“My food is not that of man; I do not destroy the lamb and the kid to glut my appetite; acorns and berries afford me sufficient nourishment.” Those who think vegetarianism and veganism are nothing more than modern trends might be surprised to discover that these words — which could well have been uttered today by someone who has decided to eliminate meat from their diet — are more than two-centuries-old. They come from none other than the mouth of Frankenstein’s monster, the creature created by novelist Mary Shelley back in 1818. And they reveal a lot about the context in which this story was conceived — and about the ideas of its author.

It’s curious that few people associate vegetarianism with Frankenstein. We all remember the creature’s terrifying features, especially those that have permeated popular culture thanks to numerous films and comics: the scarred face, the bolts in its neck, the clumsy movements. But the monster’s compassion for animals is rarely mentioned. Nor is it a fact usually mentioned when discussing Mary Shelley, who was a proponent of vegetarianism, as was her husband, the poet Percy Bysshe Shelley. In the latter’s case, it is more widely-known that he abstained from including animals in his diet. This is thanks to his famous essay, A Vindication of Natural Diet (1813), which advocated in favor of a meat-free palate.

The fact is that the monster’s aversion to eating animals is a significant part of his character. And while we barely see him eat in Guillermo del Toro’s recently-released Frankenstein (2025), in the novel, the monster expresses hunger and thirst on several occasions. And the author details what he puts in his stomach each time.

It’s true that the monster’s diet is determined by what he finds along the way — but despite having the opportunity to try meat, he ultimately opts for eating fruits, berries, acorns, bread and cheese.

On one of the first nights, he spends in the forest — after being abandoned by Victor Frankenstein, his creator — the creature stumbles upon a campfire left behind by a group of beggars. Beside it are some remains of roasted entrails. He puts them in his mouth, finding them much tastier than the fruits he gathers. But far from beginning to eat meat from that moment onward, what the monster learns from this experience is that, if fire improves the flavor of animals, it probably improves the flavor of vegetables as well. And he confirms this: he notices that berries spoil in the heat, but that nuts and roots, on the other hand, taste better. Shortly afterward — when he arrives at an old man’s cabin and the man runs away in terror — he eats the abandoned breakfast, which consists of bread, cheese, milk and wine (noting that he doesn’t like the latter at all).

The novel Frankenstein is subtitled The Modern Prometheus, alluding to the Greek myth. Prometheus stole fire from the gods, to give it to humanity. The stories of Victor Frankenstein and Prometheus are similar in that both defied the gods and nature itself: one created life from inert matter, while the other stole fire, becoming humanity’s benefactor. And both were severely punished for their actions.

Percy Bysshe Shelley referred to fire as the catalyst for the fall of humankind. Among other things, he said that, by stealing fire, Prometheus allowed it to be used by humanity for “culinary purposes” — making meat tastier and more digestible, while making the consumption of animal corpses more acceptable. “It is only by softening and disguising, dead flesh by culinary preparation, that it is rendered susceptible of mastication or digestion; and that the sight of its bloody juices and raw horror, does not excite intolerable loathing and disgust,” Shelley wrote in A Vindication of Natural Diet.

Frankenstein’s monster tastes meat, but ultimately rejects the “Promethean gift” and continues eating fruits and vegetables. For Percy Bysshe Shelley and his vegetarian contemporaries, abstaining from meat was a moral issue. While modern vegetarianism and veganism appeal to humanitarian sentiments and animal welfare as the primary reasons for adopting this philosophy of life, for the 19th-century vegetarian romantics, it had more to do with the connection between health, morality and food. According to Shelley, eating meat was “unnatural.” He asserted that this fateful act was a consequence of the Expulsion from Paradise.

Apparently, the biblical Paradise was a place that was free from meat consumption. Genesis mentions that God gave Adam and Eve “every herb yielding seed” and “every tree, which bears fruit yielding seed.” However, the text never says that they ate animals. The expulsion of Adam and Eve was the origin of all the degeneration and brutalization of humanity. And, for Shelley, it was precisely the act of following an “unnatural diet” — one that includes foods not consumed in the Garden of Eden — that forever condemned humanity. Eating meat changed our relationship with animals, opening the door to immorality. Therefore, Frankenstein’s monster’s refusal to eat animals places him — according to the vegetarian convictions of the time — on a higher moral plane. In a way, he identifies with animals, including them within his circle of moral consideration.

One of the most elaborate reflections on the monster’s vegetarianism is the one formulated by feminist writer and animal rights activist Carol J. Adams in her book, The Sexual Politics of Meat (1990). Adams dedicates a chapter to Frankenstein’s monster, in which she discusses the frustration he experiences from being rejected by humans. Innocent and devoid of all cruelty from the start, the creature encounters human evil as soon as he enters the world: people attack him with stones and weapons. Adams writes that the monster eventually understands that “regardless of its own inclusive moral standards, the human circle is drawn in such a way that both it and the other animals are excluded from it.”

The monster’s vegetarianism could be interpreted as evidence that it possesses a more inclusive moral code than human beings, although Adams argues that it’s also a symbol of what he “hoped for and needed — but failed to receive — from human society.” Thus, the monster becomes a moral mirror of the human being who created him and, by extension, of the rest of humanity, who react to him with aversion and violence.

Being a vegetarian in the 19th century

Besides the moral benefits of this lifestyle, Romantic-era vegetarians argued that not eating animals was good for your health and helped ward off disease. They claimed that what was needed to feed a single ox could feed many people, and that the more local the produce on our table, the better. “The pleasures of taste to be derived from a dinner of potatoes, beans, peas, turnips, lettuce, with a dessert of apples, gooseberries, strawberries, currants, raspberries and, in winter, oranges, apples and pears, is far greater than is supposed.” There, in the heart of the 19th century, was Percy Bysshe Shelley advocating for locally-sourced, seasonal menus.

In A Vindication of Natural Diet, the poet also scorns alcohol — perhaps explaining why Mary Shelley made her monster dislike wine — and advocates for a greater consumption of water. Sobriety, in Romantic-era vegetarianism, was revolutionary.

It’s worth remembering that Mary Shelley’s interest in vegetarianism wasn’t solely influenced by her husband. Her father — the writer and thinker William Godwin — knew many illustrious vegetarians, such as John Frank Newton and Joseph Ritson, who would leave their mark on the author. In the 19th century, advocating in favor of a meat-free diet was closely linked to the desire for greater harmony with nature, while also being linked to resistance against growing bourgeois consumerism. Meat consumption had become a symbol of luxury, extravagance and class inequality. Hence, supporting vegetarianism was a way of promoting greater social justice.

In Guillermo del Toro’s new film, there’s one scene where the monster is encouraged to eat berries from a bush, after seeing a deer doing the same thing. In a gesture that highlights the creature’s inherent kindness, he holds out his hand, offering the animal some berries. Shortly afterward, we see him tenderly contemplating a piece of bread.

The scarcity of food — coupled with the supernatural characteristics that Del Toro attributes to the monster — makes it easy to forget that he needs to eat. This subtle human trait — like his fascination with leaves floating on water — is barely hinted at.

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