Welcome to this week’s Reading Diary. You’ll need to post three times here this week week. Posts are due at 5pm on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays. If you’re hosting an Appetizer this week, you don’t need to post here at all!
Speaking of Appetizers, you’ll also be posting in a special discussion section with a small group of other students in response to one of this week’s Appetizer posts. You’ll post there three times per week: Mondays and Wednesdays by 5pm, Thursdays before class.
Head on over to the Schedule for weekly Appetizer assignments, and check The Plan for a full description of changes to the course.
Opening Prompt: Our required readings this week focus on Frère Jean (aka Friar or Brother John), a monk who exemplifies the vigorous, earthy, active spirit of the grotesque. We first meet him defending the grapes of his abbey (25), and then get a better feel for him in a series of scenes in which he introduces Gargantua and co. to his appetites and his version of the monk’s life (37-39). How do you react to Frère Jean? How would you compare him to Panurge, Falstaff, Trygaeus (from Aristophanes’ Peace) or other such exuberant, carnivalesque men? Where does he land in the battle between Carnival and Lent? Is he a good monk?
Reading Chapter 25, Friar John reminded me a lot of the end of Pantagruel where he and his friends battle. Although he may not be as outright vulgar as the other carnivalesque men we’ve seen, I think that the image of him works similarly to Panurge as a tiny man with a big attitude. The idea of a monk slaughtering a bunch of men over the grapes that will make wine with a huge Cross is completely ridiculous. His long description given by Rabelais as well adds to the sense of ridiculousness because of the adjectives just piled on top of each other. They are also not adjectives I would use to describe a monk, as the typical monk character is older and passive. Friar John is described like an epic hero mixed with some after-thought mentions of his clergy work; he sort of reads like a fanfiction dreamboat character who seems unreal, but is just your average Joe. I think that he is supposed to be a good monk, but since this is Rabelais and carnival, there is almost this detachment from his monk character and a focus on his carnivalesque nature. While he is a man of God and defends his monastery, he also does it in such a strangely violent and carnivalesque way.
I agree with your thoughts about Friar John. Obviously what he’s doing, using a cross to murder people, is blasphemous, but he’s framed almost like a Marvel Cinematic hero in chapter 25. Rabelais, as a monk who had to leave the order because he was a physician with illegitimate children, probably knew about being a “bad” monk while doing good deeds. This chapter is less focusing on whether Friar John is a good person and more on whether or not he is a good, heroic person.
I really like the question of if the Friar would be on the side of Carnival or Lent. In 25, he is defending the monastery which feels like it should be Lenten, but he is of course doing this to protect the wine so he will be able to drink during the year. He is also violent in a seemingly anti-religious way at points. He is even so violent it takes away from the Carnivalesque at points to me. That being said from what I have read so far, he seems more Carnivalesque. He is a monk but he is clearly down to have a good time. So I feel like he would be in the Carnival with everyone else.
I also think this is a great question, and a neat allusion to what we’ve been studying so far in class. Here we find a character that on first impression could fit into either of these “opposite” groups: Carnival and Lent. As many others are arguing, I agree that he is a Carnivalesque character, and is carnival in nature. I think Hannah’s comment does a great job of illustrating why; despite having some of the features of a good Friar, he is not the epitome of monastic life that you would expect. Despite having met many monks in my life that love drinking wine, I do not think he’s priorities are the same as what is expected of a monk.
I find that question of being a “good” monk interesting, because there are times when he seems like he enjoys the structure and rules of religious life (p. 326 he wants to keep his habit on, since it makes his “whole body happy,” and p. 332 when he wakes up to say his mattins. He also seems to know a lot of prayers!) Other times, though, he lives exactly the opposite way to how a monk should–that is, by giving his life to God and not *always* getting his way just because he thinks he should. He drinks when he should pray, and says he falls asleep while saying his prayers (who doesn’t sometimes? But it seems to happen a lot for Jean.) There’s nothing wrong with drinking–God made wine, therefore it must be good–but he definitely goes overboard in amount and frequency. Also, he murdered a huge number of people, which isn’t great for his monk score.
There’s obviously nothing wrong with being a jolly, carnivalesque monk, or drinking either, but there is definitely a level of moderation and self-restraint expected from someone in religious life which he does not have (and he shouldn’t! This is the carnival!) He is a perfect carnivalesque monk, but I wouldn’t say he’s a *good* one, if we can really even judge what that looks like.
