the composition of the other works covered in this paper, but also before the discovery of many of the scientific theories that would influence the scientific aspects of later nineteenth-century Gothic works. Her unique position in time made her work incredibly unique and also allowed her imaginative freedom that would not be granted to Stevenson or Wilde. Alan Rauch describes the actions of Shelley’s infamous scientist as 'new and ambiguous', posing both potential threats and possibilities to the world of medical science. Shelley was situated in an era where scientific discoveries were just beginning to creep into the public consciousness, which allowed her work to flourish as both speculative fiction and as a prediction of the possible repercussions of the newly established field of experimental medical science. 

Shelley’s novel marked a dramatic shift in the course of English literature, and her 1818 work was one of the first that, as Mary A Favret puts it, 'allows us to see the affinities between fiction and science'. It is also important to note that Shelley had nearly unprecedented scientific liberty, as the world of medical science was an unestablished field and its work left much room for imagination. Maurice Hindle emphasizes just 'how thrillingly speculative and open the state of science was at the historical moment in which Mary Shelley was writing'. The novelty of Shelley’s idea allowed her to experiment with the introduction of science that had not yet been discovered, and she did this by considering the implications of giving life to an inanimate being. Her work was not based on any one specific experiment, but on the potential posed by a number of new scientific theories with which she would have been familiar. One such theory, as pointed out by Stanley Finger and Mark B Law in their investigation of the effect of experiments on electricity on Shelley’s novel, could potentially have been Aloisio Luigi Galvani’s work regarding the effect of electric shocks on the muscular movements of animals. Although Shelley does not specify in Frankenstein the exact scientific theories that inspired her, she no doubt utilised her genuine scientific familiarity to give authority to a text that could have otherwise been viewed as one of complete fiction. Although she would not have had access to the scientific theories and knowledge that would have been available to later nineteenth-century Gothic authors, she was still in a unique position to give veracity to the outlandish story and to hint that the events might just come true someday soon. Her novel was among the first to ask its readers to consider the connection between medical science, fiction, and horror. 

Frankenstein’s preface, which is often thought to have been written by Mary Shelley’s husband Percy Shelley, asserts that 'the event on which this fiction is founded, has been supposed, by Dr. [Erasmus] Darwin, and some of the physiological writers of Germany, as not of impossible occurrence'. Both Mary and Percy Shelley were clearly familiar enough with the contemporary scientific developments of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries to know that the concept of artificial human life had been considered, however briefly, in the world of science. Additionally, the inclusion of this assertion in the preface allows the reader to imagine the reality of the novel and, throughout their reading, to be reminded that these situations could soon become a reality. Alan Rauch further describes Frankenstein’s creature as representative of ‘a remarkable “body” of knowledge’, thus making the dangers posed by the creature’s existence directly representative of the dangers of new and unchecked knowledge in the field of medical science. Rauch elaborates on his point, explaining that this knowledge 'represents both threat and promise to an uninformed public'. Shelley is undoubtedly sceptical of the burgeoning world of medical scientific experimentation, and her sympathetic yet damning depiction of the dangerous creature makes it clear to the audience that they, too, should be concerned. 

Despite her extensive body of scientific knowledge, Shelley’s references to the exact science involved in the creation of her creature are noticeably vague. Alan Rauch explains in his aforementioned article that, 'while Shelley explores Frankenstein’s character, she is deliberately unspecific about the details of his scientific work'. As the earliest of the novels discussed in this essay, Shelley’s ambiguity surrounding the details of Frankenstein’s scientific work is understandable- neither she nor scientists of her day had the knowledge necessary to describe exactly how Frankenstein might go about animating a creature of his own creation. In fact, Maurice Hindle indicates that 'the word 'scientist' had not even been coined in 1818', meaning that there was not even a specific term for somebody like Victor Frankenstein, much less a possibility of describing his scientific research and discoveries. Although, as Rauch explains, 'there is little in the novel that actually described Frankenstein’s scientific activity, much less his scientific context', explicit technological language and explanations are not needed to make the novel more realistic or terrifying. In fact, attempting to manufacture a method for her tortured scientist would only have hindered the effect of her work, as it is the loose description of the scientific process paired with the assertion that science could soon exist that makes the terror all the more impactful for the reader. 

Mary Shelley’s ill-fated scientist resembles a sort of Icarus of knowledge- in his quest to create an unrivalled scientific marvel, he in fact creates what he views as a  monster that he does not have the means to tame or control and that will, eventually, lead to his own demise. It is significant to note that, while Victor refers to his creation almost exclusively with negative terms such as monster, the novel prefers to employ the term ‘creature’. When Frankenstein first views his creation, he laments his work, calling his creature a 'wretch' and 'miserable monster'; however, the novel’s depiction of Frankenstein’s creation is much more sympathetic. Shelley is conscious that, while Frankenstein’s creation is no doubt a monstrous perversion of medical science, he is also an innocent victim of Frankenstein’s desire to achieve unprecedented levels of scientific accomplishment.  Despite the horrors eventually committed by the creature, it is difficult for the audience to feel hatred towards Frankenstein’s creation- rather, much of the anger is pointed towards both Frankenstein and the reaction of society to the creature. In his 1992 article,  Steven Lehman elaborates on the complexity of the audience’s feelings towards the creature, explaining, 'the reader naturally has sympathy for the innocent victims of the monster’s aggression. That aggression is caused, however, by a society which tortures the innocent and thus transforms them into monsters'. This quote shows clear parallels with nineteenth-century fears surrounding the needless suffering of the innocent for the purposes of scientific discovery. Frankenstein’s creature is forced to suffer relentlessly at the hands of a society that rejects his existence, and his suffering is channelled into the pain of his human victims. This cycle of pain that is perpetrated constantly throughout the novel feeds into the previously outlined proposal that the suffering of non-human creatures will eventually lead directly to human suffering. 

