art. genius in le neveau de rameau

American Society for Eighteenth-Century Studies (ASECS)

Le Neveu de Rameau and the Idea of GeniusAuthor(s): James MallSource: Eighteenth-Century Studies, Vol. 11, No. 1 (Autumn, 1977), pp. 26-39Published by: The Johns Hopkins University Press. Sponsor: American Society for Eighteenth-Century Studies (ASECS).Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/2738019 .

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Le Neveu de Rameau and the Idea of Genius

JAMES MALL For Vincent Bowen

MOI. - Quelque sublime que vous soiez, un autre peut vous remplacer.

LUI. - Difficilement.

THE CONCEPT OF GENIUS has long been considered central to Diderot's Neveu de Rameau.' It is Moi who first tentatively defines the man of genius as "un dans la multitude."2 Lui's subsequent vilification of men of genius immediately places the question in an ethical context, an aspect of genius which particularly interests Diderot. Lui paints men of genius as by nature hostile to social order: "fls ne scavent ce que c'est d'etre citoyens, peres, meres, freres, parents, amis" (p. 9). They are, for this reason, "detestables."

But later on, he will express the opposite opinion when he says that such ideas as "patrie," "amis," "devoir," and the education of children-the ethical cement of the social structure which genius threatens-are nothing but "vanite" (p. 40). This seemingly contradictory attitude about a serious question helps to determine Lui's character and serves as a major theme for the entire dialogue. Even in the early moments of his conversation with Moi, where the latter is defending the idea of genius, Lui demonstrates that his own stance is uncertain. He claims on the one hand that men of genius are always the source of evil in the world: "le mal est toujours venu ici bas par quelque homme de genie" (p. 9). But later he admits that

1 See, for example, Herbert Dieckmann, "Diderot's Conception of Genius," JHI, 2 (1941), 151-82; Otis Fellows, "The Theme of Genius in Diderot's Neveu de Rameau," Diderot Studies, 2 (1952), 168-99; Natalie Sandomirsky, "The Ethical Standard of Genius in Diderot's Neveu de Rameau," Symposium, 18 (1964), 46-55. See also the recent full-length studies of Diderot's dialogue, particularly two very imformative works: Michele Duchet and Michel Launay, eds., Entretiens sur le Neveu de Rameau (Paris, 1967) and Herbert Josephs, Diderot's Dialogue of Language and Gesture: Le Neveu de Rameau (Columbus, Ohio, 1969).

2 Diderot, Le Neveu de Rameau, ed. Jean Fabre (Geneva, 1963), p. 7; henceforth page references to this standard edition will be given in the text.

26



LE NEVEU DE RAMEAU AND THE IDEA OF GENIUS 27

he himself is envious of genius and that he would like to have its power, through which men of genius "changent la face du globe" (p. 9). "Je voudrois bien etre un autre," he says, "au hazard d'etre un homme de genie, un grand homme" (p. 15).

Lui's attitude-simultaneous admiration and contempt for genius -is not as contradictory as first appears. The nature of genius is itself double and, thus, evokes conflicting reactions. The double quality inherent in genius is, of course, in Moi's famous image of the tree which, in order to grow and be fruitful, must kill the smaller trees and plants about it (pp. 13-14). One can therefore detest Racine the man, for instance, because he was "fourbe, traitre, am- bitieux, envieux, mechant" (p. 12). One must however admire Racine for his plays, and Lui comes to the conclusion that such a genius can be judged a good man only if he is absent: "Cet homme n'a ete bon que pour des inconnus, et que pour le tems ou il n'etoit plus" (p. 13).

To understand better the function of genius, we may look at another image. Near the end of the dialogue, Lui describes the statue of Memnon: "Autour de la statue de Memnon, il y en avoit une infinite d'autres egalement frappees des rayons du soleil; mais la sienne etoit la seule qui resonnat" (p. 100).3 For Lui the genius is unique: he alone understands and expresses fundamental forces beyond the perception of ordinary men. By harmonizing with them, he rises above his fellow creatures, who by comparison appear ridiculous. Lui and Moi agree early that there are two different species of men: the mediocre, who are lost in the multitude, and the "hommes sublimes," (p. 7) who are singled out as different from the former. Like the statue of Memnon, the "homme sublime" ac- cumulates a power which permits him to dominate surrounding mediocrity. For Moi, this means the power to see the truth and to serve as a guide (p. 10).

