Julian Morrow: The Mirror We Wish to See Ourselves In
Julian's role in The Secret History as a Manipulator and Idealized Mentor
Julian in The Secret History is such a fascinating character. Despite being central to the group, we really know little about him. He is, of course, no savior, he is a manipulator who thrived on the emotional dependence he fostered in others. I would even say he was the story’s manipulator and driving force of it, the key figure around whom the events revolve. But despite this, we only see him only in a few defining scenes that key us of his influence on the group.
I believe the reason for this sparse presence is what Richard reflects on at the end of the novel. I’ve mentioned in my other article, but I think Richard exhibits a level of self-awareness and introspection, at least near the end of the story. At the end he says:
“It has always been hard for me to talk about Julian without romanticizing him. In many ways, I loved him the most of all; I and it is with him that i am most tempted to embroider, to. flatter, to basically reinvent. I think that is because Julian himself was constantly in the process of reinventing the people and events around him, conferring kindness, or wisdom, or bravery, or charm, on actions which contained nothing of the sort.
It was one of the reasons I loved him: for that flattering light in which he saw me, for the person I was when I was with him, for what it was he allowed me to be”
Oh, what a gorgeous gorgeous passage! I had to reread it multiple times.
Richard is aware that he struggled with presenting Julian without romanticizing him because of how he made him feel about himself. This struggle reveals a deeper truth about us as humans: We are desperate for validation. We will cling to anyone who can reflect back to us a version of ourselves that is free from our insecurities, traumas, and fears. Anyone that can see us in such as wonderful light that we are forced to see ourselves in that way too.
“The looking-glass Self” theory by Charles Cooley:
“The ideas and feelings that people have about themselves , their self-concept or self-image , are developed in response to their perception and internalization of how others perceive and evaluate them” (Chandler and Munday, 2011).
Julian, as a manipulator (and a groomer) did not need to do much, he simply had to be a mirror that reflected back their best selves, or at least the selves they wanted to believe they could be. He allowed these vulnerable teenagers to view themselves in an idealized light: more confident, more intelligent, more capable than they might have ever believed. Allowing them to “leave the phenomenal world and enter into the sublime,” living in the world of gods and goddesses, walking in their footsteps. He gave them the illusion of freedom from judgment, a world where their most idealized selves could shine, while he exploited their fragile states.
The nostalgia and mixed emotions Richard feels for Julian are not about specific actions, but about the way Julian made him feel, about the elevated version of himself that he was able to inhabit while in Julian’s presence. Julian allowed Richard to imagine himself as a person of significance and intelligence, someone capable of greatness, and Richard internalizes this image of himself.
Unfortunately, I can imagine the pull, the allure of someone like Julian. I understand when Richard says:
“I still have an overwhelming wish to see him the way that I first saw him: as the wise old man who appeared to me out of nowhere on a desolate strip of road, with a bewitching offer to make all my dreams come true.”
Richard’s self-idealization is central to his attachment toward Julian. This kind of emotional attachment is difficult to let go of because it taps into our deepest desires to escape our vulnerabilities and to see ourselves as we want to be seen. It also taps into our deep needs for security and approval. The idea of letting go of that illusion is a painful one, because it’s not just about letting go of Julian, it’s about questioning everything he represented. To confront Julian’s true manipulative nature would mean questioning the confidence Richard had, the idealized version of himself that Julian allowed him to inhabit, and all the positive feelings he once held so tightly. Letting go of that fantasy is grieving a part of himself. His identity that Julian helped construct. And so, Richard attempts to avoid confronting these painful truths by limiting Julian’s presence in the narrative.