Girard, Mimesis, and Silicon Valley

The Question of Desire

Why do we want the things that we want? According to the French philosopher and anthropologist René Girard, it’s because deep down, we strive to imitate others, to become like them. Our desires are fundamentally imitative. While they may seem as though they stem from an inner conviction (for instance, because we truly like cars), or from a particular attraction to the desired object (that Ferrari model is just irresistible), in reality, they are developed through our aspiration to be like other people we take as models, including our parents, friends, colleagues, celebrities, and even fictional heroes we encounter in novels and movies.

The drive to imitate others is what he calls mimetic desire. Girard spent his academic career grappling with this concept, analyzing the significance of mimesis and the problems it brings about in society, including rivalry, violence, and a scapegoating mechanism when rivalries become too heated.

His influence spilled over into the marketplace and found particular interest among entrepreneurs in Silicon Valley and elsewhere. One notable figure influenced by his ideas is venture capitalist Peter Thiel, who took courses with him during his undergraduate studies in philosophy. One question I’d like to explore in what follows is why mimesis resonated with VCs, entrepreneurs, and, more particularly, the Silicon Valley ecosystem.

To do that, I’ll briefly examine Girard’s account of mimesis, the instability it causes, and the redemptive solution he offers. Then, I’ll look more closely at how these ideas circulated in Silicon Valley and why mimetic theory gained popularity in the entrepreneurial world, inspiring figures such as Thiel. My goal is to surface some of the tensions that arise between the theory itself and its reception among entrepreneurs.

The Triangle of Desire

According to Girard, desire is relational. It is triangular by nature, not a straight line that links the subject and object directly together, but rather a triadic structure of sorts. In addition to the subject and the object of desire, there’s a third element that instigates mimetic desire in us.

This third element is a mediator, or a model. I desire a thing because my neighbor, friend, or colleague likes or has it. These models stand between me and the object. Pursuing the desired object can eventually create a rivalry between us, leading to competition and eventually violence.

When we take for a model someone in our circle, like a colleague or a friend, Girard considers this form of mimesis an internal mediation. Because we are close to the model, desiring the same object, such as a job promotion, can trigger a wave of emotions from envy to hatred, pride, and admiration all at once. The more intense the competition to achieve a certain status or a desired object, the more acute the love-hate relationship, and the more violent our interactions could become.

There’s another type of model, though: the distant or external one, like fictional heroes we read about in books or see in movies, and celebrities we follow from a distance. These also influence us to become like them, but since the relationship is distant, it does not create any form of rivalry, although it can bring about other issues, like stress, anxiety, and dissatisfaction if our mimetic desire isn’t fully met, which is always the case.

It’s worth mentioning that mimetic desire can manifest in two different ways: either as conformity, where we don’t desire a specific object but aspire to belong to a particular group, leading us to shed all semblances of a personal identity and do whatever it takes to be accepted; or as rivalry, where we compete with the model or mediator over a specific object.

Woody Allen’s mockumentary Zelig is a good illustration of conformist mimesis (or mimesis of being), and Christopher Nolan’s The Prestige is a good case in point of rivalry-based mimesis (or acquisitive mimesis that leads to the monstrous double, per Girard’s analysis).

In the former, Zelig is like a chameleon, adapting and mimicking any group he finds himself in. He lacks a core or a personal identity, and his mere desire is to just fit in. In the latter, the obsession to become the best magician in town turns the two magicians’ competition into an outright rivalry that escalates into sabotage, violence, and death, given that it’s a zero-sum game with a winner and a loser.

Losing a Model Bigger Than Us

For Girard, this tendency toward imitating models, which results in conformity or rivalry, and the instability that comes with it, has worsened over the last 200 years, especially following the Enlightenment and later the Industrial Revolution. Nietzsche diagnosed the turn-of-the-century world as one without a god, since humans had come to view themselves as a sovereign species able to solve their problems through reason and science. They were now independent and autonomous individuals, capable of deciding what’s best for themselves to flourish and live a meaningful life. Ironically, according to Girard, this shift in worldview induced a general existential crisis leaving a void that humans couldn’t manage to fill.

Prior to the Enlightenment, humans had models that transcended them; they sought to imitate a higher being, a god. The ‘death of god’ ushered in an era of promised independence. By relying instead on reason, imagination, or creativity, humans believed they could fill the gap that god’s demise left. The Enlightenment’s promise was that every individual could become a god in their own right, what Girard calls the promise of metaphysical autonomy.

This created a big problem for us: the promise that we can figure it out on our own simply wasn’t enough. Fundamentally, humans are not self-sufficient, making us incapable of deciding what we want on our own. Faced with our failure to become self-sufficient god-like beings, we assume that other people, like our friends and colleagues, have achieved that status. The question then becomes whether we should admit our failure or double down.

