Contemporary Concepts of the Sacred and René Girard's Interpretation

Introduction

The concept of the sacred has long served as a cornerstone for understanding human societies and their foundational beliefs, yet its meaning and manifestations have undergone significant transformations, particularly in the modern era. Traditionally, thinkers like Émile Durkheim posited the sacred as that which is set apart and forbidden, forming the bedrock of social cohesion through collective effervescence and shared rituals [Durkheim, 2009]. This perspective emphasizes the social construction of the sacred, where society itself, in its moments of intense collective life, generates the sense of the holy. Similarly, Mircea Eliade explored the sacred as a fundamental human experience, a manifestation of the "wholly other" that irrupts into the profane world, providing meaning and orientation. These classical frameworks, while foundational, often grapple with the complexities of a world increasingly characterized by secularization and the emergence of new forms of reverence.

However, the notion of a singular, universally recognized sacred has been challenged by the rise of post-secular thought, which questions the linear narrative of secularization and acknowledges the persistence and re-emergence of religious and quasi-religious phenomena in contemporary society [Abela, 1993]. This intellectual landscape invites a re-evaluation of what constitutes the sacred today, moving beyond purely theological or sociological definitions to encompass a broader spectrum of human experience. It is within this dynamic context that René Girard's mimetic theory offers a provocative, albeit controversial, lens through which to examine the origins and functions of the sacred, particularly its intricate relationship with violence. Girard's work compels us to consider whether the sacred, even in its most benign contemporary forms, might still bear the indelible marks of ancient sacrificial mechanisms, challenging our comfortable assumptions about social order and collective identity.

Discussion

How does the sacred emerge from violence and social order?

The question of how the sacred emerges from the seemingly profane realms of violence and social order is a profound one, challenging our conventional understandings of both religion and society. Is the sacred an inherent quality, or is it, as some argue, a construct born from the very mechanisms designed to contain human chaos? René Girard, for instance, offers a compelling, if controversial, answer: the sacred is inextricably linked to collective violence and the scapegoat mechanism [Girard, 1979]. This perspective suggests that the foundational myths and rituals of human societies are not merely expressions of spiritual longing but rather sophisticated responses to an underlying, often unacknowledged, propensity for mimetic rivalry and its violent consequences.

Girard's mimetic theory posits that human desire is fundamentally imitative. We desire not what we inherently lack, but what others desire, or what we perceive others to possess. This "mimetic desire" inevitably leads to rivalry, as multiple individuals converge on the same object of desire, transforming models into obstacles and escalating competition into conflict [Cojocaru, 2012]. When this rivalry becomes generalized throughout a community, it can spiral into a "sacrificial crisis"—a state of undifferentiated violence where all distinctions break down, threatening the very existence of the social order. It is from this abyss of chaos that the sacred, in its archaic form, is said to emerge.

How, then, does a society escape this self-destructive cycle? Girard argues that the community unconsciously resolves the crisis by uniting against a single, arbitrarily chosen victim—the scapegoat. This collective violence, directed at one individual, momentarily restores order and unity. The victim, through their death, becomes simultaneously the cause of the crisis and its miraculous resolution. This paradoxical figure is then sacralized, becoming the object of both fear and reverence, embodying the power that both threatened and saved the community. As Arppe notes, for Girard, "religious sacrifice is a mechanism of projection and of repression by means of which the society channels its own unmotivated violence to one arbitrarily chosen individual (a classical functionalist approach)." The sacred, in this view, is born from the collective delusion that the victim was truly guilty and that their elimination was necessary for peace.

However, this functionalist interpretation of sacrifice, while central to Girard, is not the only one. Georges Bataille, for example, offers a more phenomenological perspective, viewing sacrifice not merely as a means of channeling violence but as a way of confronting and sharing the experience of death itself [Arppe, 2009]. For Bataille, sacrifice is a "means of sharing the experience of death which constitutes the repulsive core of the human community." This suggests a more direct engagement with the terrifying aspects of existence, rather than a mere deflection of internal conflict. While Girard emphasizes the resolution of violence through the scapegoat, Bataille seems to highlight the communal experience of confronting the ultimate limit of human life.

The concept of sovereignty further complicates this picture, revealing another facet of the sacred's emergence from violence. David Graeber argues that sovereignty, in its minimal sense, is "simply the recognition of the right to exercise violence with impunity." This right, often attributed to kings or other supreme authorities, places the sovereign "beyond morality." The "exploits" or acts of transgression by which a king demonstrates his power are not seen as immoral but as manifestations of a transcendent status. This echoes the sacralization of the scapegoat, albeit in a different form: the sovereign, like the scapegoat, stands outside the ordinary moral order, capable of both destructive and constitutive acts.