For the organization of society, the function of seer, guide, and authority is essential. In its natural state, the world suffers from instability and disorder. "Dans la nature," says Lui, "toutes les especes se devorent, toutes les conditions se devorent dans la societ6" (pp. 37-38); and later: "Rien de stable dans ce monde" (pp. 102- 3). To overcome this instability or entropic tendency to self-

3 This is within the long Platonic tradition of the sun as source of the truth and the Romantic tradition, just dawning in the writings of Rousseau, of the poet as seer or "phare."



28 EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY STUDIES

destructiveness, there must be a being who will impose himself on society and draw order from disorder. Through his special contact with some transcendental power (Memnon's sun), the genius is singled out and thus becomes a leader. Through his difference from the mediocrity of others, the genius becomes an authority and a source of order.

But as a result of the same difference which makes him a guide, he is also a source of disorder. This is because, as Moi explains, the genius is working on two levels at once, acting according to two different sets of laws: "il y a deux sortes de loix, les unes d'une equite, d'une generalite absolues; d'autres bizarres qui ne doivent leur sanction qu'a l'aveuglement ou la necessite des circonstances" (p. 10). Borrowing the Memnon image, one might name these "solar" laws and terrestrial laws. The first are the (transcendental) laws perceived by genius and which he must obey, and the latter the laws of the mediocre, but according to which the genius is also judged, since he is, after all, human. The genius must function on two mutually exclusive levels at once.

In both cases, the result is the same: the double character of the genius puts him into a position where, from the worldly point of view, he appears monstrous. "MOI and LUI see eye to eye ... on the concept of genius as a monstrous form of human species, differ- ing in kind from the normal, and thus an anomaly and a deviant in its time."4 In the Lettre sur les sourds et muefs, Diderot sees himself in this way, as a "dicephale" and a "monstre a deux tetes, emman- chees sur le meme col."5

Illustrating his point about the two sets of laws, Moi uses the familiar example of Socrates, who is killed by terrestrial laws but survives as a guide for us because of his perception of "solar" laws. To return for a moment to the example of Racine (who "n'a ete bon que pour des inconnus, et que pour le tems ou il n'etoit plus"), we can now say that for Diderot, the genius becomes a model only when he is absent. He has a double nature, hateful in that he is a human being engaged as he must be in a social contract, and ad- mirable in that he is, as Lui puts it, "autre." Only after being purged of his impurity, his human corruptibility, can he be considered as an authoritative guide. The genius is transformed into a pure "voice"

4 Fellows, p. 189. 5Diderot, CEuvres completes, ed. Ass'zat-Tourneux (Paris, 1875-77), I, 402.




(I will return to this with regard to Lui's formidable lung power) who speaks the "solar" laws and who serves as a guide or model for others. But this transformation depends on his first being expelled from all human intercourse.

As for the terrestrial laws responsible for governing the mediocre and for the expulsion of the exceptional, the principle lying behind them and which gives human society its cohesion is also the concept behind Lui's greatest talent: mimesis. When Diderot and Rousseau were still friends, the latter had expressed the view, in his second discourse, that in any social situation, one is obliged in some manner to deal with the imitation of models. In the Confessions, he suggests that Diderot, who certainly found himself in general agreement with -the discourse, might have had a hand in its composition. "De ces meditations resulta le Discours sur l'inegalit', ouvrage qui fut plus du gout de Diderot que tous mes autres Ecrits, et pour lequel ses conseils me furent le plus utiles...."6 In any case, Diderot seems to accept the vision of society according to which existing social order (which for him, as for Rousseau, is really an absence of true order) is guaranteed by a system of reciprocal mimesis.

The individuals in the society, in order to maintain its order and to assure their place in it, simply play the role necessary to that end. It is really a question of communicability and meaning; the masks worn are intended as clear signs to be interpreted in a precise way, so as to ease the functioning of the system. The mimesis, as in the biological sense, is really a camouflage, where individual characteristics are disguised and are lost against a background.