At this crossroad, we have a choice to make: either we kill our pride, admit that we aren’t self-sufficient and need help, or we take other people as models to imitate because we assume that they’ve got it all figured out. We end up taking others as models in hopes of finding an original voice and becoming self-sufficient ourselves. The more we imitate, though, the more we end up in a hateful rivalry.

To see this in a simpler context, social media heavily accentuates this dynamic. A majority of people, including influencers, seem like they’ve cracked the code of life and have got their lives completely together. If you think you need to become more productive, you might decide to follow a productivity influencer. A few weeks in, you might realize you won’t be able to implement the routine they peddle and achieve a similar perceived autonomy. When you fail to replicate their results, you become deeply self-critical. You might then end up in a loop, constantly looking for yet another model to follow, and the closer these models are to you, the more intense the rivalries become.

Girard asserts that this approach is a horizontal one, though, and it creates more problems than it solves. The solution to this metaphysical desire for autonomy, specifically the desire to ‘steal’ the being of another, is to channel it vertically, toward a higher being at a spiritual distance. For Girard, this model is Christ. The Gospel offers an exit from the horizontal imitative loop we find ourselves in because it unmasks the mechanism of the scapegoat, takes the side of the innocent victim, and requires the death of pride. We then realize that our originality was merely a copy, and only by admitting that we are not gods can we recover a true and universal self (I won’t dwell much on this here, but if you’re interested in learning more about these ideas you can check out this Girard documentary).

Girard in Silicon Valley

Why am I going through all of this? Well, because I think therein lies the issue. On the one hand, we have Girard’s theory, and on the other hand there’s the theory’s reception and application in Silicon Valley. For example, within certain Girardian circles, it seems that the theory itself is taken as a model, where God becomes the object of desire, rather than the mediator. As a result, many end up seeking God because Girard sought God, because his theory makes sense, etc.

Those who don’t necessarily agree on that point still see in mimetic theory an accurate diagnosis of Silicon Valley culture. What does that culture look like? Silicon Valley attracts a particular archetype: driven people who want to build something, make a difference in the world, work hard, make money, and rub shoulders with VCs.

Mimetic theory would say everyone there is already involved in a triangle of desire. Whatever their desired object, it’s an imitation of a mediator. To remedy that, Peter Thiel, for instance, urges startups to seek an object where there’s almost no competition, or gives his employees different tasks, to avoid mimetic rivalry. Thiel’s advice to avoid competition, though, only addresses the rivalry side of mimesis; it doesn’t really say much about how anyone is supposed to choose what to imitate in the first place.

Girard also does not explain where our desires come from. He just assumes it’s imitative by nature, and argues that we can quell that desire by taking Christ, or a transcendent god, as a model. This proves to be problematic in Silicon Valley for many reasons, which I’ll try to lay out below.

Thin Desires, Thick Desires

One of those reasons has to do with how we manage our desires once we notice them. In his book Wanting, Luke Burgis examines the importance of becoming aware of our mimetic desires. Doing so is an important first step in weeding out the wants that do us no good, or that don’t align with our values. By naming our models, we can have a better orientation about what type of goals we are pursuing. To focus on the desires that resonate deeply with us, we ought to figure out what our values and principles are, listing them hierarchically by order of importance.

Once we have a better grasp of the triangles of desires we’re caught in, we ought to ask ourselves what our innermost, single desire is, the one we’d most like to pursue. This desire sits at our core, something akin to our purpose or to what gives us meaning in life, and it should normally allow us to transcend ourselves: helping and bringing positivity to others, setting an example as a good model, and so on. As such, Burgis distinguishes between thin and thick desires.

Thin desires are wants we pursue without giving them much thought. For example, deciding to become an entrepreneur because a friend is one, or wanting to be rich because of a success story we’ve read about.

Thick desires, though still imitative, since all desire is, resonate more with us and our values. We pursue them not because everyone else does, but because we’ve reflected and meditated on them, sat with them in silence, and watched them stand the test of time. Such desires keep us motivated to engage in activities that satisfy them. They make us feel a sense of contentment, help us feel self-actualized, and encourage us to contribute to the common good.

I agree with Burgis’s distinction, and I do think we ought to find desires that align with our values and give us meaning. Within a Girardian context, though, this creates a bit of a dilemma. For Girard, transcending ourselves means seeking a divine other. This divine model is chosen based on a comprehensive examination of historical, theological, and anthropological analysis, and this is coherent with mimetic theory as a whole.

We’d ultimately feel self-actualized, or at harmony with ourselves, by seeking the way of god or Christ. We have almost no say in the matter either; it’s simply something we’re better off pursuing, and this is the underlying argument of different religions, each with its own myths, beliefs, values, and principles.

