吉拉尔：欲望从别处来
Girard: Desire Comes from Elsewhere
一、模仿
两个小孩在房间里。
地上有十个玩具，散落各处。其中一个小孩——小的那个——已经在房间里待了一阵了。十个玩具他都看过。每一个他都没什么兴趣。
另一个小孩进来。大的那个。他扫了一眼地上的玩具，弯腰捡起其中一个——一辆木头小卡车——开始玩。
那个本来对所有玩具都没兴趣的小的那个，立刻站起来，冲过去抢。
"那是我的。"
不。不是他的。他刚才连看都没看那个玩具。其他九个玩具他也没兴趣。但是那个被另一个孩子拿起来玩的玩具，他必须拿到。
这是每个有孩子的家长都见过的场面。
这也是勒内·吉拉尔一辈子哲学工作的起点。
他说——
那个小孩不是想要那个玩具。他是想要另一个孩子想要的那个东西。
欲望不是从他自己内部生出来的。欲望是从看见另一个人欲望什么生出来的。如果没有另一个孩子拿起那个玩具，那个玩具对他来说不存在。是另一个孩子的手让那个玩具变成了一个值得拥有的东西。
吉拉尔说这件事不只是发生在小孩身上。这件事是人类欲望的基本结构。
你以为你想买那辆车，是因为你研究了这辆车的性能。其实你想买那辆车，是因为你的同事买了那辆车。 你以为你想去那个度假地，是因为那里风景好。其实你想去那里，是因为你看了别人在那里发的照片。 你以为你爱上那个人，是因为你被她吸引。其实你爱上她，至少有一部分，是因为别人也爱她，或者她正好是某个原型化形象（"美女""精英""有故事的人"）的代表。
吉拉尔的论点听起来有点 cynical（愤世嫉俗）。但他不是在揭穿欲望，他不是在说"所以欲望都是假的"。他是在指出一件结构性的事——
欲望本质上是三角的，不是直线的。
直线模型是：我看见一个东西，我喜欢它，我想要它。这是一个简单的二元结构——我和对象。
三角模型是：我看见另一个人喜欢一个东西，我也开始想要它。这是一个三元结构——我，对象，模仿对象（另一个人）。
吉拉尔说，几乎所有人类强烈的欲望都是三角的，不是直线的。我们的欲望几乎从来不是从我们自己内部直接生出来的。我们的欲望是被另一个人的欲望塑造的。
他从他二十多岁开始研究普鲁斯特、塞万提斯、陀思妥耶夫斯基这几个小说家的小说。他在他们的小说里反复看到同一个结构——
堂吉诃德渴望成为一个骑士，因为他读了骑士小说。他想模仿小说里的阿马迪斯。 朱利安·索雷尔（司汤达《红与黑》的主角）渴望进入巴黎社交圈，因为他读了拿破仑的传记。他想模仿拿破仑。 普鲁斯特小说里的人物渴望某个上层社交圈，是因为他们看见别人渴望它。 陀思妥耶夫斯基小说里那些复杂的爱恨纠缠，几乎全部建立在三角关系上——A 爱 B，是因为 C 也爱 B；C 不爱 D，是因为 D 不再爱 C 了。
每一个伟大的小说家都看见了这个结构。但他们没有用一个理论术语去命名它。吉拉尔做了这件事。他给了它一个名字——
模仿欲望（désir mimétique，mimetic desire）。
这是他一辈子工作的第一块基石。
后面所有事都从这块基石上长出来。
二、欲望不是你的
模仿欲望这个论点有一个很多人不喜欢的含义——
你的欲望，从根本上说，不是你的。
我们活在一个高度强调"你做你自己"、"找到你真正想要的"、"听从你的内心"的文化里。这种文化假设每个人的内心里有一个真实的、原初的、独立的欲望系统，你的任务是找到它并跟随它。
吉拉尔说这个假设是错的。
每个人的"内心欲望"都是从外部抄来的。你想成为画家，因为你看了某个画家传记里的浪漫描述。你想拥有那种生活方式，因为你看了某个 Instagram 帖子。你想跟那种人结婚，因为你看了某种小说或电影。你想要那个职业，因为你父母——或者你父母的反面——让那个职业看起来值得追求。
每一层"我想要"，往下挖，都是某个"他人也想要"或"他人这样要求"的痕迹。
你的内心不是一个原初的源泉。你的内心是一面镜子。镜子反射什么取决于镜子前面站着谁。
这听起来很丧。但吉拉尔不是要让人丧。他是要让人看清楚。
看清楚之后会发生什么？
第一件事：你可以开始辨别你的欲望是从哪里来的。
每一次你强烈地想要什么的时候，你可以停一下问自己——这个欲望最早是从哪里看见的？它是从哪个具体的人或者图像或者故事里复制来的？复制源头的那个人，他自己又是从哪里复制来的？
这个询问不会消除欲望（欲望就是欲望，问也不会让它消失），但它会让欲望失去它的"自明性"——那种"这就是我，这是我真心想要的"的不容置疑的感觉。
一旦欲望失去自明性，你就有了一点空间。你可以继续追求那个欲望（知道它不是你原创的也可以追求），也可以放下那个欲望，也可以让它跟你保持一定距离。
但更重要的是第二件事——
你开始能看见别人的欲望也是这样的。
你看见你的同事跟你一样想要某种东西的时候，你不再认为他是"自然地"想要它。你看见他在模仿某个源头。 你看见两个人争夺同一个东西的时候——伴侣、职位、资源——你不再认为他们是"自然地"在争夺。你看见他们都在模仿某个让那个东西显得值得争夺的源头。 你看见一个国家里所有人突然都开始想要同一种东西、害怕同一种东西、恨同一种人——你不再认为这是"自然反应"。你看见集体模仿欲望的运作。
吉拉尔说，看清楚这个机制的人，多了一种自由。
不是说他可以不再有欲望——欲望是人的基本结构，不可能去掉。是说他知道自己的欲望是从哪里来的，他对欲望有一种不被欲望完全控制的距离。
这种距离很重要。因为没有这种距离的人，会被欲望带到一个具体的地方。
那个具体的地方，吉拉尔叫做冲突。
三、替罪羊
模仿欲望有一个直接的后果——
如果所有人都在模仿别人的欲望，那么所有人最终会想要同一些东西。
这听起来好像不严重。但吉拉尔说这是人类社会几乎所有暴力的根源。
为什么？
因为大多数值得欲望的东西是有限的。
不是无限的资源。不是可以无限分配的东西。是稀缺的——那个特定的女人，那个特定的职位，那个特定的财产，那个特定的荣誉，那个特定的"被父亲喜爱的位置"。
如果两个人都想要这个稀缺的东西，他们就会冲突。 如果一群人都想要这个稀缺的东西，他们就会陷入混乱。 如果整个社会都被模仿欲望传染了，整个社会就会陷入危机。
吉拉尔花了很多年研究人类学和神话——古希腊神话，圣经，古代部落仪式，中世纪的女巫审判，等等。他在这些资料里看见了一个反复出现的模式——
每当一个社群陷入由模仿欲望引起的危机时，社群会用同一种方式解决这个危机。
社群会选定一个人——或者一小群人——把所有的暴力指向他。
这个被选定的人会被指控为"危机的原因"。"是他/她带来了瘟疫。" "是他/她让我们的庄稼歉收。" "是他/她让神生气了。" "是他/她让我们国家衰落了。" 具体的指控会随着文化而变，但结构是一样的——所有人共同的怒火被指向同一个人。
