The world as a network of meaning

For Lacan, language is not merely a tool for expressing thoughts or transmitting information, but the very foundation of our experience of reality. We are born into a world already saturated with signifiers: words, rules, cultural norms and expectations that pre-exist us. For example, a newborn immediately enters a network of meaning: it is given a name, is designated as ‘son’ or ‘daughter’, dressed in ‘boy’ or ‘girl’ clothes, and raised within a particular language and culture that shapes how it will understand and articulate its experience.

When someone speaks, they do not simply reveal what they think or feel; they also expose how they are structurally related to language and meaning itself. A client in therapy might say, for instance: “I need to control everything or it all goes wrong.” On the surface, this sounds like a simple complaint about stress or perfectionism. But a psychoanalytic reading would listen to how this speech expresses a relation to the Other and to Law: an unyielding rule, an inner necessity that organizes desire. The focus is not merely on content, but on the logic and pattern in the discourse.

Lacan argues that the production of meaning is not arbitrary but structurally determined. We can only understand ourselves and our desires within a system of signifiers that existed before us. Our identities, desires, anxieties, and relationships are not natural facts but mediated through language and meaning. For example, someone might say: “I want to be a good mother.” But what does ‘good’ mean? That idea is shaped by cultural expectations, family stories, and societal norms about motherhood. Such a statement opens the question: whose ideal is she serving? For whom does she want to be good? It demonstrates how the Symbolic order structures our desire.

The Imaginary, in contrast, is the realm of images, identifications, and fantasies. It is where we fashion coherent images of ourselves and others. A child recognizing itself in the mirror experiences, for the first time, a unified image: “That is me.” This is a fiction of wholeness that fuels the desire for consistency. Adults remain caught in this register, projecting self-images such as “the strong leader,” “the perfect parent,” or “the perpetual failure.” Social media offers a striking example: people carefully construct idealized identities: the happy mother, the successful entrepreneur, the fit influencer… These images provide stability but conceal the inner division and lack that lie beneath.

The Real is not simply “reality” in the everyday sense but designates what cannot be symbolized or represented. It often erupts in crises where our frameworks of meaning collapse. Imagine someone who has just learned they are terminally ill: the doctor’s words “I’m sorry, the cancer is spreading, there is nothing we can do to prevent it” can rupture any coherent narrative. The Symbolic fails to provide meaning. That is the Real: the raw, unmediated dimension that undermines the symbolic order.

The lack and desire

At the heart of Lacan’s thinking lies the notion of structural lack. This lack (manque à être) is not a superficial emptiness that can be filled, but an essential feature of being as a speaking subject. We can never fully express or know ourselves through language. There is always something missing. This lack is precisely what drives desire. A child wants attention, love, recognition but these are never completely satisfying. Even in adult relationships, this persists: one might say “I love you,” but this does not close off desire. On the contrary, it opens new questions: “Do you really love me?” “Why don’t you say it back?”

This structural lack fuels existential questions that have no final answers. What does it mean to be a good parent? What do I really want in life? Who am I to the Other? Such questions can bring someone to therapy, precisely because they confront an unanswerable void. In everyday life, we try to defend against this lack through stories, rules, and rituals. For example, a parent might impose strict rules to manage the anxiety about what ‘good parenting’ even means. These attempts function like what philosopher Peter Sloterdijk calls “symbolic immune systems”: shared stories and meaning frameworks that shield us from chaos and the ungraspable.

In perversion, the lack is not simply denied or anxiously avoided but specifically orchestrated. For instance, someone might deliberately play with rules and boundaries in sexual scenarios: consensual power exchange, dominance and submission. The lack (the law, the limit) is not ignored but negotiated and staged in desire itself.