In the material world, however, determining our thick desires takes more effort. Even if our desires are imitative by nature, how do we identify which model resonates more with our core? How do we even decide what our hierarchy of values looks like? Are these values passed down from parents and society? Should we simply take them for granted?

The idea that some desires don’t feel genuine to us, while others seem to resonate with our core being, implies an underlying self with internal, even inherent, preferences: a distinct judgment or a kind of autonomy that lets us decide more thoughtfully which model to pursue, and which activities stem from intrinsic motivation. If that is the case, then this would be in direct conflict with Girard’s main thesis: that there’s no metaphysical autonomy, only permanent mediation, with god as the ultimate mediator.

This creates a tension: to appeal to others, as well as to understand our own preferences, our thick desires, we need to find what stems from intrinsic motivation. At a group level, this may be the difference between groups that exhibit cultish behavior and teams that seem to be in harmony. At an individual level, it may reflect the difference between those who pursue goals aligned with their own preferences, and those who simply imitate others without thinking about what they truly desire, and so end up living an unfulfilling life.

Leadership and Mimetic Culture

The same dynamic that plays out within one person’s hierarchy of values also extends to the level of the group. If humans are mimetic by nature, what would this look like as we scale up from individuals to teams, groups, and entire societies? How does mimetic desire manifest within, say, a company and influence its culture, and what type of challenges does it pose for organizational leadership?

While not directly related to mimesis, we can find some interesting insights on group dynamics and team culture in the works of Daniel Coyle’s The Culture Code and Erin Meyer’s The Culture Map, which I analyze in more detail here. According to Coyle, building an effective team requires that you cultivate an interrelated set of skills. These include: creating a comfortable space so employees feel like they belong; putting out cues and signs for the group to operate like a cohesive unit; cultivating strong bonds by exposing a vulnerable side; and establishing a common purpose so everyone is on board.

Viewed through a Girardian lens, what Coyle suggests is essentially the cultivation of a mimetic group culture. However, as Erin Meyer suggests, different countries have different values, and therefore different cultural approaches to leadership and management styles. This can also explain why, in a clash of cultures, some leaders may not be good fits. Is this a matter of different mimetic strategies, or of conflicting cultures and values?

While the mechanics of mimesis and the scapegoat mechanism operate fundamentally in the same way everywhere, their local expression depends on the context of each group, becoming deeply visible in cross-cultural interactions. The values that each group or culture upholds end up conditioning the preferred models to imitate. A clash of cultures, then, stems from a disagreement over what type of model resonates more with the company or the group.

A question worth pursuing, then, is this: can we talk about a spectrum of different cultures and governance systems, one more flat, the other more hierarchical? A case in point is that of Ulrich Jepsen, the Danish executive mentioned in Meyer’s book: when he moved to a new company in a different country, his employees were seeking a vertical model of authority, but the management style he leaned into was more flat and horizontal. This made the hierarchy of values there a bit conflicted because the team’s cultural expectations of a mediator completely clashed.

Flat governance, according to Burgis, may create a sense of confusion among employees, as is evident in the case of Tony Hsieh’s Las Vegas Downtown Project. It was a roughly $350 million project intended to revive a stretch of downtown Las Vegas by turning it into a startup hub. Hsieh used the same flat management style, with dynamic and fluid roles, he had implemented at his e-commerce company, Zappos.

However, the lack of a traditional management hierarchy, Burgis asserts, left people without a clear model to follow, resulting in a mimetic crisis. The interesting point Burgis makes is that flat management may not be entirely optimal precisely because of the underlying mimetic desire. If people don’t have intrinsic motivation, a clear sense of purpose, or a shared goal, then confusion is the natural result in the absence of a clear point of reference.

The Divinization Trap

The problem, perhaps, arises when we take our mundane models for gods and divinize them, or, conversely, when a leader or individual positions themselves as a model and a go-to reference, as seen in The 48 Laws of Power: engaging in manipulative behavior, concealing their true intentions, and positioning themselves as the source of truth and influence. By doing so they create a facade of self-sufficiency, a pseudo-divinity figure that inevitably breeds rivalry, pride, and envy in others.

When an individual or leader doesn’t play god, or doesn’t divinize others, and the group doesn’t divinize its model, mimetic pressure subsides. This opens up a more adequate space for everyone to look earnestly within and figure out what the group’s or individual’s purpose really is. It becomes easier to map out a hierarchy of values, and to experiment with different desires and models in search of what truly resonates.

Girard’s insight into human nature is that we are mimetic creatures, but there’s more to the story than imitating models or escaping the mimetic rivalry trap. If we avoid the divinization trap, we realize there’s more to desire and mimesis than merely looking outward for a remedy. To identify what ‘transforms us’ and gives us a feeling of contentment and satisfaction, we also need to look inward, meditating on our life choices, and asking whether our desires are thick or thin. Getting an answer requires some internal work: a dialogue with our conscious and unconscious selves.

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