The use of real human matter to create the monster creates a clear connection to nineteenth-century fears surrounding human experimentation and vivisection in medical sciences. As I have previously described, fears surrounding the moral implications of vivisection and scientific experimentation on live subjects were pervasive during the nineteenth century, and while Shelley would have been composing Frankenstein during the early stages of these concerns, she would have nonetheless been aware of the rising anxieties directed towards these experiments. Anita Guerrini and Domenico Bertoloni Meli describe how nineteenth-century physicians were forced to navigate a thin line between what was permissible for the purposes of scientific advancement and what was acceptable under the Hippocratic Oath, which required practitioners of medicine to uphold certain moral standards. Guerrini and Meli contend that the purpose behind many instances of vivisection in the nineteenth century was to attempt to 'resolve the all-important question of where life actually resides in the body'. Victor Frankenstein’s relentless research into 'the outward substance of things or the inner spirit of nature and the mysterious soul of man', or, put more simply, the origin of consciousness and life in living beings, embodies the interests of scientists during Shelley’s time. Although the novel’s setting places Frankenstein’s experiments as having been performed in the late eighteenth century, the interests and goals of Frankenstein are decidedly nineteenth-century in nature, which would have made them all the more relevant to Shelley’s audience, and would have helped the novel retain relevancy as debates surrounding live experimentation picked up in the mid-century. 

Victor Frankenstein’s aspiration to create 'a new species' that  'would bless [him] as its creator and source', along with his hope that 'many happy and excellent natures would owe their being to [him]' align his scientific goals concerningly close to a desire to embody the role of a god. This ambition spells disaster for both the creator and the creation. The creature, who was artificially brought into the world through no fault of his own, begins to feel that his existence is an affront to both science and God, and he resents Frankenstein for his miserable existence. Frankenstein is similarly tormented by the consequences of his creation, and the message of the novel becomes a plea for overly-ambitious scientists to 'seek happiness in tranquillity, and avoid ambition, even if it be only the apparently innocent one of distinguishing yourself in science and discoveries'. Whereas Frankenstein once had  'the greatest disdain for a would-be science which could never even step within the threshold of real knowledge', he realises too late that his pursuit of a new scientific accomplishment has gone too far. As Peter Brooks describes, Frankenstein’s eventual mission to destroy his creation becomes one of self-destruction as the scientist realises 'that in destroying the daemonic side of himself, he will also destroy the whole of self'. The creation and creator are linked on an almost spiritual, soulful level, and this connection will be mirrored in the two novels to come in this essay. 

The creature’s disdain for his own existence, as well as his mission to destroy his creator, is clearly meant to be viewed as a cautionary tale to scientists of Shelley’s time- using science to play God can only lead to mutual destruction. Frankenstein, like many nineteenth-century men of science, attempts to access a body of knowledge that Shelley, along with other critics of the time, felt should not be accessible to humans. Frankenstein’s creation seems well aware of the sacrilegious implications of his existence, lamenting, 'I ought to be thy Adam, but I am rather the fallen angel […]'. It is also clear that it is his unnatural existence and treatment at the hands of humanity that have turned the creature to murder and revenge, and he describes himself how he 'was benevolent and good', and he asserts, 'misery made me a fiend. Make me happy, and I shall again be virtuous'. The creature also points out that Frankenstein, too, has been led to immorality by his overambitious acquisition of knowledge, pointing out the hypocrisy of Frankenstein’s intent to dispose of his creature by declaring, 'listen to me, Frankenstein. You accuse me of murder; and yet you would, with a satisfied conscience, destroy your own creature. Oh, praise the eternal justice of man!' As I will outline in my dissection of the stories of Stevenson and Wilde, the theme of unbridled knowledge and experimentation leading to a loss of virtue becomes common in Gothic literature surrounding medical science. Mary Shelley is one of the first to suggest through her work that to seek excessive knowledge is to completely sacrifice human morals. 

Although Shelley’s Frankenstein was one of the first novels to utilise this impactful connection between literature and science to produce a thrilling Gothic story, it only marked the beginning of this new literary exploration in the nineteenth century.  Her story perfectly encapsulates the beginnings of nineteenth-century fears regarding medical experimentation, and her depiction of the downfall of both creator and creation sends a poignant message that is replicated in the many Gothic works that followed her iconic novel. The impact of these works is amplified as Britain began to experience constant technological advancement throughout the century; especially because, as Mary Shelley herself explains, 'Nothing is so painful to the human mind as a great and sudden change'.

Chapter Four

Robert Louis Stevenson’s The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde and the Atavism of 19th Century Villains

Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein marked the beginning of what was soon to become a common theme in nineteenth-century Gothic literature- the mad scientist perverting the practice of medical science for nefarious purposes. The publication of Robert Louis Stevenson’s Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde in 1886 was both a nod to Shelley’s influence and a reaction to the changes in medical science since the time of Frankenstein’s publication in 1818. While Shelley’s work was indeed influenced by contemporary scientific works from the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, Stevenson was able to utilise nearly 70 more years of scientific discoveries and theories  than Shelley in order to produce a novel that was slightly less theoretical and seemingly more realistically possible than the events of Frankenstein. Also vital in understanding Stevenson’s novel is the knowledge that the author not only came from a family of engineers but was also trained as an engineer himself, meaning that his understanding of and access to the most prevalent science of the late nineteenth century would have been significant. Using his scientific background, he is able to include specific scientific elements to increase the story’s realism. Specifically, Stevenson’s novel includes elements of evolutionary theory, physiognomy, and psychology, all of which, being relatively new fields at the time, made for effective sources for invoking fear and confusion among readers. 

 In particular, Stevenson used elements of Charles Darwin’s famous evolutionary discoveries as a basis for his horrifying tale of one scientist's ability to unlock the worst and most primal parts of human nature. The publication of Charles Darwin’s On the Origin of Species in 1859 opened new scientific conversations about the history of mankind and the nature of evolution and primal instincts. Andrew Rowan describes the effect that Darwin’s theories had on public perceptions of humanity in his 1995 article about the debate surrounding animal research during the nineteenth century, stating that 'the Darwinian revolution weakened claims about the uniqueness of human beings and blurred the absolute qualitative differences that had been considered between humans and animals'. Darwin posited that much like animals, humans had acquired their 'domestic instincts' through purposeful selection and had therefore lost many of the primal instincts to which humans were predetermined. Contemporary academics were forced to reevaluate their views of the human race and create new theories in order to cope with this uprooting of their belief system, which had previously asserted the natural superiority of humanity over all other animals. Nineteenth-century society was forced to reckon with the theory that humans were potentially not created in God’s image, but had evolved from other animals and were therefore not so different from their primal ancestors. In order to cope with these discoveries and preserve a sense of superiority among certain groups, scientists in the nineteenth century began considering that certain groups, such as criminals and various ethnic groups, were less evolved than others and therefore more prone to primal, violent behaviours. These theories would go on to form the foundation for the concepts of scientific racism and eugenics, which would become particularly popular in twentieth-century Europe. 