I think your point about Friar John’s lack of restraint is interesting, especially considering that Rabelais was (at one point) a Benedictine monk (I think he was a Franciscan monk but then he left to be a Benedictine monk?). Benedictine monks are all about restraint and asceticism, their lives revolving purely around prayer and labor. I think Friar John’s breakage from the Rule of St Benedict is highly reminiscent of what is going in the church during Rabelais’ time, namely, the Reformation. This was a time when there was a demand to no longer live under the strict surveillance of the church, but rather simply live well in the name of God. In many ways, Friar John is reflective of such ideals (although, as you said, I don’t think Martin Luther mentioned anything about committing murder in his 95 theses :)). I also think in a lot of ways Rabelais seeks to parody the Rule of St. Benedict the more that we learn about Friar John’s lifestyle.
I think that Rabelais could be doing one of two things with the character Jean Frere. For one, he could be trying to support the Reformation and the derailing of some strict religious rules. However, he could also be making fun of the priests/monks that chose to follow the Reformation. Jean Frere is an example of many real life leaders in the church during this time. Of course they weren’t murdering people, but they were changing their behavior. Could Rabelais’ message also be criticizing these people by alluding to outrageous their actions are through a character such as Jean Frere?
While I don’t know how Rabelais in particular interacted with or even felt about the Reformation (only that it was very present during his lifetime), I think it is fair to say that he, at the very least was not entirely against it, due to his affiliation with humanism. In this sense, I feel like Friar John is meant to embody the extremes of the Reformation, however, I also agree that we could interpret him in a completely different way: as the embodiment of the consequences of Reformation. I think this is in some ways reminiscent of Rabelais’ own contradictions, as he pursued Benedictine order as well as humanism, two schools of thought that are very different from each other.
Specifically in reading chapter 25, if I were to remove all words associated with the church and read about Frere Jean, I would probably never guess that his occupation was a monk. For me, he would definitely be on the side of carnival. While he may be defending his church, the manner in which he does it is completely outrageous, and over wine. His obsession with drinking and the the adjectives used to describe him, “young, gallant, lively, lusty…loudmouthed,” make him a very carnivalesque character. I could imagine him as someone in the Peasant Dance painting at the table yelling and drinking wine.
One thing I found interesting––and reminiscent of the Carnivalesque––about Frere Jean is his name. In the first few paragraphs of Chapter 25, we get a description of Frere Jean and his environment. What struck me as an immediate aspect of his character is his surname: d’Entommeures or “Mincemeat” (making mincemeat of his enemies). On the following page the monk is described as “lusty,” another characteristic I wouldn’t necessarily associate with a monk. My first impression of him and his behavior is not proven false by the rest of our interactions with Frere Jean as we see him murder quite a few people over some grapes.
I think it is very interesting that Frère Jean sticks to his religious identity all the time. We do see a lot of similar wine bibbers and meat-eaters like Frère Jean in this novel, but none of them keeps on such a serious identity or social image. In Chapter 38, Gargantua says that the image of monks in general is wretched; they are considered useless and rejected by everyone. However, Frère Jean holds himself completely opposite to this bad image and even by acting as a grotesque character like Gargantua and his friends. He is also as confident as Panurge, who never compromises to anyone since he is the most persuasive person in this universe. It seems that his idea and value are considered more significant than religious dogma, and his practice and understanding of religion are based on his own knowledge and habits. Moreover, instead of serving the god and people, Frère Jean serves his own desires and habits. His behavior and characteristics make him a perfect friend for Gargantua, but considering his religious identity, it is pretty hard to evaluate his role.
Friar John is definitely a complex character. He is very closely tied to his religion and his practices, but he also does a lot of very un-monkly things. Like Rabelais celebration of the lower body to empower all parts of the human body, I think Friar John is Rabelais’ way of expressing that monks also have human bodies and do human things but that doesn’t mean those human functions are bad. I don’t think Rabelais wanted it to be immediately obvious whether or not Friar John was “good” or “bad.” Rather, I think Rabelais wanted us to 1) laugh at Friar John but 2) to use his character to reflect on why religious figures are expected to be so sterile when they are actually human.
