The title of this post is suitably absurd for an absurd tale of a humble nobleman who is driven mad by books of chivalry and decides to become a knight errant. But is it an absurd tale? Eight chapters into it and I’m certain that this amusing story has a thoroughly serious undercurrent below the surface (and marvellous) slapstick and satire. Don Quixote’s indefatigable imitation of fictional knights has set of all my René Girard alarms ringing: If this isn’t an exposé of mimetic desire, I don’t know what is!
René Girard’s theory of mimetic desire states that our desires are not our own but are imitated in an effort to acquire the sense of identity we perceive in the model(s) for our desire. Don Quixote imitates the actions of those whom he perceives as valiant and virtuous in hopes of feeling the way he supposes they must feel, that is, like a valiant and virtuous man. The fact that these men are fictitious is irrelevant because if everyone is imitating other people’s desires, there is no authentic identity to imitate in anyone anyway. We might as well imitate characters in a book or (for us) actors on the screen.
Mimetic desire is spoken of as a contagion, spreading from person to person, which is evident in chapter 6, when Don Quixote’s library is subjected to an inquisition by his associates. They subtly influence and parrot each other (“His niece said the same” “‘That’s what I say too’”) in blaming the books for Don Quixote’s madness, even though it is evident that the barber and priest, at least, have read them all, without apparent harm.
That chapter also beautifully illustrates the arbitrary nature of scapegoating. When mimetic desire leads to competition for the thing desired, it can cause either the chaotic violence of all-against-all, or it can coalesce into the scapegoating violence of all-against-one. The byproduct of scapegoating violence is a profound sense of solidarity, and humans quickly learn to resort to scapegoating whenever some crisis threatens the social order. In this case, it is Don Quixote’s books, which no sensible person would think are the cause of his madness, that are chosen as convenient culprits and subjected to an imitation Inquisition. Here is also another case of mad mimesis, as the priest mimics his superiors in trying and sentencing books to immolation, imprisonment, or even purging with herbs, as if they were human beings. Again, it doesn’t matter that the books are not people because scapegoating is not about the victim but about the social cohesion brought about by the victim’s “death,” whether ritual or actual.
I think we must be careful not to sit back and laugh at these characters. We are by no means exempt from mimetic desire and scapegoating violence, and this book, like all great art, is a mirror showing us ourselves, not a telescope showing us some far away place that doesn’t concern us. Don Quixote is us, and we are mad insofar as we live our lives by imitating imitators.
What impresses me about this book so far is that it works on so many levels. Yes there is a deep level of anthropological insight, but also scathing satire on various subjects (about which much could be said), and a wonderfully written humorous story to move things along. I’ve been told that this is what makes a work truly great. If you want a ripping yarn, its there, if you want philosophizing on the human condition, it’s there too, along with a few juicy jabs at king, country, and fellow writers too. It’s early days yet but I think it’s safe to say that Don Quixote is a crowd-pleaser.
For more on mimetic desire see Wikipedia (brief), Search.com (long), or the first chapter [pdf, very long, bring a dictionary] of Chris Fleming’s René Girard: Violence and Mimesis.
Great point. I read quite a bit of Girard in college but did not think of this in relation to the Don and his desires — but I think you’re right on.
But I’m not sure the comparison fully extends to the books as scapegoats. I would argue that Don Quixote’s books are indeed the cause of his madness, for the Don is a perfectly rational human being in every other way, as Sancho and others consistently remark. It’s perfectly sensible to isolate the fiction as the cause, as the priest and barber do, for Don Quixote is imitating the romantic escapades he reads.
On the other hand, the fact that the priest treats the books like people supports the scapegoating analysis, as does their decision to destroy them in the hope this will cure Don Quixote.
I will be keeping this in mind as I read Nabokov’s lectures, in regard to his insistence that the book is a cruel one. And, having read the book myself, I would encourage you to keep the question of identity and madness in mind, especially in Part II.
Never heard of Girard’s theory but it sounds fascinating. I’m definitely going to do some reading up on it. It sounds very appropriate to Don Quixote
It should sound appropriate because it is from Don Quixote and other books that Girard discovered mimetic desire. His view is that great literature may have more to tell us about psychology than psychology has to tell us about great literature. I think that says something about the power of art to reveal that which we normally ignore.
That’s a great reading, Sylvia. And I like your explanation of Girard — I had a professor who talked about him quite a lot (in fact, I think he talked about him in reference to The Good Soldier), but somehow I didn’t pick up on the “modeling” piece you’re talking about. Okay, now I think I get it; I remember the stuff about the mediator standing in between the the protagonist and the loved one, so the mediator is the real object of desire. And Dulcinea would be the loved one, the object, and the knights DQ so admires would stand as the mediator?
That’s right. Without the fictional knights, it wouldn’t have occurred to Quixote to have a “lady love.” The fact that he picks Dulcinea more or less at random shows that she is not the “real” object. Quixote’s real object is to be like the knights, in the sense of having their status, but also, on a deeper level, to find a sense of identity and purpose that he is otherwise lacking.
From what I’ve read, if the protagonist and the model are from similar social classes they become rivals, and the object of their imitated desires is often destroyed as a consequence of their striving. This also shows that the stated object is not the real goal. I don’t know if that’s what happens in DQ but apparently it’s a common feature of literature.
Sylvia, this is a truly wonderful post. Look forward to following your discussion of this phenomenal book.
I want to echo how much I appreciate your post. I just started the novel, and I look forward to reading more of your insights along the way.
One thing I might piggyback on is that, yes, this novel works on so many levels. This is what strikes me as I read along. It is quite fascinating.