However, more relevant to the discussion of Stevenson’s novel are the theories developed during this time surrounding how Darwin’s theories could be used to ascertain a person’s moral character from their physical characteristics. In his aforementioned journal article, Stephen D. Arata outlines these beliefs by examining the work of Cesare Lombroso, a nineteenth-century criminologist and physician. Arata explains how Lombroso, after studying the skulls of a number of notorious Italian criminals, came to the conclusion that all criminals displayed common traits and physical features associated with less-evolved humans, including a sloped forehead, large ears, and high cheekbones. This line of thinking supported long-held British feelings regarding class and criminality- that is, the theory that 'deviance expressed itself most markedly through physical deformity'. These theories would soon seep into popular culture and into scientific spaces, and despite the controversy surrounding these ideas, they would maintain popularity and greatly affect the public perception of criminals.

The descriptions of Hyde’s physical deformities draw particularly strong links to the theories of phrenology and physiognomy, the former of which is now considered a pseudoscience. These theories are based on ascertaining one’s character based on the formation of the skull. These ideas were introduced in the eighteenth century by German physicians, and their effects remained tangible in the world of nineteenth-century medicine and law. In Bridget M Marshall’s 2000 article for the Hungarian Journal of English and American Studies, she describes how 'Evil […] is always in some way marked […] by some sort of physical deformity. In the nineteenth century, the markings of evil […] were based on the contemporary sciences of phrenology and physiognomy'. Anne Stiles elaborates on the connection between Jekyll and Hyde and nineteenth-century science in her widely read scientific analysis of Jekyll and Hyde, stating, 'not only does Robert Louis Stevenson’s Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde (1886) resemble contemporary medical case studies in its form and structure, but its core idea may also have originated from medical literature'. Stiles elaborates on how Stevenson’s own wife affirmed his interest in dual personality studies and experimentation regarding the subconscious mind, which was likely the source and inspiration for his famous novel. 

Hyde is, by all means, a representation of these devolved humans. Characters describe him as offputting, and Mr Enfield struggles to describe Hyde’s appearance exactly, stating that 'there is something wrong with his appearance; something displeasing, something downright detestable,'. He goes on to assert that '[hyde] must be deformed somewhere; he gives a strong feeling of deformity, although I couldn’t specify the point'. Most scholars of the time would have been aware of the work of both Lombroso and Darwin, and even readers with less knowledge of medical science and criminology would have been able to equate the way that Hyde 'snarled' and his 'savage laugh' with the theory of a less evolved, morally inferior being. However, Hyde’s existence was unnatural; he was not born a depraved creature but was created by a man who was supposed to be of upstanding moral character. A highly-educated man of medicine, Jekyll should have been a representation of morality, discipline, and knowledge, and throughout much of the novel, the audience is led to believe that the innocent Jekyll is experiencing torment and blackmail at the hands of Hyde. It is only in the final chapter of the novel that Steveson reveals that Jekyll and Hyde are indeed the same being. Jekyll declares of Hyde in his final letter, 'this, too, was myself. It seemed natural and human,' an alarming assertion indeed for those who believed criminal depravity and moral superiority to be completely incompatible ideas. However, Jekyll is completely overcome by 'the temptation of a discovery so singular and profound' that he puts aside all caution and begins his ill-fated experimentation, which would, of course, eventually be his downfall. The idea that a man of Jekyll’s stature could become a victim of his own animalistic instincts meant that, theoretically, no man was safe from succumbing to these primal urges. 

Early on in the novel, Jekyll is disassociated from his older colleagues- for example, he has purchased his house from a surgeon, but Jekyll’s own scientific interests are described as 'being rather chemical than anatomical'. This description emphasises that even before his creation of Hyde, Jekyll was already exhibiting signs of abnormal scientific interests. The surgeon would have been a trusted man of medicine in his day, whose focus was on purely anatomical matters that would directly benefit his patients. Jekyll, on the other hand, is more interested in the chemical and experimental sciences, which bore no connection with the practice of directly benefitting ill individuals. Arata states that ‘If Jekyll and Hyde articulates in Gothic Fiction’s exaggerated tones late-Victorian anxieties concerning degeneration, devolution, and 'criminal man', it invariably situates those concerns in relation to the practices and discourses of […] doctors […]’. If Jekyll is a representation of nineteenth-century fears surrounding the medical field and the lack of trust that the public felt towards medical experimentation, then Hyde is an embodiment of exactly what the public feared would arise from unchecked medical experimentation and reckless advancements in technology. Stevenson’s depiction of Jekyll’s monstrous creation is much less sympathetic than Mary Shelley’s portrayal of her creature- an intentional effort to further villanise Jekyll and emphasise the pure selfishness and hedonistic nature of his experiments. In other words, unlike in the case of Victor Frankenstein, Jekyll’s creation of a monster was no accident, and Stevenson makes it clear that we should have little sympathy for the tortured scientist.

The work of a doctor was not well understood by the general public, and that someone in such a complicated profession could use their societal role to inflict harm was a very real fear. As Bynum explains in the previously cited book Science and the Practice of Medicine in the Nineteenth Century, the stories of medical science that reached the public often involved 'dramatic tales of dangerous experiments, a few of which led to martyrs’ deaths'. This did little to inspire public trust in medical professionals, and people grew increasingly sceptical of the ethics behind experimental medicine. Just as nineteenth-century society feared, Jekyll utilises his knowledge of science to conduct immoral and self-serving experiments. By creating an atavistic monster through which he could live out his immoral desires, he had violated the implied duty of a doctor to only act in the best interest of his patients and the general public. Instead of using his knowledge to further human understanding of medicine, he chose to find a way to unlock the primal desires that, taking into account Darwin’s theories of evolution, presumably lay latent in the minds of most men. Jekyll even acknowledges himself the immorality of his scientific endeavours, affirming his belief that 'had [he] approached [his] discovery in a more noble spirit, had [he] risked the experiment while under the empire of generous or pious aspirations, all must have been otherwise'.  In the creation of Hyde, readers saw a reflection of how their own morals could be twisted by perverted science, and they were forced to confront the potential of their own primal capabilities as humans. Stevenson’s novel found popularity by playing into the fear that modern science might allow for the escape of this primal evil. 