Frere Jean is definitely a complicated character. In chapter 25 the description is violent “he battered their brains out…bashed in their noses” p.295 all for the sake of his grapes. Although the description is intense, in a way its comical. It feels absurd picturing a monk that engages in violence so outwardly. It’s also shocking and contradictory because it goes against what we may conventionally assume what monks value. Clearly Frere Jean has his priorities set. I do think that the debate between if he would be on the side of Carnival or Lent is particularly interesting. He obviously carries his religion with him at all times and values it, but at the same time he is indulgent in his own behavior and is able to revel in the things he personally values. Maybe he could be someone who basks in the carnivalesque while hiding under the guise of lent? But I think that interpretation would be too literal, in my eyes his behaviors lean towards the carnivalesque.
I really like the idea of comparing Frere Jean to other Carnivalesque characters that we have seen, and I think he is especially similar to Falstaff. For one thing, both Frere Jean and Falstaff experience/express Carnival most commonly through drinking, and they both use their love of wine as a sort of base for their other Carnivalesque actions (like Frere Jean using his love of wine to justify his fight in the abbey and Falstaff using drinking as a reason to maintain his lifestyle and steal). But I also think that Frere Jean and Falstaff both play the same role as the Carnivalesque figures in social spaces that may not otherwise be Carnivalesque. In Frere Jean’s case, he is in a profession that is usually viewed as very serious and would normally be much more on the side of Lent than Carnival. For Falstaff, his friendship with the prince has brought him into a royal circle that could also otherwise have the potential to be very serious. But Frere Jean and Falstaff both degrade these spaces and to me represent how the Carnivalesque spirit finds ways to interact with those people and places where it may not seem possible.
I think this comparison is a really good point. Along with them being Carnivalesque in places that are normally serious, we also have there jobs as a reversal of hierarchies. This has been talked about with Frere Jean since he is a Carnivalesque monk, but I think Falstaff was a knight, and of course very different then what you would expect. They are both involved and higher up in the institutions of power, but not the highest. I feel like the king being Carnivalesque might be strange since so many lives depend on him, as would Cardinals or the Pope, but these two are unimportant enough that their Carnivalesque nature is able to be fun and invert hierarchies.
I think Hannah’s comment about what a monk ought to do, that is, give his life to God, brings up questions about what exactly a Godly life ought to look like. I’m obviously no theologian, but I’ve read a fair amount of scripture and been to a few masses, and, at least in the Catholic denomination that my high school was a part of, we were told at the end of every mass to go spread the good news of the Gospel and to do this through service. Friar John seems to do exactly that: “He’s no bigot;… he’s decent, joyful, and resolute. He toils, he travails, he defends the oppressed; he comforts the afflicted; he succours the needy” (330). Of course, as Hannah points out, a certain degree of moderation is expected from a monk, and indulgence in rich things for the sake of experiencing them is perhaps *uniquely* anti-Catholic, but in the sense that he reportedly lives his life for others, the universal aspect of exaggerated consumption could be directly linked to the universal aspect of service to others.
I really like this! Especially where he says that he’d rather keep his cowl on, and if he did, he would eat more, I think this points to a certain amount of acceptance of hospitality? There certainly is the expectation in Catholicism (at least today) that when offered gifts, you ought to accept and be kind (for example, even if you were fasting for some reason, if someone cooks you a meal, it’s better to break your fast and accept their kindness. People come before rules.) I see a lot of examples where he is giving of himself, just as a monk should.
I’m seeing Frere Jean as a model of restraint against the excesses of monasticism. That sounds paradoxical but one of the biggest critiques of this social group came in chapter 38 where Gargantua compares the monks to pet monkeys. They join the carnivalesque celebrations, equally reveling in food and drink with the common people, but far too often do not put any of the work in towards supplying those periods of abundance. On top of it they constantly clang their bells while claiming special acess to God. Frere Jean is positioned as better than that “He toils, he travails, he defends the oppressed; he
comforts the afflicted; he succours the needy.” I will take Gargantua’s word on this because so far he’s been shown to not act in a detached ascetic way. I’m definetly reminded of Trygaeus from Peace because both character encourage their peers to wake up from their unhelpful passive states and put in the work to take decisive action on behalf of a common good. That common good is acheived through dedicated labor and genorosity of spirit.
