I walked out of Guillermo del Toro's new Frankenstein still carrying the creature with me, not as a cinematic figure but as a presence that had slipped into my own interior landscape. Del Toro's monster, like Shelley's, is born from the debris of human longing. He is a body animated by the very impulses society works so hard to deny. Watching him move between tenderness and violence stirred something familiar in me. It echoed the same psychic tremor I often feel when reading the earliest accounts of vampires: that sense of witnessing a figure shaped less by superstition than by the fears a culture cannot bear to name directly.
It is precisely this movement between fear, fantasy, and cultural expression that makes vampirism so fascinating through a psychoanalytic lens. The vampire is not a static myth but a shifting symbolic form. Its transformations across history echo the psychological and moral structures of the societies that produce it. Reading these shifts with Freud in mind illuminates how the vampire functions as an apparatus for negotiating repression, forbidden desire, and the destabilizing loss of paternal authority.
Vampirism Before Literature
Before the vampire became a literary figure, it appeared in ritual. Burials were modified to prevent corpses from returning. Heart staking, decapitation, burning of bodies, and the use of holy water were common practices. To modern readers these rituals may seem superstitious or extreme. From a psychoanalytic perspective, they resemble attempts to master the trauma of death by converting anxiety into action. Freud often described how the psyche externalizes conflicts it cannot resolve. Communities project dread onto an imagined persecutor and then organize themselves around eliminating it. Early vampirism participated in precisely this mechanism.
These rituals also reveal an attempt to preserve the moral order. In deeply religious societies, the vampire stood as a direct affront to divine authority. It represented a breakdown in the sacred hierarchy, a figure that blurred the boundary between life and death, purity and corruption. The killing of vampires was framed not only as a hygienic act but as a reassertion of divine law.
Freud's Theory of Illusion and the Cultural Work of Fantasy
To understand how vampirism intersects with psychoanalysis, it is important to recall what Freud meant by religious ideas. In The Future of an Illusion he describes religion as a system of beliefs sustained not by empirical proof but by the force of human wishes. These wishes include protection, immortality, and the desire for a coherent moral universe. Religion is an illusion not because it is false in a factual sense, but because it is structured through wish fulfillment.
This logic applies equally to vampirism. The vampire, like the deity, answers to emotional needs. It condenses fears of disease, guilt about unresolved conflicts with the dead, anxieties about social disorder, and the longing for forbidden experiences. Freud's work on the Oedipus Complex further illuminates this phenomenon. He viewed the father as a figure who symbolizes both prohibition and desire. The psychic tension between identification and rivalry becomes foundational for culture. In his Primal Horde Theory, the murder of the father creates guilt, which is then managed through totemic and religious structures.
It is not difficult to see how vampirism participates in this same symbolic economy. The early vampire resembles a violation of the paternal order, a return of the repressed that religious ritual must contain.
The Romantic Vampire and the Crisis of Authority
The nineteenth century marked a turning point. As European societies moved through the Enlightenment and Romantic eras, traditional religious authority began to lose cultural hegemony. It is during this historical transition that the vampire undergoes a dramatic transformation. No longer grotesque, the vampire becomes refined, erotic, aristocratic, intellectually complex. It becomes a figure of seduction rather than fear, a being who expresses forbidden impulses with aesthetic allure rather than monstrosity.
This reconfiguration is deeply psychoanalytic. As the paternal God figure loses dominance, society must renegotiate its relationship to authority, desire, and transgression. The vampire entered literature, and with that entrance came an extraordinary metamorphosis. No longer a grotesque peasant corpse, it became an aristocrat. Then a seducer. Then a solitary immortal whose suffering was as exquisite as his appetites. It became a symbolic substitute for the paternal structure that once organized moral life. Its immortality mirrors the divine, yet its desires are unrestrained. It contains both the aspiration for transcendence and the pull of instinct. This duality is precisely what makes it so compelling.
In many narratives, the vampire is lonely, alienated, or tormented by inner conflict. It is both victim and predator. This reflects the psychological ambivalence Freud identified in the Oedipal relation: the father as both rival and ideal, loved and feared. Through romanticization, the vampire becomes a container for impulses that cannot be comfortably integrated into conscious identity, including erotic desire, aggression, and fantasies of power.
The Vampire as a New Totemic Figure
When the paternal God no longer anchors the moral order, the psyche does not simply become free. Freud argued that guilt and desire remain, and they require a new structure to contain them. The modern vampire becomes one such structure. It is not revered in the way a deity is, yet it occupies a symbolic position where fantasy, anxiety, and identification converge. The vampire is superior to humans yet marked by suffering, powerful yet wounded, morally ambiguous yet emotionally compelling. It is the perfect figure to bear the contradictions of modern subjectivity.
The romantic vampire, with his quiet hunger and moral ambiguity, is an ideal container for the instincts Freud associated with the id. Traits once cast as monstrous, such as hunger or uncontrolled passion, become aestheticized. Violence becomes elegance, predation becomes intimacy, death becomes transcendence. These transformations do not erase the underlying impulses but sublimate them. They create a symbolic space where socially unacceptable desires can be imagined without direct consequence.
The Psychic Life of Cultural Change
Across its many forms, the vampire persists because it serves a psychological function. It adapts to whatever the culture finds most difficult to articulate. In the eighteenth century that difficulty involved disease, death, and divine judgment. In the nineteenth and twentieth centuries it shifted toward sexuality, individuality, alienation, and the weakening of religious authority. Today the vampire appears in narratives of identity, trauma, intimacy, and social marginality.
Freud once suggested that cultural productions reveal the unconscious life of society. Vampires, in this sense, are a diagnostic tool. They show us which prohibitions weigh heaviest and which desires are most powerfully repressed. They survive by transforming, and their transformations trace the contours of our collective psyche.