If for no other reason than self-protection, everyone in a society, then, is a mime. The only way to be certain that one's persona will be understood is through an imitation of models in the public do- main, just as a speaker, to insure clarity, avoids linguistic deviations. Moi agrees that everyone in society is a mime, engaged in imitation of others in an effort to survive and prosper: "Ma foi, ce que vous appellez la pantomime des gueux, est le grand branle de la terre" (p. 105). The only being exempted from this "dance," he says, is

6Rousseau, Confessions, ed. Bernard Gagnebin and Marcel Raymond (Paris, 1959), p. 389.




the philosopher: "il y a pourtant un etre dispense de la pantomime. C'est le philosophe qui n'a rien et qui ne demande rien" (p. 106). But Diogenes, the example he chooses, is exempted only because he possesses and asks nothing, having refused to enter into society. This is similar to Lui's radical position of denying social values. Refusing to imitate and suffering exclusion, he falls into the category of genius.

Diderot wrote elsewhere: "La plupart des hommes ne sont en tous genres que des copies les uns des autres."7 Echoing this complaint that the world is filled with imitators and hypocrites, Lui says that everyone is a mime who repeats what has already been done: "apres un certain nombre de decouvertes, on est force de se repeter. L'esprit et l'art ont leurs limites. I1 n'y a que Dieu ou quelques genies rares pour qui la carriere s'etend, a mesure qu'ils y avancent" (p. 51).

Their abject acceptance of limits characterizes the mediocre. It is only Lui the mime who refuses to play the mime, to wear the mask expected of him. To maintain his dignity as an individual and to avoid playing the hypocrite, he accepts exclusion from La Maison Bertin. This too is abjection, but it is on his own terms. "Je veux bien etre abject," he tells Moi in his paradoxical way, "mais je veux que ce soit sans contrainte" (p. 46).

Rousseau, who saw things in basically the same way, tried in his later works to resolve this problem. Seeing that imitation of other masks leads to further corruption, he tried to postulate an immanent/ transcendent model in the form of the "conscience" and the General Will. The imitation of this internal voice, Rousseau's counterpart to "solar" law, would remove abjection and lead to a truer social order. For Diderot in Le Neveu de Rameau the only model trans- cending ordinary human affairs seems to be the genius, who works within a higher system of laws. Since imitation of the mediocre or repetition of the Same is unacceptable, one's relationship to genius becomes central to the problem of individual behavior.

Society is possessed of ambivalent feelings about its men of genius and its models. In order to rise above the disorder and instability

7 Diderot, Dictionnaire philosophique, article "Originalite," in OEuvres completes, XIV, 179.




inherent in it, it admires them and needs to imitate them. At the same time, it cannot afford to permit their survival since, by virtue of their different laws, they are inimical to society. Lui's attitude toward genius reveals the heart of this difficult issue.

The genius whom Lui envies is of course Rameau. If he was ever envious, he says, it was of his uncle. He never listened to his music without telling himself, "voila ce que tu ne feras jamais" (p. 15). But, since his uncle, as well as being a model, represents the limits imposed on him, the other side of envy is contempt. Beside his uncle, Lui appears mediocre; in comparison with him, he finds himself suffering the same abjection he wishes to avoid. "J'ai donc etW, je suis donc fache d'etre mediocre. Oui, oui, je suis mediocre et fache" (p. 15).

Under these circumstances, what attitude to take? With this question, problems proliferate. First, the genius is by definition different; he is unique through his difference. What makes him worthy of regard (and imitation) is precisely that difference which cannot be imitated. One cannot mime him, for to do so is to show that he can be put in the category of the Same. Insofar as he is a genius, the genius is inimitable.

Second, the whole problem of mimesis is posed.8 The desire to imitate the inimitable is really the desire to be inimitable oneself. To imitate genius successfully ultimately means becoming a genius. Lui's clear desire to be like his uncle (p. 15) is in effect the desire to truly mime him, to be the same as he is, to become his uncle, to replace him as a model.

Finally, to imitate genius means in the end to imitate his expulsion from society, to run up against the limits one is trying to avoid. If Lui imitates his uncle, he opens himself up to the attack that his uncle is undergoing at his hands. And if he imitates Soc- rates, he risks death. It is all very well to admire Socrates, but after all he died: "Le voila bien avance-! en a t'il ete moins condamne-? en a t'il moins ete- mis a mort?" (p. 11). Death is the absolute limit, over which even genius has no hold. "Pourir sous du marbre, pourir sous de la terre, c'est toujours pourir" (p. 25).