I’ve been enjoying your thoughts on Frère Jean, and I’d like us to return to him soon when we consider the establishment of the Abbey of Thélème in the second half of this week’s reading. For the moment, though, I’d like us to follow the lead of several of your comments to think more broadly about religion in the novel. Elinor and Collin note that Rabelais was writing during the Reformation, when many European countries began to criticize or even break up their monasteries (and Elinor adds the important detail that Rabelais was, in his youth, first a Franciscan and then a Benedictine monk, before leaving entirely to become a physician); Helena, Liam, and Hannah note the tension between his professed religious identity and his violent and indulgent behavior; many of the rest of you touch on points of comparison with images from Bruegel or other carnival heroes we’ve encountered. Using Friar John as a jumping off point, what perspectives on religion do you find expressed in these novels? Do you get a sense of the views Rabelais (or the narrator, Alcofrybas) held about established religion? Do the many prayers and devotional expressions of the characters ring true to you? Is carnival a true expression of what’s best in religion, or a defiant criticism of the organized church?
The question of how religion is expressed in these novels thus far is an interesting one, and while it definitely can be out of the box or unorthodox, I think that Rabelais isn’t making fun of religion or looking down on it. He was, at two points I guess, a religious figure: he knows what life for these people are like. Although Friar John is a strange character to say the least, I think Rabelais highlights the fact that monks and religious figureheads are normal people. Even thought Friar John might dedicate his life to God, it doesn’t mean that monks don’t engage in carnival or have fun in the way that non-religious people do. While it may not be to the same extremities, monks still drink and make jokes about the body as well as parody their religion. It takes a deep understanding of something to parody in the way that monks parody clerical phrases, and it is not always a bad thing to make fun of something you like. For this reason, I don’t think carnival is a criticism of the church in the way that we usually take criticism to be something negative; people can acknowledge the more comedic parts of life without commenting on whether or not they morally believe it’s wrong. Friar John can say that they can “a-pour” Him instead of adore Him, yet it doesn’t mean he dislikes the latter. If the joke is right there, why not go for it?
I agree with this! I read these passages as a window into how Rabelais sees monasticism. Rather than fully enlightened people sitting on the hilltops, the monks are humans with desire just like others, and the carnival monk is his embodiment of this idea. Rabelais doesn’t seem to view this as a bad thing, but more seems to emphasize that the seemingly conflicting natures of monks and people you would meet in the market do not have to be separate, and it may not be bad if they aren’t. The fact that this character sticks out so much highlights how differently we perceive religious figures from other people, and Rabelais seems to tell us to rethink these notions.
I also really like this train of thought and was thinking along similar lines. The Reformation period was all about challenging church authority and power and I think Rabelais’ writing is really evidence of that. As you guys pointed out, Rabelais has experience as a clerical figure––specifically a monk––and is able to draw from that experience to create a character like Frere Jean. Despite his religious authority, we see Frere Jean acting in a much more carefree way that resembles that of the common people. He lacks the rigidness that is typically associated with the church.
I also think that this characterization is fascinating. I think Rabelais understanding of religious figures and the people that operated religious institutions. Frere Jean definitely represents a more realistic picture of what religious figures and individuals may have been like during the time period. It also adds to a dimension of the individuality that can be attached to religious figures. I could possibly see a critique in Frere Jean but I see it more as expanding the behaviors of religion and what the extent and actuality of religion is.
I definitely agree with this. In a time like the Reformation, many people were called to practice their religion differently. If they saw that their priests and monks were still adhering to the strict practices and corruption, it is possible they would have left their churches. Some of the issues with the church at this time were corruption, preaching inconsistencies from diocese to diocese, lack of inclusion to all social classes (money had power to buy freedom from sins), etc. If Rabelais were to be supporting the continuation of the religion, then maybe with a character such as Frere Jean he was making them more comfortable with the behavior of the church leaders. He could’ve been saying “look, here is an example of a monk who behaves just like us all. He practices faith, but also isn’t afraid to partake in the carnival.” In a time where people may have needed to be encouraged to stick by their churches, Rabelais provides a character like Frere Jean, that makes everyone more comfortable with their monks.
