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Don Quichotte ne desire pas spontanement; il imite Amadis de Gaule, le mediateur de ses desirs. Dans le monde moderne, le mediateur n'est plus legendaire mais reel; le disciple desire le meme objet que son modele, il se voit donc perpetuellement contrecarre par celui-ci et, loin de le venerer comme Don Quichotte venerait Amadis, il denonce en lui un rival injuste ou meme un persecuteur diabolique. L'homme moderne prise l'autonomie mais c'est toujours aupres d'un mediateur qu'il cherche a se la procurer, par une contradiction dont il n'a presque jamais conscience.La litterature romantique repudie toute imitation et fait un dogme de l'originalite; le mediateur reste dissimule. La presence de ce mediateur, par contre, est inlassablement denoncee dans les chefs-d'oeuvre romanesques. C'est de la mediation que relevent ce que Stendhal appelle vanite et ce que Jules de Gaultier, chez Flaubert, appelle bovarysme. C'est la mediation qui regit le mecanisme de la haine chez Dostoievski, de la jalousie et du snobisme chez Proust, c'est elle, enfin, qui permet d'interpreter le masochisme et le sadisme. Les consequences de la mediation s'aggravent a mesure que le mediateur se rapproche du sujet desirant et ce rapprochement engendre une dialectique qui eclaire aussi bien les analogies et les differences entre les grandes oeuvres romanesques que l'evolution historique vers les formes totalitaires de la sensibilite individuelle et collective.La reflexion de l'auteur s'elargit donc en une meditation sur les problemes de notre temps. C'est dans l'univers de la mediation que triomphent l'angoisse, la concurrence frenetique et les valeurs de prestige. Percevoir l'universelle mediation, c'est depasser les psychanalyses et l'idee marxiste d'alienation vers la vision dostoievskienne qui situe la veritable liberte dans l'alternative entre mediateur divin et mediateur humain. C'est lire l'echec de la revolte prometheenne non seulement dans les oeuvres litteraires mais dans un monde qui se laisse definir non pas par le " materialisme " ou par " l'eloignement des dieux " mais par un sacre corrompu et " souterrain " qui empoisonne les sources de la vie.Telle est la verite a laquelle le romancier lui-meme ne parvient qu'a travers l'enfer de la mediation. Il lui faut unir l'introspection et l'observation pour creer un Don Quichotte, un Raskolnikov ou un Charlus; il lui faut donc reconnaitre un prochain et un semblable dans le mediateur fascinant; c'est dire qu'il lui faut mourir a l'orgueil romantique. L'ecrivain meurt dans son oeuvre pour renaitre romancier de meme que le heros voit se dissiper ses illusions au moment de la mort. Marcel Proust, dans Le Temps retrouve, degage une signification ethique et esthetique commune a toutes les grandes conclusions romanesques.… (plus d'informations)
The basic theory of mimesis, or "imitative desire" laid out in the first 10 pages of this book is one of the most powerful and thought-provoking literary theories I've ever read. In the best tradition of revelatory theories, Girard's thesis that the lion's share of our desires, be they physical objects, sexual partners, glamour-related, or status-based, come from observing and copying the desires of others is intuitively sensible, convincingly argued, and infinitely applicable. Sometimes it takes a particular phrasing to make something click in your mind, and while the idea behind "keeping up with the Jones" is as old as the hills, the way that Girard connects the source of envy, jealousy, and hatred to both the appeal of classic literature and the petty emotions of everyday life is so elegant you'll wonder why you never thought of it in that way before. The rest of the book is a long exegesis of examples from great novels you probably haven't read, but the core insight is so valuable that it's worth powering through the rest of the book.
