Comedy as Dislocated Desire
Molière and Whitehead
Desire and the Structure of Experience in Whitehead
Desire—and more specifically, the desire for satisfaction—plays a central role in Alfred North Whitehead’s philosophy. In Process and Reality, he suggests that each moment of our lives begins with an aim toward harmony or fulfillment—a satisfying integration of ourselves with the actual world we inherit. This desire is not inherently flawed; rather, it is always shaped by what is “given” to experience: the past, the present environment, and the relational field. Our aims may be realistic or unrealistic, depending on how well they resonate with the possibilities afforded by this context. When they align, they may lead to genuine harmony. But when they are dislocated—when they ignore, distort, or flee from what is given—they generate incongruity, tension, and, in dramatic form, comedy.
In presenting dislocated desire, comedy reveals something both playful and poignant about the human condition—and, more broadly, about the cosmic condition. Laughter becomes more than emotional release or social gesture; it also discloses the ever-present gap between what is hoped for and what is real, between the subjective aim and the world that resists or redirects it.
A Universe of Desire
Whitehead’s metaphysics does not limit this dynamic to human life alone. He proposes that something like desire—the reaching toward satisfaction through the formation of aims—extends downward into the very depths of matter and upward into the grandeur of galaxies. Even the subatomic world, in its own way, seeks integration; even the stars unfold through patterns of becoming. And at the heart of this cosmic drama is an inclusive life: God, in whom the universe lives and moves and who likewise desires satisfaction. Desire, then, is not a peripheral feature of existence. It is at the heart of being itself. Being is desire, and sometimes it's funny.
Enter Molière: Satirist of Misaligned Aims
Enter Molière. Born Jean-Baptiste Poquelin in 1622, he stands as one of the most influential figures in the history of Western theater. A playwright, actor, and director, he helped shape modern comedy through his keen understanding of human nature and his fearless critique of society. Writing during the reign of Louis XIV, Molière used wit and satire to expose the pretensions of the aristocracy, the follies of the bourgeoisie, and the hypocrisies of religious and intellectual authorities. His plays remain central to the French literary canon and are still widely performed today for their sharp humor and insight into social behavior.
Dislocated Desire on the Comic Stage
To read Molière through the lens of Whitehead is to see his comedies as studies in dislocated desire. His characters—Orgon in Tartuffe, Argan in The Imaginary Invalid, Monsieur Jourdain in The Bourgeois Gentleman—each pursue satisfaction with great conviction, but their aims are out of sync with their situations. They desire love, health, status, or moral purity, but their understanding of the world around them is partial, shaped by selective prehensions that include certain features while excluding others. Orgon prehends Tartuffe’s piety but not his deceit. Argan prehends the rituals of medicine while negatively prehending the common sense and love that surround him. These misaligned aims reveal characters trapped in narrow feeling, comically maladapted to the actual occasions of their lives.
Laughter as Clarifying Insight
And that’s where the comedy emerges. Molière exposes the consequences of truncated perception and misguided aims. His theater is a gallery of characters whose becoming has gone sideways, not because desire itself is wrong, but because its orientation is flawed. From a Whiteheadian perspective, the laughter that follows is not cruel but clarifying. It reveals the gap between what is sought and what is possible, and it hints at the possibility of redirection. Comedy, then, becomes a form of metaphysical pedagogy—a way of helping us feel the missteps of others and, perhaps, adjust our own aims with greater wisdom, fuller prehension, and deeper harmony with the relational world.
Comedy and Grace
In short. a Whiteheadian reading helps us see comedy as the art of dislocated desire—of characters pursuing aims rooted in partial or warped prehensions of reality. Their journeys often reveal the cost of ignoring relationality, of suppressing contrast, or of clinging to static ideals. But this isn’t just a critique—it’s also a path to transformation. The best of Molière’s characters are offered the chance to realign their desires, to take in the full complexity of the world and others, and to laugh at themselves.