Since my copy of Rabelais and His World is covered in Catholic annotations, my instinct it to look at Rabelais through Bakhtin’s conception of the grotesque/carnivalesque, which I think we can’t deny Friar John is playing right into. What interests me most in that regard is Bakhtin’s contention that the grotesque *degrades* the divine, and, if I’m remembering correctly, kind of erases it along the its relative, the serious. I found an article about Bakhtin and religion (since he was writing in a context of Orthodoxy and I know nothing about that), and a few comments in particular struck me in “CARNIVAL AND INCARNATION: BAKHTIN AND ORTHODOX THEOLOGY” by Charles Lock: “As in Orthodox theology the Incarnation renders all matter potentially divine, so according to Bakhtin’s heteroglossia, all worlds are potentially the Word… Orthodoxy participated in neither Reformation nor Counter-Reformation and retains an understanding of sacrament in full accord with incarnational Christology. One cannot divide the material from the immaterial, nor deem some matter good, some bad” (72-73). This reminded me about the content of the New Testament and the figure of Jesus and some of his parables– there is a throughline through Christianity (as I understand it) of generation, consumption, and immortality through Christ, who is himself consumed, dead and reborn through the Passions, constantly touching, being touched, and performing miracles, victories of life over death. I guess my thought is that, given the example of Jesus’ life, the figure of Christ is much less precious about the *seriousness* of divinity than the Catholic Church was in the Renaissance, and, as several people have mentioned, this was a source of tension in religious life at the time– that doesn’t mean that Friar John isn’t *as* consistent with Revelation as any other monk, which is to say imperfectly consistent. Through the grotesque and carnivalesque Friar John, while I don’t think any specific argument is being made, the earthy embodiedness of life and worship is celebrated is admitted as an incarnation of piety (in a comic context, of course), and, while that runs counter to the dominant culture at the time, it doesn’t necessarily stand as an example of *degradation* of religion, which itself has to, by necessity of scripture, engage with the Incarnation (the Latin root a compound of in, meaning in, and caro, meaning *flesh*) of Christ as a fundamentally inceptive event. Like the Catholic annotations in my copy of Bakhtin’s book, I find myself convinced that religion, specifically Christianity, is right at home in the grotesque, and that Friar John, while comic because of his subversion of stereotypes, can be read as an endorsement of the carnality of the Gospel and not merely a subversion of Christianity *itself* but, perhaps, its institutional rules.
I think we have talked about this before, but I agree that religion and Catholicism specifically fits right into the grotesque world in a lot of ways. The physical nature of the sacraments (the *real* presence, the idea that there is truly flesh and blood present) is highly worldly–and I mean the pun, highly divine and worldly. Protestantism often takes away from some of those “baser” ideas, saying that the Eucharist is merely representative of the physical body, but I think this is less grotesque. I don’t think that Rabelais is degrading the divine in the way that some might imagine, but as others have said, taking the opportunity for a joke and laughing at something he can also love.
Catholics (and priests/monks especially) are expected to be subservient to the authority of those above them, as they are subservient to God. They should perform the duties assigned to them etc. trusting that they know better (similar to military service, I think.) However, they are also expected to speak out against injustice, problems within the church, corruption, abuse of power or others, etc. and they are never expected to follow an unjust order. I think that a lot of the criticism in Rabelais fits into that category of pointing out hypocritical church leaders who (as some have mentioned) seem to serve and care for people at one time and yet go on a “murder” spree the next.
I think that Rabelais was loyal to the church, but not submissive to authority, holding his own opinions on certain matters. It is important that he had considerable knowledge of science as a practising physician, and his humanistic learning was astonishing for its wide range. Because Rabelais intended to look at the society from different perspectives, not just from the religious one, he believed in intellectual, social, and probably religious freedom as well. In the assigned chapters, I do see criticism of the monks, but I ’m not sure about my own opinion, and I think my mind may change as I keep reading this novel. Although Rabelais did not seem to overtly express his attitude towards monks, I can see that the monk is superior to random people since he lives an indulgent life without learning and labor, and he is never hurt physically. It is obvious that Gargantua and his friends love the characteristics of the monk, but I am not sure whether this image can be entirely affirmed by Rabelais himself.