Much like in Shelley’s Frankenstein, Jekyll and Hyde ends with the destruction of the creator by his own creation- the notable difference being, of course, that Jekyll destroys himself due to his own inability to control his animalistic desires. The turning point of Jekyll’s experiments with his immoral alter ego comes when the doctor 'had gone to bed Henry Jekyll', but finds that he 'had awakened Edward Hyde'. At this point, Jekyll realises that the consciousness of Hyde has completely overpowered the doctor’s own mind, and his fear is matched only by the liberation he feels when living as Hyde. Daniel L Wright, a renowned author and lecturer, describes Jekyll as a 'man suffering from the ravages of addiction'. He goes on to point out that Jekyll is 'victimized by a chemical dependency that is aggravated both by a pre-existing psychopathology and maladaptive behaviors'. These statements link Jekyll and Hyde not only to the science of evolution but also to the rise of psychology as a recognised scientific and medical study in the nineteenth century. Hyde’s ability to take over Jekyll’s body and consciousness leaves Jekyll sick in much the same way that an addiction to a harmful drug would leave an addict sick, and 'the powers of Hyde' only began to grow alongside 'the sickliness of Jekyll'. Jekyll, despite his belief otherwise, is unable to control Hyde, and he 'mistakenly suppose[s] that he can regulate the use and effects of his intoxicant. Of course, he cannot'. Hyde takes over Jekyll’s body in the same way as a drug or alcohol addiction would, and it eventually ends his life. 

The ill-fated Dr Jekyll could well have been intended as a warning to those doctors planning to embark upon immoral experimentation in medicine. Stevenson makes it clear in his novel that the experimenter cannot be completely separated from his scientific endeavours, and thus the consequences, both positive and negative, of such experimentation can be attributed solely to the person behind the science and not to any uncontrollable natural causes. Autumn Weiss asserts that 'all of Hyde's actions belong to some part of Jekyll', which emphasises that Jekyll has brought about his own destruction through the creation of the most immoral version of himself. Daniel L Wright expands upon this in his previously mentioned article about the connections between Stevenson’s novel and the science of addiction, describing how 'Hyde is but the consequence of Jekyll’s experiments in forbidden science; he exists only by the will of Jekyll; he has no independent being. Hyde is not other than Jekyll; he is Jekyll'. Jekyll is driven by a nearly addiction-like obsession with scientific advancement, as well as his insatiable, hedonistic desires. Consequently, Jekyll’s story could easily be interpreted as a warning to scientists to practice caution and restraint when venturing into previously unexplored areas of science. 

Aside from its message to scientists, Stevenson’s novel was above all intended to shock and terrify nineteenth-century readers. When Stevenson brings both the novel and 'the life of that unhappy Henry Jekyll to an end', the reader is left to ponder the worst aspects of human nature and how tapping into these parts of themselves would lead to unimaginable suffering. By drawing direct inspiration from the scientific theories of Human Evolution, Stevenson was able to create a story in which the reader was forced to confront the deepest, most terrifying aspects of themselves. As the reader saw themselves in Dr Jekyll, they also saw the possibility of this terror being unlocked by modern science, creating the fear that comes only from a story that audiences fear may not be as supernatural in theme as it seems. 

Chapter Five

Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray and the Morality of Medical Advancements

By the 1890s, the fusion of medical sciences with typical supernatural elements of Gothic literature was becoming more subtle. As audiences grew more familiar with the scientific concepts that had been introduced within the nineteenth century, authors gained the freedom to experiment by implementing elements of modern medical science in their stories less explicitly. Whereas Jekyll and Hyde and Frankenstein included a straightforward scientist character experimenting with dangerous concepts, Oscar Wilde’s 1890 novel The Picture of Dorian Gray was able to reference fears surrounding medical science without including a protagonist who was actively involved in scientific experimentation.  

Bynum explains in The Western Medical Tradition 1800-2000 that one of the greatest factors in the development of experimental medical sciences in the nineteenth century was the natural human desire for longer life and fewer illnesses. Unlike in Jekyll and Hyde or Frankenstein, the general public had no desire to utilise scientific advancements in order to live out depraved fantasies or create artificial life for inanimate beings- the majority of nineteenth-century Britain simply wished for good health and a long life. Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray employs an increasingly narcissistic and twisted protagonist to pervert these desires and demonstrate the dangers of immortality to a person’s moral character and well-being. Dorian is able to age through his portrait while himself remaining young and attractive, but his yearning for eternal youth and beauty transforms him into a different type of Gothic monster- a victim of his own humanity. The reader is invited at the beginning of the novel to sympathise with the young and innocent- if a bit vain- Dorian when, upon seeing Basil Hallward’s portrait, he cries, ‘how sad it is! I shall grow old […] but this picture will remain always young’. Dorian goes on to make his ill-fated wish, lamenting, 'if it were only the other way! If it were I who was to be always young, and the picture that was to grow old! For that […] I would give everything! Yes, There is nothing in the whole world I would not give! I would give my soul for that!' There is nothing malicious in Dorian’s words- rather, they are filled with the melancholy and distress of a young man faced with his own mortality for the first time. However, as time goes on and Dorian is spared the natural human effects of ageing, the immorality of his seeming immortality begins to seep into his once-innocent character.