Graeber further illustrates this by examining African kingship, where rulers were often seen as embodying a power akin to God—a force both utterly random and the embodiment of justice. This paradox, where the ability to inflict arbitrary violence coexists with the role of guardian of justice, highlights how the sacred can be vested in figures who transcend conventional ethical boundaries. The legitimacy of any legal order, Graeber suggests, ultimately rests on "illegal acts—usually, acts of illegal violence." This foundational violence, often obscured or mythologized, is what gives rise to the very structures that then define what is lawful and, by extension, what is sacred.

The "scapegoat theory" of Girard, though often seen as absurd in its reduction of social life to a single, secret mechanism, holds a profound appeal for many scholars precisely because it posits that "all human society is really founded on some kind of fundamental violence" [Graeber, 2011]. This underlying violence, whether channeled through ritual sacrifice or embodied in the sovereign's power, is what gives form and meaning to the social order. The sacred, therefore, is not merely a spiritual ideal but a potent force born from the very struggles that define human community.

This perspective challenges simplistic notions of religion as solely a source of peace or morality. Instead, it forces us to confront the uncomfortable truth that the sacred, in its origins, is deeply intertwined with the mechanisms of violence and social control. The myths and rituals that bind communities together often carry the echoes of past sacrificial crises, transforming raw violence into meaningful, albeit often terrifying, narratives. As Scott M. Thomas points out, narrowly conceptualizing the problem of religion and violence as merely "religious violence" misses the deeper cultural and political dimensions, often functioning as a scapegoat mechanism itself by externalizing the problem.

The emergence of the sacred from violence and social order is thus a complex interplay of mimetic desire, collective crisis, and the subsequent sacralization of the victim or the sovereign. It is a process that transforms the destructive potential of human interaction into the foundational elements of culture and meaning. This archaic sacred, born of violence, sets the stage for its later transformations, leading us to consider how these foundational dynamics persist and evolve in contemporary, seemingly desacralized societies.

The persistence and transformation of the sacred in post-secular society

If the sacred, as we discussed, emerges from the crucible of violence and the subsequent establishment of social order, then what becomes of it in societies that increasingly declare themselves secular? The notion of secularization, often seen as a direct consequence of modernization, suggests a decline in religious belief and practice [Abela, 1993]. Yet, to simply declare the sacred obsolete would be to miss a crucial transformation, a re-articulation rather than a disappearance. We are not witnessing an eradication of the sacred, but rather its migration and metamorphosis into new forms, often outside traditional religious institutions.

Consider the Durkheimian tradition, which posits the sacred as a constitutive principle of social order itself. For Émile Durkheim, society sacralizes certain objects, beliefs, and practices to reinforce its own cohesion and identity [Durkheim, 1912]. This perspective suggests that as long as there is a need for social order, there will be a sacred, even if its manifestations shift. David Graeber, for instance, works within this Durkheimian framework, emphasizing how a group constitutes itself in relation to something that stands effectively outside it, whether that be a king or a sacred object [Graeber, 2011]. The king, in this view, becomes a particular example of those "sacred" objects through which profane society defines itself.

However, the idea of a "divine king" has itself undergone significant re-evaluation. While early anthropologists like James Frazer explored the concept extensively, later scholars, such as Luc de Heusch, rejected the expression "divine kingship" entirely, preferring "sacred kingship" [Graeber, 2011]. Kings actually taken to be living gods are extraordinarily rare, with the Egyptian Pharaoh often cited as one of the few unambiguous examples. This distinction is crucial: sacred kings are not necessarily temporal rulers, and their power can be symbolic rather than political. They might be utterly powerless, yet still embody a sacred function, standing outside society to represent it before the powers of nature.

The persistence of the sacred, even in seemingly secular contexts, is evident in how societies continue to invest certain figures or concepts with an almost transcendent significance. Graeber highlights how the "scapegoat aspect" of divine kingship has received particular attention, largely due to the influence of René Girard's theory [Graeber, 2011]. Girard argues that hidden violence lies at the heart of all society and culture, and that the scapegoat mechanism is a fundamental way humans avoid a "Hobbesian war of all against all" [Graeber, 2011]. This mechanism involves directing mutual hostility outwards onto an external object, an arbitrary victim who is first reviled and then, surprisingly, often exalted as a god after their demise, becoming the embodiment of society's ability to create itself through their sacrifice [Graeber, 2011].