To your last question, I think that carnival can be both an expression of what’s best in religion and a criticism of the organized church. Like Alice mentioned, there has to be a certain level of understanding and often respect for something in order to criticize and parody it, and I think that Rabelais is using his criticism of some parts of the organized church to convey his respect for other parts of it. For example, Free Jean is described as a very charitable person who gives back to others through service, yet we also saw him murder dozens of people. These two aspects of his character juxtapose one another in a way that I think reflects both a reverence and a contempt toward the behaviors of religious figureheads. In the same way that carnival events can be understood as a way to give people a break from the serious so that they can appreciate the serious more for the rest of the year, Rabelais makes fun of religious figures like Frere Jean and exaggerates their Carnivalesque features so that the reader can reflect on where the organized church falls short and deserves criticism and where it deserves respect the rest of the time.
I’m wondering if Rabelais is also humanizing the religious figures? By creating a character with such contradictions like Frere Jean, he’s giving them respect by demonstrating complexity. All of the Rabelais we’ve been reading so far has been exploring exaggerated humanity through the giants Pantagruel and Gargantua. I think that that project is being extended to those religious figures that might have been in a contentious place in relation to the carnivalesque. Frere Jean proves his societal worth to someone like Gargantua through his deeds of service, protecting the vineyards and engaging in affable conversation. There’s a possibility for friendship and mutual trust between peasant and monastic communities but it can be best forged through experiences of the carnivalesque and grotestque.
For our final day of online discussion this week, I’d like us to move our focus towards the war that dominates the second half of the novel, in which Friar John becomes a hero to Gargantua’s people. The war breaks out when a group of bakers refuse to sell fouaces (sugary baked loaves of bread) to a group of shepherds from a nearby village. The king of the land the bakers are from is Picrochole, whose name means “bitter bile,” the substance that (in Renaissance thinking about the body) makes a person “choleric” or inclined to anger. He begins a global campaign of conquest, which draws in Friar John when his soldiers attack John’s abbey’s vineyard. Meanwhile, Grandgousier, Gargantua’s father, tries to preserve peace, while throwing an increasingly lavish series of banquets. Finally, Gargantua and Friar John defeat Picrochole, and the ex-king goes into exile and becomes a day laborer.
What carnivalesque elements do we detect in this war? Why is food made such a central theme through the war, and how is that theme developed? Does this story have a message for us about the meaning of war, of kingship, of the power of church or state? How does the geography of the war (which plays out on a miniscule scale, among the tiny villages of the countryside where Rabelais grew up) affect how we react to the epic language and grand scenes of battle?
A lot of the language reminds me of ancient accounts of battles (think Caesar’s Gallic Wars or something Tactician.) It is difficult to describe why that is, but here’s an attempt. The geographical descriptions of how the armies are being moved, the structure of the sentences, certain words and phrases like “he himself,” or he “took supreme command of the army,” or “positioning the support troops to his flanks on the upward slope” could be pulled directly out of these ancient accounts. Perhaps this is how military language is, but somehow it seems too perfect. This is a really good parody which somehow takes these tiny little village battles and equals them in importance to that of the Roman empire vs. all of Gaul or Britain. Very carnivalesque! Perhaps Rabelais is making fun of all war, or perhaps saying that these little battles have an enormous importance to those who are living in them.
(I also just realized the commentary also points out that the “worse that women” quote actually does come right out of Livy!)
I agree that the way the war is written definitely echoes Latin-history style! I’d be curious to know how/if at all that’s reflected in the original French. It reminded me of how one of the most fundamental parts of ancient comedy was para-tragic style/plot/character in both Greek and Roman plays. Though this eschews the questions about the fictive world, this kind of appropriation and reference falls right into the parody component of the carnivalesque. Rabelais kind of puts a spin on this by having the content be consistently silly (whereas Sosia in Plautus’ Amphitruo goes full in on the tragic language only to break into his silly character at the end of a monologue– of course, in theater, the mode of delivery of fully tragic language can be the punchline); the war is petty and small, so when the style gets sober, grandiose and stiff, the incongruity can really shine through.
