Hannibal Lecter and Philosophy (Popular Culture and Philosophy)

by Joseph Westfall

  I Don’t Know if I’ve Got Any “Self” Left Over

  The homosocial bond between Will and Hannibal manifests in three forms throughout the series—the Stag, the Wendigo, and the “Willdigo.” The Stag, which has been present since the first episode, is a hallucination but also serves as a source of comfort for Will. It is ultimately symbolic of his mental stability and wellbeing. The Stag appears in his dreams and nightmares as a sort of beacon of normalcy. Will is not frightened or suspicious of the Stag, but rather curious and trusting of the beast. On many occasions, the Stag is attempting to lead him away from Hannibal. It’s as though Will knows deep down that this isn’t the healthiest relationship, and yet is still drawn to Hannibal out of a sort of morbid curiosity, a need to know and experience a bond with a person like the enigmatic doctor. The dynamic state of the Stag throughout the show—from a dreamland companion to the victim of the Wendigo—reveals the slow dissolution of Will’s hesitations surrounding Hannibal, the entrapment and framing of Will for the Chesapeake Ripper’s murders, and his ultimate surrender to the seduction of the duplicitous and charismatic Dr. Hannibal Lecter.

  The Wendigo is a beast of legendary proportions. The origins of the folkloric animal stem from Algonquin myths surrounding the taboo of cannibalism. The Wendigo can either possess a person or the person can become the beast, most commonly when human flesh is eaten as a means of survival. In most narratives, the Wendigo is a grotesque being, a large, gaunt figure. It is half-human, half-animal with large multi-pointed horns, an emaciated body and sunken eyes, with a stench of decay and decomposition. As Will sinks deeper into the delirium, the Stag is nearly replaced by a Wendigo figure, complete with withered body and horns, except the mangled face which has been replaced with Hannibal’s blackened visage. This beast is not only symbolic of Hannibal’s eventual push of Will into madness, but also a marker of both Will and Hannibal’s transgressions.

  The “Willdigo” isn’t a term designated by Bryan Fuller or offered anywhere in the script, but it is a fantastic nickname created by the Fannibals (the cheeky nickname for the community of avid fans of Hannibal). The Willdigo is the salt to the Wendigo’s pepper. Near the end of Season 2, the Wendigo eviscerates the Stag and the Willdigo emerges out of its carcass. The newborn beast is identical to the Wendigo, with the blackened, emaciated body, but with one difference: Will’s face replaces Hannibal’s on this creature.

  Eating Her Is Honoring Her; Otherwise It’s Just Murder

  Hannibal reminds Will (and the audience) that, “cruelty is a gift humanity has given itself” (Hannibal, Season 1, “Coquilles”), a natural transgression embedded in the human essence. The homosocial bond between Will and Hannibal becomes dependent on their shared transgressions. Hannibal and Will both embody perceptions of good and evil simultaneously. During the Chesapeake Ripper trial, Will is positioned as evil but is mostly good, while Hannibal is positioned as good while being mostly evil. However, the mark of evil is not lifted from Will entirely after the declaration of a mistrial. In his book, Erotism: Death & Sensuality, Bataille discusses transgression as the ability to move beyond a taboo without disrupting its social and cultural rationale. Offering murder as a specific example, Bataille notes that the act of killing another human is not universally banned, because if it were, war and military assassinations would not exist whatsoever. Through this, we have to bear in mind—especially with Hannibal—that naming something as taboo does not deny that it is a possibility. When watching the preparation and display of Hannibal’s gorgeous feasts, we separate these images from the reality that the meat he’s butchered in his cellar is human flesh. We know that this is taboo, the violation of a corpse, yet we gawk at the frivolity and splendor of his gourmet meals. Hannibal’s transgression is buried in this beauty. His cannibalism has transcended the taboo.1

