Is There Someone Who Desires Life?

Pigi Banna - Cesare Cornaggia - The following dialogue, formatted in a question-and-answer style, originates from an online video recorded during the West Coast Meeting 2024 in Liguria, Italy by  the Italian Cultural Center “Cara Beltà”. This thought-provoking exchange, featuring Professor Cornaggia and Don P.G. Banna, delves into the significant theme: "Is there anyone who desires to live, who desires life?"

Question — Let's begin with an essential distinction: both of you are educators, each with unique roles but fundamentally educators. I want to explore this crucial differentiation between need and desire. Desire necessitates a capable self; a fragile self-settles for need.

Today, there's considerable confusion between these two, often leaning towards fulfilling needs, perhaps due to fear of desire, which holds greater significance. Perhaps we must exert effort, an effort not everyone is prepared to understand the distinction between need and desire. Most importantly, distinguishing that desire is irreducible, unlike need. So, let's pose this question: what does education on desire entail today, and how do we guide individuals on this journey?

Cornaggia  -  I understand the distinction you're making, as I believe the differentiation between need and desire is crucial. From my clinical perspective, I'll illustrate this concept. Let's step back to the moment of human birth. At birth, we immediately recognize our lack, stemming from the traumatic experience of entering the world. While everyone celebrates our birth, inwardly, we “cry” because we're suddenly thrust into an unfamiliar and potentially perilous world without immediate assistance, facing the possibility of swift demise.

Humans, akin to infant animals, represent a unique point in nature where self-awareness emerges. This awareness prompts our cries, stemming from an acute awareness of our vulnerability and our fundamental existence driven by needs. From birth, we perceive ourselves as lacking, with urgent bodily needs that demand immediate attention: milk must be provided promptly; there's no room for delay.

Amidst this drama, a growing certainty accompanies us, nurtured by the quality of our early relationships with primary caregivers—a certainty that later becomes a moral compass in adulthood. It's a simple, stark moral certainty. Alongside this drama is the assurance that our mother is good, or at least "good enough," as Winnicott suggested.

This assurance isn't merely that someone can satisfy our physical needs like milk; it's the profound security we derive from our mother's loving gaze as she feeds us. I urge all breastfeeding mothers, and those who will be, to resist distractions like phones and to gaze into their baby's eyes.

This interpersonal connection is paramount. Reflecting back at us, our mother's loving gaze lays the foundation for our inner security. Thus, through this nurturing relationship, our fears begin to diminish. Our experience of being in the world starts to refine our needs, revealing that our relationship with reality involves more than just physical necessities—it connects us to someone else, affirming our place in the world.

From here, we uncover what we might call the surplus of reality: everything given to us points towards something deeper. This insight is echoed by great poets from Leopardi and Montale to Pavese and Rilke, and the profound Antonia Pozzi.

Desire, however, as the very word suggests, transcends mere need; it arises after needs have been purified. Purified needs lead us to desire because desire reaches beyond ourselves. According to the Latin root of the word, desire encompasses everything stemming from the surplus of reality—our irreducible inner essence. Considering what Fr. Giussani asserted, this essence is shaped by primordial needs and pieces of evidence felt within our hearts.

The seed sown by that impoverished man, the writer you mentioned, illustrates his heart's construction. I describe him as impoverished because he chased idolatry throughout his life, at least according to your quote. Desire propels us forward endlessly because we embody infinity within the finite.

We are infinite within finitude, hence our perpetual restlessness, never to be fully satisfied. As long as needs tied to the body and the present remain unmet, they demand immediate satisfaction. In contrast, desire is insatiable. Now, speaking from my own life experience, as one reaches a certain age, there often seems little left to anticipate. I hope this desire never ceases because if desire fades, life might, too.

However, as you alluded to in your question, perhaps we fail to evolve as she suggested—at least, I understand her point. She spoke of not evolving from need to desire due to our inability to delay, to envision, to symbolize what is essential, to look beyond our immediate surroundings, to refine our desires. I'm reminded of the Samaritan woman at the well.