And perhaps that is the comic grace Whitehead would recognize: not the triumph of the smart over the stupid, but the moment when a character (or an audience) glimpses the folly of narrow aims and the healing power of widened feeling. Laughter, then, becomes not merely a reaction, but a prehension of possibility—a felt movement toward wiser becoming. Comedy becomes, in its way, a channel of grace.
Desire—and more specifically, the desire for satisfaction—plays a central role in Alfred North Whitehead’s philosophy. In Process and Reality, he suggests that each moment of our lives begins with an aim toward harmony or fulfillment—a satisfying integration of ourselves with the actual world we inherit. This desire is not inherently flawed; rather, it is always shaped by what is “given” to experience: the past, the present environment, and the relational field. Our aims may be realistic or unrealistic, depending on how well they resonate with the possibilities afforded by this context. When they align, they may lead to genuine harmony. But when they are dislocated—when they ignore, distort, or flee from what is given—they generate incongruity, tension, and, in dramatic form, comedy.
In presenting dislocated desire, comedy reveals something both playful and poignant about the human condition—and, more broadly, about the cosmic condition. Laughter becomes more than emotional release or social gesture; it also discloses the ever-present gap between what is hoped for and what is real, between the subjective aim and the world that resists or redirects it.
A Universe of Desire
Whitehead’s metaphysics does not limit this dynamic to human life alone. He proposes that something like desire—the reaching toward satisfaction through the formation of aims—extends downward into the very depths of matter and upward into the grandeur of galaxies. Even the subatomic world, in its own way, seeks integration; even the stars unfold through patterns of becoming. And at the heart of this cosmic drama is an inclusive life: God, in whom the universe lives and moves and who likewise desires satisfaction. Desire, then, is not a peripheral feature of existence. It is at the heart of being itself. Being is desire, and sometimes it's funny.
Enter Molière: Satirist of Misaligned Aims
Enter Molière. Born Jean-Baptiste Poquelin in 1622, he stands as one of the most influential figures in the history of Western theater. A playwright, actor, and director, he helped shape modern comedy through his keen understanding of human nature and his fearless critique of society. Writing during the reign of Louis XIV, Molière used wit and satire to expose the pretensions of the aristocracy, the follies of the bourgeoisie, and the hypocrisies of religious and intellectual authorities. His plays remain central to the French literary canon and are still widely performed today for their sharp humor and insight into social behavior.
Dislocated Desire on the Comic Stage
To read Molière through the lens of Whitehead is to see his comedies as studies in dislocated desire. His characters—Orgon in Tartuffe, Argan in The Imaginary Invalid, Monsieur Jourdain in The Bourgeois Gentleman—each pursue satisfaction with great conviction, but their aims are out of sync with their situations. They desire love, health, status, or moral purity, but their understanding of the world around them is partial, shaped by selective prehensions that include certain features while excluding others. Orgon prehends Tartuffe’s piety but not his deceit. Argan prehends the rituals of medicine while negatively prehending the common sense and love that surround him. These misaligned aims reveal characters trapped in narrow feeling, comically maladapted to the actual occasions of their lives.
Laughter as Clarifying Insight
And that’s where the comedy emerges. Molière exposes the consequences of truncated perception and misguided aims. His theater is a gallery of characters whose becoming has gone sideways, not because desire itself is wrong, but because its orientation is flawed. From a Whiteheadian perspective, the laughter that follows is not cruel but clarifying. It reveals the gap between what is sought and what is possible, and it hints at the possibility of redirection. Comedy, then, becomes a form of metaphysical pedagogy—a way of helping us feel the missteps of others and, perhaps, adjust our own aims with greater wisdom, fuller prehension, and deeper harmony with the relational world.
Comedy and Grace
In short. a Whiteheadian reading helps us see comedy as the art of dislocated desire—of characters pursuing aims rooted in partial or warped prehensions of reality. Their journeys often reveal the cost of ignoring relationality, of suppressing contrast, or of clinging to static ideals. But this isn’t just a critique—it’s also a path to transformation. The best of Molière’s characters are offered the chance to realign their desires, to take in the full complexity of the world and others, and to laugh at themselves.
