Población de Estudio

In the years following Sybil's death, Dorian grows increasingly obsessed with the portrait in the schoolroom. At times he shuns it completely, while at others he is fascinated by its decay and revels in the difference between himself and the man on the oiled canvas.

Similarly, when we think we have entered a new state of goodness, we reflect back on the ugliness we have disavowed and sneer at our former badness, which we think we have locked safely away in the shadowy attic of our psyche.

The image of shadow is critical here. The vampire myth tells us, not only that vampires detest mirrors and cast no reflection in them, but that they cast no shadow as well.

Moreover, some myths state that a person whose shadow is stolen (by being nailed to a wall, for example) will become a vampire. The shadowlessness of the vampire has particular relevance to the Jungian use of the term shadow, which denotes the traits in ourselves that we do not acknowledge as ours. As we come into contact with the external world in early childhood, we learn that some of our innate potentials are good and others are bad in the terms of our early environment. Quickly we learn to consciously display the traits for which we are rewarded, and to hide (and eventually deny) the traits for which we are punished or ignored.

The way in which our potential traits fall into the two categories of display and denial depends largely on our socialization and temperament. For example, one man I know had learned to display proudly his discipline and reserve, and to hide his flexibility and expressiveness (which he had learned to call by names such as "weakness" and

"melodramatics"). With a different kind of socialization and temperament, however, this man might just as easily have learned to display his flexibility and expressiveness, and to hide his discipline and reserve (which he would have learned to call by names such as

"rigidity" and "coldness"). There are as many arrangements of traits in these two

categories as there are permutations of personal experience. Still, the basic Jungian view

is that every human psyche is composed of a persona-the traits which we have learned to consciously display-and a shadow-the traits we have learned to hide and deny.

This arrangement is fine so far as it goes, but it doesn't go the distance of a lifetime.

Eventually, the traits that are stuffed into the shadow want out, and out they will come in a variety of of forms, few of which are pleasant. It is not as if we make a calm, logical decision to put any trait-"expressiveness," for example- into the shadow. Our shadow lessons are learned early, unconsciously, and with primal emotion. The man who was trained to hide his emotions had thrust "expressiveness" quickly and fervently into his shadow, where he had learned to refer to it as melodramatics." Once a trait has been forced into the shadow, it lives like a child locked in a closet-it is likely to retain an immature or feral quality that is laced with feelings of fear and anger. We do all we can to suppress the shadow trait, but eventually it will erupt into our lives, wreaking mischief or havoc in the orderly house of our conscious persona. The man's rejected shadow trait of

"expressiveness" finally began to sabotage his persona of calm reserve with eruptions of inexplicable emotionality.

If we have been victimized by vampires in our childhood, as Dorian Gray was, our shadow closet probably contains the feelings associated with not having been loved enough at some crucial point. To become conscious of these painful feelings, which usually include desperate longing, innocent love, and bottomless despair, would require us to relive the horror of the earlier time. The pain of such an experience cannot be comprehended; it felt like death before, and revisiting the experience will feel like psychic annihilation. What's more, our shadow feelings often retain the primitive quality of their original form, which makes them capable of erasing any sense of control that we might have developed since their incarceration in the shadow closet. Therefore, most of us refuse to acknowledge any feeling that lives in our shadow unless it breaks free of our control and erupts into our external lives. When it does, we usually see the erupting shadow as awful evidence of our "real" selves. This is unfortunate, since the shadow traits we detest are no more real than the persona traits we love. Nonetheless, we fear their

"reality," and in order to defend against our perceived terribleness, we blame others for our shadow eruptions by projecting the traits onto them. For example, my calmly disciplined acquaintance would become enraged any time his wife or a co-worker displayed strong emotions. Once the shadow is projected onto someone else, we can feel free to hate its unlucky host, rather than hating ourselves.

When the vampire lore tells us that vampires cast no shadow, and that the loss of shadow can actually lead to vampirism, it suggests that whenever the vampire is activated in our psyches, we will be especially determined to render our shadows invisible to ourselves and others. This makes sense, for how can we fulfill the vampiric destiny of immortal perfection if we have to contend with own rejected shadow parts? Better to conceal or project our shadow instead, and base all of our self-image on the lovely mirror of

goodness we have purchased with our denial. When our goodness mirror shows a tinge of darkness, we try to ignore it. And when the tinge becomes an unignorable blot, well then, it is time to look for a new mirror and banish the old one to the heap of decaying images in the attic. We don't care what happens to putrid old mirrors. We just want their darkness to leave us alone with our latest illusion of our unsullied goodness.