Given that most novels are explicitly about human desires, you would reasonably assume that novels are a good way to learn about those desires. Unfortunately, just as our own motives are typically opaque to our own reasoning, even novels that compel us are often just as mysterious. Why do we identify so strongly when "character X struggles struggles to choose between two lovers" in particular novels yet pass right by other books with seemingly similar themes? One reason is that talented writers have consciously or unconsciously discovered that imitative desire is an extremely effective way to draw readers in - we like to read about people struggling with the subterranean logic of desire because we ourselves are slaves to our passions, and hence find in those characters our own dilemmas, only much more attractively presented. Our lives are ceaseless pursuits of borrowed dreams, whose hard-fought realizations are often immediately discovered to be disappointments, and so it's on to the next new thing. Lather, rinse, repeat. "Mimesis" has been a known concept in Western thought at least since Aristotle; Girard grounds his own definition of the term in the way that people copy others, and in copying come to see the other as a rival. His analysis seems similar to Erich Auerbach's work on mimesis, except that Girard sees mimesis as much more than a purely literary device.
Attempting to build psychological theories out of literary plots, rather than the reverse process of showing how great novels adhere to established psychological models, is dangerous. Great novels typically contain many disparate elements rather than a simple unified outline, and so it's all too easy to see what you want to see, in the manner of some demented Zizek acolyte. Girard's work is similar to other "literary analysis as quasi-science" books I've read, like The Origin of Consciousness In the Breakdown of the Bicameral Mind, in how carefully phrased yet sweepingly grand its claims are. The book is about the operation of imitative rivalry and desire in the behavior of the characters in novels by Cervantes, Dostoevsky, Flaubert, Proust, and Stendahl. On the one hand this is awesome - if you happen to be writing academic papers on any of those authors, you will find a wealth of insight, with plenty of examples about how Stendahlian vanity differs from Cervantean desire, or Proustian snobbism, or Dostoevskian hatred, or Flaubertian bovarysm, etc. Girard is an enthusiastic reader who has really done his homework, and he supplies plenty of quotations to back up his assertions about Sancho Panza and so on so that you can follow along at home.
On the other hand, this kind of close reading can be less helpful for those who, like me, haven't waded through all of Proust and have to take his word that that's what Proust meant. What's nice on that score is that the writing style is remarkably clear, so kudos to translator Yvonne Freccero for avoiding any Gilles-Deleuze gibberish. I personally have an instinctive suspicion of anything with the subtitle of "Self and Other in Literary Structure", since that kind of abstract theorizing can quickly become impossible to follow, but any confusion with Girard's ideas is likely due to not having read a lot of these novels, rather than the ideas themselves being unclear. He's even clear in his wrongness: human nature being what it is, I don't think any single theory can explain everything, and so while Girard's arguments are often tremendously plausible (surely it's an inarguable fact that the ultimate source of many of our desires are our peers), it's easy to find counter-examples that have the same surface appeal.
For example, in chapter 1, Girard discusses how Don Quixote, generally considered the first modern novel, typifies the modern idea of imitative desire. "Triangular desire" (usually less salacious than its name would suggest) involves jealousy: two rivals competing for the affection of a third, or the creation of a rivalrous desire for a third object by one in the mind of the other. So far so good. But while the complex emotions of envy, frustration, and triumph that successful competition for someone else's love evokes are familiar to nearly everyone, I suspect that far fewer will fully agree that "One reaches the point of wanting the beloved to be unfaithful so that one can court her again". Wouldn't most people just chase after another, newer person rather than see their existing partner seduced? File that one under "hmm".
In chapter 2, there's a discussion of religion in Doestoevsky as it relates to the universal problem of reconciling our own seeming mental solitude with the plain fact that others are just as human as we are. Girard grandly proclaims that "Everyone thinks that he alone is condemned to hell, and that is what makes it hell", which immediately brings to mind Sartre's famous pronouncement in No Exit that "Hell is other people". Sartre's line in context is about other people's perception of you, not your perception of others, and while the two perspectives are obviously related, it's difficult to reconcile Girard's point on how your desires are copied from Others with Sartre's point about the pain of realizing that you yourself are an Other. Or something. I'll chalk it up as another instance where a great quote is merely a tool for understanding, and not understanding itself.