然后这个人被消灭——杀死，驱逐，监禁，焚烧。
消灭这个人之后，奇怪的事情发生了——社群的危机暂时缓解了。
为什么？
不是因为这个人真的是危机的原因。这个人通常是任意被选中的。是因为消灭他这个共同行为让所有原来彼此对立的人重新统一了——他们现在都站在了同一边，反对同一个对象。集体暴力从所有人对所有人的潜在冲突，重新聚焦为所有人对一个人的实际行动。这一刻所有人都在做同一件事，所有人都不再彼此模仿欲望——他们一起在做这件大事，他们之间的张力暂时松了。
社群感觉自己重新统一了。社群把这种统一归功于消灭那个人。社群因此神化那个被消灭的人——这个人成为某种特殊的象征，一个仪式被建立起来纪念这个事件，几代人之后这个仪式变成宗教的一部分。
吉拉尔说，几乎所有古代宗教都建立在这个机制上。每一个仪式都是对一次原初消灭事件的重演。每一次"献祭"都是一次受控的、仪式化的替罪羊机制——通过仪式性地消灭一个动物（或者更早期是人），社群周期性地排放它内部的暴力压力。
这个机制他叫做——
替罪羊机制（the scapegoat mechanism）。
R6 这一轮第一篇我们写过希帕蒂娅。
我们当时没有给那个事件一个理论名字。我们写了那群人，写了他们的盲点，写了他们以为自己在做正确的事。
吉拉尔的理论给那个事件一个名字。
希帕蒂娅是替罪羊机制的标准案例。亚历山大里亚社会内部有大量的张力——基督徒和异教徒，犹太人和非犹太人，罗马帝国和地方权力，新兴的教会权力和旧的世俗权力。这些张力是真实的，每一个都可能引发危机。
那群人没有一个一个解决这些张力——那不可能。那群人通过共同消灭一个具体的人，把所有这些张力聚焦到一个对象上，然后通过消灭那个对象，让那些张力暂时松开。
希帕蒂娅就是被聚焦的对象。
她不是真正的"原因"。她是一个人——一个老师，一个数学家，一个跟她那座城市的某些政治力量友善的女人。但是她有几个标记可以让她被选中：她是女性，她是异教徒，她有学问，她跟政治权力有关系——这些标记加起来让那群人能够把她认定为"那个障碍"。
吉拉尔说替罪羊机制不要求被选中的人真的有罪。它只要求被选中的人有可以被认定的标记。
四、为什么是这一个
替罪羊机制的关键问题是——
为什么是这一个？
为什么这群暴民选定希帕蒂娅，不是别的女人？为什么二十世纪三十年代的德国社会选定犹太人，不是别的群体？为什么任何一次群体性暴力，被选中的对象总是某一个具体的、可识别的、可以被聚焦的群体或个人？
吉拉尔的答案是：任意性是这个机制的特征，不是它的 bug。
被选中的人不是因为他真的有什么"特殊的罪"。被选中的人是因为他有某种标记——某种让他可以从人群中被区分出来的东西。
标记可以是任何东西——
外貌不同（皮肤颜色、身材、长相）。 口音不同（外地人，移民）。 信仰不同（异教徒，无神论者，少数派）。 性别不同（女性在父权社会里）。 身份不同（贵族在革命时期，穷人在富裕社会里）。 能力不同（有学问的人在反智的时代里，残疾人在崇尚力量的时代里）。 任何一点反常（左撇子，双胞胎，孤独的人，不结婚的人）。
任意一个标记可以触发选择。重要的是这个标记让被选中的人显得不属于"我们"。
一旦"不属于我们"被建立起来，"我们"就可以被建立起来。一旦"我们"被建立起来，"我们对他们"的冲突结构就完成了。然后消灭"他们"成为"我们"重新团结的方式。
这个结构的可怕之处在于——它可以被任何标记触发。任何标记。这意味着任何人在某些情境下可以成为替罪羊。
你不能说"我没有那些标记，所以我安全"。在不同的情境下，你的某个标记会成为关键。在一个反智的时代你读过书是标记。在一个民族主义高涨的时代你的口音是标记。在一个性别冲突激化的时代你的性别是标记。在一个突然变化的政治环境里你过去的某个发言是标记。
吉拉尔说这就是为什么替罪羊机制是普遍的——它不是某个特定文化的特征，它不是某种坏人的发明。它是人类社会处理由模仿欲望引起的内部张力的默认机制。每个社会都会用它，除非那个社会能识别它并阻止它。
阻止它需要什么？
需要先看见它。
五、福音的揭露
这是吉拉尔晚期工作的核心论点——
人类宗教史上发生过一件特殊的事。
绝大多数古代宗教是站在替罪羊机制的施害者一边讲故事的。神话讲述社群如何被某个怪物威胁，英雄如何消灭那个怪物，社群如何因此得救。每一个故事的视角都是在"我们"这一边——我们识别了威胁，我们消灭了威胁，我们因此团结。
希伯来圣经里有一些故事是反过来的。
约瑟被他的兄弟们卖到埃及。圣经的视角不是在兄弟们那一边——讲述他们如何摆脱了一个家庭里的麻烦。圣经的视角在约瑟那一边——讲述一个被他自己家人陷害的人。
约伯被他的朋友们指控（"你一定犯了罪，所以神这样惩罚你"）。圣经的视角不在朋友们那一边。圣经的视角在约伯那一边——一个无辜受难的人，反复申诉自己没有犯罪。
以赛亚书里"受苦的仆人"——一个被族人误解、被认为是受神惩罚的人，最后被证明承担了别人的罪。圣经的视角在这个仆人那一边。
这些故事一次又一次地从受害者的视角讲述。这在古代世界是稀有的。
然后在公元一世纪，一件更彻底的事发生了。
新约里耶稣被钉十字架。
这是一次标准的替罪羊机制运作。一个具体的群体（犹太宗教权威、罗马总督、被煽动的群众）共同决定消灭一个被认定为"危险分子"的人。被消灭的过程严格遵循替罪羊机制的所有特征——他被认为是某种"原因"，他的死被认为可以解决某种"危机"，参与的人觉得自己在做正确的事。
但是福音书在做一件前所未有的事。
福音书把这个完全无辜的受害者作为故事的中心。福音书的全部叙述都从受害者的视角出发。福音书反复地说——这个人是无辜的，那些指控他的人是错的，这是一次集体的错误。
吉拉尔说，这件事在人类历史上是革命性的。
在福音书之前，所有的"群体消灭一个人"的故事都被讲成"群体是对的，那个人有罪"。福音书说，"群体是错的，那个人是无辜的"。
这个视角的翻转，揭穿了替罪羊机制。
一旦你从受害者的视角看一次替罪羊事件，你就再也不能假装那个机制是"正义"了。你看见它本来的样子——任意选定一个人，把所有人的暴力指向他，然后用这件事重新统一社群。这个过程没有任何正义可言。它只是一个机制。
吉拉尔说，从福音书开始，人类社会获得了一种它之前没有的东西——识别替罪羊机制的能力。
不是说人类社会从此不再用这个机制。它继续用。但是从此每一次使用都伴随着一种内部的不安。受害者的视角已经存在了。每一次群体消灭一个人之后，受害者那一边的故事会被讲出来，会被听见，会被记住。慢慢地，几个世纪几个世纪地，社会越来越难明目张胆地使用这个机制。猎巫越来越少。私刑越来越少。即便发生集体暴力，也越来越多被批判而不是被歌颂。