Not surprisingly, the badness rarely departs like an obedient child. Usually, it loiters in the corners of our psyches like an annoying tormentor whose sole purpose is to irritate and offend. Tormentors of this type reside in Dorian Gray's psyche, and he attempts to banish them with a variety of hedonistic drugs. Other tormentors arrive in his outer world, however, and these not so easily banished. The first of these is Basil Hallward, who inadvertently reminds Dorian that he remembers his painting which Dorian knows is the hard evidence of his badness. This irritating enough to Dorian, but Basil goes on to suggest that Dorian's behavior resembles the corrupt image that only Dorian knows is hidden in the old schoolroom. Dorian's reaction to Basil’s insight is not unlike Oedipus's reaction to Teiresias's truthseeing; he takes out his rage on the messenger. Oedipus was afraid to harm Apollo's messenger, but Dorian is not similarly constrained. He shows Basil the secret of the portrait and then, with an eerie calm, murders the painter. Like the psychic vampires we know, he slashes in cold fury at anyone who holds up a mirror to reveal his shadow.

Dorian Gray's method of killing Basil-by stabbing him in the throat and leaving the blood to drip and pool on the carpet could hardly be more vampiric. And just as any vampire drinks the victim's life force, so Dorian drinks up the satisfaction of believing that he has destroyed yet another source of darkness in his life, even though the darkness that Basil described was only a reflection of what Dorian carried within. Later, with the chemist's extorted assistance, Dorian banishes the evidence of his badness it is revealed by Basil's body, just as he has banished its revelation his own body. And yet, as Dorian becomes increasingly aware, that evidence is not truly banished. The portrait is hidden the locked schoolroom, but echoes of its accusation are proliferating in Dorian's daily life. Here, too, Dorian's quandary is identical to that of the mythic vampire. In legend, the vampire is a creature with a wide variety of irritants and enemies, many of which, like mirrors and shadows, are common parts of daily life. And because the external world frequently confronts us with mirroring information about our imperfections and disturbing evidence of our shadowy parts, psychic vampires must maintain a vigilance bordering on obsession in order to banish from their presence the ordinary objects they abhor.

Psychically, this vigilance is manifested in an attempt to be perfect-to be as attractive, accomplished, admired, or adored as is superhumanly possible. It should be noted that the need to be perfect has other origins besides the vampiric. Perfection has historically been associated with completion (from the Greek tradition) and with divinity (from the Judeo-Christian tradition). Thus, our quest for perfection can reflect our yearning to be

psychically complete and connected to the divine. Because we are rarely conscious of these spiritual motives in our concrete world, however, we tend to seek perfection in concrete ways. We try to achieve the perfect weight, find the perfect job, and be perfectly well behaved. Of course, it is sometimes helpful for us to engage in concrete activities that symbolize our less tangible psychic pursuits. But we can get into trouble when we try to substitute concrete accomplishments for the spiritual kind. Our quest for perfection is spiritual in essence, and concrete achievements alone are not capable of providing what we seek. It would be like trying to satisfy emotional hunger with literal cookies, or trying to obtain spiritual wealth by accumulating a large bank account.

I once knew a woman whose quest for perfection lacked any psychic foundation, and as a result, it assumed a cold rigidity. In other words, the flexibility and compassion that

distinguish a spiritual pursuit of psychic completion and divinity were absent from her literal pursuit of concrete perfection. Instead, the woman become fiercely, even

mercilessly, invested in her literal accomplishments.

With wafer-thin modesty she proclaimed her noble efforts at struggling toward whatever kind of perfection she was currently pursuing-profit, thinness, parenting, tenure-and she tallied her victories with lines through a "to do" list. Her psychic vampire was activated, which meant that efficient accomplishment was godly to her as she exchanged the potency of love for illusory power of control. Eventually, this woman was forced adopt the inevitable stepchildren of a psyche bent on control obsession and compulsion.

Although obsession and compulsion can be useful in moderation, and although they are not always indicative of an active vampire archetype, these traits have been mythically associated with the vampire.

This perfection-seeking woman soon found out that obsession and compulsion are fickle companions. Initially, these traits helped her navigate through daily life with remarkable efficiency and competence. But somewhere along the way, her trusted servants turned on her. Over time, it seemed that she, who was formerly the master of her obsessions and compulsions, became their slave, and she found find herself laboring endlessly to meet their demands. Never rich enough, nor thin enough, nor loved nor safe nor accomplished enough. She felt she was never, never enough. Just one more deal, just one more pound, just one more conquest, just one more finished list. Then she would be the best. Then she would truly be loved. Then she would finally be perfect. The sad truth for this woman, as for us all, is that when the vampire drives us, there is no satisfaction in whatever we compulsively seek, no refuge from what we obsessively fear. There is only the momentary illusion of control and the inevitable return of the terrified hunger. In Vampires, Burial, and Death (I988) Paul Barber observes:

If one excepts his craving for blood, [the vampire's] power-lust is his sole passion and is seldom explained or analyzed. To be a vampire, it seems, is to be power-mad, in the grip of a compulsion not unlike that of our folkloric revenants counting their poppy seeds. . . . His acts are explained as the result of compulsions: we are told that he

"must," not that he "likes to." He is singularly lacking in options. (83, 58) A less publicized but globally acknowledged trait of the vampire is its obsessive-compulsive nature. Barber's remark about poppy seeds refers to the lore, common to many cultures, that the most effective way to escape a vampire is to scatter poppy seed, mustard seed, or (in Asia) rice grains between oneself and the monster. The vampire will be compelled to stop and count all the grains, giving its intended victim sufficient time to flee the vampire or kill it.