She asks for water, but Jesus asks, "What water are you asking for?" Beyond her immediate need, she expresses a profound, unspoken desire. Here, we discern that beneath the request for water lies the deepest longing of the heart. This underscores why we need a companion from need to desire on our journey.

This companion could be anyone—a friend, a parent, a priest, and for some, regrettably, even a psychotherapist—but a living presence, a fellow human, guiding us through this transition.

Educating for desire, therefore, means nurturing with a gaze that, beyond fulfilling needs, discerns and reveals the deeper desires that lie beneath. After all, our selfhood is formed through relationships; we cannot proclaim "I" without acknowledging our connection to others.

This transition is pivotal. As with the Samaritan woman at the well, others awaken our innate needs, latent within us but brought to the surface by others. Thus, humanity is exposed because our identity isn't self-contained but intertwined with others, perpetually seeking. I would like to add one more thing.
This perpetual seeking, this ongoing journey, is encapsulated in the Hebrew concept of "ivri"—the one who crosses over. In our tradition, to be Jewish means to be in constant motion, to live beyond one's homeland, much like Abraham: "Go forth from your country and your kindred and your father's house to the land that I will show you." Someone calls, and someone accompanies them.

Pigi: I aim to build upon Professor Cornaggia’s insights while adding nuances and staying close to his framework. In the portrait you've painted, I'll add some colorful strokes and raise pertinent questions that concern us all. As you rightly noted, we are born with needs, which form the core of human existence.

You concluded by suggesting that maintaining this need throughout life shouldn't pose an issue. However, as adults, and as observed through children, feeling needy often becomes a personal challenge—a signal of inadequacy or problem. Pixar's series "Inside Out" illustrates this transition from childhood to adolescence, where fear of inadequacy emerges as a dominant emotion, revealing our inability to manage everything.

Entering adulthood and realizing that not all envisioned possibilities will materialize becomes a source of anxiety. We witness how this problematic sense of neediness can blur personal identity, evident in behaviors ranging from withdrawal to aggression, even in adult social media interactions.

These manifestations seem like symptoms of an insecure self-perceiving innate needs as burdens. Some authority figures exacerbate this discomfort by treating needs as problems, inadvertently reinforcing feelings of burden.

I recall a student once saying, "I no longer approach the principal with problems because it ends up affecting the whole school." This "don't talk about your problems" mentality reflects what you mentioned about leaders acting as maternal figures from the outset. Instead, these needs should be acknowledged, embraced, and explored as integral aspects of the human experience, not as problems.

In my view, listening and accompanying others are simple yet profound acts, which we've all experienced and can engage in. It's about genuinely finding interest in what someone shares, not out of pity but out of curiosity about their experiences, which engages me personally.

I find joy in conversations with people who want to share their stories. The most enlightening moments arise when you invite someone to narrate the story behind a problem or need they've expressed. As Cesare recently wrote, needs are often resolved with immediate solutions, but telling the story behind a need unveils the essence of desire.

Consider a simple example: a girl enters, you ask, "How are you?" She replies, "Okay, not bad." Pushing further, you inquire, "What does 'okay' mean to you?" Tentatively, she responds, "I can't really recall... Maybe five years ago?" Continuing the dialogue, you ask, "Can you share the last time things went well and what 'not bad' means to you?"

This approach helps uncover the backstory of the need, revealing the depth of desire underlying it—how many times that desire has been fulfilled, promised, or disappointed. This narrative journey is fundamental. You also referenced Jesus, who posed questions to those he encountered: "What are you seeking?" His questions aimed not merely to resolve needs but to explore their depths, emphasizing the relationship between self and others

Lastly, I'd suggest we discuss later whether it's presumptuous to think we can fully satisfy desires manifesting as needs. Answers exist, but true answers don't close off possibilities. Its capacity to reveal the depth of desire it encompasses signifies an answer accompanying a need.