这是吉拉尔最有争议的论点。
很多人不喜欢这个论点——它听起来像是在说基督教是唯一的真相。
吉拉尔本人是天主教徒（他在中年时期回归了信仰）。但是他坚持他的论点不是宗教辩护，是历史观察。他说你可以信基督教，可以不信，但是这件事在历史上发生了——福音书的这种视角翻转，深刻地改变了西方文化处理替罪羊机制的方式。
我们这一篇不站基督教队。
我们也不站非基督教队。
我们只指出吉拉尔做的论证：人类社会有一个反复使用的机制（替罪羊），有一个具体的文本传统（犹太-基督教的某些核心故事）从受害者的视角揭穿了这个机制，这个揭穿在历史上有可见的后果。
不管这个论证你接不接受，吉拉尔做了。
他做的这件事本身——指着一个机制说"看这里，这是机制，你以为是正义其实是机制"——也是一种为他者留位置的方式。
那个被聚焦消灭的人是他者。把他从"罪魁祸首"重新认作他者，承认他作为一个独立的、不可被化简为"危机原因"的人的存在——这本身就是为他者留位置。
吉拉尔做的事是揭穿"消灭他者"的机制。这是反向的为他者留位置——通过看清楚消灭机制是怎么运作的，让消灭变得困难。
六、和阿伦特之间
二十世纪有两个最重要的关于"为什么普通人参与暴力"的理论。
一个是汉娜·阿伦特的"平庸之恶"（the banality of evil）。
阿伦特一九六一年去耶路撒冷旁听艾希曼的审判（艾希曼是组织犹太人运送到死亡集中营的纳粹官僚）。她报道这个审判时写下了那个著名的论点——艾希曼不是一个怪兽。他是一个平庸的官僚。他做了那些可怕的事，不是因为他特别邪恶，而是因为他不思考——他执行命令，他遵守程序，他不停下来问"我做的事是什么意思"。
阿伦特说恶不一定来自邪恶的人。恶可以来自不思考的人。
另一个是吉拉尔的替罪羊机制。
吉拉尔说，参与集体暴力的普通人不是邪恶的——他们以为自己在做正确的事。他们参与替罪羊机制的运作，是因为这个机制让他们感到有意义、有团结、有目的。他们不是不思考——他们思考，他们有理由，他们的理由让他们觉得自己是对的。
这两个理论看起来不一样。阿伦特说"不思考"，吉拉尔说"思考但被机制困住"。
但他们在一个深层是一致的——
两个理论都拒绝把恶简化为"恶人的工作"。
阿伦特和吉拉尔都看见，绝大多数大规模暴力不是由邪恶的人组织的，是由普通人参与的。普通人参与不是因为他们是怪兽，是因为某种结构（不思考的官僚结构 / 替罪羊机制的社会结构）让普通人能够做可怕的事而不觉得自己在做可怕的事。
我们在 R6 的前面几篇已经看到这个论点的不同形态——
希帕蒂娅篇里那群人："以为自己在做正确的事。" 列维纳斯篇里关于手段王国："不为他者留位置的人，自己也不会被别人留位置。" 曹植篇里关于曹丕："看见过他者面容仍然选择压制的人，知道自己在做什么。"
吉拉尔和阿伦特给了这些观察一个理论结构。阿伦特从纳粹大屠杀这个具体事件出发，提出"不思考是恶"。吉拉尔从人类宗教史和神话学出发，提出"模仿欲望和替罪羊机制是普遍机制"。
两个理论加起来给我们一个比较完整的图像——
普通人参与消灭他者，部分是因为他们不停下来思考（阿伦特），部分是因为他们陷在一个让消灭他者显得"必要"的机制里（吉拉尔）。两个原因常常一起作用。
阿伦特和吉拉尔从来没有面对面对话过。阿伦特一九七五年死，吉拉尔的主要工作那时候才刚展开。但他们的工作处理的是同一个核心问题——如何让人不参与对他者的消灭。
阿伦特的回答是：学会思考。哪怕在一个让你不思考的体系里，你也要保持思考。 吉拉尔的回答是：学会识别机制。当你看见模仿欲望开始让你和别人都聚焦在同一个对象上、当你看见社群开始把愤怒指向某个特定的人——你要识别这是机制在运作，不要参与它。
两种回答都需要一种距离——一种不被裹挟到群体反应里的距离。
这种距离不容易。它需要看见自己的欲望从哪里来（吉拉尔），需要愿意在所有人都不思考的时候继续思考（阿伦特）。
它需要一些代价。被裹挟的人在群体里有归属感。保持距离的人是孤独的。
但孤独不是放弃。
孤独是为他者留位置的一种形式——为那些没有被你的群体看见的他者留位置。
七、第三种语言
R6 这一轮我们已经写了几种关于他者的语言。
康德说人是目的不是手段。 列维纳斯说看见他者的面容。 布伯说重新进入"我-你"。 曹植说承认我渴望但不能拥有。
这四种语言都是从主体的角度讲——主体应该如何对待他者，主体应该处于什么样的态度，主体的什么样的姿态可以让他者作为他者被看见。
吉拉尔给了我们第五种语言。
这种语言是从机制的角度讲——什么机制让主体反复地不为他者留位置；这个机制是怎么运作的；要打破这个机制需要识别它的运作。
这是反向的他者哲学。前四种讲怎么为他者留位置；吉拉尔讲为什么人类社会反复地不为他者留位置，并指出这个反复可以被识别和打破。
两种方向加起来——正面的为他者留位置（康德、列维纳斯、布伯、曹植），反面的揭穿不为他者留位置的机制（吉拉尔）——给我们一个比较立体的图像。
只讲正面，会让人以为为他者留位置只是个人选择问题。"你为他者留位置就好了。" 但是当整个社会的机制把人推向不为他者留位置的时候，一个人单独的选择是非常难维持的。你需要看见那个推力。
只讲反面，会让人以为揭穿了机制就够了。"看，这是替罪羊机制。" 但是看见机制不会自动改变行为。看见之后还需要选择——选择不参与那个机制。这个选择是康德、列维纳斯、布伯、曹植讲的内容。
两种讲法是同一件事的两面。
吉拉尔本人意识到这一点。他晚期的工作越来越靠近"看见机制之后我们应当做什么"这个问题。他写道：揭穿替罪羊机制不会让暴力消失，它只是让我们不能再用旧的合理化方式遮蔽暴力了。我们现在看见了。看见之后我们要选。
吉拉尔晚年在斯坦福生活。他在那里教书直到很老。他周围有一些非常聪明的学生。
其中一个学生叫彼得·蒂尔（Peter Thiel）。
蒂尔在斯坦福读哲学。他后来成了硅谷最有影响力的投资人之一——PayPal 的联合创始人，第一个投资 Facebook 的外部投资者。他公开说过吉拉尔深刻地影响了他的思想。
但是蒂尔从吉拉尔那里学到的东西，跟吉拉尔自己希望传递的东西，方向相反。
吉拉尔说：人类社会陷在模仿欲望里，要识别这个机制才能摆脱它。 蒂尔说：人类社会陷在模仿欲望里是结构性的，所以建立垄断——让别人没法跟你竞争同一个东西——是逃出竞争的唯一办法。
蒂尔写过一本书叫《Zero to One》。整本书的核心是反竞争。他说竞争是模仿欲望的产物——所有人都在追求同样的东西，所以陷入零和的厮杀。要赢的方式不是更努力地竞争，是创造一个别人无法进入的领域，从而摆脱竞争。