Nineteenth-century medical scientists, much like Dorian Gray, were keen to unlock the secrets to a longer life. In the 1840s, the development of Cell Theory provided scientists with new insight into the degeneration of humans with age, as well as theories as to how this process could, theoretically, be halted. Scientists discovered that it was the deterioration of the cells that caused the ageing process, although they did not yet understand what could be done to keep these cells from eroding. The proposal of Germ Theory in the 1860s was a natural evolution from the Cell Theory, proposing yet another cause of human illness that could not be seen by the naked eye. Bynum explains that this discovery made one thing abundantly clear to scientists of the day- ‘all diseases are the result of either active or passive disturbances of living cells’. Thus, the task for doctors and scientists of the nineteenth century became finding a way to halt the degeneration of these cells before it began- after all, as Bynum states, 'that it was better to prevent disease than afterwards to cure it […] was a medical commonplace older than Hippocrates. Doctors after all should be constantly trying to make their curative roles unnecessary'. 

By the time Oscar Wilde published his first and only novel in 1890, the public was relatively familiar with these theories, and Dorian himself even wonders after the portrait’s first transformation whether there was 'some subtle affinity between the chemical atoms, that shaped themselves into form and colour on the canvas, and the soul that was within him?' As he finds himself slipping deeper into the inescapable life of vices, Dorian still wonders if there might 'be some curious scientific reason for it all?', demonstrating the immense hold these theories and the possibilities they suggested had over the nineteenth-century English public. 

However, any excitement regarding the chance of an extended lifespan was equally met with fears regarding the moral implications of tampering with the natural ageing process. In an article written for the Cambridge University Press, Michael Davis elaborates on these fears, explaining that 'in Dorian’s thoughts about “atoms” lies the still more extreme possibility that the very distinction between organic and inorganic may be blurred', a possibility that would mean that 'the category of the human is thus under greater threat than ever in the light of scientific theories of the material world'. Nineteenth-century Britons were having their view of humanity turned on its head, and it seemed the possibilities that these theories presented were both endless and incredibly dangerous. Wilde took note of the fears of his audience and created a character for whom immortality was, itself, a disease, slowly infecting the young protagonist and leading him into a life of immorality and crime. The novel’s haunting conclusion, summarised by Bynum’s sombre proclamation that ‘disease may be preventable; death is not’, warns of the dangers of attempting to avoid the inevitable course of nature. 

Wilde was himself keenly aware of the most recent scientific discoveries of his day. Heather Seagroatt asserts that researchers have found that 'Wilde was not only conversant with scientific theory, he was keenly interested in many of Victorian Science’s most pressing questions'. Wilde’s comprehension of nineteenth-century medical science is exemplified most not in his characterisation of The Picture of Dorian Gray’s main protagonist but in his descriptions of the antagonist Lord Henry Wotton. Although Dorian is no doubt an immoral and flawed character, he is not the novel’s primary villain- this role belongs to Lord Henry, whose views on modern science and beauty corrupt Dorian. Lord Henry displays an interest in science that culminates in the psychological study of every person with whom he comes in contact. His fascination with studying people displays both the character’s obsession with and Wilde’s understanding of the medical science of the day, with Lord Henry describing his own observations in medical terms, such as when he says that 'he had begun by vivisecting himself, as he had ended by vivisecting others. Human life- that appeared to him the one thing worth investigating'. 

Lord Henry displays the same disregard for the people around him- or, as he considers them to be, his subjects- that nineteenth-century Britons feared among medical experimenters. His callousness and complete lack of care for whether he hurts those around him in his pursuit of scientific understanding are representative of the attitudes of those practising unethical medical experiments. Furthermore, the use of the word 'vivisection' in Lord Henry’s description of his scientific observations is intentional, meant to remind the audience of the controversy involved in the practice of animal vivisection that was discussed previously in this paper. Lord Henry dissects his subjects psychologically and leaves them open, vulnerable, and in pain, and it is in exactly this way that he is able to infect Dorian with the narcissism and vice to which he becomes attached in the novel. 

Dorian quickly becomes one of Lord Henry’s most intriguing subjects, and Lord Hnery begins to experiment by planting ideas of vanity and selfishness into Dorian’s head in an attempt to 'dominate' the boy and 'make that wonderful spirit his own'. He is the first to tell Dorian that 'the only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it. Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself', a sentiment that undoubtedly influences Dorian’s dishonourable behaviour later in the novel, and which ultimately harms the boy’s soul more than the denial of immoral desires would have. Lord Henry’s disregard for Dorian’s wellbeing is further exemplified in his viewing of Dorian as little more than a test subject, as represented by his scientifically-minded thought that 'the experimental method was the only method by which one could arrive at any scientific analysis of the passions; and certainly Dorian Gray was a subject made to his hand'. By treating Dorian as a test subject in his own experiment on turning a naive young man into a cynical dandy much like himself, Lord Henry condemns Dorian to a fate of narcissism and vice from which he will never be able to escape. In this way, Lord Henry acts as a sort of Victor Frankenstein, turning Dorian into a monster due to his thoughtless experimentation on the young man’s psyche. 

Conversely, Basil Hallward’s obsession with Dorian’s beauty presents a different representation of nineteenth-century scientific obsession with a particular subject. Basil’s intentions with Dorian are much more wholesome, and his interactions with the young man portray the nineteenth-century ideals of decadence and the scientific fascination at the time with beauty. Christine Ferguson explains further the connection between science and decadence, describing how,'while the experimental clinician cures disease, the decadent artist simply studies it with a cultured amorality, hoping that it might reveal a glimpse of beauty in the path of its destruction'. While Dorian’s beauty is certainly revealed in the path of his destruction, Wilde rejects these decadent ideals at the conclusion of the novel, choosing to represent Dorian’s immortality not as a destructive beauty, but as a disease that can only be hidden for a short time. Although Dorian’s avoidance of the ageing process appears to be a gift, it is in fact an affliction. The immorality spreads through his being much like disease spreads through the cells of a body, and his disease of narcissism and self-obsession are what lead to his destruction. He kills the artist who afflicted him and destroys the painting, effectively destroying himself. 