  It’s Nice to Have an Old Friend for Dinner

  Hannibal’s epicurean cannibalism removes the grotesque—and for some, the immorality—of eating human flesh. The off-screen production of Hannibal’s feasts includes a culinary designer, Janice Poon, who also runs a blog aimed at helping fans recreate their favorite dishes from Hannibal’s dinner table. This only reiterates the idea that food and shared meals are a site of bonding, nourishment, security, and ritual as the Fannibals can experience the meals while watching the series. Hannibal’s corrupted—and yet celebrated—ethics surrounding the gathering of his meats are nearly justified as he says to Will, “Whenever feasible, one should always try to eat the rude” (Hannibal, Season 2, “Tome-Wan”). His victims often include corrupt politicians, other serial killers, copycats, and people who threaten to expose the more private moments of his life. His morally bankrupt attitude is cemented in his statement, “I don’t hide from God,” while he chews and swallows the entire body of an ortolan, an endangered songbird which he’s prepared as a debauched delicacy (Hannibal, Season 2, “Kō No Mono”).

  Our ritual of eating goes beyond the needs of eating three daily meals. The process of food production begins with the source from which it is then harvested, prepared, trussed, and served. Once the food makes it to the table, it is then offered as a plated meal or served in a family style manner. Each of these steps adds meaning to the meal itself—everything from the source, to the preparation, to the passage of the serving dishes—and reinforces the rituals that make up what we’d consider a traditional meal. The practice of eating food with another person or a group impacts our identities. The preparer of our meal becomes a literal and symbolic source of the basic need of nourishment. Hannibal performs all of the stages of meal preparation from harvester to server, enriching his dining companions. He carefully selects his sources, ensuring that the meat is not bitter with fear, nor—at least as he sees it—undeserving of becoming the entrée for his elaborate meals. Hannibal does not “eat the rude” only for the sake of his cannibalistic urges. He prepares these meals in his ritualistic fashion for himself and his colleagues as a way to display their superior virtue, literally consuming rudeness as the means of its physical and symbolic disposal.

  Fear Makes You Rude, Will

  Hannibal almost requires our suspension of disbelief in order to cope not only with the gruesomely elaborate crime scenes, but also with watching Hannibal destroy Will by triggering a mental collapse. Mental illness is confined, studied, medicated, and—at best—treated. Confinement shames the person and exerts a social power over those deemed “mad,” contributing to the invisibility and suppression of the mentally ill. Think of the conversations surrounding Will—by Jack, Alana, Dr. Chilton, and Hannibal—while he is confined at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. Even more so, think of the use of the cage in which Will is often held, positioning him as a spectacle, subordinate to those who have their freedom (ironically, even the real Chesapeake Ripper, Hannibal Lecter). Will’s encephalitic infection is compounded by his unique empathy disorder—which he describes to Jack in the first episode, saying, “My horse is hitched to a post that is closer to Asperger’s and autistics than narcissists and sociopaths . . . I can empathize with anybody” (Hannibal, Season 1, “Apéritif”). Will’s conditions—the infection and the empathy disorder—draw strange reactions from his colleagues, especially Hannibal. While his empathy disorder fascinates them, the delirium caused by the infection leads them to discuss him as though he is dead. Hannibal is guiding Jack and Alana to accept Will’s symbolic death, positioning them as unknowing accomplices in his experiment with Will’s mental state, eclipsing his own mental instabilities by framing Will for the Chesapeake Ripper’s crimes.

  We’re All Pathological in Our Own Ways

  In his book, The History of Madness, the French philosopher Michel Foucault offers a description of Hieronymus Bosch’s painting, “Cutting the Stone” (alternatively titled “The Extraction of the Stone of Madness,” or “The Cure of Folly”). This early Renaissance piece shows a patient, seated in a chair, with a doctor, a monk, and a nun surrounding him. The doctor is cutting into
the patient’s head, revealing a small flower. What’s odd about this painting is the fact that the doctor is wearing a large funnel as a hat and the nun is balancing a textbook on her head. Since the life and works of Hieronymus Bosch were so poorly documented, there is no formal explanation for the event in this painting. Foucault suggests that the strange headwear calls into question the sanity of the doctor and the two witnesses when he says, “Bosch’s famous doctor is far more insane than the patient he is attempting to cure, and his false knowledge does nothing more than reveal the worst excesses of a madness immediately apparent to all but himself” (Foucault, p. 25). Sound familiar? Look up the image: can you imagine Will as the patient and Hannibal as Bosch’s doctor? Substitute Jack Crawford for the monk and Alana Bloom for the nun, too. Now reread that passage by Foucault. Hannibal’s psychiatrist, Dr. Bedelia Du Maurier, is on point when describing Hannibal’s concealed psychosis: “I’ve had to draw a conclusion based on what I glimpse through the stitching of the person suit that you wear. And the conclusion that I’ve drawn is that you are dangerous” (Hannibal, Season 2, “Sakizuke”).

