I asked Santa for this book in Christmastide 2015, and in April 2018 I finally started it. I had to make sure I was old enough for 'the incest talk'.
Long, sprawling, repetitive: it’s sometimes frustrating wading through this book, but when it’s hot it’s hot. There's no lack of lucidity in Girard’s prose—it’s elegant, clean, and eschews the laughable patois of that other shat-pack that wants to conflate Oedipus with psychoanalysis and anthropology—but how many chapters are necessary for G. to restate, argue, and redefend the same thesis? Eleven, apparently.
Violence and the Sacred is firstly a discussion about the origins of ritual sacrifice in society, and how ritual slaughter became a scape-goat mechanism to deal with that most sacred of human horrors: violence. Within the campus of Girard’s arguments there are three primary wells: Freud, Oedipus (the tragedy and/or the incest taboo), and mimetic desire. The first two chapters cannot have enough positive superlatives placed upon them, and they deal directly with the violence and the sacred.
The sacred in primitive societies, Girard argues, is any dominating force that increases its power over society in direct proportion to a society's attempts to control it. More or less, y=y/(1/x), where y equals violence and x equals man’s attempts to control it. As Oedipus and Jocasta say to each other, plug and chug, baby.
Trying to stop a fire means more people get burned. Trying to conquer the sea means more people drown. And, most pointedly, trying to bring justice creates violence. Violence is the heart and soul of the sacred. The more fervently proto-societies tried to control it, the worse it became.
One need not be very learned in the Theban cycle—or modern society—to see immediately how the essential elements of community are in place to curtail violence. Agamemnon commits filicide on Iphigenia to appease the sea storm. To appease her wrath, Clytemnestra commits mariticide on Agamemnon. To avenge Agamemnon’s death, Orestes commits matricide on Clytemnestra. Where does it fucking end? The Oedipus myth—the Theban Cycle—is the pre-eminent instance in Western civilisation of sacred violence: a bloodletting that can’t let enough blood out. The inability to yield is the crux of the tragic phenomenon.
Sacrifice is the tourniquet of violence: (typically) one thing—an infant, a criminal, a randomly selected bastard, and eventually an animal—takes upon its shoulders the rage of the offended. Orestes and Oedipus both become scapegoats to alleviate the violence and plague within their societies. Thus, someone—possibly not even the progenitor of the problem—is ostracised or killed to stop the bleeding.
Crucially, Girard emphasises that primitive societies lack legal systems, a thing we can’t *actually* fathom. We can try to imagine it, like a Dionysian ritual or DMT, but we can’t fathom it unless we exist in the absolute power of the contagion of the thing itself. Primitive violence and its sacredness live within us like a dream within a dream. Inaccessible, yet in our DNA. But it’s lost on modern society, kind of. Today mass-murderers are incarcerated and we somehow believe ‘justice is served’. Perpetrators of the Holocaust were hanged and somehow ‘brought to justice’. How incompatible we are with the justice-seeking violence of early cultures. Incarceration cannot absolve blood. Rather, our societies have undergone evolutions whereby new guards are put in place to prevent pestilential violence: judges, police, prisons, fines. Yet in yestermillennia, the horror of proto-humanity and greatest precaution against the unlimited propagation of violence was sacrifice. Sacrifice was firmly rooted in reality since even the slightest offence to one community could quickly escalate into the eradication of any society implicated in the violent cycle.
Millennia hence, nothing seems sillier than sacrifice. The ritual murder of animals has been turned into even sillier rituals. (Eating bread at church and calling it ‘the body’ of a sacrificed god must be one of the strangest.) These rituals and sacrifices seem useless because they worked. And when a ritual such as sacrifice works, then the contagion disappears. When the contagion disappears, all that remains is the regular ritual. When all that remains is the regular ritual, the ritual is pointless. It is as useful to us as discarded snakeskin is to a python. Indeed, the inability adapt to a new condition, G. says, is a trait characteristic of myth and religion (39).
Girard is careful to note that he isn’t using Greek tragedy so much as he is relying upon it to gain access to a pre-Homeric Mediterranean, which (as Nietzsche argues correctly) would be unfathomably profane to us. Girard cross-reads how myths were treated by different authors to flesh out his points. He cross-reads Oedipus in ‘Oedipus the King’, or ‘Oedipus at Colonus’; he contrasts Creon’s role in Sophocles’ Oedipus, and then Sophocles’ Antigone (150). This serves two purposes. (1) Girard can scrape away the veneer of the playwright and try to gain access to the myth itself; (2), Girard can show that tragedy, like violence, is rarely about good or evil: it is instead about role reversals: society attacks society, king displaces king, son kills father, rich becomes poor, and the oppressed become the rulers. None of this has to do with right or wrong, nor good and evil; this is the haunting origin of all archaic cognition. Hence why Girard calls upon proto-Hellenic myths and their earliest recordings. There’s no reason to call upon Roman tragedy, nor Shakespearean tragedy. The function of Greek tragedy is that it comes to us seemingly out of nowhere, almost as the Bible came to the Israelites, and thus it feels proper to use Athenian tragedy—the visceral representation of ruling the polis to discuss the society.
That's not the best idea. Yes, Athenian tragedy helps us understand the early democratic polis, but theatre isn't a direct route to archaic Greece. For starters, the Oedipus myth most certainly was about patricide. The incest-taboo was added later, possibly even by Sophocles. So while we have a clever book for reading Greek myth here, we don’t have a book that gets to the anthropological heart of the Theban cycle.