This concept echoes Gregory of Nyssa, a Church father, who described how the divine Word engages with the soul, affirming its desires and expanding them towards greater fulfillment and growth. This expansion of desire allows for personal growth, moving beyond immediate needs. We've all experienced dissatisfaction and disappointment when seeking happiness solely through immediate gratification of needs. 

Reflecting on the divine word and the profound teachings I've encountered; I recognize two types of educators. Some affirm what you already know, leaving you thinking, "Good, good," yet offering little new insight. Still, their classes are valuable. Then there are professors who challenge your assumptions, prompting moments of confusion and growth in understanding. They expand your mind and desires, fostering wisdom and projection into the future—beyond self.

Question - I'd like to revisit the point you both touched upon—that desire manifests in the longing to be genuinely wanted, to be loved, a universal need whether consciously acknowledged or not. In reading the professor's book, I came across a poignant quote from a patient: "I began to change when I realized I was loved unconditionally. This was something I never thought possible in my life. It was then that I truly understood myself and the love of those around me." This process of accompanying people, learning to love them for who they are, not because of their deeds or the burdens they carry but simply because of an openness to reality. Reality no longer constrains; it becomes the medium through which this desire can be expressed and shared.

Cornaggia -Thank you for recalling that moment with the young girl and the sentence she shared. I'd like to add a brief comment, perhaps from a personal perspective. I believe there comes a time in everyone's life when we experience that phase. It's a moment that can connect us, recognizing that we all have encountered situations where a certain phrase or insight profoundly affected us.

Today, much is said about the youth of our time, often critically, but perhaps we should instead reflect on our own shortcomings as adults, including myself as a father. I realize now that there were times I didn't hold that same perspective in my heart or mind, as present as it was in that young girl's life.

I find it's in our relational experiences that I see myself most clearly, reminiscent of Cardinal Federigo's poignant insights in "The Betrothed" and in many other literary works. When someone's gaze reaches the depths of our being and accepts us—even with our flaws and imperfections—it allows us to move beyond shame. Each of us has our moments of pettiness or shortcomings, but when another person looks at us and says, "You're okay, even with those imperfections," it empowers us to view ourselves in a new light.

Question - How does this approach of fully embracing and accepting others, rather than offering generic responses, resonate with your professional experiences. 

Cornaggia: However, maintaining that standard, if I may, is uncertain. I would also like to introduce another concept, "curiosity," which interestingly derives from the word meaning "care" in some languages.

Curiosity comes from “care”; it means that the flaws in others reflect my own. I must embrace my imperfections even in front of my child, even in front of my students. I recall moments when working in communities, staff would ask me, "Doctor, what should we do?" My response would be, "Now, spend time with your patients. I mean, truly spend time: be present simply because it's you, and I genuinely care.

Pigi, I completely agree. I can only connect with you by engaging authentically and acknowledging the moment when I felt loved and accepted even at my most shameful. It's about respecting that unique essence within you as something precious.

Otherwise, I would always be concerned with manipulating or overshadowing that troubled aspect or pushing it away, as we sometimes do by rejecting what someone might become.

They might even become the worst imaginable, but their root of evil is not the same as mine.

Without compassion, we cannot truly understand each other. Today, we struggle deeply with self-awareness, which is our greatest challenge. However, this intimacy doesn't stem from an inability to confront our inner selves but rather from a loss of memory about what truly defines our humanity and what truly draws us out of ourselves at different points in life.

Question -I'd like to add to our dialogue by introducing another point. It strikes me that there are two levels of irreducibility we should consider. A quote from Rorty suggests that humanity isn't merely a blank slate but faces external reality's irreducibility. Yet, there's also an irreducibility within us—the heart. In our current era, where it often feels chaotic and boundary-less, recognizing both these levels of irreducibility seems crucial for maintaining sanity.  Neglecting this understanding can complicate life significantly.