And perhaps that is the comic grace Whitehead would recognize: not the triumph of the smart over the stupid, but the moment when a character (or an audience) glimpses the folly of narrow aims and the healing power of widened feeling. Laughter, then, becomes not merely a reaction, but a prehension of possibility—a felt movement toward wiser becoming. Comedy becomes, in its way, a channel of grace.
Molière: A Scholarly Discussion
Melvyn Bragg and guests discuss one of the great figures in world literature. The French playwright Molière (1622-1673) began as an actor, aiming to be a tragedian, but he was stronger in comedy, touring with a troupe for 13 years until Louis XIV summoned him to audition at the Louvre and gave him his break. It was in Paris and at Versailles that Molière wrote and performed his best known plays, among them Tartuffe, Le Misanthrope and Le Malade Imaginaire, and in time he was so celebrated that French became known as The Language of Molière. With Noel Peacock, Emeritus Marshall Professor in French Language and Literature at the University of Glasgow; Jan Clarke. Professor of French at Durham University; and Joe Harris, Professor of Early Modern French and Comparative Literature at Royal Holloway, University of London. Producer: Simon Tillotson
Reading list:
Reading list:
- David Bradby and Andrew Calder (eds.), The Cambridge Companion to Molière (Cambridge University Press, 2006
- Jan Clarke (ed.), Molière in Context (Cambridge University Press, 2022)
- Georges Forestier, Molière (Gallimard, 2018)
- Michael Hawcroft, Molière: Reasoning with Fools (Oxford University Press, 2007)
- John D. Lyons, Women and Irony in Molière’s Comedies of Mariage (Oxford University Press, 2023)
- Robert McBride and Noel Peacock (eds.), Le Nouveau Moliériste (11 vols., University of Glasgow Presw, 1994- )
- Larry F. Norman, The Public Mirror: Molière and the Social Commerce of Depiction (University of Chicago Press, 1999)
- Noel Peacock, Molière sous les feux de la rampe (Hermann, 2012)
- Julia Prest, Controversy in French Drama: Molière’s Tartuffe and the Struggle for Influence (Palgrave Macmillan, 2014)
- 10. Virginia Scott, Molière: A Theatrical Life (Cambridge University Press, 2020)
Self-Creativity & Subjective Aims
Whitehead was deeply interested in desire—how we direct it, and how it, in turn, directs us. In Process and Reality, he proposes that each moment of experience begins with an ideal aim—an initial object of desire—derived from God. Yet our creativity, indeed our self-creativity, lies in shaping this ideal into a personalized, subjective aim. This individualized aim may or may not align with the divine ideal, but it carries with it the promise—at least for us—of potential satisfaction if realized.
Whitehead distinguishes between the initial phase of the subjective aim, which is rooted in the divine lure, and the subjective aim proper, which is our own contribution to the becoming of the moment. While the content of this subjective aim may be deeply influenced by circumstances we inherit from the past—including inherited desires—the act of creating it occurs in the immediacy of the moment. This act of creation is our own act of self-creativity, to use Whitehead’s term. It is not the product of the past, the future, or even of God. It belongs to us.
In reflecting on this process, it is tempting to think in exclusively moral terms: to see the ideal aim as the ideal of the good, and our subjective aim as either conforming to or diverging from that good. But such moralism can obscure the simple humanity of desire—and sometimes, its playfulness. We are always, in one way or another, trying to harmonize the desires that move us with the circumstances in which we live. And sometimes our desires miss the mark; they are dislocated, out of sync with the situations to which they respond.
This dislocation of desire lies at the heart of comedy. When we laugh at comic characters with misplaced or exaggerated desires, we are often laughing at ourselves. For in daily life, as in drama, our desires frequently miss the mark—sometimes in small, mundane ways, and sometimes in the larger arcs of our decisions. In this sense, comedy has a metaphysics of its own: it discloses something essential about who we are as desiring, fallible, and often mismatched beings.
