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Key insights from
Wanting: The Power of Mimetic Desire in
Everyday Life
By
Luke Burgis
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What you’ll learn
As a devoted reader of
literature, philosophy, and religious studies, Luke Burgis channels his
unique background into a work on one of human nature’s most elusive
tendencies. With the insights of the French historian, philosopher, and
thinker extraordinaire René Girard, Burgis tackles the puzzle of desire and
develops a response that’s encouraging, illuminating, and altogether
startling.
Read
on for key insights from Wanting: The Power of Mimetic Desire in Everyday Life.
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1. René Girard’s
“mimetic theory” argues that people are much more similar than they may
consciously realize.
In the 1950s, along with
thinkers like Sigmund Freud, Jean-Paul Sartre, and Jacques Derrida, René
Girard was seized by the concept of “désir”
or “desire,” and sought to evaluate it more deeply. During his time as a
young professor, Girard scoured various works of literature and saw that
fictional characters like Miguel de Cervantes’s Don Quixote and Marcel
Proust’s Albertine were surprisingly similar. Put simply, these characters
weren’t the sole creators of their desires, but much smaller contributors
to that inner quandary. From here, Girard crafted what would eventually be
known as his “mimetic theory,” a framework in which one’s wants aren’t always
the result of personal whims, but a much less individual process that often
escapes one’s awareness—“mimesis.”
The word mimesis can be traced
back to the Greek concept “mimesthai,”
which is “to imitate” in English, a notion that comprises the bedrock of
Girard’s mimetic theory. According to Girard, though it seems like you
simply woke up one day with an inexplicable urge to hike the Appalachian
Trail, that desire isn’t entirely a product of your own inclinations.
Instead, that seemingly unique (and to some, even bizarre) drive was
compelled by another person’s efforts to take on that 2,000-mile-long feat.
For Girard, this is how the act of what Burgis calls “wanting” begins—with
someone else, an idyllic “model” who helps direct the course of another person’s
actions.
Look at Eve in the Garden
of Eden, for instance. Jean-Michel Oughourlian, a psychologist and close
colleague of Girard, examines the events in the Garden in his work The Genesis of Desire,
in which he interprets Eve’s actions through the lens of mimesis.
Surrounded by such abundance, there’s little chance that Eve wanted yet
another piece of fruit. But, with a snake’s prodding, Eve quickly grew to
desire something that she previously had no framework to even dream of
wanting. From this perspective, a serpent in a tree functions much like a
social media post or a friend’s most recent accomplishment. Just like Eve
in the Garden, we’re often moved to seek after particular things simply
because they’re deemed appealing by someone else, believing that we’re the
ones initiating the desire in the first place.
Whether they’re politicians
or parents, actresses or neighbors, models are inevitable, and the “mimetic
desire” they compel is an ever-present feature of society. In the words of
Burgis, “history is the story of human desire.” With that in mind, we might
not be able to elude the influence of others. But we don’t have to leap
from one want to another, either. As we learn how to spot the people,
companies, or ideals we prop up in our imaginations and emulate in our
inclinations, we can better recognize the realities they’ll eventually
produce in our lives.
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2. Your wants may
be misleading—their “metaphysical” aims are often unattainable.
St. Francis of Assisi,
Michael Jordan, Jane Austen—renowned icons like these make up what Girard
calls “external mediators of desire.” They’re the kind of people no one
would mind placing up on a poster or following wholeheartedly. “Internal
mediators of desire,” on the other hand, people like family members, friends,
and even social media stars, are more immediately present, and so, their
influence is often concealed by familiarity. For instance, a young
basketball player may dream of one day playing on the teams he watches on
TV with no harm done. In fact, this pursuit might actually benefit the
young athlete’s performance. But, as he encounters other players on his
court back at home, those who are much closer to him in skill and age than
the revered Jordan is, his drive begins to mutate. In the presence of his
basketball peers, many of whom might even be better than that dreamer,
insecurity, restlessness, and rage arise. At this scale, mimetic desire is
detrimental.