Therapy

Lacanian psychoanalysis, then, does not treat disorders as deviations from a normative ideal that needs to be restored. Instead, it explores how someone structurally relates to language, the Other, and the lack. In therapy, this means listening carefully to how a person speaks, not just to what they say, but how they say it, and to the unconscious logic that emerges in their discourse. The aim is not to normalize the patient or adapt them to social expectations but to understand their subjective structure and logic. How does this person organize their desire? How do they make sense of the world? How do they position themselves with respect to lack? How do their meanings get built up and fixed?

A conversation about “control” might suddenly reveal a fundamental fear of losing the Other. A complaint about “not being able to stop working” might turn out to be tied to a bottomless need for recognition. A hysterical question like “What does he want from me?” exposes both the craving to know the Other’s desire and the fear of actually knowing it.

Psychoanalytic therapy aims to create space for confronting one’s own speech, desire, and structural lack, not to eliminate that lack, but to recognize it as constitutive. It is precisely in this tension, between what can be said and what remains unspeakable, that subjectivity is born, that desire takes shape, and that one can begin to explore and potentially transform one’s relationship to life itself.

The Other desires and limits

In Lacanian psychoanalysis, a distinction is made between the ‘other’ with a lowercase ‘o’ and the ‘Other’ with a capital ‘O’. The ‘other’ simply means another person, someone else you meet in daily life. But the ‘Other’ is much bigger: it is a kind of system or instance that includes language, laws, culture, and meaning. The Other shapes how we see ourselves, our identity, our desires, and our social rules and expectations (Lacan, 2004/1973). It is a concept that resembles the symbolic order.

The subject, that’s you or me, always faces this Other. Sometimes it’s a concrete other person, like a mother, friend, or teacher. Other times it’s the symbolic law or culture that decides what is allowed or forbidden. For example, rules like “don’t steal” or “be on time” come from this symbolic Other. The Other calls out to us and defines our identity: “You are the one who does this or that.”

From the very beginning, a person is shaped by language, and language belongs to the Other. This means our desire is already formed and mediated by what the Other desires, allows, or forbids. Lacan puts it like this: “Man’s desire is the desire of the Other” (Lacan, 2006/1966). In other words, what you want is influenced by what you think the Other wants. For example, a child might be motivated to do well at school not only because of their own wish, but because they want the approval of their parents or teacher: the (big) Other.

Seeing the mirror image gives the child a sense of wholeness: an ideal ego, a perfect picture of themselves. But this image contrasts with their real experience of the body, which is still not fully controlled and often clumsy. This moment also introduces the child to the symbolic world of language and culture, where the Other plays an important role. In a sense we could claim that the first big Other is the mom or the primal caregiver.  The mother or primary caregiver who says: “Look, that’s you! What a big boy/girl!”, while pointing at the image of the child reflected in the mirror. This confirms the image and helps the child orient themselves. Ofcourse this concept is also something symbolic, the mom pointing at another child saying “look, he/she is behaving so well”, carries the same value. The child gets an idea what it is the first big Other desires and conforms to it, which implies the formation of their ideal ego, their identity.

But the mirror stage also means the child has to deal with alienation. The child is “mediated” by the language of the Other, a language they didn’t choose but must adapt to. This means the child must submit to the rules and expectations of the Other. For example, when a child cries in sadness, the mother might say: “Use your words, I don’t understand you if you cry like that.” The child then tries, stammering, to express their sadness, but can’t fully yet. This shows how desire and its expression are always formed between the child and the Other.

The mirror stage also marks the beginning of a desire for completeness. The child wants to fulfill the desire of the Other, for example, by being a “good” or “strong” boy, as the mother might wish. But this is an illusion, because the ideal ego never fully matches reality. There is always a difference between what the Other expects and what the subject really can be.

In becoming a subject, the Other also limits us. The child learns that not everything is possible, because there are rules and prohibitions. For example, the mother might say: “You must stop playing and go to bed now.” This shows that the Other not only calls forth desire but also sets boundaries.