Whitehead distinguishes between the initial phase of the subjective aim, which is rooted in the divine lure, and the subjective aim proper, which is our own contribution to the becoming of the moment. While the content of this subjective aim may be deeply influenced by circumstances we inherit from the past—including inherited desires—the act of creating it occurs in the immediacy of the moment. This act of creation is our own act of self-creativity, to use Whitehead’s term. It is not the product of the past, the future, or even of God. It belongs to us.
In reflecting on this process, it is tempting to think in exclusively moral terms: to see the ideal aim as the ideal of the good, and our subjective aim as either conforming to or diverging from that good. But such moralism can obscure the simple humanity of desire—and sometimes, its playfulness. We are always, in one way or another, trying to harmonize the desires that move us with the circumstances in which we live. And sometimes our desires miss the mark; they are dislocated, out of sync with the situations to which they respond.
This dislocation of desire lies at the heart of comedy. When we laugh at comic characters with misplaced or exaggerated desires, we are often laughing at ourselves. For in daily life, as in drama, our desires frequently miss the mark—sometimes in small, mundane ways, and sometimes in the larger arcs of our decisions. In this sense, comedy has a metaphysics of its own: it discloses something essential about who we are as desiring, fallible, and often mismatched beings.
Overview of some
Molière’s Comedies
The Misanthrope (Le Misanthrope, 1666) is one of Molière’s most profound and paradoxical comedies, blending sharp social satire with psychological depth. At the center is Alceste, a man who loathes the hypocrisy, flattery, and insincerity of polite society. He insists on absolute honesty and moral integrity, refusing to engage in the niceties and evasions that smooth social interactions. His idealism sets him apart, making him a lonely and often comic figure in a world where everyone else plays by different rules. The play begins not with villains but with a clash between truth-telling and the social dance of diplomacy.
Alceste’s struggle becomes even more poignant because he’s in love with Célimène, a witty, flirtatious young woman who embodies the very world he despises. She thrives on attention, charm, and social maneuvering, entertaining multiple suitors with equal grace. Alceste’s inability to reconcile his love for her with his disdain for her lifestyle reveals his inner contradictions. Around them revolve other characters who represent varying degrees of social compliance or critique, but none escape Molière’s satirical eye. Through their entanglements, the play explores the tension between truth and tact, authenticity and acceptance, love and principle.
In the end, Alceste chooses isolation over compromise, asking Célimène to join him in a life away from society—an invitation she declines. Alone and disillusioned, Alceste leaves the stage, his moral purity intact but his heart unfulfilled. While often labeled a comedy, The Misanthrope has the sting of tragedy beneath its wit. Molière doesn’t offer easy answers; instead, he reveals the human cost of rigid virtue in an imperfect world. The play endures because it speaks to a universal dilemma: how to live with integrity in a society that often rewards pretense, and whether total honesty is a virtue or a form of self-sabotage.
Alceste’s struggle becomes even more poignant because he’s in love with Célimène, a witty, flirtatious young woman who embodies the very world he despises. She thrives on attention, charm, and social maneuvering, entertaining multiple suitors with equal grace. Alceste’s inability to reconcile his love for her with his disdain for her lifestyle reveals his inner contradictions. Around them revolve other characters who represent varying degrees of social compliance or critique, but none escape Molière’s satirical eye. Through their entanglements, the play explores the tension between truth and tact, authenticity and acceptance, love and principle.
In the end, Alceste chooses isolation over compromise, asking Célimène to join him in a life away from society—an invitation she declines. Alone and disillusioned, Alceste leaves the stage, his moral purity intact but his heart unfulfilled. While often labeled a comedy, The Misanthrope has the sting of tragedy beneath its wit. Molière doesn’t offer easy answers; instead, he reveals the human cost of rigid virtue in an imperfect world. The play endures because it speaks to a universal dilemma: how to live with integrity in a society that often rewards pretense, and whether total honesty is a virtue or a form of self-sabotage.