Perhaps my favorite example of arguable quotes in the whole book comes at the very beginning of the conclusion. "The ultimate meaning of desire is death but death is not the novel's ultimate meaning". Talk about a "well, that depends" moment! That mixture of elements is characteristic of those who approach criticism from a strongly aesthetic standpoint, loving the mixture of the irrational and paradoxical in the great novel, and indeed in great art as well, so I wasn't surprised to learn that Girard is strongly Christian. Whether you're religious or not, this is a tremendously insightful work even when it goes wrong, because as with all great works it proves its own point: I only read this book because a writer I liked mentioned it, and by reading it I hoped to gain some of that cachet by showing off my knowledge to others. How embarrassing? No: how human. ( )
Don Quichotte ne desire pas spontanement; il imite Amadis de Gaule, le mediateur de ses desirs. Dans le monde moderne, le mediateur n'est plus legendaire mais reel; le disciple desire le meme objet que son modele, il se voit donc perpetuellement contrecarre par celui-ci et, loin de le venerer comme Don Quichotte venerait Amadis, il denonce en lui un rival injuste ou meme un persecuteur diabolique. L'homme moderne prise l'autonomie mais c'est toujours aupres d'un mediateur qu'il cherche a se la procurer, par une contradiction dont il n'a presque jamais conscience.La litterature romantique repudie toute imitation et fait un dogme de l'originalite; le mediateur reste dissimule. La presence de ce mediateur, par contre, est inlassablement denoncee dans les chefs-d'oeuvre romanesques. C'est de la mediation que relevent ce que Stendhal appelle vanite et ce que Jules de Gaultier, chez Flaubert, appelle bovarysme. C'est la mediation qui regit le mecanisme de la haine chez Dostoievski, de la jalousie et du snobisme chez Proust, c'est elle, enfin, qui permet d'interpreter le masochisme et le sadisme. Les consequences de la mediation s'aggravent a mesure que le mediateur se rapproche du sujet desirant et ce rapprochement engendre une dialectique qui eclaire aussi bien les analogies et les differences entre les grandes oeuvres romanesques que l'evolution historique vers les formes totalitaires de la sensibilite individuelle et collective.La reflexion de l'auteur s'elargit donc en une meditation sur les problemes de notre temps. C'est dans l'univers de la mediation que triomphent l'angoisse, la concurrence frenetique et les valeurs de prestige. Percevoir l'universelle mediation, c'est depasser les psychanalyses et l'idee marxiste d'alienation vers la vision dostoievskienne qui situe la veritable liberte dans l'alternative entre mediateur divin et mediateur humain. C'est lire l'echec de la revolte prometheenne non seulement dans les oeuvres litteraires mais dans un monde qui se laisse definir non pas par le " materialisme " ou par " l'eloignement des dieux " mais par un sacre corrompu et " souterrain " qui empoisonne les sources de la vie.Telle est la verite a laquelle le romancier lui-meme ne parvient qu'a travers l'enfer de la mediation. Il lui faut unir l'introspection et l'observation pour creer un Don Quichotte, un Raskolnikov ou un Charlus; il lui faut donc reconnaitre un prochain et un semblable dans le mediateur fascinant; c'est dire qu'il lui faut mourir a l'orgueil romantique. L'ecrivain meurt dans son oeuvre pour renaitre romancier de meme que le heros voit se dissiper ses illusions au moment de la mort. Marcel Proust, dans Le Temps retrouve, degage une signification ethique et esthetique commune a toutes les grandes conclusions romanesques.
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1
Given that most novels are explicitly about human desires, you would reasonably assume that novels are a good way to learn about those desires. Unfortunately, just as our own motives are typically opaque to our own reasoning, even novels that compel us are often just as mysterious. Why do we identify so strongly when "character X struggles struggles to choose between two lovers" in particular novels yet pass right by other books with seemingly similar themes? One reason is that talented writers have consciously or unconsciously discovered that imitative desire is an extremely effective way to draw readers in - we like to read about people struggling with the subterranean logic of desire because we ourselves are slaves to our passions, and hence find in those characters our own dilemmas, only much more attractively presented. Our lives are ceaseless pursuits of borrowed dreams, whose hard-fought realizations are often immediately discovered to be disappointments, and so it's on to the next new thing. Lather, rinse, repeat. "Mimesis" has been a known concept in Western thought at least since Aristotle; Girard grounds his own definition of the term in the way that people copy others, and in copying come to see the other as a rival. His analysis seems similar to Erich Auerbach's work on mimesis, except that Girard sees mimesis as much more than a purely literary device.