When people try to emulate
another person, whether a decorated basketball icon or that not-too-bad kid
playing down the street, they entertain what Girard terms a “metaphysical
desire.” In other words, even though that player might buy the particular
socks a better player wears or tweak his form to look similar to that of
his “model,” he doesn’t truly want either of those things. Rather, his
behavior is the manifestation of a desire that goes even deeper than the
merchandise and his drive to become a world-renowned athlete. For Girard,
when people want anything, what they really seek is “to be initiated into a
radically foreign existence.” That’s why, when it comes to the people one
encounters on a daily basis, unknowingly yearning for something they have (which
is really what they represent), is lethal. It triggers a marathon of
“metaphysical” inclinations that persist despite yet another trip, new job,
or impulse buy.
On the social media site
Facebook, for instance, metaphysical wants run amok. In the midst of what
philosopher Zygmunt Bauman calls a “liquid modernity,” a period lacking in
common authorities, ideals, and meaning, people are increasingly
susceptible to latch onto their peers for guidance. And, Facebook, for one,
gives its users plenty to work with. As a student of Girard’s, the
insightful investor Peter Thiel recognized his teacher’s theory working
through the coded makeup of the social media site. When he recounted his
decision to invest in Facebook, Thiel noted that he “bet on mimesis.” As Thiel
intuited, the site flourishes off its followers doing what humans naturally
are inclined to do—just at a disastrous scale.
Contemporary culture gives
people endless fodder for passing impulses and lifelong ambitions.
Unfortunately, this exposure often conceals a true metaphysical lack,
leading people into relentless wild-goose chases. To regain direction,
people should simply put a hold on their impulsive pursuits and examine
them more thoughtfully. With this, they may be able to uncover what those
yearnings are really trying to fill.
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3. In large
measures, “mimetic desire” corrodes culture and creates gruesome
circumstances to correct it.
Most people have heard of,
seen, or perhaps even read Shakespeare’s famous tale of Romeo and Juliet. As
the Bard notes early on in his work, there are few differences between the
anger-driven Capulets and Montagues. On the surface, it seems that they
should be good friends rather than feuding clans. According to Girard,
though, their harsh treatment of one another makes complete sense and
exemplifies a key principle of his mimetic theory. Just as portrayals of
envious brothers and sisters prove throughout various religious traditions
(including Christianity, in which five such tales are found in the book of
Genesis), likeness isn’t always a good thing. Rather, as people exhibit
characteristics or aims that coincide, their interactions are plagued by
contempt—a trend that increases with time and is often remedied by what
Girard uncovered as “the scapegoat mechanism.”
Girard’s 1979 work Violence and the Sacred
argues that when large groups of people clamor after their unwieldy,
parallel desires, they often contribute to the creation of destabilizing
circumstances. In the face of this dissension, people seek a remedy to soothe
their dissatisfaction. Fortunately for them, they find one in the unknowing
“scapegoat,” an object that Girard witnessed in nearly every culture and
religious tradition. Burgis puts the process simply, stating that with a
scapegoat, people initiate “violence to drive out violence,” collectively
choosing a person or group of people through which they may satisfy their
fury. Though examples of this notion fill history books, a notable one
includes the events that followed the rise of the Nazi Party in struggling
Germany. In this case, the Nazi Party upheld the Jewish people as a
scapegoat for the country’s decline, giving birth to a period of time
unparalleled in its barbarity.
On a much smaller level,
the odd-one-out in a classroom or the person who’s torn to shreds on a
social media platform often function as carriers of cultural calamity, too.
Take the outcast Carrie in Stephen King’s eponymous novel, for instance, or
the similarly unfortunate Piggy in William Golding’s survivalist work Lord of the Flies. In
both cases, high school students or a group of stranded young boys
collectively pin their rage onto a selected outcast character to temper
their problems. They do this subconsciously, trusting that their target
really is the one who must pay for their plight.
For Girard, an especially
unusual and unprecedented account of scapegoating takes place in the
crucifixion of Jesus Christ. As related in the biblical New Testament, this
moment distinguishes itself from sacrifices made throughout other religious
traditions for its recognition of the scapegoat’s true nature. Usually,
everyone’s on board with the verdict they give to their object. In the case
of Jesus Christ, though, the crowd was split. According to Girard, this is
pivotal. In this moment, people witnessed their scheme for what it truly
was—a disturbing, undue atrocity compelled by a mentality that exists even
today.
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4. Empathy is a
powerful and revelatory societal remedy.