Often in lieu of—or in support of—Girard’s classical examples, Girard calls upon the work of anthropologists working with modern primitive societies. Typically, these are African tribes ruled by kings who are still at an early stage in Girard’s epoch of civilisation. In this first stage of civilisation, the ritualisation of violence and sacrifice is often clear even to the practitioners because the threat of the contagion of violence is still noticeable.
Because Girard’s argument is so watertight, once you get it, you get it. And once you get it, hearing it said different ways in different arguments is tiring. It’s especially circular because Girard’s argument is not falsifiable. Myth and incest in Greece confirm Girard’s hypothesis, but if an incest culture exists (Hawai'i) or a non-violent culture exists (Indus Valley), then Girard’s hypothesis gobbles it as proof that cultures do indeed wash away the origins of their rituals and myths. Any argument can be harmonised and refuted. Maybe that’s a sign of a thesis? Maybe it's a sign of a problem.
• • •
Some more problems. As state above, within the campus of Girard’s arguments there are three primary wells: Freud, Oedipus (the tragedy and/or the incest taboo), and mimetic desire. Sometimes, Girard withdraws mineral-rich water from these wells. Other times he climbs down them and won’t come out no matter how tirelessly one begs him. The man is insufferably repetitive with mimetic desire, but it entertains so long as he’s putting Freud in his crosshairs. A lecturer once said to me that the problem facing Freud’s descendants is that they have to figure out how to cope with Freud being the origin of Freudianism. G. refers to these followers of Freud as ‘that voracious pack of neopsychoanalytic bloodhounds, hot on the track’, trying to reconcile the obstinate duality of Freud’s theories (209). Don’t think I don’t love it.
I don’t want to discuss G.’s argument too much because it’s long, pedantic, and carefully organised—a lot like Freud. But G. is right when he says that repressed desire and patricide—Freud’s left-right hook—do not adequately represent Greek tragedy, nor do they adequately explain primitive societies. Firstly, both of Freud’s ideas (repressed desire, patricide) project onto toddlers profound powers of discernment, far beyond the self-reflexivity of most adults. Secondly, Girard takes aim at ideas which scarcely hold up in Freud’s own work, most specifically Totem and Taboo (chapter eight). Freud, Girard writes, carefully sidestepped issues he saw in his own theories, especially in Totem and Taboo, presumably because he thought subsequent followers would work them out. (I think of Ptolemy here, drawing celestial orbs around the earth and hoping someone else is bothered to figure out the pesky problem of retrograde.)
From the looks of things, Freudianism is like a repeatedly punched mirror, with more fractioned schools of thought than I have time to devote; yet Freudian analysis is not, in G’s estimation, a fully articulated system, and Freud is no more ‘Freud’ than Marx can be called ‘Marx’. From what I’ve read, I agree. These sections had me licking my fingers, keen to turn the pages—sometimes because I wanted more, sometimes because I couldn’t stand more.
Girard doesn’t takedown Freud. He merely moves things a few inches to the left: F.’s incest-patricide becomes G.’s mimetic desire. G. primarily objects to F.’s intransigent commitment to a philosophy of consciousness. Freud’s obstinate refusal to let go of a rotten-at-the-core motif that Freud knew had so many flaws is Girard’s frustration. G. is correcting F. only by rearranging a few objects in the living-room, but God is Girard angry that Freud didn’t see to do so in the first place. Five chapters for that is a lot.
• • •
I wish Girard had spent more time demonstrating how Freud’s model falls apart outside of the west. (If you know something, send it my way.) I wish someone had had the decency at Johns Hopkins Press to tell Girard that the incestuous aspects of the Oedipus cycle are a much later addition (Jebb, 1893), because one cannot conflate the Oedipus myth with the Oedipus play if one wishes to play classicist, anthropologist, and psychoanalyst. What else: I wish there had been a longer discussion about the origins of exogamy.
Lastly, I wish Girard had acknowledged the limits of his thinking. Can you really solve the problem of what came before societal pacts and taboo generation? Can a problem that requires thinking with language and culture address a society without language and culture, one whose equation is built upon phonemes and pre-human logic? We can understand what came before us in many senses—astrophysics, linguistics, biology—but knowing what taboos and thoughts existed in cultures that couldn’t express taboos and thoughts seems impossibly irretrievable. Good luck telling Girard that. We still don’t know what a cat is saying when it meows, so how can we recall the origins of sacrifice? The sacred? The incest-taboo? Or even belief itself? Those minds ran on a different operating system, and all we have left of the first sacrifice is a cosmic microwave background.
More so than Girard would like to admit, he has a lot in common with Freud. As I wrote above, both want to have their mother and eat her, too. In Girard’s thesis of violence and ritual sacrifice, any evidence that confirms his beliefs *is* evidence; yet anything that goes against his thesis is *also* evidence, since it would logically concur with Girard’s argument that society slowly deletes the purpose of sacrifice, and eventually sacrifice itself, in order to curtail violence. Is Freud so different?
Wrapping it up, I do have one question for Girard, because I see an obvious, mammoth moth-hole in the brocade of this book. If sacrifice curtails violence until sacrifice itself can be curtailed—then why are we more violent than ever? When an individual brought violence into early societies, rituals were made and surrogate victims chosen to stop the bleeding. Today, society is global, and the individuals who bring violence into it are nations. We are in a post-myth world. With more judiciary systems in place than ever before, why have we resorted to deadlier, apocalyptic means of murder, and what scapegoat can come after disbelief has died?
Five stars for the first five chapters, three for the last six. Take into account how fabulous the cover is and it all goes back to a 5/5.