Attempting to build psychological theories out of literary plots, rather than the reverse process of showing how great novels adhere to established psychological models, is dangerous. Great novels typically contain many disparate elements rather than a simple unified outline, and so it's all too easy to see what you want to see, in the manner of some demented Zizek acolyte. Girard's work is similar to other "literary analysis as quasi-science" books I've read, like The Origin of Consciousness In the Breakdown of the Bicameral Mind, in how carefully phrased yet sweepingly grand its claims are. The book is about the operation of imitative rivalry and desire in the behavior of the characters in novels by Cervantes, Dostoevsky, Flaubert, Proust, and Stendahl. On the one hand this is awesome - if you happen to be writing academic papers on any of those authors, you will find a wealth of insight, with plenty of examples about how Stendahlian vanity differs from Cervantean desire, or Proustian snobbism, or Dostoevskian hatred, or Flaubertian bovarysm, etc. Girard is an enthusiastic reader who has really done his homework, and he supplies plenty of quotations to back up his assertions about Sancho Panza and so on so that you can follow along at home.
On the other hand, this kind of close reading can be less helpful for those who, like me, haven't waded through all of Proust and have to take his word that that's what Proust meant. What's nice on that score is that the writing style is remarkably clear, so kudos to translator Yvonne Freccero for avoiding any Gilles-Deleuze gibberish. I personally have an instinctive suspicion of anything with the subtitle of "Self and Other in Literary Structure", since that kind of abstract theorizing can quickly become impossible to follow, but any confusion with Girard's ideas is likely due to not having read a lot of these novels, rather than the ideas themselves being unclear. He's even clear in his wrongness: human nature being what it is, I don't think any single theory can explain everything, and so while Girard's arguments are often tremendously plausible (surely it's an inarguable fact that the ultimate source of many of our desires are our peers), it's easy to find counter-examples that have the same surface appeal.
For example, in chapter 1, Girard discusses how Don Quixote, generally considered the first modern novel, typifies the modern idea of imitative desire. "Triangular desire" (usually less salacious than its name would suggest) involves jealousy: two rivals competing for the affection of a third, or the creation of a rivalrous desire for a third object by one in the mind of the other. So far so good. But while the complex emotions of envy, frustration, and triumph that successful competition for someone else's love evokes are familiar to nearly everyone, I suspect that far fewer will fully agree that "One reaches the point of wanting the beloved to be unfaithful so that one can court her again". Wouldn't most people just chase after another, newer person rather than see their existing partner seduced? File that one under "hmm".
In chapter 2, there's a discussion of religion in Doestoevsky as it relates to the universal problem of reconciling our own seeming mental solitude with the plain fact that others are just as human as we are. Girard grandly proclaims that "Everyone thinks that he alone is condemned to hell, and that is what makes it hell", which immediately brings to mind Sartre's famous pronouncement in No Exit that "Hell is other people". Sartre's line in context is about other people's perception of you, not your perception of others, and while the two perspectives are obviously related, it's difficult to reconcile Girard's point on how your desires are copied from Others with Sartre's point about the pain of realizing that you yourself are an Other. Or something. I'll chalk it up as another instance where a great quote is merely a tool for understanding, and not understanding itself.
Perhaps my favorite example of arguable quotes in the whole book comes at the very beginning of the conclusion. "The ultimate meaning of desire is death but death is not the novel's ultimate meaning". Talk about a "well, that depends" moment! That mixture of elements is characteristic of those who approach criticism from a strongly aesthetic standpoint, loving the mixture of the irrational and paradoxical in the great novel, and indeed in great art as well, so I wasn't surprised to learn that Girard is strongly Christian. Whether you're religious or not, this is a tremendously insightful work even when it goes wrong, because as with all great works it proves its own point: I only read this book because a writer I liked mentioned it, and by reading it I hoped to gain some of that cachet by showing off my knowledge to others. How embarrassing? No: how human. (