The complexity of Lui's problem becomes evident if we look at wnat he says later on in the dialogue, when he returns to the subject

8 For an interesting analysis of the problem of mimesis, see Jacques Derrida, La Disse'mination (Paris, 1972), pp. 211-13.




of his uncle (which in truth he never really abandons). "Le sang de mon pere," he states, "et le sang de mon oncle est le meme sang. Mon sang est le meme que celui de mon pere. La molecule pater= nelle doit etre dure et obtuse; et cette maudite molecule premiere s'est assimile tout le reste" (p. 90).

"Assimiler," ad-similare, to cause to be like. Whatever efforts he might make to be "un autre," Lui will remain limited by the "maudite molecule paternelle" (p. 90). He sees his uncle, because of the blood link, as inevitably the same as he. There is that similarity, "quelque chose de race" (p. 90), which provides a common ground for Lui, his uncle, and his father. This means that his uncle-genius is not really Other, but Same, and that the attempt to imitate him and to be like him is vain, since he is already like him; he has always been like him. Yet his uncle is still his uncle, and his father, his father. When he comes back to the idea of difference, Lui returns to Moi's tree image. "La vieille souche se ramifie en une enorme tige de sots; mais qu'importe? I1 n'en est pas ainsi du talent. Pour n'ob- tenir que la renommee de son pere, il faut etre plus habile que lui. I1 faut avoir herite de sa fibre. La fibre m'a manque" (p. 99). There is both continuity and discontinuity between father-uncle and son- nephew; the genius is at the same time Same and Other.

The paradoxical double consequence is that the uncle is not an effective model to be imitated, since he is after all the same as Lui; and Lui himself already has the characteristics of genius since he is the same as his uncle. Lui's relationship with genius is thus internal- ized, since his blood link means that he is carrying within him the heritage of his uncle-father. His desire to be a genius, therefore, or to be "autre"-the same desire which motivated his uncle-is the desire to be other than he is, which is to say the desire to banish from him that which makes him what he is: the "maudite molecule patemelle." But since the paternal molecule is itself the desire to be other, Lui finds, in order to free himself from his uncle and to be himself, that he must kill off the very thing which would make him himself: the desire to be Other which comes from his uncle- father.

His uncle-father is telling him, through the voice of the blood link, "imitate me if you want to be yourself, for I am the desire to be Other." Lui is also being told, "Don't imitate me, for if you do,




you will not be yourself but I."9 This inevitable necessity, imposed on Lui by his relationship with his uncle, is manifestly impossible to achieve, for it ultimately means an attempt at self-annihilation in the hopes of self-realization. As Lui prepares to leave Moi at the end of the dialogue, he hopelessly says: "Parmi ces morts, il y en a toujours quelques uns qui desolent les vivants. Que voulez-vous? Quisque suos patimur manes" (p. 109).

This view of the problem puts it in an Oedipal context,10 where Oedipus must banish and disfigure himself in order to be freed from his father and to be himself. Freud, of course, was well aware of the Oedipal nature of Lui's struggle when he quoted" the famous pas- sage where Moi says that the child, "le petit sauvage," if left to himself and given the power to do so, "tordroit le col a son pere et coucheroit avec sa mere" (p. 95).

In an Oedipal situation, the analysis of genius has a larger per- spective. Lui's attitude toward genius, as he himself is aware, is more than a question of dealing with his uncle, or even with the concept of genius as such. By bringing in his father's blood and by defining genius as he does, Lui indicates that "genius" is really any absolute authority figure which acts as a limit to the individual's desire for self-actualization and that this desire itself is the desire to replace the authority figure by somehow supplanting it.

In the dialogue, there are other examples of this same dyadic relationship. Lui's vision of himself as servant in La Maison Bertin is one instance; the husband-wife situation is another (with Lui the husband compared to a master-God); the link between king and subject follows the same model. When speaking of the latter relationship, Lui uses dance imagery: "II n'y a dans tout un royaume qu'un homme qui marche, c'est le souverain. Tout le reste prend des positions" (p. 105). This recalls Lui's earlier "I1 n'y a que Dieu ou quelques genies rares pour qui la carriere s'etend, a mesure qu'ils y avancent" (p. 51).