Although Dorian Gray has undoubtedly become a monster of sorts by the end of the novel, Wilde presents a very different vision of the Gothic monster than Shelley or Stevenson in that he does not rely on physical traits to express the immoral nature of his monster. Dorian does not display the traits of physical deformity expected of a Gothic villain- he is young and beautiful, and his true hideous nature is hidden in his portrait. By the late nineteenth century, readers would have been familiar with the concepts of physiognomy and phrenology- or at least, as Bridget M Marshall explains, with the 'portraits and caricatures that embodied these beliefs'. One such ‘portrait’ acts in place of Dorian’s physical deformities, providing a physical manifestation of Dorian’s depravity that only he can see. The portrait becomes to Dorian 'the most magical of mirrors. As it had revealed to him his own body, so it would reveal to him his own soul'. The hidden nature of Dorian’s deformities makes him an even more terrifying creature, as he would be impossible to identify using nineteenth-century sciences such as physiognomy. Despite his increasingly notorious reputation, 'there was something in the purity of his face' that allowed him to avoid the scrutiny of others and dodge judgement for his actions. The characters of the novel simply 'could not believe anything to his dishonour when they saw him,' making the true nature of his character even more dangerous and horrifying for readers who were generally used to morally corrupt characters who were not difficult to identify upon a physical description. Even Lord Henry contends that 'it is only shallow people who do not judge by appearances', establishing that Dorian’s appearance is perhaps the most important instrument in the task of concealing his true nature. The escalation of Dorian’s character from a naive young boy to a murderous man is a tangible reminder of the negative effects of immoral medical sciences when placed into the wrong hands. Dorian’s downfall is both tragic and terrifying, especially given the message that he could represent any well-meaning person who desires to cheat nature. 

While the primal nature of a villain such as Edward Hyde is easy for an audience to visualise, Dorian’s connection to the theories of evolution regarding criminals can be viewed only through his direct actions, and Dorian’s similarities to Hyde are perhaps most evident in his murder of Basil Hallward. Dorian first experiences a primal rage, and Wilde describes how 'the mad passions of a hunted animal stirred within him' just before he stabs Basil to death. Dorian is overcome with rage at the man he feels has doomed him to his wicked life, and much like a doctor might attempt to kill the source of an illness, Dorian kills his own source. When the death of Basil does not free him from his affliction, Dorian repurposes the knife with which he means to solve his illness: 'as it had killed the painter, so it would kill the painter’s work'. When Dorian destroys his portrait, killing himself in the process, he repairs his place in nature. When the servants hear Dorian’s screams, 'they found hanging upon the wall a splendid portrait of their master […] in all the wonder of his exquisite youth and beauty. Lying on the floor was a dead man in evening dress, with a knife in his heart'. Dorian’s true self is so incredibly hideous and decrepit that the servants are unable to recognise this man as Dorian until seeing his rings. By destroying the portrait that acted as a physical manifestation of his immorality, Dorian is able to 'kill this monstrous soul-life', which, being the representation of his own soul, means that he also destroys his physical body and restores the painting to its original form. This sombre conclusion to the novel serves to reverse the effects of the supernatural and immoral science and forces Dorian to succumb to the disease of his own wicked actions. 

As the latest in the chronology of the novels covered in this essay, Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray is able to utilise the largest quantity of medical science to create a compelling and terrifying story. By combining sciences from all parts of the nineteenth century, from the more established Atomic Theory to the newly blossoming field of Psychology, Wilde is able to integrate themes of supernatural horror in a way that almost seems scientifically possible. With a protagonist who acts as a scientific experiment in the effects of immortality on morality, the book itself seems less fiction and more scientific report, or a 'scientific analysis of the passions'. As Heather Seagroatt describes, Wilde uses his novel to challenge 'hard and fast distinctions between sciences and the arts', allowing the audience to follow along with the literary telling of scientific possibilities, and thus to form their own opinions about the implications of contemporary science on their own lives. After all, once the supernatural is removed from these nineteenth-century Gothic novels, all that is left to reckon with is science and fear.  

Conclusion

Literary Legacies and Modern Implications

By the conclusion of the nineteenth century, the overwhelming popularity of the Gothic novel had somewhat given way to the rise of new literary genres such as Modernism. Although there was certainly overlap between the themes of the two genres, the use of medical science to invoke horror and apprehension was dwindling. It is also noteworthy that by 1900,  ‘scientists had established themselves, with varying degrees of success, as a kind of separate estate within medicine’. In a world that was now growing accustomed to scientific and medical experimentation, the public’s fear around these subjects was no longer as poignant as it had been in the decades prior. According to Christopher Lawrence, 'the medical institutions created and the ideas and assumptions established before 1914 largely remained intact […] and were built on rather than being jettisoned or radically modified'. Bynum expands on this further in his book about science and medicine in the nineteenth century, explaining that 'the assimilation of scientific concepts and use of scientific-sounding names […] were in themselves eloquent testimony to the fact that, with the public, the possibilities of science in medicine outweighed the problems'.

One likely reason for this period of scientific stability was the outbreak of the First World War in 1914. With the entirety of Europe caught in the throws of a massive conflict, British physicians were being employed as military doctors and thus had less time to conduct experiments. Additionally, society’s interest in the horrifying possibilities suggested by the medical-based Gothic literature of the century prior was dwindling as the public dealt with the horrors of their lived experiences with the war raging across Europe. While the successful novels of the nineteenth century still largely retained their popularity and cultural relevance, new fears were appearing at the forefront of society’s minds. In order to produce novels that were both culturally significant and commercially successful, authors in the twentieth century shifted their gaze away from the medical and technological changes of the nineteenth century and instead focused on the burgeoning issues of their time. The century to follow would produce science-based literature focused on nuclear threats, space travel, and surveillance rather than on the medical practices that had already been well established by the time twentieth-century authors were writing. 

Much like the stories of medically-induced horrors of the nineteenth-century, twentieth-century horror, Gothic literature, and science fiction would not have been as impactful without the technological advancements of the time. In their essay about the history and development of Gothic literature, Norman Holland and Leona Sherman pose an important question about the literary form: 'How […] has a genre like the Gothic maintained its popularity for two centuries?' Literature’s ability to develop alongside the technological developments of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries has allowed the genres that were popular hundreds of years ago to retain popularity with a modern audience. Darko Suvin elaborates on this theme in his essay on the narrative logic of science fiction, explaining how literature is, in his view, 'the frozen notation of a producing of meanings […] which results from the writer’s work on given materials within a given socio-historical context'. He expands upon this statement, stating that 'outside of a context that supplies the conditions of making sense, no text can be even read'. Suvin is expressing the importance of understanding the context surrounding science fiction in attempting to better understand the content of the story itself. It is important to recognise just how pervasive discussions surrounding medical experimentation were in the nineteenth century. Just as their nineteenth-century predecessors used the most relevant science of their time to produce effective novels, later works of science fiction used relevant contemporary scientific discoveries in place of medical science to achieve the same effect as these nineteenth-century authors without citing outdated scientific fears. 