The Bourgeois Gentleman (Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme, 1670) is Molière’s brilliant comedy about social climbing, pretension, and the absurd lengths people will go to in order to appear important. The play centers on Monsieur Jourdain, a wealthy but uneducated middle-class man who aspires to become an aristocrat. In his desperate attempts to appear refined, he hires a series of tutors in music, dance, fencing, and philosophy—each of whom takes advantage of his ignorance. His most laughable effort is adopting noble dress and manners, which only highlights how out of place he truly is. The play, originally staged with music and dance, was commissioned by Louis XIV and blends theatrical satire with musical extravagance.
The plot thickens around Jourdain’s refusal to let his daughter, Lucile, marry Cléonte because the young man is not of noble birth. Cléonte, with the help of others, devises a scheme in which he disguises himself as the "Son of the Grand Turk" and convinces Jourdain to grant permission for the marriage, believing it will tie him to royalty. The play ends in a farcical mock-Turkish ceremony, with Jourdain proudly accepting the made-up title of “Mamamouchi.” Throughout, Molière skewers not only the ambitions of the bourgeoisie but also the pretensions of those who exploit them, including pompous tutors and shallow nobles.
What makes The Bourgeois Gentleman so enduring is its insight into human folly. Jourdain is both ridiculous and oddly sympathetic—his desire to be seen as someone important mirrors timeless anxieties about status, self-worth, and cultural legitimacy. Molière’s genius lies in how he makes us laugh at Jourdain while inviting us to see a bit of ourselves in him. With its witty dialogue, iconic scenes (like Jourdain discovering he’s been speaking prose all his life), and biting commentary on false nobility and self-deception, the play remains a comic masterpiece and a sharp mirror to the vanities of any age.
The plot thickens around Jourdain’s refusal to let his daughter, Lucile, marry Cléonte because the young man is not of noble birth. Cléonte, with the help of others, devises a scheme in which he disguises himself as the "Son of the Grand Turk" and convinces Jourdain to grant permission for the marriage, believing it will tie him to royalty. The play ends in a farcical mock-Turkish ceremony, with Jourdain proudly accepting the made-up title of “Mamamouchi.” Throughout, Molière skewers not only the ambitions of the bourgeoisie but also the pretensions of those who exploit them, including pompous tutors and shallow nobles.
What makes The Bourgeois Gentleman so enduring is its insight into human folly. Jourdain is both ridiculous and oddly sympathetic—his desire to be seen as someone important mirrors timeless anxieties about status, self-worth, and cultural legitimacy. Molière’s genius lies in how he makes us laugh at Jourdain while inviting us to see a bit of ourselves in him. With its witty dialogue, iconic scenes (like Jourdain discovering he’s been speaking prose all his life), and biting commentary on false nobility and self-deception, the play remains a comic masterpiece and a sharp mirror to the vanities of any age.
Tartuffe (1664) is one of Molière’s most controversial and enduring plays, a brilliant satire of religious hypocrisy that was initially banned for offending powerful religious authorities. At the heart of the play is Tartuffe, a con man pretending to be a pious and devout man of God. He manipulates the wealthy and gullible Orgon, who becomes so enamored with Tartuffe’s show of holiness that he nearly destroys his own family by offering Tartuffe his daughter’s hand in marriage and even signing over his estate. The comedy lies in the vast gap between appearance and reality—and in the audience’s growing awareness of Tartuffe’s deceit while Orgon remains blind.
The play is a scathing critique not of genuine faith, but of those who use the appearance of faith to gain power, control, and wealth. Molière exposes how easily religious language and pious behavior can be weaponized to exploit trust and suppress dissent. While Orgon idolizes Tartuffe’s sanctimony, the rest of his family sees through the ruse, and much of the play’s tension comes from their efforts to open Orgon’s eyes. Tartuffe’s manipulations are both comic and chilling, and Molière’s dialogue mixes high elegance with biting irony, making the play a masterclass in theatrical and rhetorical construction.
