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Why We Want What Other People Have
Making choices based on the desires of others is a part of human nature. But there are ways to counteract the force.
Nearly everyone (unconsciously) assumes there’s a straight line between them and the things they want.
I wake up one day and “suddenly” decide that I want to run a marathon. (Amazingly, all of my friends had a similar realization when they hit their midthirties, too.)
I get the brilliant idea that starting a podcast is objectively the best way to talk about big ideas, and I arrive at this decision based on all the “data.” (Right around the time that everyone else seems to be arriving at the same conclusion.)
I decide to get a dog during the pandemic because, well, I’ve been wanting a dog for a long time, and now seems like as good a time as ever. (Nevermind that I’m the only one in my friend group who hasn’t adopted one yet, and they share pictures of their puppies on Instagram on a daily basis.)
In each of these cases, I’ve convinced myself that my desire is independent and autonomous. I want to pursue something because it “just makes sense,” or it’s the right thing to do, or it’s what I authentically desire—my personal pathway to fulfillment.
(This all happens beneath my conscious awareness. Very few people question why they want the things they want at all.)
The assumption that my desires are all my own — this story that I tell myself — is what the French social theorist René Girard calls “The Romantic Lie.”
The Lie is that I want things independently, or that I choose all of the objects of my desire out of some secret desire chamber in my heart. I know a good thing when I see it. I know what’s desirable and what’s not.
Julius Caesar was an excellent Romantic Liar. When he won the battle of Zela, he famously declared: “Veni, vidi, vici” (I came, I saw, I conquered). If we translate these words into the language of desire, we see what he is really claiming: “I came, I desired, I conquered.”