The influence of the novels covered in this essay- in particular, Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein- on twentieth and twenty-first-century literature cannot be overstated.  Shelley’s creation of an entirely new genre was undoubtedly a significant literary moment, and her contributions to writing produced not only a new genre but also countless adaptations of her work that have now become embedded in popular culture. 

Patrick Brantlinger asserts that 'the mad scientist is one item that shows up often in modern science fiction; the monstrous invention that destroys life instead of enhancing it is another'. Science Fiction has steadily employed the mad-scientist character in its narratives since its conception, from the previously described Dr Jekyll to Dr Frank N Furter of the Frankenstein-inspired Rocky Horror Picture Show. Mary A Favret asserts that ‘'Frankensteins' continue to proliferate throughout our world: The novel’s offspring overrun the various media of popular culture to such an extent that these media […] self-consciously reproduce themselves as ever-new versions of this monster'. That being said, the rapid rise of nuclear science, space travel, and other scientific advancements of the twentieth century began to have a greater effect on literature than medical sciences. Just as the authors described above harnessed current fears and social change in their works, twentieth-century novelists such as George Orwell and Ray Bradbury fueled their works by utilising mid-century fears surrounding war, space invasions, and surveillance. While the novels of the twentieth century are unique to their time, they are undoubtedly influenced by their original science fiction predecessors.

Despite the genre’s general departure from the realm of medical sciences in the twenty and twenty-first centuries, certain adaptations of and novels drawing inspiration from nineteenth-century Gothic works also evolved alongside contemporary medical science and advancements. The ever-popular Marvel superhero franchise includes a modern-day incarnation of Dr Jekyll in the character of Bruce Banner, who gains the ability to transform into the monster Hulk through his own scientific experimentation and mistakes. Since the introduction of this character in 1962, his story has been modified to keep up with changes in medical science. Although the Hulk is a decidedly less immoral character than his nineteenth-century counterpart, his primal strength and rage are no doubt a nod to Robert Louis Stevenson’s notorious creation. Similarly, Wilde’s Dorian Gray lives on in modern interpretations of the perpetually-young protagonist. An episode of the popular science fiction television show Star Trek: Next Generation entitled Man of the People features a villain who projects his negative emotions onto his enemies, rapidly ageing and killing them while he remains unharmed. The adaptation of ideas and characters introduced by nineteenth-century authors in modern media is just one of the many ways in which Gothic literature has been kept relevant in the centuries since the composition of these works. 

The creations of Shelley, Stevenson, and Wilde do not, however, only live on in fiction. Just as the authors of the nineteenth century may have feared, modern developments in science have seen many attempts to produce experiments eerily similar to the plots of these famous Gothic novels. For example, psychologists have often used the story of Jekyll and Hyde as a starting point in discussions about Dissociative Identity Disorder and Addictive Disorders. Additionally, scientists in North Carolina have attempted to create what have been called 'Dorian Gray rats' by injecting rats with mutations that slow their ageing- and also cause them to develop cancer and die younger. Dorian Gray’s wishes are also being replicated in the widely criticised theories surrounding the use of technology to maintain a person’s consciousness after they have died. In addition, the story of Frankenstein continues to be mentioned in arguments surrounding the developments of genetically modified foods and human cloning. It is clear to anybody familiar with popular culture in the twenty-first century that the influence of the above novels is still keenly felt in many aspects of society, and that the social impact of these novels developed directly alongside the medical practices that allowed for the production of these novels in the first place. 

Bibliography

Books

Primary

Bronte, Charlotte, Jane Eyre (London, England: Arcturus Publishing, 2016) <https://doi.org/10.1093/owc/9780198804970.003.0001>

Darwin, Charles, On the Origin of Species: A Facsimile of the First Edition (London, England: Harvard University Press, 1975)

Shaw, George Bernard, 'The Doctor’s Dilemma,' Gutenberg.org <https://www.gutenberg.org/files/5070/5070-h/5070-h.htm> [accessed 18 March 2023] 

Shelley, Mary, Frankenstein: Or The Modern Prometheus, ed. by M. K. Joseph (London, England: Oxford University Press, 2008) <https://doi.org/10.1093/owc/9780199537167.003.0012> 

Stevenson, Robert Louis, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, ed. by Richard Dury (Edinburgh, Scotland: Edinburgh University Press, 2004)

Wilde, Oscar, Picture of Dorian Gray, ed. by Michael Patrick Gillespie, 3rd edn (New York, NY: WW Norton, 2007)

Secondary

Bynum, W. F., Science and the Practice of Medicine in the Nineteenth Century, ed. by George Basalla and Owen Hannaway (New York City, USA: Cambridge University Press, 1994)

Bynum, W. F., Anne Hardy, Stephen Jacyna, Christopher Lawrence, and E. M. Tansey, The Western Medical Tradition: 1800-2000 (New York City, USA: Cambridge University Press, 2006)

Bynum, W. F., and Others, The Popularization of Medicine 1650-1850, ed. by Roy Porter and W. F. Bynum (London, England: Routledge, 1992)

Bynum, W. F., Roy Porter, and Others, Medical Fringe and Medical Orthodoxy, 1650-1850 (London, England: Routledge, 1987)

Journal Articles

Arata, Stephen D., 'The Sedulous Ape: Atavism, Professionalism, and Stevenson’s ‘Jekyll and Hyde,’' Criticism, 37.2 (1995), 233–59 <http://www.jstor.org/stable/23116549> 

Bates, A. W. H., 'Vivisection, Virtue Ethics, and the Law in 19th-Century Britain,' Journal of Animal Ethics, 4.2 (2014), 30–44 <https://doi.org/10.5406/janimalethics.4.2.0030>