Let me provoke a thought: when Fr. Giussani challenged his students in '54, saying, 'I'm not here for you to believe everything I say as true.' This challenge remains pertinent today. Can educators still engage students on this level, providing a framework to discern truth rather than imposing beliefs? It's a reflection worth sharing. What are your thoughts?

Cornaggia - Today, I firmly believe that the path Fr. Giussani pursued is the only viable one, and I find this resonates deeply with the concept of "irreducibility" you mentioned. I feel this deeply because we confront two fundamental irreducible aspects, as you articulated.

First, there is the given reality that we do not choose—any of us chooses our birth or family. Reality is simply given to us. The second irreducibility lies within us, rooted in the original needs of our hearts, which I believe Fr. Giussani was addressing. Our selves develop through engagement with both external and internal otherness. It is through our interactions with the world that we learn to navigate these dual aspects.

Today, you discussed societal challenges, particularly how fragmented processes hinder the formation of a coherent self. We live in what I term a "plastic birth" society, one that generates pathologies. What contributes to this social plasticity? Primarily, it is the denial of reality. Today, reality is often treated as something constructed or provided, often by those in power, rather than accepted as given.

This perspective leads people to believe they can mold reality according to their desires, which, in truth, they cannot.

Moreover, the other irreducibility—the needs of the heart, as articulated by the American thinker—cannot be ignored. We cannot construct everything within ourselves; there are inherent needs that must be acknowledged. Thus, we risk creating a world where individuals grow up without these essential irreducible elements, unable to form coherent selves. This is the essence of societal plasticity.

Perhaps it is time to return to these foundational principles.

Pigi - Let me elaborate on how this irreducibility manifests itself through work. This object in front of me isn't inherently just a table. I could dismantle it, break it down into pieces of wood, and it would cease to function as a table. The true challenge lies in the human being: no matter how degraded, trampled upon, or broken down into pieces, he never ceases to be human. In a mysterious and unimaginable way, even in his worst states, he continues to seek goodness, to seek more, to yearn for an abundance of goodness, love, and justice.

Like the boy who, having gained twenty kilos from selling drugs, says, "What did I want? Thirty kilos." This is the irreducibility of humanity. There is a core that remains intact even amid evil; abuse cannot strip away this essence or its uniqueness.

The same principle applies to reality. We may try to manipulate it, to impose conditions over time, shifts in perception, but then events like a pandemic or a disappointment in love occur to remind us: reality is beyond our control. Have you attempted to manipulate it? Have you sought to master it? Yet, there is always something more, an excess that emerges.

In this context, recognizing the irreducibility of these two sacred realities—human selfhood and the God-given reality itself—becomes crucial to understanding limitation. Why? Limitation isn't about confinement or rules that render us powerless, as the Greeks might say. It marks a boundary that reminds us of what is irreducible.

Guiding a young person or an adult to perceive these limits and the potential to discover what is truly irreducible can be profound. For instance, a disappointment in love can serve as an opportunity to realize, "Look, you can't control it—no one can." The limit precisely highlights where this irreducibility becomes unmistakable and resonant. Or am I mistaken, Professor Cornaggia?

Cornaggia - Absolutely, indeed, thank you. The concept of limit we discussed earlier, right? It originates from the Latin word "limen," meaning threshold, something that leads us beyond. I want to reflect on what you said today. Perhaps it's my age showing, but nowadays, as fathers, we can't simply step aside anymore and tell our sons, "Go forth, you are the future." This realization deeply affects me personally. Do you share this view?

Pigi - Very much so, because the limit then becomes an opportunity for encounter.

Cornaggia —The limit becomes a chance for meeting. I also think about my work as a therapist or as a student of therapy. We are perpetual learners until the end, until our last day. With our patients, we meet precisely at the limit, embracing that limit and making it our own. Right?

Question - How does Christianity uniquely challenge and transcend the limits we encounter, offering openness rather than enforcing a dictatorship of desire, limitation, and closure, as other paths might do?