Lui-Rameau, slave-master, wife-husband, subject-king, man-God

9 See the discussion of Bateson's "double-bind" principle in Rene Girard's La Violence et le sacre' (Paris, 1973).

10 On this point, Josephs refers to an article of Lionel Trilling, "The Legacy of Sigmund Freud," Kenyon Review, 2 (1940), 153-54.

11 Freud, The Complete Introductory Lectures on Psychoanalysis, ed. and tr. James Strachey (New York, 1966), pp. 337-38.




-all of these pairs are examples of one fundamental relationship, that of authority-limit and individual. The basic theme in the dialogue, thus, is the ethical problem of individualism: What stance should an individual take with regard to authority? As Dieckmann says, writing of Le Neveu de Rameau, "from the very beginning, the concept of individuality is closely linked with that of genius."12

When it is recalled that the relationship between individual and genius is one of continuity (Same) as well as of discontinuity (self- Other), it is not surprising to discover, as criticism has, that Hegel was an appreciative reader of Le Neveu de Rameau.13 Diderot was concerned with the master-slave dialectic, as is suggested by Moi when he says that even the king is in some sense a servant: "Le roi prend une position devant sa maitresse et devant Dieu; il fait son pas de pantomime" (p. 105). Discussing his status in La Maison Bertin, Lui elaborates: "Moi je suis le fou de Bertin et de beaucoup d'autres, le votre peut etre dans ce moment; ou peut etre vous le mien. Celui qui seroit sage n'auroit point de fou. Celui donc qui a un fou n'est pas sage; s'il n'est pas sage il est fou; et peut etre, fut-il roi, le fou de son fou" (p. 61).

Nor is it surprising that Freud should quote Diderot's dialogue. Lui's internalization of both the absolute authority figure and the desire to overthrow it is an early expression of Freud's work with the superego and the id. It is essential to note that the struggle between those forces takes place entirely within Lui, rather than between Lui and Moi. It could be argued that Lui is but a figment of Moi's imagination as the latter, in the introduction to the dialogue, sits dreaming at the Cafe de la Regence ("Je m'entretiens avec moi meme . . ." [p. 3]). In that case, the entire debate takes place within Moi. But the point is not important. In any case, the clash between individual and authority, as expressed in the dialogue, takes place within Diderot's mind. It can be argued as well that Moi is antagonistic to Lui not as authority against anarchist, but rather in much the same way as ego strives to contain the irreconcilable forces of the id-superego.

How does Lui deal with his problem, in which any action would seem to be self-defeating? To imitate genius is to be faced with expulsion from society and even death; to imitate the mediocre is

12Dieckmann, p. 154. 13 See Roger Laufer, "Structure et signification du Neveu ae Rameau," Revue

des Sciences Humaines (1960), 399-413; and Henri Mougin, "Hegel et Le Neveu de Rameau," Europe, 52 (1946), 1-11.




to suffer denial of the self. In both cases, the pleasure principle or the desire for self-actualization succumbs to absolute limits. This is an intolerable situation, a breeding-ground for pathological con- duct. Lui finds his apparent release in madness; mad, he is able to synthesize the opposites which torment him. "La il est pretre, il est roi, il est tyran, il menace, il commande, il s'emporte; il est esclave, il obeit. II s'apaise, il se desole, il se plaint, il rit. . . . Lui n'aper- cevoit rien; il continuoit, saisi d'une alienation d'esprit, d'un en- thousiasme si voisin de la folie, qu'il est incertain qu'il en revienne" (p. 83).'4

Lui's madness, to which he refers again and again, takes the un- avoidable form of mimesis. In pantomime, his total evocation of another scene through sounds and bodily contortions, Lui finds his greatest success: "Voila la tete qui se perd, et quelque scene nouvelle qui se prepare" (pp. 82-83). But he does not use mimesis the way it is used in the world, as camouflage of one's individuality. This is the sign of mediocrity, the repetition of the Same. Mimesis as camouflage is above all productive; its communicability, its system of exchange, and especially its causal relationship with other per- sons and objects maintain the network of signs in which it occurs and promote the self-interest of the individuals within it.

