A Popular Explanation of “the Big Other”

Psychoanalysis, as a theoretical paradigm of literary criticism, often leaves people unsure of what it is actually trying to say. Many of its terms are completely detached from the context of our everyday language, yet critics use them without explanation, and their meanings seem to continuously shift depending on usage. This perfectly exemplifies Wittgenstein’s statement that “the meaning of a word lies in its use.” Among these terms, the most widely known one is probably the “Big Other (Autre).”

In French, the word autre means “other.” When translating Lacanian psychoanalytic texts, we usually translate autre as “small other,” and Autre (capitalized) as “Big Other.” We can see that the difference lies only in capitalization, but since Chinese cannot show this distinction, an additional modifier (“big”) has to be manually added.

What is frustrating is that Lacan himself—due to the topological complexity of his theory and the sliding of the signifying chain—often uses the same word with different meanings depending on context, or even multiple meanings at the same time, sometimes directly contradictory ones. For clarity, I will simply choose several aspects to illustrate.

1. The Big Other is intersubjectivity; it is the premise that allows subjects to interact.

For example: when Lao Rongzhi or Sun Xiaoguo claim in court that they have repented, no one believes them—not the audience, not even themselves. And they are fully aware that their sentences will not be reduced in the slightest because of this claim. So who are they speaking to?

To the Big Other.

As long as the Big Other believes they have repented—then they have repented; as long as the Big Other believes they are innocent—then they are innocent.

Another example: The Emperor’s New Clothes.

The emperor knows he is naked. The crowd also knows he is naked.

So who does not know that the emperor is naked?

The Big Other.

As long as the Big Other believes the emperor is wearing the most magnificent clothing, then he is wearing such clothing. Only the child points out the truth that the Big Other does not exist: “But he isn’t wearing anything!” The emperor immediately flees in embarrassment, and the crowd begins to laugh.

2. The Big Other is power, the Master, discipline.

In the Book of Job, Job is a righteous man, a devout believer in God, with three sons and many flocks. One day Satan tells God that Job is only devout because God has given him many blessings, and that if his happiness were taken away, he would no longer remain faithful. So God takes Job’s sons, his house, his livestock, and afflicts him with disease. Yet Job continues to maintain unwavering faith and believes he has done nothing wrong.

Job’s friends argue instead that he must have sinned to deserve punishment, urging him to repent. They say: if God punishes you for no reason, then God would be unjust; and even if you think you have done nothing wrong, who could be pure before the Lord?

But Job does not waver. He laments (cries out to God about his suffering) but does not repent.

In the end, God rewards Job’s steadfastness, restores his wealth, and condemns Job’s friends—requiring Job to offer burnt sacrifices on their behalf.

To non-Christians, this story appears absurd:

• Job is punished for no reason yet believes God is righteous.

• Job’s friends’ reasoning is coherent within Christian theology, yet they are punished.

• God, who is “omnipotent,” clearly could have prevented Job’s suffering, but inflicts it anyway—merely to prove his loyalty.

• The ultimate fate of Job’s innocent children is never addressed.

From our perspective, this God appears violent, cold, and arbitrary.

But if you ask a pastor, he will go to great lengths to explain why everything God does is just.

He will say:

• “If there is a blessing that can only be granted through suffering, should it not be granted?”

• “Since God gave us everything, He is of course entitled to take everything.”

• “Do not attempt to fathom God’s intentions. He makes the best arrangements.”

Notice: here it is not that God is described as omnipotent and benevolent—but that omnipotence and benevolence are defined as whatever God does.

The pastor would rather bypass the simpler conclusion—“God does not exist” or “God is unjust”—and instead choose the more complex path of justification.

Why is he so certain his interpretation is the truth?

And where did the pre-existing assumption “God is just” come from, given that scripture is the only source of knowledge about God?

Because God is the Master, the holder of power—including discursive power.

When a child is scolded by parents, the child does not first assume the parent is wrong, but asks, “What did I do wrong?” Because:

• “Parents do everything for your own good.”

• “Parents know better than you.”

Especially the latter. Here the child must imagine an impossible knowledge, one that they do not possess but the parent does—though it is entirely possible the parent is simply venting frustration.

Parents, like God, are providers of the child’s means of living, making resistance fundamentally impossible.

Is there any difference between:

• the child who imagines “My parents must have their reasons; they do this for my own good,” and

• the pastor who imagines “God is just; He will arrange everything in the best way”?

Job, in reality, represents a further function:

the priest assumes Job’s role, redeeming the sins of believers (Job’s friends), and transmitting the doctrine “God is right.”

Like the older sibling in a family, already disciplined by parents, who tells the younger ones: “Be good; Mother is doing this for your own good,” and is granted the authority to carry out the parents’ will.

(To be continued)

Azlan Zhang

2025/05/14