Despite its comedic surface, Tartuffe raises serious questions about authority, gullibility, and the danger of blind belief. Molière faced intense backlash for the play, with church leaders accusing him of impiety, even though Louis XIV himself ultimately defended the work and allowed its performance in a revised form. Today, Tartuffe is widely regarded as one of Molière’s masterpieces—not only for its theatrical brilliance, but for its fearless confrontation of false virtue and its defense of reason, clarity, and conscience. It remains a timeless warning about the seductions of moral posturing and the importance of discernment.
The play is a scathing critique not of genuine faith, but of those who use the appearance of faith to gain power, control, and wealth. Molière exposes how easily religious language and pious behavior can be weaponized to exploit trust and suppress dissent. While Orgon idolizes Tartuffe’s sanctimony, the rest of his family sees through the ruse, and much of the play’s tension comes from their efforts to open Orgon’s eyes. Tartuffe’s manipulations are both comic and chilling, and Molière’s dialogue mixes high elegance with biting irony, making the play a masterclass in theatrical and rhetorical construction.
Despite its comedic surface, Tartuffe raises serious questions about authority, gullibility, and the danger of blind belief. Molière faced intense backlash for the play, with church leaders accusing him of impiety, even though Louis XIV himself ultimately defended the work and allowed its performance in a revised form. Today, Tartuffe is widely regarded as one of Molière’s masterpieces—not only for its theatrical brilliance, but for its fearless confrontation of false virtue and its defense of reason, clarity, and conscience. It remains a timeless warning about the seductions of moral posturing and the importance of discernment.
Le Malade Imaginaire (The Imaginary Invalid, 1673) is Molière’s final play—a sharp and hilarious satire of the medical profession and the human tendency toward hypochondria. The story revolves around Argan, a wealthy man obsessed with his health and completely convinced that he is gravely ill. Surrounded by opportunistic doctors and an overbearing second wife who schemes to inherit his fortune, Argan becomes both the victim and the architect of his own delusion. His plan to marry his daughter off to a doctor—to ensure constant medical care—sets off a series of comic complications and exposes the absurdities of both medicine and social ambition.
The genius of the play lies in its blend of farce and critique. Molière skewers the medical establishment of his time, portraying doctors as pompous, greedy, and often clueless—more interested in fees than healing. But the play also points to deeper themes: how fear can cloud judgment, how institutions prey on insecurity, and how love, when sincere, can offer a cure no medicine can. Argan’s daughter, Angélique, truly loves a young man named Cléante, and with the help of Argan’s clever maid Toinette (who disguises herself as a doctor), they expose the folly and falsehood around him.
Tragically, Molière collapsed onstage while performing the role of Argan during the fourth performance of the play and died later that night. This lends the comedy a poignant, even ironic depth: the man who mocked hypochondria may have been genuinely ill himself. Yet Le Malade Imaginaire endures as one of his most lively and incisive works. It reminds us that laughter can be a form of wisdom—and that sometimes, the healthiest medicine is seeing through the illusions we build around ourselves.
The genius of the play lies in its blend of farce and critique. Molière skewers the medical establishment of his time, portraying doctors as pompous, greedy, and often clueless—more interested in fees than healing. But the play also points to deeper themes: how fear can cloud judgment, how institutions prey on insecurity, and how love, when sincere, can offer a cure no medicine can. Argan’s daughter, Angélique, truly loves a young man named Cléante, and with the help of Argan’s clever maid Toinette (who disguises herself as a doctor), they expose the folly and falsehood around him.
Tragically, Molière collapsed onstage while performing the role of Argan during the fourth performance of the play and died later that night. This lends the comedy a poignant, even ironic depth: the man who mocked hypochondria may have been genuinely ill himself. Yet Le Malade Imaginaire endures as one of his most lively and incisive works. It reminds us that laughter can be a form of wisdom—and that sometimes, the healthiest medicine is seeing through the illusions we build around ourselves.