This Girardian lens allows us to see how the sacred can emerge not just from traditional religious sacrifice, but from any collective act of violence that unifies a community. The "sacred pneuma" of a king, for instance, might be seen as anticipatory, "the reflected glow of the role the king might ultimately play in embodying the unity of the people in finally destroying him" [Graeber, 2011]. This suggests that even in modern societies, where overt ritualistic killing is absent, the underlying dynamics of scapegoating and collective violence can still generate forms of the sacred. Think of the intense emotional investment in national symbols or figures, which can, in moments of crisis, become focal points for collective anxieties and projections, sometimes leading to a symbolic "sacrifice" of reputation or political career.

The shift from traditional religious forms to new manifestations of the sacred is what Abela refers to as the "emergence of new forms of religion in post-modern society," necessitating a "post-secularisation perspective" [Abela, 1993]. This perspective acknowledges that while secularization might be concomitant with modernization, the need for the sacred, for something that transcends the purely utilitarian or rational, remains. Mircea Eliade, for example, extensively explored the human need for the sacred, arguing that it is an irreducible dimension of human experience, manifesting in various forms across cultures and historical periods. Even if the "hierophanies" (manifestations of the sacred) change, the underlying impulse to connect with something beyond the profane persists.

Georges Bataille offers a contrasting, yet complementary, perspective on the relationship between violence and the sacred. While Girard sees sacrifice as a functional mechanism to channel violence and restore order, Bataille views it as a means of sharing the experience of death, constituting the "repulsive core of the human community" [Arppe, 2009]. For Bataille, the sacred is not merely about social cohesion but about transgression, excess, and the encounter with the limits of human existence. This phenomenological approach suggests that even in a post-secular age, the allure of extreme experiences, of pushing boundaries, and of confronting mortality can generate a sense of the sacred, albeit one that might be unsettling or even terrifying.

The intricate Shilluk royal ceremonial, as described by Evans-Pritchard, further illustrates this complex interplay. He argued that "kingship everywhere and at all times has been in some degree a sacred office" because "a king symbolises a whole society and must not be identified with any part". The king must be both in society and stand outside it, a paradox resolved by elevating his office to a mystical plane. This "contradiction between dogma and social facts" highlights how societies construct sacred roles to manage inherent tensions and represent collective unity. The Shilluk installation ritual, for instance, was not just about transferring a soul, but about resolving the tension between the abstract office of kingship and the particular individual holding it.

This brings us to the idea of "sacred violence" itself. Tiina Arppe notes that both Girard and Bataille grapple with the relationship between affective violence and the sacred, though with profoundly different conclusions [Arppe, 2009]. For Girard, it's a functional projection; for Bataille, a shared experience of death. Yet, both recognize the deep, often unsettling, connection between the two. The persistence of this connection in post-secular society means that even when traditional religious frameworks recede, the underlying dynamics of collective effervescence, the need for shared meaning, and the potential for violence to forge or fracture communities, continue to shape our understanding of the sacred. The question then becomes: how do these transformed sacred manifestations, particularly those rooted in collective violence, continue to play out in the mechanisms of scapegoating that still operate within our societies?

The role of the scapegoat mechanism in understanding violence

The persistence of the sacred, even in its transformed, post-secular guises, often brings us face-to-face with its more unsettling origins. If the sacred can emerge from collective effervescence or shared values, what happens when those collective energies turn destructive? This leads us directly to René Girard's provocative hypothesis: that the sacred, in its archaic form, is fundamentally rooted in collective violence and the mechanism of the scapegoat. Girard argues that human desire is inherently mimetic; we desire not autonomously, but by imitating the desires of others [Girard, 1979]. This mimetic desire inevitably leads to rivalry, as multiple individuals converge on the same object of desire, escalating into a "sacrificial crisis" where violence threatens to engulf the entire community.

When mimetic rivalry reaches a critical point, threatening to unravel the social fabric, societies instinctively seek a resolution. This resolution, according to Girard, is found in the scapegoat mechanism: the spontaneous, unanimous channeling of collective violence onto a single, arbitrary victim [Girard, 1979]. This victim, often chosen for some perceived difference or vulnerability, is then expelled or killed, and their elimination brings about a sudden, inexplicable peace. The community, relieved of its internal tensions, attributes this newfound tranquility to the victim, transforming them into a sacred figure – either a monstrous source of evil whose removal saved the community, or a divine benefactor whose sacrifice brought peace. This dual nature of the sacred, both terrifying and salvific, is central to Girard's understanding.