这个论点听起来跟吉拉尔的诊断完全一致。但用法相反。
吉拉尔诊断模仿欲望是为了让人摆脱机制。 蒂尔诊断模仿欲望是为了更高效地利用机制做生意——别人都在模仿欲望地竞争，你跳出来不竞争，你就赢。
这不是阅读理解错误。蒂尔读吉拉尔很仔细。他知道吉拉尔的意图。他选择了不同的应用方向。
R6 这一轮我们不评价这个选择。
我们只指出一件事——
当你揭穿一个机制的时候，有人会用这个揭穿来更高效地操作那个机制。
这是涵育路线的真实尺度。我们不假装吉拉尔的理论只能用来摆脱替罪羊机制。它也可以用来更熟练地利用模仿欲望。两种使用都是真实的。两种使用的人都做出了自己的选择。
蒂尔的工作还在继续。他还在做选择。
我们这一篇不替他做判决——他往哪个方向走，是他自己的事，是他还在用自己的具体行动一天一天写下去的故事。一个还活着的人的"构"还没合上，旁人没有资格替他合上。
我们能说的只是——吉拉尔的理论被这样应用过。这件事是真的。这件事的应用者还在做应用。这是 R6 涵育路线对一个活着的、还在选择的人的标准处理。
吉拉尔活到二零一五年，九十一岁。他晚年没有公开评论过蒂尔的应用方向。他知道一种理论一旦出来，它的应用方向就不再由理论作者控制。
他做了他能做的——把替罪羊机制写出来，让人能看见。 看见之后怎么用，是看见的人的事。
康德说人是目的不是手段。 列维纳斯说看见他者的面容。 布伯说重新进入"我-你"。 曹植说承认我渴望但不能拥有。 吉拉尔说看清楚消灭他者的机制，然后选择不参与。
五种语言。同一个方向。
那个方向上有风。一种温和的风。
八、桥头
吉拉尔走过来的时候，他穿着普通的西装。
他个子不高，瘦，戴眼镜。他的表情有一种法国知识分子的克制——不冷漠，但保持距离。他八十多岁的样子。他活到九十一岁，所以这是他生命后期的形象。
他走得不快。他手里拿着一本书——是他自己写的某一本——但是他没有特别强调它，只是顺手拿着。
他到了桥的中段。
桥上的人比上次更多了。希帕蒂娅在那里，星盘在她手里。阿奎那站在另一边。柏格森拄着拐杖。列维纳斯。布伯。曹植——拿着他的竹简的那个人。
桥的中段不止这些被点出名字的人。桥上是几代几代累积下来的人——画方程的，看玉米的，写诗的，读星图的，写小说的，画图纸的，蹲着记笔记的，坐着发呆的，跟旁边人小声谈话的。
吉拉尔点头跟几个人打招呼。
他认得阿伦特——阿伦特在桥上的另一段，他活的时候没见过她，但他读过她。她对他点头，他对她回点头。他们没有过去深谈——他们的工作处理同一个问题，他们彼此知道对方在做什么。
他认得列维纳斯——他们活在同一个时代的法国。他们见过几次。他对列维纳斯微微一笑。列维纳斯也回笑了一下。
他在桥的中段找了个位置站下。
桥头远处那一头，康德站着。今晚的康德能看见他的面孔的轮廓——比之前几次都更清晰一点。
桥外那条路上——能看见暗的天空，雷光。
那条路上有人在走。
走得最远的那些已经看不见了。 近处那个穿教授袍子的人——海德格尔——比上次又走远了。他不再回头。
吉拉尔看那条路看了一会儿。
他活的时候研究过那条路上的所有事。希帕蒂娅那种事件。中世纪的女巫审判。各种猎巫和清洗。纳粹大屠杀。各种时代的群体暴力。他写了几十年关于那条路的运作机制。
他认得那条路的天气。暴风骤雨。他研究过为什么那场雨在那条路上下，为什么那条路上的人觉得是合理的，为什么人类社会反复地走那条路。
他知道走那条路的人也曾经站在桥头。
每个人在某个时刻都站在桥头。每个人在桥头都做了一个选择。有的人看见了他者，跟着这个看见走上桥。有的人没看见他者，或者看见了但选择转身，往那条路去。
桥不是地理位置。桥是一种状态。能看见他者的人在那个状态里。看不见他者的人就算物理上走到桥头也站不上去——脚下的桥对他们来说不是连续的。
他知道他写的那些书没有让那条路消失。
他知道他写的那些书让一些人能看见那条路是什么。
这两件事都是真的。
他没有特别难过——也没有特别欣慰。他做了他能做的工作——让那条路被识别。识别之后怎么走，是每个人自己的事。
他转回身。希帕蒂娅手里的星盘在风里反着月光。月光是温和的。
桥头的远处——他知道有些人读了他的书。读完之后这些人有不同的去向。有些人因为读了他的书而看见了机制，从而获得了不被裹挟的距离——他们走上桥。有些人因为读了他的书而学会了更熟练地在机制里操作——他们的去向不一定是桥上，也不一定是那条路上，是某个第三个地方。
他活的时候不知道每个具体的读者会走向哪里。他死了之后也不知道——因为他们当中有些人还活着，还在做选择，构还没合上。
吉拉尔不去看那些还活着的读者。不是因为他不在乎——他在乎。是因为他活的时候已经做出了决定：他相信看见的力量，他相信揭穿的价值，他不去监督每个读者怎么用他写的东西。
他没有过去说什么。一个理论一旦写出来，它的用法就不在作者手里了。他知道这一点。
他转回身，跟桥的中段那群人站在一起。
希帕蒂娅看了他一眼。她不知道他的语言（他说法语，她说希腊语），但她从他手里那本书的样子知道他做的是写字的工作。她的星盘和他的书是不同时代的工具，但工具的使用者是相似的——都是把看见的东西变成可被传递的东西的人。
阿奎那从另一边走过来。他用拉丁语说了一句什么。吉拉尔法语母语，但他读过拉丁文，他听懂了——阿奎那说的是关于辨别的某种话，关于在所有人都看见同一个东西的时候保持自己的看见。吉拉尔点了点头。
曹植站在不远处，手里拿着竹简。两个人完全不能交谈——吉拉尔的法语，曹植的古汉语，时间相差一千八百年。但是他们都研究过同一类机制——曹植从被害者的视角（被自己亲哥哥用机制处理掉的那个弟弟），吉拉尔从理论家的视角。两个人之间有一种相互的认出。
桥的中段——很多人，月光温和。
桥头最远那一头那个一直看着远方的人，看了希帕蒂娅，看了阿奎那，看了柏格森，看了列维纳斯，看了布伯，看了曹植。
这次他看的是吉拉尔。
吉拉尔的目光跟那个人短地交汇了一下。
吉拉尔没有低头，也没有抬头。他做了一个非常小的动作——他举起手里那本书，让那个一直看着远方的人能看见。
不是炫耀。是确认——我知道你在那里，这是我能给的。
那个一直看着远方的人轻轻点头。
吉拉尔放下书。
他站在桥的中段，跟其他人一起。
他做的工作是揭穿。他用一辈子揭穿了一个机制。揭穿之后这个机制还在运作——但每一次它运作的时候，有人会能看见。
他做的是无限的。 他知道无限不是他能完成的。 他做了。[1][2]
I. Mimicry
Two small children in a room.
