self-centered person thinks he is choosing himself but in fact he shuts himself out as much as others. Victory over
self-centeredness allows us to probe deeply into the Self and at the same time yields a better
knowledge of Others. At a certain depth there is no difference between our own secret and
the secret of Others. Everything is revealed to the novelist when he penetrates this Self, a
truer Self than that which each of us displays. This Self imitates constantly, on its knees
before the mediator.
This profound Self is also a universal Self. The dialectic of metaphysical pride alone can help
us understand and accept Proust's attempt to reconcile the particular and universal. In the
context of the romantic's mechanical opposition between Self and Others, such an attempt
would be absurd.
This logical absurdity no doubt struck Proust, and he occasionally gives up his attempt at
reconciliation and slips back into the clichés of twentieth-century romanticism. In a few
isolated passages of The Past Recaptured he declares that the work of art must permit us to
grasp our "differences" and makes us delight in our "originality."
These scattered passages are the result of Proust's lack of theoretic vocabulary. But the
attempt at logical coherence is quickly swept away by inspiration. Proust knew that in
describing his own youth he was describing ours as well. He knew that the true artist no
longer has to choose between himself and Others. Because it is born of renunciation, great
novelistic art loses nothing and regains everything.
But this renunciation is very painful. The novelist can write his novel only if he recognizes
that his mediator is a person like himself. Marcel, for example, has to give up considering his beloved a monstrous divinity and seeing himself in the role of an eternal victim. He has to
recognize that his beloved's lies are similar to his own.
This victory over a self-centeredness which is other-centered, this renunciation of fascination
and hatred, is the crowning moment of novelistic creation. Therefore it can be found in all the
great novelists. Every novelist sees his similarity to the fascinating Other through the voice of
his hero . Mme. de la Fayette recognizes her similarity to the women for whom love has been
their undoing. Stendhal, the enemy of hypocrites, recognizes at the end of The Red and the
Black that he is also a hypocrite. Dostoyevsky, in the conclusion of Crime and Punishment
gives up seeing himself alternately as a superhuman and as a subhuman. The novelist
recognizes that he is guilty of the sin of which he is accusing his mediator. The curse which
Oedipus hurls at Others falls on his own head.
This is the meaning of Flaubert's famous cry: "Mme Bovary, c'est moi!" Flaubert first
conceived Mme. Bovary as that despicable Other
-51-
whom he had sworn to deal with. Mine. Bovary originally was Flaubert's enemy, as Julien
Sorel was Stendhal's enemy and Raskolnikov Dostoyevsky's enemy. But while remaining that
Other, the hero of the novel gradually merges with the novelist in the course of creation.
When Flaubert cries, "Mme Bovary, c'est moi," he is not trying to say that Mme. Bovary has
become one of those flattering doubles with whom romantic writers love to surround
themselves. He means that the Self and the Other have become one in the miracle of the
novel.
Great novels always spring from an obsession that has been transcended. The hero sees
himself in the rival he loathes; he renounces the "differences" suggested by hatred. He learns, at the expense of his pride, the existence of the psychological circle. The novelist's
selfexamination merges with the morbid attention he pays to his mediator. All the powers of a
mind freed of its contradictions unite in one creative impulse. Don Quixote and Emma
Bovary and Charlus would not be so great were they not the result of a synthesis of the two
halves of existence which pride usually succeeds in keeping
self-centeredness allows us to probe deeply into the Self and at the same time yields a better
knowledge of Others. At a certain depth there is no difference between our own secret and
the secret of Others. Everything is revealed to the novelist when he penetrates this Self, a
truer Self than that which each of us displays. This Self imitates constantly, on its knees
before the mediator.
This profound Self is also a universal Self. The dialectic of metaphysical pride alone can help
us understand and accept Proust's attempt to reconcile the particular and universal. In the
context of the romantic's mechanical opposition between Self and Others, such an attempt
would be absurd.
This logical absurdity no doubt struck Proust, and he occasionally gives up his attempt at
reconciliation and slips back into the clichés of twentieth-century romanticism. In a few
isolated passages of The Past Recaptured he declares that the work of art must permit us to
grasp our "differences" and makes us delight in our "originality."
These scattered passages are the result of Proust's lack of theoretic vocabulary. But the
attempt at logical coherence is quickly swept away by inspiration. Proust knew that in
describing his own youth he was describing ours as well. He knew that the true artist no
longer has to choose between himself and Others. Because it is born of renunciation, great
novelistic art loses nothing and regains everything.
But this renunciation is very painful. The novelist can write his novel only if he recognizes
that his mediator is a person like himself. Marcel, for example, has to give up considering his beloved a monstrous divinity and seeing himself in the role of an eternal victim. He has to
recognize that his beloved's lies are similar to his own.
This victory over a self-centeredness which is other-centered, this renunciation of fascination
and hatred, is the crowning moment of novelistic creation. Therefore it can be found in all the
great novelists. Every novelist sees his similarity to the fascinating Other through the voice of
his hero . Mme. de la Fayette recognizes her similarity to the women for whom love has been
their undoing. Stendhal, the enemy of hypocrites, recognizes at the end of The Red and the
Black that he is also a hypocrite. Dostoyevsky, in the conclusion of Crime and Punishment
gives up seeing himself alternately as a superhuman and as a subhuman. The novelist
recognizes that he is guilty of the sin of which he is accusing his mediator. The curse which
Oedipus hurls at Others falls on his own head.
This is the meaning of Flaubert's famous cry: "Mme Bovary, c'est moi!" Flaubert first
conceived Mme. Bovary as that despicable Other
-51-
whom he had sworn to deal with. Mine. Bovary originally was Flaubert's enemy, as Julien
Sorel was Stendhal's enemy and Raskolnikov Dostoyevsky's enemy. But while remaining that
Other, the hero of the novel gradually merges with the novelist in the course of creation.
When Flaubert cries, "Mme Bovary, c'est moi," he is not trying to say that Mme. Bovary has
become one of those flattering doubles with whom romantic writers love to surround
themselves. He means that the Self and the Other have become one in the miracle of the
novel.
Great novels always spring from an obsession that has been transcended. The hero sees
himself in the rival he loathes; he renounces the "differences" suggested by hatred. He learns, at the expense of his pride, the existence of the psychological circle. The novelist's
selfexamination merges with the morbid attention he pays to his mediator. All the powers of a
mind freed of its contradictions unite in one creative impulse. Don Quixote and Emma
Bovary and Charlus would not be so great were they not the result of a synthesis of the two
halves of existence which pride usually succeeds in keeping
Similar Books