David Graeber, in his analysis of the Shilluk divine kingship, offers a fascinating lens through which to examine these dynamics, even as he critically engages with Girard's framework. Graeber notes that Simonse, in his work on African kingship, "does appear to fall into a Girardian framework (probably unavoidably, considering his material), seeing scapegoat dramas as the primordial truth behind all politics" [Graeber, 2011]. This suggests that the institutionalized violence, or the threat of it, inherent in certain forms of archaic power, resonates deeply with the scapegoat mechanism. The arbitrary violence of divine kings, "firing randomly into crowds, bringing down natural disasters," is presented as a "perfect concrete expression of what makes a people a people—an undifferentiated, therefore political group" [Graeber, 2011]. Here, the king, through his capacity for arbitrary violence, effectively creates the "people" as a unified entity, defining them in opposition to his own terrifying power.

Graeber further elaborates on this dynamic by describing how "the people," in such polities, were often "seen essentially as the king’s collective enemy" [Graeber, 2011]. He recounts instances where European explorers witnessed kings urging them to attack their own subjects, illustrating a profound antagonism between ruler and ruled. This opposition, Simonse suggests, is akin to the segmentary opposition between lineages described by Evans-Pritchard, where each side defines itself through opposition to the other, and this opposition is "necessarily expressed by at least the potential for violence" [Graeber, 2011]. The king, in this view, embodies the potential for violence that unifies the people against him, making him a perpetual, albeit institutionalized, scapegoat figure whose very existence maintains social cohesion through the threat of his arbitrary power.

The myth of Nyikang and Dak among the Shilluk provides a compelling narrative example of this interplay between arbitrary violence, collective response, and the symbolic resolution of conflict. When the people decide to kill Dak, Nyikang's son, because "they were very afraid that Nyikang would avenge his son’s death if only a few people murdered Dak, so they decided that all of them would spear him and his blood would be distributed upon all of them" [Graeber, 2011]. This collective act, driven by fear and the desire to distribute guilt, mirrors the unanimous violence of the scapegoat mechanism. The substitution of an effigy for Dak, which the people unknowingly spear, is a "crucial episode" that highlights the symbolic nature of the victim and the ritualized attempt to "cheat death" and transcend mortal status through collective anger [Graeber, 2011]. The effigy becomes a focal point for the community's violence, absorbing it and allowing for a symbolic resolution without actual bloodshed, thus reinforcing the king's transcendent power.

Girard's theory, particularly as illuminated by such ethnographic accounts, posits that archaic religions are built upon this foundational act of collective murder, which is then ritualized and mythologized to prevent its recurrence. The myths, in this view, serve to obscure the arbitrary nature of the victim and justify the violence, presenting the scapegoat as genuinely guilty. Cojocaru and Astell both emphasize Girard's claim that the Gospels, in contrast, "reveal the 'scapegoat mechanism' on which archaic religion is based" [Cojocaru, 2012]. The Gospels, by exposing the innocence of Christ and the collective delusion of his persecutors, dismantle the scapegoat mechanism, thereby offering a path beyond the cycle of mimetic violence. This distinction between a "bad" archaic sacred, born of violence, and a "good" revealed sacred, which exposes and rejects that violence, is a cornerstone of Girardian thought.

However, the application of the scapegoat mechanism extends beyond archaic religious contexts. Thomas and Imran & Zhihong, for instance, critique the construction of "religious violence" in international relations as a contemporary example of the scapegoat mechanism [Thomas, 2014]. By framing certain conflicts solely as "religious," there's a risk of oversimplifying complex geopolitical issues and attributing blame to an abstract "religion" rather than addressing underlying political, economic, or social grievances. This act of labeling and othering can function as a modern form of scapegoating, diverting attention from systemic problems and unifying a "secular" or "rational" perspective against a perceived "irrational" religious threat.

The Shilluk example, where the king's arbitrary violence is seen as central to constituting national identity, further complicates the notion of a clear-cut scapegoat. Graeber argues that this violence is "prior to the friend/enemy distinction proposed by Karl Schmitt" [Graeber, 2011]. The sovereign's violence defines the people as a single entity, creating a fundamental opposition between the ruler and the ruled that is constitutive of the political group itself. This suggests that the scapegoat mechanism isn't always about an externalized victim, but can be deeply embedded within the very structure of power, where the ruler himself, through his capacity for violence, becomes a kind of institutionalized scapegoat, absorbing the collective anxieties and unifying the people through their shared experience of his arbitrary power.