I think that one of the most carnivalesque things about the war is Rabelais’ playing with size. Like you said, it’s a minuscule scale of a war, but it includes some giants. When I think of a war with giants, I think of the Titanomachy and a struggle for cosmic power, but Gargantua is fighting about bread (which, I mean, is relatable). One of the things I’ve noticed about carnival both in Rabelais and in Petronius is that the language is so intense and serious that it takes the reader a moment to realize the frivolity of the entire situation. There is this exaggeration of size and meaning of what is going on that draws the audience in only to be shut down in the end by ridiculousness; even if war is supposed to be something serious, it’s always over something sorta dumb. I don’t want to say that the message is a pacifist reading of war as being frivolous and unnecessary because perhaps that’s giving it too much credit or reading too much into parody, but there is definitely something going on in regards to why Rabelais chooses such a silly reason to invoke a war.
I like your point about the absurd war that ended up drawing monks and giants as soldiers. Silly soldiers for a silly war. I also think the food and feasts that show up in the story at this time are also representative of how Gargantua and Frere John are similar–they enjoy rich food for their grotesque bodies–while also contrasting how the two characters have very different expectations given to them by society–Frere John is expected to be much more modest, for example.
One of the parts of this chapter that struck me as the most Carnivalesque was the ridiculous difference between how our protagonists experienced the war and how their enemies experienced it. Not only did Gargantua & co. win, but they suffered almost no casualties at all, whereas Picrochole’s men were left devastated in every part of the battle. This seems like another way that Rabelais is parodying some of the ancient war accounts that Hannah mentioned. A lot of these accounts, at least in my perception of them, exaggerate victories and make it seem like the “good guys” defeated their enemies easily and heroically. The heroes of these stories seem invincible, just as Frere Jean is unable to be hurt by his enemies weapons. The whole thing works out unbelievably and ridiculously well for the While Picrochole is forced back home with his men and resources gone, Gargantua goes home to more lavish feasts and victory speeches, knowing that almost no lives were lost.
I think you bring up a good point about the war itself. The inequity of the damage inflicted on the two sides is so inflated (much like the quantities of other things through Rabelais’ work) that it parodies the toll of war. Combined with the actual reasons behind the war,––something ridiculous as bread––it is easy to see how Rabelais wants his audience to interpret this war as a commentary on the absurdity over which actual wars are started.
I find Rabelais’s descriptions of Picrochole’s army and their behavior very interesting and carnivalesque. First, I think it is important that Picrochole’s army is not made up of trained soldiers, but formed out of all the men in this country, which means that all the social identities are erased, and people are equal in this army. And then, Picrochole’s army is just destroying things and disrupting people like robbers and rogues, and they don’t seem to attempt to occupy territories or seek revenge in the fighting. Thus, my first impression of this army was a group of reckless people in a carnival, rather than a military group. Moreover, no one in Picrochole’s army is infected with the plague. Interestingly, Rabelais also urged readers to think about the reason for this. I don’t know the answer to this question, but this reminds me of Bakhtin’s idea about the fearlessness in the carnivalesque group. After throwing away the fear, Picrochole’s army becomes invincible, and this may cause them to turn this expedition into gaiety.
I think this also applies to the people being pillaged by Picrochole’s army. Rabelais writes on page 291: “And so, without order or restraint, they started their campaign all jumbled up together, wasting and smashing everything in their way, sparing neither poor nor rich nor any building, sacred and profane.” Rabelais then illustrates how the armies robbed these people of all kinds of food and drink. We talked in class a couple of months ago about how murder is inherently non-carnivalesque due to the act of murder being an assertion of hierarchy. But I think this moment in the text is carnivalesque in the same way that the Bruegel painting “The Triumph of Death” is. The overall sentiment is not carnivalesque, but there are moments of carnivalesque values and images, such as the army not discriminating when it comes to who and what they pillage, as well as the army being so focused on gathering up an excessive amount of food.
At first, Picrochle and his army are suggested to have demonic origins/influence. To Grandgousier, “that he should thus come so and affront me can therefore only be through the Evil Spirit.” Picrochle’s outrages aren blamed on an excess of “free will and private judgement.” Of course these serious explanations are lightened by the inciting conflict over some bread that began the war. There’s a connection being made though between greed and hoarding of resources with anti-Christian values. It makes sense that food in the form of a pastry made of wheat is so important because of its centrality to life in France. To threaten the supplies of fuoaces is a serious threat against the lives of so many. War and disputes between kingdoms and princes might be rationalized as opportunities for presitge or divinely ordained crusades, but in some way Rabelais is reminding readers of what actually matters to the vast majority of the population.