Growing up: the father’s role

An important concept here is the Name-of-the-Father (Le Nom du Père). This refers not just to the biological father but mainly to the symbolic function of prohibition, it’s the ‘no’ that sets limits to desire. This prohibition ensures the child doesn’t get swallowed up by the desire of the mother (the primary Other). The Name-of-the-Father creates space for the child to develop their own desire and identity, separate from the Other’s desires.

It prevents the child from becoming the object of the mother’s desire, which in psychoanalysis is described as being ‘devoured.’ The mother can be very demanding, and without this prohibition, the child might lose themselves in trying to meet those demands. The prohibition introduces a gap, a lack, which allows the child to form their own unique desire.

Finally, the Other itself is never complete or perfect. There is no perfect meaning or answer to what the Other desires. The child’s desire to fulfill the Other’s desire is therefore doomed to never fully succeed. But this lack is exactly what keeps desire alive: it is the engine behind our ongoing search for meaning and wholeness. 

But what does this mean exactly?

The neurotic need to seek answers, approval and recognition

Imagine you are always seeking approval from someone important to you, maybe your parents, your partner, or a teacher. You want to meet their expectations. Perhaps you want them to say, “We’re so proud of you!” or “You are really special.”

But that approval never comes fully or perfectly. Maybe you notice that as soon as you achieve something, that person has new expectations, or you yourself doubt if it’s enough. It’s like there’s always a little gap: you never quite feel “complete” or perfectly good enough. That feeling of “something is missing” is the lack Lacan talks about.

This lack is both frustrating and motivating. Because it’s never fully “filled,” you keep desiring more: more understanding, more connection, more meaning:

You want to get good grades because your parents say it’s important. But even if you get the best grade, your parents might say, “Next time, you need to try even harder.” So you stay motivated to keep learning but also feel restless because it’s never quite enough.

Your partner shows love and attention sometimes, but other times seems distant or unclear. So you keep asking yourself: “What do they really want from me? How can I make them happy?” You want to fulfill their desire, but you never know exactly what that is. This creates a tension: you want to meet their expectations but also stay true to yourself.

You have an ideal image of who you “should be”,  maybe strong, successful, and loved. But you realize you never fully become that ideal. That gap between who you are and who you want to be, that tension, is exactly the lack that drives you to keep searching and growing.

Imagine your parents want you to become a lawyer because that’s important to them. You might have some interest in law, but your real dream is to be an artist. You have to find a way between fulfilling their desire and following your own passion. This might mean talking to them about your dreams, setting boundaries, or finding a compromise, like studying law first and then focusing on art. That way, you don’t lose yourself but still respect the Other.

Or in a relationship: your partner wants to spend a lot of time together, but you also need space for yourself and your friends. You can try to find a balance: listen to their wish to be close but explain that you need your own space to be happy.

The search for meaning and knowledge

Another way to understand Lacan’s idea of desire driven by lack is through our endless quest for meaning and knowledge. We constantly seek to understand ourselves, others, and the world around us. But no matter how much we learn or discover, there always seems to be more … something just out of reach.

For example, think about a student who studies philosophy or science. They read books, attend lectures, and do research. Every answer they find often raises new questions: “Why is this true? What about this other idea? What deeper meaning lies beneath?”

This student never feels completely satisfied or “finished” with their knowledge. Instead, the lack, the sense that something is missing, fuels their curiosity and desire to keep learning. It’s not just about collecting facts; it’s about searching for a deeper understanding of life, identity, and purpose.

Similarly, in everyday life, people might try to find meaning through relationships, work, or hobbies. But as soon as one source of meaning is found, another question arises: “Is this really what I want? Is there something more fulfilling?”

This ongoing search shows how desire, according to Lacan, is never fully satisfied. The lack creates a space for desire to continue, driving us forward on a lifelong journey toward wholeness, even if that wholeness is ultimately unreachable since the symbolic order, the world and language itself is fundamentally lacking.

Summary