Pigi: Yes, let's pause here for a moment. When we discuss Christianity, it's crucial not to conflate it with Christendom. Christianity, as we've articulated today and commonly understood as the Church's moral authority, has historically tempered responses to needs, avoiding excessive indulgence in dangerous desires. Instead, it emphasizes staying within defined boundaries. Some might argue this helps individuals understand their place in the world, yet we're not referring to limits as opportunities for connection but rather as rigid standards to be upheld.

This type of moral authority, which restrains and regulates needs, transforming boundaries into strict rules, becomes a tool of power. As you mentioned earlier, power tends to preserve societal hierarchies by enforcing conformity. For a long time, certain Christians sought to monopolize morality within this framework, inadvertently aligning themselves with secular power structures.

Fortunately, the concept of irreducibility emerged, embodied by authentically Christian individuals who lived lives of desire that transcended conventional limits, living on the edge of societal norms.

Today, Christians have an opportunity to challenge and subvert this constraining paradigm. How? Not through psychoanalysis, sociology, or philosophy alone, but by examining how Christ addressed these issues. Why do Christians reflect on Christ's transformative impact on their lives?

Three strategic points come to mind. Cesare, I'd like to hear your perspective on these issues.

Firstly, as a priest, we have the assurance that we are unwaveringly supported. We needn't fret over the future, as we know we'll be accompanied until the end of time, regardless of the challenges we face.

Secondly, Pope Francis and Christianity, distinct from Christendom, emphasize the absence of shame or guilt. Our society often imposes moralistic standards, stifling humor and spontaneity. Yet, the Church offers the profound irony of mercy—no matter our mistakes, we encounter a compassionate presence that invites us to begin anew.

Thirdly, the Church today can redefine its role beyond serving as a utilitarian arm of power. It should affirm each individual's unique value and potential rather than viewing them merely as part of a functional system. You are valued for who you are, flaws and all.

These three points offer a revitalized perspective, inviting each person to be embraced and celebrated as they are, without the pressure to conform. Such a worldview is rooted in a God who intimately cares for us, calling us by name and engaging deeply in our lives..

Cornaggia: Certainly, if I may add to this reflection that was somewhat implicit in your discussion about the Church and our Christian experience: we begin with a promise. Consider today the many books that explore profound emotions, such as "The Loss" by E. Smith, published by Feltrinelli. This theme prompts us to reflect deeply on what? It allows us a glimpse into the reality rooted in the past, emphasizing the importance of remembering our history.

Implicit in your remarks is the idea that from this starting point of promise, reality becomes an opportunity, as you mentioned. Therefore, reality, whether beautiful or harsh, becomes meaningful through our relationship with it. This concept echoes the insights of authors like Viktor Frankl and Etty Hillesum, who found profound meaning even in the direst circumstances of concentration camps. They demonstrated that human beings can find purpose amid adversity because meaning is fundamentally about our connection to the whole.

Thus, what matters most is not whether reality appears pleasant or unpleasant but rather our stance towards it. This is where the assurance of promise plays a crucial role. Perhaps the Church can guide us in embracing this promise, encouraging us to venture beyond the familiar confines of our comfort zones into the broader world of experience.

Question - We would like to follow up on something Professor Cornaggia discussed tonight, as highlighted in his book "On the Side of Desire." What caught my attention was the method he mentioned, also applied to inpatient treatment, aimed at helping them engage with reality not as a source of pathology but as a path to healing from their own pathologies. I'm particularly intrigued by this positive approach to reality: how does viewing reality positively, rather than as problematic, facilitate healing? I'm eager to delve deeper into this perspective.

Cornaggia - I believe our role is to assist individuals in confronting reality, even when it's challenging. Creating our own version of reality or expecting it to conform to our desires leads to borrowing a biblical term into idolatry. When I rigidly impose my interpretation of reality, insisting it is what I wish it to be, I become enslaved to it. This dependence can manifest in anxiety, panic attacks, and control-related disorders like OCD and even anorexia. I require reality to align with my expectations, chaining me to its whims.