Ten toys are scattered on the floor. One of the children — the smaller one — has been in the room for a while. He has looked at every toy. None of them interests him.
The other child comes in. The bigger one. He glances at the toys, bends down, picks up one of them — a small wooden truck — and starts to play with it.
The child who had been bored with all ten toys instantly stands up, runs over, and snatches it.
"That's mine."
No. It is not his. A moment ago he had not looked at that toy. He had no interest in any of the other nine toys either. But the toy now being played with by another child — he must have it.
This is a scene every parent has witnessed.
It is also the starting point of René Girard's lifelong philosophical work.
He says —
That child does not want the toy. He wants the thing the other child wants.
The desire did not arise from inside him. The desire arose from seeing what another person desires. If the other child had not picked up that toy, the toy would not have existed for him. It was the other child's hand that turned the toy into something worth having.
Girard says this does not happen only with children. This is the basic structure of human desire.
You think you want that car because you have studied its specifications. In fact you want that car because your colleague bought it. You think you want to go to that resort because the scenery is good. In fact you want to go because you saw the photos someone posted from there. You think you fell in love with that person because you were drawn to her. In fact you fell in love with her, at least in part, because others love her too, or because she happens to fit a certain archetypal image ("the beautiful one," "the elite one," "the one with a story").
The claim sounds slightly cynical. But Girard is not exposing desire. He is not saying "all desires are fake." He is pointing to a structural fact —
Desire is, at its base, triangular, not linear.
The linear model is: I see something, I like it, I want it. This is a simple two-term structure — me, and the object.
The triangular model is: I see another person wanting something, and I begin to want it too. This is a three-term structure — me, the object, and the model (the other person).
Girard says that almost all strong human desires are triangular, not linear. Our desires are almost never produced directly out of our own interiors. Our desires are shaped by the desires of another person.
From his early twenties, Girard studied the novels of Proust, Cervantes, and Dostoevsky. In their novels he saw, again and again, the same structure —
Don Quixote desired to be a knight because he had read tales of chivalry. He wanted to imitate Amadís of Gaul. Julien Sorel (the protagonist of Stendhal's The Red and the Black) desired to enter Parisian society because he had read biographies of Napoleon. He wanted to imitate Napoleon. The characters in Proust's novel desire a certain elite social circle because they see others desiring it. The intricate loves and hatreds of Dostoevsky's characters are almost all built on triangular structures — A loves B because C also loves B; C does not love D because D no longer loves C.
Every great novelist had seen this structure. None of them had given it a theoretical name. Girard did. He gave it a name —
Mimetic desire — désir mimétique.
This is the first cornerstone of his life's work.
Everything else he wrote grew on top of this stone.
II. Your Desire Is Not Yours
The claim of mimetic desire has an implication many people do not like —
Your desire, at its base, is not yours.
We live in a culture that strongly emphasizes "be yourself," "find what you really want," "follow your heart." This culture assumes that inside each person there is a true, original, independent system of desires, and that one's task is to find it and follow it.
Girard says this assumption is false.
Each person's "interior desire" is copied from outside. You want to be a painter because you read a romanticized account in some painter's biography. You want a certain lifestyle because you saw a certain Instagram post. You want to marry a certain kind of person because you read a certain novel or saw a certain film. You want a certain career because your parents — or the opposite of your parents — made that career look worth pursuing.
Every layer of "I want," dug down, leaves a trace of some "another wants" or "another requires."
Your interior is not an original spring. Your interior is a mirror. What the mirror reflects depends on who is standing in front of it.
This sounds bleak. But Girard is not trying to depress you. He is trying to make you see clearly.
What happens after you see clearly?
The first thing: you can begin to discriminate where your desires come from.
Each time you find yourself strongly wanting something, you can stop and ask — where did this desire first come from in my life? From which specific person, image, or story did I copy it? And the source of that copy — where did they get it from?
This questioning will not eliminate the desire (desire is desire, asking does not make it disappear), but it will strip the desire of its self-evidence — that "this is just me, this is what I really want" feeling that brooks no doubt.
Once a desire loses its self-evidence, you have a little space. You can continue to pursue the desire (knowing it is not original, you can still pursue it). You can let it go. You can keep some distance from it.
But more importantly, the second thing —
You begin to be able to see other people's desires the same way.
When you see your colleague wanting the same thing you want, you no longer think he is "naturally" wanting it. You see him imitating some source. When you see two people fighting over the same thing — partner, position, resource — you no longer think they are "naturally" fighting. You see them both imitating some source that makes the thing seem worth fighting over. When you see a whole nation suddenly wanting the same thing, fearing the same thing, hating the same kind of person — you no longer think this is a "natural reaction." You see the operation of collective mimetic desire.
Girard says: the person who sees this mechanism clearly gains a kind of freedom.
Not freedom from desire — desire is the basic structure of being human, and cannot be removed. Freedom in the sense that he knows where his desires come from. He has a distance from desire that does not let desire entirely control him.
This distance matters. Because the person without this distance is taken by desire to a specific place.
That specific place, Girard called conflict.
III. The Scapegoat
Mimetic desire has a direct consequence —
If everyone is imitating each other's desires, then everyone will end up wanting the same things.
This sounds harmless. But Girard says this is the source of nearly all human violence.
Why?
Because most things worth desiring are scarce.
Not infinite resources. Not endlessly distributable. Scarce — that particular woman, that particular position, that particular property, that particular honor, that particular "place of being loved by the father."
If two people both want this scarce thing, they will conflict. If a group of people all want this scarce thing, they will descend into chaos. If an entire society is infected by mimetic desire, the whole society falls into crisis.