Although a perfect imitation, Lui's is without content, without links to the worlds. If he imitates a flatterer (pp. 104-5), it is not done with an eye to the fruits of flattery, but to capture the essence of the flatterer in itself, as the perfect form of flattery. This pure form of imitation constitutes art, according to both Lui and Moi. "MoI.-Tout art d'imitation a son modele dans la nature" (p. 77). Lui refines on this when he says that even singing is an imitation: "Le chant est une imitation ... des bruits physiques ou des accents de la passion" (p. 78).

The creator of a perfect imitation, he who repeats the form of a model, participates then in the work of genius. When Lui undertakes his performances, he is doing what genius does. To return once again to the statue of Memnon, the genius of that statue is not to create from nothing, but to resound when struck by the sun. It is the sun, another center of activity, which creates the music emitted by the statue, just as it is through sound that Lui makes his presence known. Moi early remarks on Lui's prodigious vocal powers: "Au reste il est doue . . . d'une vigueur de poumons peu commune. Si

14 For the theme of Lui as madman, see Michel Foucault's Histoire de la folie a l'age classique (Paris, 1961), pp. 363-72.




vous le rencontrez jamais et que son originalite ne vous arrete pas; ou vous mettrez vos doigts dans vos oreilles, ou vous vous enfuirez. Dieux, quels terribles poumons" (p. 4). Lui boasts of his power by evoking Stentor: "Je descends aparemment en droite ligne du fameux Stentor" (p. 49). The name is etymologically related to "thunder," as Lui reminds us a few lines later when he says, "Je me leve ... deployant mon tonnerre" (p. 49). Earlier, speaking of his role as husband and master of the household, he had used the same image: "je m'elevois sur mes ergots; je deploiois mon tonnerre; je disois, comme Dieu, que la lumiere se fasse et la lumiere etoit faite" (p. 29). The creative force of genius, starting as it does with the "cri animal de la passion" (p. 86), is related to the voice of God; Lui is close to the root sense of "genius," a procreative divinity, related to the words "genesis," "natal," "genital," and, most interest- ingly, "king."

Lui's creative-imitative powers, then, are not his own, but are a kind of divine voice speaking through him, as the sun resounds through the statue of Memnon. And in fact, when Lui performs his pantomimes, he is lost to the world and is as if possessed by forces beyond him, so that he is not conscious of himself or of what is happening about him. "Sa tete etoit tout a fait perdue. Epuise de fatigue, tel qu'un homme qui sort d'un profound sommeil ou d'une longue distraction; il resta immobile, stupide, etonne. I1 tournoit ses regards autour de lui, comme un homme egare qui cherche a reconnoitre le lieu ou il se trouve. II attendoit le retour de ses forces et de ses esprits" (p. 85).

Lui's desire, expressed in mimetic-creative language, is not of Moi's world, the social world of communicability and language. Lui's voice comes from another world and as it does, it breaks through the smooth uninterrupted surface of reciprocal mimesis, the repetition of the Same, which marks the world of the mediocre. Witness to Lui's eruption, Moi is reduced to silence. "Et moi, je sens, en vous faisant ce recit, mon coeur se troubler de joie, et le plaisir me couper la parole" (p. 43).

Aware of this, Lui speaks of his voice as an "explosion" (p. 50) which falls like a bomb into ordinary conversation and which in- terrupts it. Disconcerted to distraction by Lui's pantomimes, Moi says, "l'ame agitee de deux mouvements opposes, je ne scavois si je m'abandonnerois a l'envie de rire, ou au transport de l'indignation.




Je soufrois" (p. 24). And later: "Je ne scavois, moi, si je devois rester ou fuir, rire ou m'indigner. Je restai, dans le dessein de tourner la conversation sur quelque autre sujet qui chassat de mon ame l'horreur dont elle etoit remplie.... Je devins sombre, malgre moi" (p. 76).

To those who march to worldly rhythms Lui, like Socrates, appears mad and dangerous. He seems monstrous and driven toward evil, as he admits. "S'il importe d'etre sublime en quelque genre, c'est surtout en mal.... on ne peut refuser une sorte de consider- ation a un grand criminel" (p. 72).