Throughout biblical history, we learn of people enslaved by idolatry. Conversely, our mission is to guide others in rejecting this bondage. Let us face reality without fear, confront it together, support one another, hold hands, and face it... I'm unsure if I've fully addressed it...

Pigi - I'd like to clarify the point we're discussing by emphasizing that the intersection of the two focal points of this ellipse—the irreducibility of the self and of reality—finds its symmetrical observation point. Just as the two foci of an ellipse converge at a single point, this is where we must aim despite it often being resisted. It's the point of encountering another person, crucial from both maternal and educational perspectives, where one's truth emerges, and the irrefutable objectivity of reality is realized through the other. 

There's a natural resistance within us to this notion because of the temptation of idolatry, where we mistakenly believe that thoughts or actions alone can bridge the gap between ourselves and reality. In truth, we re-establish the mysterious connection Zambrano spoke of—the bond between reality and the self—through encounters with others. As Giussani noted, it's through these encounters that humanity changes, not through mere introspection or deeds. This concept is often overlooked, sometimes even within the Church.

Cornaggia - Certainly, as in the sentence you quoted, I now see myself in Cardinal Frederick, and in encounters like those described in the Gospel, such as with the Samaritan woman. This means I fully acknowledge that my identity is rooted in relationships.

Pigi - Yes, I would like to add this: it encompasses the entire sacramental life of the Church. When I say, "I absolve you," I'm not the one absolving, yet my role is crucial for you to feel absolved. When I say, "Take and eat," it's as if Jesus himself said it, but it's my voice that must speak. This is astonishing because God has subjected Himself to this process through which humanity discovers its truth 

Cornaggia - From another perspective, in my practice or in my work, pathology always involves a breakdown in relational dynamics, a fracture in relational capacity, you know?

Pigi - "Indeed, in my view, if that relationship doesn't lead you back to the origin you mentioned, to that promise from which it arises, then a distorted self emerges, you know? If the father doesn't guide you to the origin from which he comes, he becomes a possessive father. Who am I to say, 'I beget you, I absolve you, I give you my body'? But I can say this because I am rooted in a precedent. Only when anchored in that precedent can I take the tremendous step of telling you, 'You will find happiness without me, you will walk without my guidance, and even if you make mistakes, you will learn.' It's extraordinary to be able to say that, isn't it?"

Cornaggia - Certainly, it's a death, but a rich, complete death. I would like to die like that, I would say, wouldn't I? To have that very precedent, the focus I was so centered on before, I mean.

Pigi - Yes, exactly. It's the death that Jesus exemplified in the Last Supper, with the assurance that it will yield fruit, even though the how and when are yet unknown. Like the grain of wheat that must die to produce fruit. "This is my body given for you; this is my blood shed for you." It strikes me as the essence of a relationship, a death that bears fruit.

Cornaggia - Yes, a fruitful death that transcends, right? We recall the Jewish blessing at a son's marriage: "Don't be like me," meaning "be yourself," you know? I find it poignant; in my experience, I often encounter fathers who tell their children, "Don't be like me." What they usually mean is, "Do as I say," right? Instead, it should be, "Don't be like me."

Dr. Cornaggia is a Researcher in Psychiatry at the University of Milano-Bicocca. His main fields of research have been the psychiatric and social aspects of Epilepsy, the organization of residential services for people with Mental Illnesses, and the social and psychological problems linked to Intellectual Disabilities in adults.
Pigi Banna is a Professor of Patrology at the seminary in Milan. Born in Catania in 1984, he graduated from the University of Milan with a degree in Sciences of Antiquity in 2008. He was ordained a presbyter of the Diocese of Milan in 2014. He received his licentiate in Theology and Patristic Sciences in 2017 from the Institutum Patristicum Augustinianum in Rome.
Unrevised notes and translations by the authors. Original Video. Download.