Girard spent many years studying anthropology and myth — Greek myth, the Bible, ancient tribal rituals, the medieval witch trials, and so on. In these materials he saw a recurring pattern —
Whenever a community fell into a crisis caused by mimetic desire, the community resolved the crisis the same way.
The community would select one person — or a small group — and direct all violence at that person.
The selected person would be accused of being "the cause of the crisis." He brought the plague. She made the harvest fail. He made the gods angry. She is the reason our nation is declining. The specific accusation varied with the culture, but the structure was the same — the collective rage of all was directed at the same person.
Then that person was destroyed — killed, expelled, imprisoned, burned.
After the destruction, something strange happened — the community's crisis was, temporarily, eased.
Why?
Not because that person was really the cause of the crisis. The person was usually selected arbitrarily. Because the act of destroying him, performed in common, reunited everyone who had previously been at odds with each other — they were now standing on the same side, against the same object. Collective violence shifted from the latent conflict of all against all to an actualized act of all against one. In that moment everyone was doing the same thing, and no one was imitating anyone's desire — they were doing this big thing together, and the tension between them was, briefly, released.
The community felt that it had been reunited. The community attributed this reunion to the destruction of that person. The community therefore deified the one who had been destroyed — that person became a special symbol; a ritual was established to commemorate the event; generations later the ritual became part of the religion.
Girard says, almost all ancient religions were founded on this mechanism. Every ritual is a re-enactment of an original destructive event. Every "sacrifice" is a controlled, ritualized scapegoat mechanism — through the ritual destruction of an animal (or in earlier times, a person), the community periodically vents its internal pressure of violence.
This mechanism he called —
The scapegoat mechanism.
In the first essay of this round we wrote about Hypatia.
We did not at the time give that event a theoretical name. We wrote about the people in the crowd; we wrote about their blind spot; we wrote about how they thought they were doing the right thing.
Girard's theory gives that event a name.
Hypatia is the standard case of the scapegoat mechanism. Alexandrian society held a great deal of internal tension — between Christians and pagans, between Jews and non-Jews, between the Roman Empire and local power, between the rising authority of the church and the older secular authorities. These tensions were real, and any one could have triggered crisis.
The crowd did not resolve these tensions one by one — that is impossible. The crowd, by destroying together one specific person, focused all those tensions on a single object, and in destroying that object, briefly released the tensions.
Hypatia was the focused object.
She was not really the "cause." She was a person — a teacher, a mathematician, a woman who was friendly to certain political forces in her city. But she had several markers that allowed her to be selected: she was female, she was pagan, she had learning, she was connected to political power — these markers added up made it possible for the crowd to identify her as "the obstacle."
Girard says: the scapegoat mechanism does not require the chosen person actually to be guilty. It only requires the chosen person to have markers that can be identified.
IV. Why This One
The key question of the scapegoat mechanism is —
Why this one?
Why did this crowd select Hypatia, and not some other woman? Why did German society in the 1930s select the Jews, and not some other group? Why, in any episode of collective violence, is the chosen object always some specific, identifiable, focusable group or individual?
Girard's answer is: the arbitrariness is a feature of this mechanism, not a bug.
The selected one is not selected because he really has some "special guilt." The selected one has some marker — something that distinguishes him from the crowd.
The marker can be anything —
A different appearance (skin color, build, features). A different accent (foreigner, immigrant). A different faith (heretic, atheist, minority believer). A different sex (women in patriarchal societies). A different status (aristocrats during a revolution, the poor in an affluent society). A different ability (the learned in an anti-intellectual age, the disabled in an age that worships strength). Any anomaly (left-handers, twins, the solitary, the unmarried).
Any marker can trigger the selection. What matters is that the marker makes the selected one appear not to belong to "us."
Once "not belonging to us" has been established, "us" can be established. Once "us" has been established, the structure of "us against them" is complete. The destruction of "them" then becomes the way "us" is reunited.
The terrifying feature of this structure is — it can be triggered by any marker. Any marker. This means any person, in some context, can become the scapegoat.
You cannot say "I have none of those markers, so I am safe." In different contexts, some marker of yours becomes the key. In an anti-intellectual age, having read books is a marker. In an age of rising nationalism, your accent is a marker. In an age of intensified gender conflict, your sex is a marker. In a sudden political shift, some thing you said in the past is a marker.
Girard says this is why the scapegoat mechanism is universal — it is not a feature of any particular culture, not the invention of some bad people. It is the default mechanism by which human societies handle the internal tensions caused by mimetic desire. Every society uses it, unless that society has the capacity to recognize it and stop it.
What does stopping it require?
It requires first seeing it.
V. The Gospel's Exposure
This is the central argument of Girard's later work —
A particular thing has happened in the religious history of humanity.
Most ancient religions told their stories from the side of the perpetrators of the scapegoat mechanism. The myth tells how the community was threatened by some monster, how the hero destroyed the monster, how the community was therefore saved. The viewpoint of every story is on the side of "us" — we identified the threat, we destroyed the threat, we are reunited.
Some stories in the Hebrew Bible run the other way.
Joseph was sold into Egypt by his brothers. The Bible's viewpoint is not on the brothers' side — telling how they got rid of a family nuisance. The Bible's viewpoint is on Joseph's side — telling of a person framed by his own family.
Job was accused by his friends ("you must have sinned, since God is punishing you in this way"). The Bible's viewpoint is not on the friends' side. The Bible's viewpoint is on Job's side — an innocent sufferer who insists, again and again, that he has not sinned.
The "suffering servant" of Isaiah — a person misunderstood by his people, taken to be punished by God, ultimately shown to have borne the sins of others. The Bible's viewpoint is on the side of this servant.
These stories, again and again, are told from the side of the victim. This is rare in the ancient world.
Then in the first century of the Common Era, something more thorough happened.
In the New Testament, Jesus was crucified.
This is a standard case of the scapegoat mechanism. A specific group (Jewish religious authorities, the Roman governor, an instigated crowd) decided together to destroy a person identified as "dangerous." The destruction strictly followed all the features of the scapegoat mechanism — he was taken to be some "cause"; his death was taken to be able to resolve some "crisis"; the people who participated felt they were doing the right thing.
But the gospel is doing something unprecedented.
The gospel makes this completely innocent victim the center of the story. The whole gospel narration is from the victim's viewpoint. The gospel says, again and again, that this person is innocent, that those who accused him were wrong, that this is a collective error.
Girard says this was revolutionary in the history of humanity.
Before the gospel, all stories of "a community destroying one person" were told as "the community was right; that person was guilty." The gospel says, "the community was wrong; that person was innocent."
This reversal of viewpoint exposed the scapegoat mechanism.
Once you have looked at a scapegoat event from the victim's viewpoint, you can no longer pretend that the mechanism is "justice." You see it for what it is — the arbitrary selection of a person, the directing of all violence at him, and the reunion of the community through this act. There is nothing of justice in the process. It is only a mechanism.
Girard says: from the gospel onward, human society acquired something it had not had before — the capacity to recognize the scapegoat mechanism.