Given the fact that mimesis
and the harmful outcomes it often brings are inevitable, it seems that
cultural decay is always impending. Thankfully, though, this isn’t the
case. According to a practice Burgis calls “disruptive empathy,” a phrase
drawn in part from Gil Bailie’s 2004 work Violence Unveiled: Humanity at the Crossroads,
connection is crucial. Engaging with another person shifts the trajectory
of society. Cultivating this kind of “empathy” for another person isn’t the
same as showing them its close relative “sympathy,” though. While the
latter term’s “sym-”
typically connotes the word “together,” the former's “em-” indicates the
phrase “to go into.” This linguistic difference captures the distinct
natures of both practices. According to Burgis, as opposed to sympathy,
“empathy is anti-mimetic.” It moves people to encounter the uniqueness of
neighbors, strangers, and family members as something separate from their
equally distinct lives, granting them the capacity to comprehend both more
completely.
When interviewing
candidates for a role, Burgis initiates this practice by asking for each
person to relate a moving “Fulfillment Story” to him. Contrary to what one
might think, these aren’t always long-winded narratives of a person’s most
heroic and prestigious endeavors from the past. In fact, that word
“prestige” has a linguistic Latin ancestor, “praestigium,” which can be translated to
the more-than-fitting term “illusion.” As such, the notion of “prestige”
depends upon another person’s pursuits and inevitably compels people to
partake in a fruitless race for something that only appears worthwhile. On
the other hand, the few impactful pursuits people pull from their lives may
seem strangely ordinary. A few of Burgis’s own include things as simple as
keeping his writing streak alive for a month and cooking a family specialty
for dinner. Though many of these instances seem haphazard, like random and
unexpected glimmers of joy, they’re actually incredibly revealing.
According to Burgis, as one
recounts their most beloved personal moments, they find that beyond the
reach of a copycat want is another kind of yearning. This is the drive for
what Burgis calls “thick desires.” Contrary to Girard’s mimetic desires,
these are far more significant to people in the long run. Thick desires
aren’t simply a response to the whims of the day or a product of the
unconscious tendency to seek after trending objects, activities, or
ideals—they’re much more gripping than that. And, when people witness these
wants at work in themselves, they may be moved to redirect their entire
lives. For instance, Sébastien Bras, the chef behind the formerly
three-starred Michelin darling, Le Suquet, found this to be the case when
his not-so-healthy drive to remain noteworthy consumed his craft. To
protect his authentic desires of cooking artfully and enjoying his family,
he tapped out of the Michelin race altogether, something no chef had done
in the institution’s 120 years. And for that, Bras was jubilant.
Whether it’s in the
presence of another person or simply oneself, moving past empty, derivative
desires calls for thoughtful self-evaluation and awareness.
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5. It takes two to
tango—and to desire.
As a snapshot of your
innermost aspirations begins to crystallize, you can begin to do as the
brilliant Pulitzer-prize winning author Annie Dillard says and “grasp your
one necessity.” Even when you’re faced by billions of avenues for desire
that all seem necessary, when you bring yourself back to that particular
important thing, whether it’s the pursuit of family life, an artistic
endeavor, or anything that stirs you beyond anything else, you are
emboldened to persist in it. Doing this initiates what Burgis calls a
“transformation of desire,” in which the oftentimes fleeting inclinations
of your past gradually grow and evolve until they look more akin to your
true aspirations.
Ironically, this process
begins in a similar way to that of mimesis. The example of others is
endlessly influential, even when it comes to individual self-searching.
This more fruitful form of mimesis creates a symbiotic relationship between
oneself and the person one hopes to emulate. For instance, if one wants to
become a better parent, perhaps using their relationship with their own
mother and father as a model, they must actively work to incorporate the
traits that make their parents successful into their own lives. When models
are used in this way, they become signposts for one’s aspirations and carry
people into that eventual reality.
This task, which the Greeks
would call a “metamorphosis,”
goes far beyond the individual, too. As people rewrite the things they pine
after, others are driven to do the same. Even the most insignificant of a
person’s pursuits indelibly impacts those of the people around him or her.
This holds true for everyone, no matter the goal they seek to bring to
fruition. Whether you’re a mother, a writer, a mechanic, or a firefighter,
the way you attempt to live through your particular purpose does much more
than simply enliven your own experience, it compels culture to live up to
your example.
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