Brantlinger, Patrick, 'The Gothic Origins of Science Fiction,' NOVEL A Forum on Fiction, 14.1 (1980), 30 <https://doi.org/10.2307/1345322>

Brooks, Peter, 'Godlike Science/Unhallowed Arts: Language and Monstrosity in Frankenstein,' New Literary History, 9.3 (1978), 591 <https://doi.org/10.2307/468457> 

Davis, Michael, 'Mind and Matter in ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray,’' Victorian Literature and Culture, 41.3 (2013), 547–60 <http://www.jstor.org/stable/24575691> 

Favret, Mary A., 'A Woman Writes the Fiction of Science: The Body in Frankenstein,' Gender, 14, 1992, 50–65 <https://www.utexaspressjournals.org/doi/epdf/10.5555/gen.1992.14.50?role=tab> [accessed 1 March 2023]

Ferguson, Christine, 'Decadence as Scientific Fulfillment,' Publications of the Modern Language Association of America, 117.3 (2002), 465–78 <https://doi.org/10.1632/003081202x60413> 

Finger, S., and M. B. Law, 'Medicine in the Arts: Karl August Weinhold and His ‘Science’ in the Era of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein: Experiments on Electricity and the Restoration of Life,' Journal of the History of Medicine and Allied Sciences, 53.2 (1998), 161–80 <https://doi.org/10.1093/jhmas/53.2.161> 

Guerrini, Anita, and Domenico Bertoloni Meli, 'Introduction: Experimenting with Animals in the Early Modern Era,' Journal of the History of Biology, 46.2 (2013), 167–70 <https://doi.org/10.1007/s10739-012-9337-5> 

Hammond, Kim, 'Monsters of Modernity: Frankenstein and Modern Environmentalism,' Cultural Geographies, 11.2 (2004), 181–98 <https://doi.org/10.1191/14744744004eu301oa> 

Harder, Ben, 'The Cancer of Dorian Gray,' Science News, 170.19 (2006), 296 <https://doi.org/10.2307/4017592> 

Hindle, Maurice, 'Vital Matters: Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein and Romantic Science,' Critical Survey, 2.1 (1990), 29–35 <http://www.jstor.org/stable/41555493> 

Holland, Norman N., and Leona F. Sherman, 'Gothic Possibilities,' New Literary History, 8.2 (1977), 279 <https://doi.org/10.2307/468522> 

Lehman, Steven, 'The Motherless Child in Science Fiction: ‘Frankenstein’ and ‘Moreau’ (L’Orphelin de Mère Dans La Science Fiction: ‘Frankenstein’ et ‘Moreau’),' Science Fiction Studies, 19.1 (1992), 49–58 <http://www.jstor.org/stable/4240120> 

Macduffie, Allen, 'Irreversible Transformations: Robert Louis Stevenson’s Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde and Scottish Energy Science,' Representations, 96 (2006), 20 <https://www.proquest.com/docview/2152693578/4AA5A901F5294EECPQ/2?accountid=14533> 

Marshall, Bridget M., 'The Face of Evil: Phrenology, Physiognomy, and the Gothic Villain,' Hungarian Journal of English and American Studies, 6.2 (2000), 161–72 <http://www.jstor.org/stable/41274102> 

Novak, Maximillian E., 'Gothic Fiction and the Grotesque,' NOVEL A Forum on Fiction, 13.1 (1979), 50 <https://doi.org/10.2307/1344951> 

Rauch, Alan, 'The Monstrous Body of Knowledge in Mary Shelley’s ‘Frankenstein,’' Studies in Romanticism, 34.2 (1995), 227 <https://doi.org/10.2307/25601114> 

Rowan, Andrew N., 'Scientists and Animal Research: Dr. Jekyll or Mr. Hyde?,' Social Research, 62.3 (1995), 787–800 <http://www.jstor.org/stable/40971121>

Seagroatt, Heather, 'Hard Science, Soft Psychology, and Amorphous Art in The Picture of Dorian Gray,' SEL Studies in English Literature 1500-1900, 38.4 (1998), 741 <https://doi.org/10.2307/451096>

Stiles, Anne, 'Robert Louis Stevenson’s ‘Jekyll and Hyde’ and the Double Brain,' SEL Studies in English Literature 1500-1900, 46.4 (2006), 879–900 <http://www.jstor.org/stable/4127513> 

Suvin, Darko, 'Narrative Logic, Ideological Domination, and the Range of Science Fiction: A Hypothesis with a Historical Test (Logique Narrative, Dominate Idéologique et l’éventail de La S-F: Hypothèse et Épreuve Historique),' Science Fiction Studies, 9.1 (1982), 1–25 <http://www.jstor.org/stable/4239453> 

de Vries, Jan, 'The Industrial Revolution and the Industrious Revolution,' The Journal of Economic History, 54.2 (1994), 249–70 <https://doi.org/10.1017/s0022050700014467>

Wright, Daniel L., '‘The Prisonhouse of My Disposition’: A Study of the Psychology of Addiction in ‘Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde,’' Studies in the Novel, 26.3 (1994), 254–67 <http://www.jstor.org/stable/20831878> 

Online Sources

BBC News, 'The Immortalist: Uploading the Mind to a Computer,' BBC, 14 March 2016 <https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-35786771> [accessed 21 February 2023]

'Industrial Revolution,' Encyclopedia Britannica (Britannica) <https://www.britannica.com/event/Industrial-Revolution>  

Lehmann-Haupt, Hellmut E., 'Johannes Gutenberg,' Encyclopedia Britannica, 2023

'Man of the People,' Star Trek <https://intl.startrek.com/database_article/man-of-the-people> [accessed 21 March 2023] 

Sanderson, Peter, Andy Mangels, and Michael A. Martin, 'Incredible Hulk,' Encyclopedia Britannica, 2022

'State of Science Index 2022,' Multimedia.3m.com, 2022 <https://multimedia.3m.com/mws/media/2183175O/3m-state-of-science-index-sosi-2022-global-report.pdf> [accessed 18 March 2023]

Weese, Autumn Danielle, 'Monstrous Mobility in Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and Dracula' (University of Arkansas, 2019) <https://www.proquest.com/docview/2212191743/4AA5A901F5294EECPQ/9>