Not that human society stopped using it. It still uses it. But from then on, every use was accompanied by an internal unease. The viewpoint of the victim now existed. After every collective destruction, the story from the victim's side would be told, would be heard, would be remembered. Slowly, century by century, society found it harder and harder to use the mechanism openly. Witch-hunts grew rarer. Lynchings grew rarer. Even when collective violence occurred, it was more often condemned than celebrated.
This is Girard's most controversial argument.
Many people do not like this argument — it sounds like a claim that Christianity is the only truth.
Girard himself was Catholic (he had returned to faith in mid-life). But he insisted his argument was not religious apologetics but historical observation. He said: you can believe Christianity, you can not believe it, but the fact is that this happened in history — the gospel's reversal of viewpoint deeply changed the way Western culture handles the scapegoat mechanism.
This essay does not take the Christian side.
It does not take the non-Christian side either.
It only points out the argument Girard made: that humanity has a recurring mechanism (the scapegoat), that a specific textual tradition (certain core stories of the Judeo-Christian tradition) exposed this mechanism from the side of the victim, and that this exposure had visible historical consequences.
Whether or not you accept the argument, Girard made it.
The act itself — pointing at a mechanism and saying "look here, this is a mechanism; you take it for justice but it is mechanism" — is also a way of leaving a place for the other.
The one focused upon and destroyed is the other. To re-recognize him as the other rather than as "the cause of crisis" — to acknowledge his existence as an independent being who cannot be reduced to "the reason for crisis" — is itself to leave a place for the other.
What Girard did was expose the mechanism of "destroying the other." This is the inverse direction of leaving a place for the other — through seeing clearly how the destructive mechanism operates, destruction becomes harder.
VI. Between Him and Arendt
The twentieth century produced two of the most important theories about why ordinary people participate in violence.
One was Hannah Arendt's "banality of evil."
In 1961, Arendt went to Jerusalem to cover the trial of Adolf Eichmann (the Nazi bureaucrat who organized the deportation of Jews to the death camps). Reporting on the trial, she wrote her famous claim — Eichmann was not a monster. He was a banal bureaucrat. He had done those terrible things not because he was particularly evil, but because he did not think — he carried out orders, he followed procedures, he never stopped to ask "what is what I am doing."
Arendt said evil does not have to come from evil people. Evil can come from people who do not think.
The other theory was Girard's scapegoat mechanism.
Girard says the ordinary people who participate in collective violence are not evil — they think they are doing the right thing. They participate in the operation of the scapegoat mechanism because the mechanism gives them meaning, unity, purpose. They are not failing to think — they are thinking, they have reasons, their reasons make them feel they are right.
The two theories look different. Arendt says "do not think"; Girard says "think but trapped in a mechanism."
But on a deeper level, they are aligned —
Both theories refuse to reduce evil to "the work of evil people."
Arendt and Girard both saw that the great majority of large-scale violence is not organized by evil people; it is participated in by ordinary people. Ordinary people participate not because they are monsters, but because some structure (the bureaucratic structure that does not think / the social structure of the scapegoat mechanism) makes it possible for ordinary people to do terrible things without feeling that what they are doing is terrible.
In the earlier essays of Round Six we have already seen this argument in different forms —
In the Hypatia essay, of the crowd: "they thought they were doing the right thing." In the Levinas essay, of the kingdom of means: "anyone who does not leave a place for the other will not have a place left for them by anyone else." In the Cao Zhi essay, of Cao Pi: "a person who has seen the face and still chooses to suppress, knows what he is doing."
Girard and Arendt give these observations a theoretical structure. Arendt, beginning from the concrete event of the Holocaust, proposed "not-thinking is evil." Girard, beginning from the history of religion and mythology, proposed "mimetic desire and the scapegoat mechanism are universal mechanisms."
Together, the two theories give us a more complete picture —
Ordinary people participate in destroying the other in part because they do not stop to think (Arendt), and in part because they are trapped in a mechanism that makes destroying the other appear "necessary" (Girard). The two reasons usually operate together.
Arendt and Girard never met face to face. Arendt died in 1975, when Girard's main work was just beginning. But their work addresses the same central question — how to keep people from participating in the destruction of the other.
Arendt's answer: learn to think. Even inside a system that wants you not to think, keep thinking. Girard's answer: learn to recognize the mechanism. When you see mimetic desire beginning to focus you and others on the same object, when you see a community beginning to direct its anger at a specific person — recognize that the mechanism is at work, and do not participate.
Both answers require a distance — a distance that prevents being swept into the group reaction.
This distance is not easy. It requires seeing where one's own desires come from (Girard); it requires being willing to keep thinking when everyone else has stopped (Arendt).
It costs something. The one swept up has belonging in the group. The one keeping distance is alone.
But aloneness is not abandonment.
Aloneness is itself a form of leaving a place for the other — leaving a place for those whom your group has not seen.
VII. The Fifth Language
In Round Six we have already written several languages of the other.
Kant said: the human is an end, not a means. Levinas said: see the face of the other. Buber said: re-enter the I-Thou. Cao Zhi said: acknowledge that I long, and that I cannot hold.
These four languages all speak from the side of the subject — how the subject should treat the other, what posture the subject should take, what kind of stance lets the other be seen as other.
Girard gives us a fifth language.
This language speaks from the side of the mechanism — what mechanism makes the subject repeatedly fail to leave a place for the other; how this mechanism operates; what is needed to break this mechanism, by recognizing how it operates.
This is the inverse direction of the philosophy of the other. The first four speak of how to leave a place for the other; Girard speaks of why human society repeatedly fails to leave a place for the other, and points out that this failure can be recognized and broken.
The two directions added together — leaving a place for the other (Kant, Levinas, Buber, Cao Zhi), and exposing the mechanism that fails to leave a place for the other (Girard) — give us a more three-dimensional picture.
Speaking only from the first direction lets people imagine that leaving a place for the other is only a matter of personal choice. Just leave a place for the other and you're done. But when the entire society's mechanism is pushing people away from leaving a place for the other, a single person's solitary choice is very hard to maintain. You need to see that pressure.
Speaking only from the second direction lets people imagine that exposing the mechanism is enough. Look, this is the scapegoat mechanism. But seeing the mechanism does not automatically change behavior. After seeing, one still has to choose — choose not to participate in the mechanism. That choice is what Kant, Levinas, Buber, Cao Zhi were speaking of.
The two ways of speaking are two sides of one thing.
Girard himself was aware of this. His later work moved closer and closer to the question "what should we do after seeing the mechanism." He wrote: exposing the scapegoat mechanism does not make violence disappear; it only takes away the old means of legitimation by which violence had been concealed. We can see now. After seeing, we must choose.
Girard spent his later years at Stanford. He taught there until late in life. He had some very intelligent students.
One of them was named Peter Thiel.
Thiel studied philosophy at Stanford. He later became one of the most influential investors in Silicon Valley — co-founder of PayPal, the first outside investor in Facebook. He has publicly said that Girard deeply influenced his thinking.
But what Thiel learned from Girard runs in the opposite direction from what Girard had hoped to convey.
