Dorian Gray

When I was in high school I read the book The Picture of Dorian Gray, and after reading the book, I watched the movie of it (1945 version, with Hurd Hatfield, Donna Reed and Angela Lansbury). I’ve always thought it was one of the most interesting and intriguing stories. A couple of years ago a new movie version was released, which piqued my interest; but I ended up only being able to watch maybe a total of 1/3 of the movie because it was just too vulgar and awful. Nonetheless, the story is still so interesting, and I really think it’s an incredibly deep piece of writing. It was the only novel that Oscar Wilde wrote, but it sure was an impacting one. To me, it shows in a clear way what sin does to our life. And though countless people try to ignore sin, in the end it is there and we will have to account for it. In the story, when you see the sheer ugliness of sin and know that Dorian will have to bear it in the end, it’s somewhat terrifying. It makes you think all the more of how impossible it is for us to pay for our sin on our own.

The story also shows how easy it is for a person to be influenced by others; how easy it is to give in to temptation; and how slippery that slope is once you do give in.

Dorian came to London a naïve young man. He had a conscience and had concern about his actions and his soul. A friend and painter, Basil Hallward, is struck by Dorian’s flawlessness and decides to paint his portrait. Through Basil, Dorian meets Lord Henry Wotton, who becomes the biggest and most destructive influence in Dorian’s life. Henry envies Dorian because he has “the only two things worth having:  youth, and beauty.” Henry also has his own ideas of what life ought to be, and shares those thoughts constantly with Dorian in every situation. It’s these little comments which take root and begin to infect Dorian so much.

“There’s no shame in pleasure, Mr. Gray. Man just wants to be happy. But society wants him to be good. And when he’s good, man is rarely  happy”.... .... “The truth, Mr. Gray, is that every impulse we strangle only poisons us; The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it”... ... “Forbid yourself nothing. Nobody at all need know.”

When Basil reveals his painting of Dorian, Dorian is enamoured by it. “Is that really what I look like?” Henry comments that he does, but he won’t always. The painting will always look like that, but Dorian won’t—he will age, lose his youth and beauty. On a whim they talk (almost without really meaning it) about making a trade: youth and beauty forever, for the price of their soul. Give the painting his soul so that it will age, but his body won’t. Dorian would never do that, would he? “Yes, I would,” he replies in earnest. And so begins the story.

When Dorian realizes that what they talked about has really happened—that the painting was taking on his flaws and sins, he feels liberated to do whatever he wants, with no conscience, no responsibility, and no hesitation. With the persuasion and encouragement of Lord Henry, Dorian realizes that lust and looks are where his life is headed and he needs nothing else. Power, greed, vanity, deceit, murder, lust, gluttony—Dorian lives it all.

However, in time, as he sees the painting getting more and more vulgar, he becomes all too aware of the affects of his actions even though his appearance shows no sign of it; the painting bears it all. He’s haunted by it all, and is desperate to escape his past.  “I want to be free; I want to be new... clean; I want to be good. Please. Please, you have to help me,” he begs a priest. “This is not my true face. If you could see my soul...” The priest interrupts him, saying that only God can see a man’s soul. “I have seen my soul,” Dorian insists. “It’s rotten. It stinks. It’s poison.”

He finally sees the truth, and is so haunted by it that he tries to destroy it. As he slashes the painting with a knife, the hideousness of the portrait becomes his own face again. The painting resumes its original form, as his deceased body becomes what was on the portrait.  

[Dorian and his portrait, at the beginning]

[Hurd Hatfield as Dorian, in the 1945 movie version

viewing his portrait as it changes over time]

As you can see, it’s quite a deep and perhaps even somewhat disturbing story. But it’s the underlying truths in it that are so blatant. Trying to live how we want to live; trying to get away with things, deceiving ourselves into thinking nobody will know (God does!); trying to make excuses; etc, etc. And as we see in the very end of the story, trying to change ourselves. Dorian says to Henry in the end, “I was trying so hard to be a better man.” But he just couldn’t. No matter what he did, no matter how good he was, he couldn’t get rid of the ugliness of the past on his own. 

The whole story is such an interesting allegory of the affect of sin. I don’t know if Oscar Wilde even realized the truth in what he was writing. Because of course we can’t just simply be good on our own and wipe out our past sins. But what Wilde didn’t know at the time he was writing this, was that even though we can’t do it on our own, it doesn’t mean it can’t be done at all.

At the end of Wilde’s life, it’s said that he repented and became a believer on his deathbed. I really hope that’s true. Wilde was so much like Dorian, and though in the story Dorian found no peace and no salvation, what a great ending it would be if Wilde truly did. 

Because of this book, when I think of the ugliness of sin, I can’t help but remember that even though we don’t see our sin physically, God sees our sin. And as Dorian stood before his portrait and saw the hideousness of his sins, so God sees our sin. He can’t abide sin; it can’t be where He is. If he looked at us and saw us as awfully tainted as that portrait, we’d have no hope whatsoever. I am so thankful, a million times over, that when those in Christ stand before God, he doesn’t see a hideous portrait of us—rather, he sees us as sinless, because Christ took those heinous sins from us, and gave us his spotless robe instead. Now that’s a beautiful ending!