Ultimately, the scapegoat mechanism, whether in its archaic ritualized forms or its more subtle contemporary manifestations, highlights a fundamental human tendency to resolve internal conflict through externalized blame. It reveals how societies, when faced with overwhelming mimetic rivalry and the threat of internal dissolution, can spontaneously or institutionally converge on a victim to restore order. This mechanism, however, is not merely a historical curiosity; it continues to operate in various guises, shaping our understanding of conflict and the sacred. The question then becomes, how do modern forms of collective violence, particularly in the context of warfare, challenge or perpetuate these ancient patterns of sacrifice and scapegoating?

Critique and limitations

One significant limitation of Girard's mimetic theory, particularly its application to the sacred, lies in its often reductionist approach to complex social phenomena. While the scapegoat mechanism offers a powerful explanation for the origins of collective violence and the subsequent sacralization of victims, it risks oversimplifying the multifaceted nature of religious experience and social cohesion. For instance, by positing a universal, unconscious mechanism of mimetic desire and sacrificial crisis as the primary driver of culture, Girard can sometimes overlook the agency of individuals and the diverse, often non-violent, ways in which communities forge meaning and identity. If all social order is merely a sublimation of foundational violence, does this leave room for genuine altruism, ethical development, or spiritual transcendence that is not merely a disguised form of mimetic rivalry?

Another critical challenge to Girard's framework emerges when considering the nuances of power and sovereignty. David Graeber, for example, highlights how the "divine kingship" of the Shilluk, while involving elements of ritual violence and the king's transcendent status, cannot be fully reduced to a simple scapegoat dynamic [Graeber, 2011]. The Shilluk king, or reth, was not merely a victim onto whom collective violence was projected; his office was "raised to a mystical plane" and represented a "symbol of national unity". The intricacies of Shilluk royal ceremonial arose from "a contradiction between dogma and social facts", suggesting a more complex interplay of ideology, political structure, and ritual than a singular focus on the scapegoat mechanism might allow. Graeber's analysis of sovereignty as "the recognition of the right to exercise violence with impunity" [Graeber, 2011, с. 7] also introduces a dimension of deliberate, institutionalized power that precedes and shapes the potential for scapegoating, rather than being solely a consequence of it. This raises the question of whether Girard adequately accounts for the intentional use of violence by those in power, as opposed to the spontaneous, unconscious collective violence he emphasizes.

Furthermore, the applicability of Girard's theory to contemporary, post-secular societies faces considerable hurdles. While Girard distinguishes between an "archaic sacred" rooted in violence and a "revealed sacred" that exposes and ultimately dismantles the scapegoat mechanism [Girard, 1979], the persistence of violence in modern forms, such as drone warfare and military privatization, challenges this neat distinction. Baggiarini argues that these modern forms of conflict allow for "the removal of sacrifice as a feature of the post-World War II social contract between states and citizens" [Baggiarini, 2015]. If sacrifice, in its traditional sense, is being removed or disembodied, how does Girard's theory account for the new ways in which violence is managed, justified, or even rendered invisible? The absence of a clear, communal sacrificial act in these contexts makes it difficult to identify a singular scapegoat or a moment of collective catharsis, leaving open the question of how mimetic tensions are now resolved, or perhaps merely deferred, in a world where the sacred has fragmented into diverse, often secular, manifestations [Abela, 1993].

Conclusion

The contemporary understanding of the sacred is far from static; it is a dynamic concept that has evolved significantly beyond its traditional religious confines.

• The sacred is no longer exclusively tied to conventional religious institutions, but manifests in diverse secular phenomena, art, nature, and collective experiences.
• René Girard's mimetic theory offers a powerful, albeit challenging, framework for understanding the origins of the archaic sacred in collective violence and the scapegoat mechanism.
• Mimetic desire, leading to rivalry and potential societal crisis, is posited as the fundamental driver behind the need for sacrificial resolution.
• The scapegoat mechanism functions as a primal form of social stabilization, channeling undifferentiated violence onto a single victim to restore communal order.
• Girard distinguishes between an "archaic sacred" rooted in violence and a "revealed sacred" (particularly in the Gospels) that exposes and ultimately subverts this violent foundation.
• Modern warfare, especially with its technological advancements and privatization, complicates traditional notions of sacrifice, potentially obscuring the scapegoat mechanism rather than eliminating it.
• Understanding the sacred today necessitates an interdisciplinary approach, integrating insights from sociology, anthropology, theology, and even literary criticism to grasp its complex manifestations.
• How do societies, increasingly detached from traditional sacrificial rituals, manage the inherent human propensity for mimetic rivalry and collective violence without falling back into unacknowledged forms of scapegoating?