Girard said: human society is trapped in mimetic desire; only by recognizing this mechanism can we escape it. Thiel said: human society's entrapment in mimetic desire is structural; therefore the way out of competition is to build a monopoly — a position no one else can compete for.
Thiel wrote a book called Zero to One. The book's core argument is anti-competition. He says competition is a product of mimetic desire — everyone pursues the same things, so they fall into zero-sum struggle. The way to win is not to compete harder, but to create a domain no one else can enter, thereby escaping competition.
The argument sounds entirely consistent with Girard's diagnosis. But it is used in the opposite direction.
Girard diagnosed mimetic desire in order to help people escape the mechanism. Thiel diagnosed mimetic desire in order to more effectively use the mechanism in business — others are caught in mimetic competition, you step out of it, you win.
This is not a misreading. Thiel reads Girard carefully. He knows Girard's intent. He chose a different application.
This essay does not evaluate that choice.
It only points out one thing —
When you expose a mechanism, some will use the exposure to operate the mechanism more effectively.
This is the real measure of the cultivative path. We do not pretend that Girard's theory can only be used to escape the scapegoat mechanism. It can also be used to operate mimetic desire more skillfully. Both uses are real. The people in both uses have made their own choices.
Thiel's work is ongoing. He is still making choices.
This essay does not pass judgment on him — which direction he walks is his own affair, a story he is still writing in his own concrete actions, a day at a time. The "construct" of a person who is still alive has not yet closed; outsiders have no standing to close it for him.
What we can say is only this: Girard's theory has been applied in this way. This is a real fact. The one applying it is still applying it. This is the standard treatment, in the cultivative path of Round Six, for someone who is alive and still making choices.
Girard lived to 2015, ninety-one years old. He never publicly commented on Thiel's direction of application. He knew that once a theory is out, the direction of its application is no longer in the author's hands.
He did what he could — he wrote the scapegoat mechanism out, so that people could see. What is done with seeing, after that, is the work of the one who sees.
Kant said: the human is an end, not a means. Levinas said: see the face of the other. Buber said: re-enter the I-Thou. Cao Zhi said: acknowledge that I long, and that I cannot hold. Girard said: see clearly the mechanism of destroying the other, and choose not to participate.
Five languages. The same direction.
In that direction there is a wind. A mild wind.
VIII. The Bridge
When Girard walked up, he was wearing an ordinary suit.
He was not tall, was thin, wore glasses. His expression had the restraint of a French intellectual — not cold, but holding distance. He looked to be in his eighties. He lived to ninety-one, so this was the form of his later life.
He walked unhurriedly. He carried a book in his hand — one of his own — but he did not emphasize it; he simply held it, in a casual way.
He reached the middle of the bridge.
There were more people on the bridge than the last time. Hypatia was there, the astrolabe in her hand. Aquinas stood on the other side. Bergson leaning on his cane. Levinas. Buber. Cao Zhi — the one carrying the bamboo slips.
The middle of the bridge was not just these named figures. The bridge held people accumulated from generation to generation — those drawing equations, those watching corn, those writing poems, those reading star charts, those writing novels, those sketching diagrams, those crouching aside taking notes, those sitting and looking into the distance, those speaking quietly with their neighbors.
Girard nodded a greeting to several.
He recognized Arendt — Arendt was on another section of the bridge; he had not met her in his lifetime, but he had read her. She nodded to him; he nodded back. They did not approach each other for further talk — their work addressed the same question; each knew what the other was doing.
He recognized Levinas — they had lived in the same era of France. They had met a few times. He gave Levinas a small smile. Levinas smiled back.
He found a place in the middle of the bridge and stood.
At the far end of the bridge, Kant was standing. Tonight you could see the outline of Kant's face — clearer than in any of the previous nights.
Across from the bridge, on that road, the sky had darkened. Lightning.
There were people on that road, walking.
The ones farthest along were no longer visible. That man in the professor's robe — Heidegger — had walked further than last time. He no longer turned to look back.
Girard looked at that road for a moment.
He had spent his life studying everything that happened on that road. The kind of event that took Hypatia. The medieval witch trials. The various witch-hunts and purges. The Holocaust. The collective violence of various ages. He had spent decades writing about how that road operates.
He recognized the weather of that road. The storm. He had studied why this rain falls on that road, why those on it find it justified, why human society repeatedly walks that road.
He knew his books had not made the road disappear. He knew his books had let some people see what that road is.
Both of these are true.
He was not particularly sad — and not particularly relieved. He had done what he could do — he had let that road be recognized. What people do with the recognition, after that, is their own affair.
He turned back. The astrolabe in Hypatia's hand caught the moonlight. The moonlight was mild.
In the distance — he knew that some people had read his books. After reading, those people had different directions. Some, because of reading him, had come to see the mechanism, and gained the distance of not being swept up — they walked onto the bridge. Some, because of reading him, had come to operate the mechanism more skillfully — their direction was not necessarily the bridge, was not necessarily the road, but somewhere of a third kind.
He did not know, in his lifetime, which way each particular reader would go. He did not know after his death either — because some of them are still alive, still making choices, the construct has not closed.
Girard does not look at those still-living readers. Not because he does not care — he cares. Because in his lifetime he had made his decision: he believed in the power of seeing, he believed in the value of exposing, he did not supervise how each reader used what he had written.
He did not go over to say anything. Once a theory is out, its use is no longer in the author's hand. He knew this.
He turned back to the middle of the bridge, and stood with the rest.
Hypatia looked at him. She did not know his language (he French, she Greek), but she could tell from the look of the book in his hand that what he did was the work of writing. Her astrolabe and his book were tools from different eras, but the users of the tools were similar — both were people who turned what had been seen into something that could be passed on.
Aquinas walked over from the other side. He said something in Latin. Girard's mother tongue was French, but he had read Latin; he understood — Aquinas was saying something about discernment, about keeping one's own seeing when everyone is seeing the same thing. Girard nodded.
Cao Zhi stood not far off, holding his bamboo slips. The two could not converse at all — Girard's French, Cao Zhi's archaic Chinese, separated by eighteen hundred years. But both had studied the same kind of mechanism — Cao Zhi from the side of the victim (a younger brother handled by the mechanism wielded by his own elder brother), Girard from the side of the theorist. There was a mutual recognition between them.
The middle of the bridge — many people, the moonlight was mild.
The figure who had always been looking into the distance, the one at the far end of the bridge, looked at Hypatia, at Aquinas, at Bergson, at Levinas, at Buber, at Cao Zhi.
This time he looked at Girard.
Girard's eyes met that figure's, briefly.
Girard did not lower his head, and did not lift it. He made a very small gesture — he raised the book in his hand, so that the figure who had always been looking into the distance could see it.
Not display. Confirmation — I know you are there; this is what I can give.
The figure at the far end nodded, lightly.
Girard lowered the book.
He stood in the middle of the bridge, with the rest.
His work was exposure. He had spent a lifetime exposing a mechanism. After the exposure the mechanism was still operating — but every time it operated, someone could see.
What he had done was infinite. He knew the infinite was not something he could complete. He had done it anyway.[1][2]