  Jumping from Foucault’s interpretation of Bosch’s painting, with the four characters in the roles I’ve described above, we can look further into the discussion of madness in Foucault’s text and throughout the first two seasons of the show. Bosch’s doctor may be a charlatan in hindsight, but at the time, was likely a trusted professional. Mesmerized by his poise, his demeanor, and his status, Jack and Alana neglect Will’s fears surrounding Hannibal, as Will is marked as sick and unreliable (as diagnosed by Hannibal). Despite the close and bonded relationship that Will and Hannibal have, Will’s testament to Hannibal’s instability goes unheeded and uninvestigated until it is far too late. Hannibal is far from a fraud as a doctor, but is definitely not as even keeled as he tends to project. Our monk, Jack, looks on eagerly while awaiting a positive outcome from Hannibal’s treatment of Will. Alana, our nun, waits idly with her head resting on her hand and a finger at her temple, signaling intrigue and observation—the “professional curiosity” which Alana repeatedly reminds us is the source of her interest in Will. The book balanced on her head represents futility as Bosch’s nun seems to hope that the knowledge held in the book will trickle down from its pages and into her head—a futility much like her “professional” interest in Will and her attempts to understand his peculiarities (as if being physically near him would lead to understanding the complexities of his condition). In front of the nun is a yellowed flower, the same variety of blossom coming from the head of the patient. The doctor, the monk, and the nun are all taking part in removing the universal symbol of life from the head of the patient, and Alana—having abandoned her more intimate relationship with Will for Hannibal—retains a small portion of his former self (the nun’s yellowed flower). So, we might say, Jack and Alana are accomplices to Hannibal’s stripping the life out of Will by taking advantage not only of the state of delirium induced by the swelling in his brain, but also of the dependence and trust established within their homosocial relationship.

  They Love and Kill What They Love

  Will’s fragile and crumbling mental state deeply impacts his romantic involvement with Alana, causing her to see him more as a wounded dependent than as a viable love interest. Her focus shifts to Hannibal who is—at least on the surface—a more emotionally stable and balanced lover. This creates tensions between Hannibal and Will, as their tenuous bond is now further complicated by erotic rivalry. In Deceit, Desire, and the Novel, the French philosopher René Girard explains triangular relationships as “Mimetic Desire.” This is when A has a desire for Y, and B—noticing A’s desire—begins to desire Y as well. Out of their shared desire for Y, A and B become rivals. Applying this model to Hannibal, Will is A, Alana is Y, and Hannibal is B. Will and Alana were involved first, but it was cut short due to the Ripper investigation. Hannibal only showed any interest in Alana after her involvement with Will. After Will is released, Alana is upfront with him and says she is with Hannibal now, adding to the already existing rivalry between the two men. Easy enough, right?

  Continuing with the path of Mimetic Desire, the rivalry between Hannibal and Will is “Mimetic Violence,” or a reciprocal rivalry. This happens when the friction between A and B (Will and Hannibal) is no longer focused on Y (Alana), and they begin to imitate each other’s hostilities. For Hannibal and Will, this appears in the response to Will’s encephalitic infection. Hannibal could have chosen to seek medical treatment for Will, especially after he suspects an illness with the disfigured clock drawing and the confirmation by Dr. Sutcliffe, but instead ignores the spreading infection to push Will to the point of breaking. After the confirmation of his suspicions, Hannibal murders Dr. Sutcliffe in order to silence him and eliminate any risk of exposing his experiment with Will’s damaged mental state. For Girard, this is the point where A and B no longer focus on their shared desire for Y, but rather focus on each other’s demise and, for Hannibal and Will, the dissolution of their homosocial bond. Solidifying his attempt at defeat, Hannibal force feeds Will a severed ear while he’s unconscious. Will regurgitates the ear and, after it’s found to be from Abigail Hobbs, Will is arrested as the Chesapeake Ripper. Hannibal’s rival is subdued, and he is fully free to act on his desires for Alana.