Like Socrates, he is able, through his pure mimesis, to arrive at an expression of "le vrai, le bon, le beau" (p. 81), which he calls his "trinite" (p. 82): "L'empire de la nature, et de ma trinite, contre laquelle les portes de l'enfer ne prevaudront jamais: le vrai qui est le pere, et qui engendre le bon qui est le fils; d'ou procede le beau qui est le saint esprit, s'etablit tout doucement" (p. 82). And like Socrates finally (not to mention the Son, who is expelled from the world before he can return to the Father), Lui, because of his ad- herence to a higher system of laws, risks exclusion and death.

And death is indeed the issue because Lui, insisting on the particularly ephemeral nature of pantomime, rejects any idea of dur- ation, through which he could accede to true genius. There is a double motion here; first, the compulsion to repeat, to mime the world so as to arrive at its essence. He does this in a demonic per- formance. Lui thus strives to become "un autre," to be a creative genius like his uncle. But, second, knowing as he does that genius (as limit) is a source of evil, he refuses at the same time to take on the permanence of genius as model. Born under Vertumnus, god of change, Lui never allows himself to be put into any category. As Moi describes him, "Rien ne dissemble plus de lui que lui meme" (p. 4). Yet he can say that he never changes. "N'est-il pas vrai que je suis toujours le meme?" (p. 109). Paradoxically, Lui's identity is made up of variety. He is unified only in his attempt to destroy his own unity.

In this, Lui attempts to displace patriarchal authority without replacing it. In his ever-changing pantomimes, he corrosively de- constructs authority without himself assuming the central position of the model. Lui's inspired performances are acts of creation, but with nothing created except an ephemeral image that disappears




with him. They are an act of perpetual creation and (self-) destruction and re-creation. In this sense Lui is always at play.

Diderot brilliantly stages this double movement against the back- drop of chess players (recreation). Based on repetition of moves dic- tated by predetermined rules, chess is a game mirroring the dialogue between Lui and Moi. Its aim is at the same time the defense and the destruction of the king, the checkmate, shah mat, the dead king.

Moi's role is one of betrayal. While Lui is involved in a perpetual state of creation and destruction-an attempt to express his genius without giving it the fixed nature for which he reproaches the idea of genius-Moi freezes this constantly evolving and contradictory ebullience and gives it the permanence Lui wishes so desperately to avoid. By describing him in written language, Moi arrests the ephemerality of Lui's pantomimes-intended as a rebellious, even violent mockery of the world of the Same-and thrusts it forcefully into that very world.

Without Moi's narration, Lui is nothing, just as Socrates would be forgotten without Plato or Xenophon. As Josephs says, "whatever the world of feeling that he carries within himself, without MOI he (LUI) is forever condemned by Diderot to the life of a parasite and to the silence of gesture."15 The disrupting lesson he has to offer, the eruption of desire and the Other into the world of the Same, is lost without Moi, even though Moi's transcription entails the transformation of the Other into the Same. The power of language and reason in this way takes its revenge on deviation and tames it. Lui is fixed and becomes a kind of model-positive or negative-for readers of the dialogue.

This is Diderot's great problem as a creative writer. How is one to say that all models, all permanent authority, must be put into question without writing it in a book, which by virtue of its very permanence becomes hypostasized as authoritative Voice? How is it possible to avoid the responsibility (not to say guilt) for establishing oneself as the type of authority one is trying to undermine? Le Neveu de Rameau is Diderot's attempt to solve this problem, creat-

15 Josephs, p. 179.




ing a character always in the process of blurring his own profile, appearing and disappearing as if in a play of mirrors. And for this venture, Diderot uses a nonform, a nonbook which can be classed in no traditional category and which defies description in the same way as does its protagonist. What Diderot wishes to do is what Lui does, as Moi describes him. "C'est un grain de levain qui fermente et qui restitue a chacun une portion de son individualite naturelle. II secoue, il agite; il fait approuver ou blamer; il fait sortir la verite; il fait connoitre les gens de bien; il demasque les coquins; c'est alors que 1'homme de bon sens ecoute, et demele son monde" (p. 5).

Temple University



art. genius in le neveau de rameau

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