"Dominici, or the Triumph of Literature" is an
interesting work because it foreshadows later ideas from Barthes, particularly
in his 1977 work. Here, Barthes shows that "literature" isn't
something separate from everyday life and its power dynamics. Instead, he examines
a case where a rural laborer, Dominici, is judged using language deeply rooted
in literature: the judges describe his motives using literary clichés. They
also feel superior because they speak in a more polished, literary style than
Dominici. Even journalists reporting on the trial turn it into a literary
narrative, reinforcing existing literary conventions.
Although the essay doesn't use the term explicitly, it's a
classic example of how dominant ideas are reinforced through interactions
between different institutions and forms of discourse – in this case,
literature, the law, and journalism – all shaping the narrative about those who
have little voice in response. Later, Barthes reflected on this approach in his
columns, where he theorized about how discourse (or "mythology")
circulates in society, making certain views of the world seem natural and
universal. This leaves little room for alternative perspectives, which are
often dismissed as "unnatural," "perverse," "exotic,"
or "abnormal."
The Dominici trial was based on a particular view of
psychology, which happened to align with the literature favored by the
bourgeois establishment. Since there wasn't clear physical evidence, they
relied on understanding the accused's mental state, often reflecting the
mindset of the judges and prosecutors. However, these mentalities, such as that
of the rural laborer Dominici and the judicial system, likely didn't work the
same way. Yet, Dominici was judged based on a supposed "universal"
psychology derived from bourgeois novels and essentialist psychology, leading
to his condemnation.
This trial illustrates how official institutions, like the
judicial system and literary circles, use language to assert authority over
those accused. The belief in the transparency and universality of language
allows judges to communicate with defendants, despite the significant
differences in their backgrounds and understanding. However, this so-called
universal language actually serves to reinforce the psychology of those in power,
reducing individuals to simplistic labels and disregarding their actual actions
or consciousness. This psychology, rooted in utilitarianism and lacking
consideration for individual experiences, still claims to understand and judge
based on an assumed inner "soul" or conscience.
The psychology used in Dominici's trial comes from
traditional literature, particularly the kind that focuses on depicting human
life realistically. It's this idea of the "human document" that led
to Dominici's condemnation. In a surprising twist, Justice and literature have
joined forces, sharing their methods and revealing their close connection.
Writers like Giono and Salacrou sit alongside judges, blurring the lines
between law and literature.
Even the prosecution gets in on the literary action, with
the Public Prosecutor being described as an exceptional storyteller with wit
and charm. Even the police get poetic, describing Dominici in elaborate terms
like a master of disguise playing with people's emotions. The courtroom is filled
with rhetoric, metaphors, and dramatic language straight out of classical
literature, accusing the old shepherd.
Justice adopts the mask of realistic literature, while
literature itself eagerly collects new "human" stories from the
courtroom. Ironically, it's literature that originally imposed certain
psychological labels on the accused, now seeking to find those labels reflected
in their faces.
In contrast to the literature that saturates us with
supposed realism and humanity, there exists a literature that evokes deep
emotion. The Dominici trial embodies this type of literature as well. It wasn't
just about writers craving reality or eloquent storytellers capturing
attention; regardless of the accused's guilt, there was also the chilling
spectacle of a terror that threatens us all. It's the fear of being judged by a
power that only wants to hear its own language spoken. We all face the
potential of becoming like Dominici, not as murderers, but as accused
individuals stripped of our own language or forced to adopt that of our
accusers, leading to humiliation and condemnation. To deprive someone of their
language in the name of language itself is the initial step in all legal
atrocities.
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