  Having finally received treatment for his ailment, Will begins to catch onto Hannibal’s deceptions, and while he is incarcerated at Baltimore State Hospital, his attempt to murder Hannibal by proxy with the assistance of the hospital orderly, Matthew Brown, signals what Girard calls the “Mimetic Attraction,” or the escalation of the rivalry. Matthew abducts Hannibal and hangs him by a noose with a precariously balanced bucket barely reachable at his feet. Jack and Alana ultimately rescue Hannibal, and while he survives the attempted murder, he is deeply affected by Will’s reciprocated violence. Recognizing that Will is better utilized as an ally and friend, he frames his colleague and hospital director, Dr. Frederick Chilton, as the Ripper, stripping any shadow of a doubt from Will, freeing him completely from the charges.

  Just after Will’s release from the asylum, Randall Tier, a former patient of Hannibal’s, is enlisted by his former psychiatrist to murder Will using a reinforced bear suit, intended to mimic the impact of being mauled by an actual bear. As Randall attempts to kill Will, the Wendigo appears in place of Randall and his bear suit, and Will beats the Wendigo to death. Coming out of his rage, Will realizes he has actually killed Randall. Acknowledging that they are now even in their attempts to kill each other, Hannibal instructs Will to honor his kill and he creates an articulated bear skeleton, accented with the flesh and face of Randall Tier. As Will examines his work, the eyes come alive and he hears Randall’s voice whisper, “This is my becoming. And it is yours” (Hannibal, Season 2, “Naka-Choko”). Continuing with Girard’s pathway of Mimetic Desire, Will and Hannibal have reached a point where their reciprocated violent acts have become entirely parallel, and there is a “lack of differentiation” between the two men. The homosocial bond that binds them is reinvigorated through their newly shared desires and plans to escape together. This stage is reinforced by the birth of the Willdigo, nearly indistinguishable from the Wendigo, except for the replacement of Hannibal’s face with Will’s.

  Generally, in the stages following the lack of differentiation, there are two outcomes described by Girard: a paroxysm—a sudden and violent attack—or the delegation of someone as a scapegoat to suffer all the consequences on behalf of the group. Mason Verger is Hannibal’s scapegoat—a ritual sacrifice. Will believes that Hannibal is able to justify killing Mason as it purges him of his “lesser rudeness” (Hannibal, Season 2, “Tome-wan”). Mason has forcibly sterilized his sister (and Will’s former lover), Margot, as a way to control her by removing the possibility of producing an heir. Hannibal, seeking retribution, offers Mason powerfully psychoactive and analgesic drugs. When Will comes home to find Mason, sitting in the dark, feeding strips of his face to Will’s dogs, Hannibal’
s plans for Mason’s death are interrupted.

  Will Graham Is and Will Always Be My Friend

  This is where we come full circle to the passage I’ve quoted at the start of this chapter. The teacup has shattered and it’s just about to come together. Since Hannibal has not been able to successfully complete the scapegoating via Mason’s death, and realizing he has been entirely betrayed by Will, he’s left with the paroxysm as his only exit. With the final episode of the second season, we’re left hopeless as nearly all of the starring cast lie bleeding out in Hannibal’s home: Jack in the wine cellar, Alana on the front steps, and Will and Abigail in the kitchen, with Will attempting to stanch the flow of blood from the wound in her neck, just as he did when her father slit her throat, while simultaneously attempting to slow the bleeding from his own stomach. Hannibal offered Will the rarest gift he could offer—companionship, mentorship, and friendship—but Will didn’t want it.

  1 For more on the nature of Hannibal Lecter’s cannibalism, see Chapter 2 of this volume.—Ed.

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  A Little Empathy for Hannibal Is a Dangerous Thing