As Dorian Gray becomes aware of all the seeds of evidence that his portrait seems to have sown, he desperately tries to eradicate each dark truth, one by one. At first, he tries to reverse the bits of darkness by making up for his sins with good deeds. This exercise provides an interesting corollary to the clean slate myth, since it proceeds from the belief that one's badness might be erased by acts of compensatory goodness. Without an

acknowledgment of our darkness and a commitment to its transformation, however, our good deeds accomplish only what Dorian achieved when he tried this trick-instead of indulging in blatant, obvious vampirism, he indulged in a new, pernicious kind that

reeked of hypocrisy. Behaviors that qualify as hypocritical vampirism include doing favors for someone whom we secretly have wronged, donating resources to groups whom we otherwise disdain, patronizing subordinates whom we secretly exploit, and mouthing beliefs that we secretly desecrate with our behavior.

If we try to convince ourselves that we have obliterated our darkness with an

extravaganza of self-conscious good deeds, we risk being confronted with the hypocrisy of our altruistic crusade. Like Dorian Gray, we must face the portrait of our dreaded shadow, and like Dorian, we may detest the task. But we ignore the detested mirror at our peril. If we refuse to look, then it will seem to us that the psychic vampire is active only in others (as Dorian felt when he looked at Basil and the hideous portrait). And again like Dorian Gray, if we sharpen our self-righteous stakes for the purpose of killing only the vampires in others, then we risk sharpening our own fangs with the same strokes. As Leonard Wolf observes about Dracula, "Stoker's achievement is this: he makes us understand in our own experience why the vampire is said to be invisible in the mirror.

He is there, but we fail to recognize him since our own faces get in the way" (I975, xviii).

We must hold up the mirror to ourselves, not only to protect other people, but for our own protection as well. When our inner vampire speaks, it sounds like our own voice, so we believe everything it says and quickly become its cowering slaves. What's more, the vampires in other people will often enlist the aid of our inner vampires. For example, think back to the vampiric mother who manipulated her daughter by inducing guilt.

Whenever the mother would invoke the terrible things that would happen if the daughter didn't comply with her wishes, the tactic would awaken the daughter's inner vampire, which constantly whipped her into a quest for concrete perfection anyway. When the mother's vampire spoke, the daughter's vampire (which she heard as her own inner voice of truth) joined in for the chorus and drove her on mercilessly, long after the mother had stopped speaking. Because the daughter was much less conscious of her own vampire than she was of her mother's, she was continually trapped in its jaws, which made it, therefore, the more dangerous of the two demons.

The vampire lore tells us that holding up a mirror to a literal vampire is a dangerous task.

Similarly, holding up a mirror to someone (including oneself) in whom the vampire archetype is activated is not to be attempted lightly, because the human capacity for soulful compassion is not accessible when a vampire archetype is activated. As Wolf observes, "the folklore of mirrors holds that the images people see of themselves in the glass are relations of the human soul. Dracula, who is merely a corpse in motion is not, in a proper sense, animated, and therefore makes no reflection" (1975, 27). If activating the vampire archetype leaves the psyche compassionless, then it is risky to reflect someone's truth to him while he is acting in a vampiric way. For example, as any abuse survivor knows, reflecting to the abuser the implications of his behavior in the middle of an abusive episode is only likely to escalate the nightmare. Sometimes it is even dangerous to reflect back a person's vampiric behavior when they are not in the clutches of that archetype. If acknowledging the abuse is too painful, the vampire may be reawakened to obliterate the pain of remorse. In any case, the act of reflecting on our own vampiric behavior places us at a terrible crossroads where we must choose among the paths of denial, growth, or despair.^*

* Vampires in legend are reputed to loiter at crossroads-a sign that we are susceptible to vampiric invasion

When Dorian arrives at this place of confrontation, he sinks into a profound despair. I have often wondered what would have happened if Dorian had chosen a different path in this crucial moment, one in which he dragged out the rotting canvas for all to see. Of course, doing such a thing would have required superhuman courage, but the feat is not impossible, for it is exactly what people in therapy do on a regular basis. With many fewer resources than Dorian Gray, many brave souls drag their portraits out of the attic and into the light of the therapy room, where they shudder with fear at what they will see.

I can't speak for everyone, but I believe that my clients never see anything as horrible as what they have feared. And in my eyes, what they have dragged out of the attic is often not horrible at all. Usually, their portraits simply depict some normal human traits that have been bent and discolored by pain but that can be reclaimed for their essential beauty and value.

The process of reclaiming one's dark portrait it not simple or quick, but it is possible for most of us to accomplish with less anguish than our fears would have us believe. If Dorian had brought his ugly old portrait downstairs and had shown it to someone who

The process of reclaiming one's dark portrait it not simple or quick, but it is possible for most of us to accomplish with less anguish than our fears would have us believe. If Dorian had brought his ugly old portrait downstairs and had shown it to someone who