Virtually everyone on Earth encounters at least one other person every day. But since our entire experience of the world is created and contained inside our own individual minds, relating to and interacting with these external “others” is a constant challenge.
01 We take the presence of other people for granted. We only come into existence because of other people — our biological parents. We cannot survive infancy, nor, in almost all cases, our ensuing childhood, without the support and assistance of other people. Throughout our entire lives, even the most isolated and reclusive of us must repeatedly engage with other people, directly or indirectly, whether we like it or not. In modern society — or in any society — there’s simply no way to completely avoid our fellow human beings.
02 Regular human interaction obviously provides numerous benefits (along with endless potential flashpoints of conflict). We do not merely detect and react to other people; we form relationships with them. While we don’t normally think of it this way, every time we participate in verbal or non-verbal communication with another person, a relationship is created. It may be strictly transactional and last only seconds, like the relationship you have with the anonymous delivery driver who hurriedly hands you a package, or deeply emotional and endure for decades, like the relationship you have with your intrusive but well-meaning mother.
03 Regardless of the significance we place on them, in all inter-human relationships (as opposed to non-relational connections we have to animals, plants, or inanimate objects), we assume that there is a fundamental commonality between ourselves and the other entity — the other person — involved. More specifically, we posit that, so long as the other person does not suffer from some serious mental impairment, they are at least capable of perceiving the same things we do; that they are able to make inferences and draw conclusions about such ascertainable facts; and that they will respond “appropriately” and intentionally, based on their assessments, as a discrete individual with their own internal sense of “self”. In other words, we believe that the other person is conscious, to the same extent we’re convinced that we are conscious, whatever “consciousness” may entail. See Article 4.
04 Despite the abstract objections of solipsists, this belief seems perfectly reasonable. While it is true that we can never prove the existence of other conscious human minds, the circumstantial evidence is highly persuasive. Although I don’t have direct access to other people’s thoughts, I know that they possess a thought-generating organ — a brain — that, except in minute details, is physiologically and functionally identical to mine. I know that they exhibit the full suite of behaviors and emotions that I do, albeit at different times, under different circumstances, and to different degrees. And I know that they conduct themselves as if they are conscious, intentional actors with free will, just like I feel myself to be (see Article 7) — or, if it turns out they’re actually not that, then, I’d be compelled to deduce, neither am I. In short, whatever kind of thing I am, I’m confident that other people are as well. In that sense, were are the same.
05 But that’s where the trouble starts. Non-impaired human beings at corresponding stages of development exhibit the same general anatomy and neurology; receive the same sensory inputs, within a relatively narrow range; are subject to the same basic needs (air, food, water, etc.) and physical vulnerabilities; and have roughly the same level of situational awareness and intelligence. Frustratingly, however, their individual perspectives and worldviews, shaped by their genetic makeup, their past experiences, and their ever-changing biochemistry, can be, and often are, radically different.
06 As a result, despite being united by virtually everything it means to be human, humanity exists in a perpetual state of dissonance and discord. We may become fairly adept at learning the attitudes, biases, and behavioral patterns of those we are closest to, but we must continually confront the dilemma that we have no actual insight into the minds of others. We may think we understand other people we “know”, but we are forever barred from actually experiencing what it is like to be them; to be the heroes of their stories while we — the dominant figures in our own egoistic odysseys — are merely secondary characters. Nor will they ever experience what it is like to be us.
07 Thus, even people we frequently socialize with have a tendency to say or do things that we find surprising or disappointing, just as we are prone to surprise or disappoint them. Sometimes we just can’t fathom how, on the exact same set of facts, people we admire and trust can form an opinion or choose a course of conduct totally different from what we believe is right. And then there are all the other minefields of personal interaction — giving offense or causing anger, sparking envy or jealousy, responding with too little enthusiasm or too much, inducing guilt or hurting feelings, and so on.
08 Here the well-known “Golden Rule” — “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” — is a remarkably bad piece of advice, highlighting our signature self-centeredness. It could aptly be translated as, “Since you’re really bad at figuring out what other people want and how they’d like to be treated, pretend that they’re you, and act accordingly.” It’s not difficult to think of situations in which this would lead to negative outcomes. For example, I might prefer to be by myself after the loss of a family member; so if I learn that an acquaintance of mine has suffered the same kind of tragedy, the “rule” dictates that I should keep a respectful distance from this other person, allowing them to grieve in private, since that is what I would have them do for me — even though my acquaintance might, in actuality, feel the total opposite way, and yearn for someone to affirmatively acknowledge their pain and offer support.
09 Regrettably, we make mistakes and misjudgments like this all the time, putting ourselves in the ill-fitting shoes of others, viewing their situations and predicaments through our own eyes, determining how they should respond through the prism of our own psyches, because that’s our only frame of reference. We can always ask other people what they want, of course, and this is usually the best practice; but they often struggle to articulate their needs and desires, and can do so only imperfectly, leaving them subject to our even more imperfect interpretation. We can never get out of our own existential bubble, and into theirs.
10 Given the above, it’s no wonder that, with the arrival of new enabling technology, more and more people — particularly teenagers and young adults — are inclined to conduct their social interactions “virtually”, at an emotionally safe remove, mediated and shielded by communications platforms that make them feel like they have more control over what is being transmitted and received, with conversational “off-ramps” and easy methods to terminate relationships altogether if things go wrong. While this may have detrimental effects on those who, as a result, become unable to interact in more traditional ways, and on society as a whole, the desire to mitigate the stress and frustration of trying to ascertain and navigate around the hidden thoughts, feelings, and intentions of others is understandable — not to mention the discomfort of being evaluated and judged by them, at the same time. The latter form of existential anguish is what Sartre was getting at with his famous but oft-misconstrued notion that “hell is other people”. The mere fact of being exposed to the scrutiny of others compels even the most defiantly independent-minded of us to imagine — to care — what they think of us, and in so doing, we start to allow their subjectivity to influence ours, prompting us to consciously or unconsciously modify our behavior in order to meet or defy their perceived expectations. At each encounter with another person, we lose a little more of ourselves.
11 This is not to say that there’s nothing to be gained. As noted at the outset, being with others has many advantages, both practical and psychological. There’s a reason why solitary confinement in prison is considered to be one of the harshest forms of punishment. Even misery loves company. We are social animals, hardwired to live in groups. Most humans fare poorly when they are totally on their own for an extended period of time. Most of us want other people in our life. When something remarkable or amazing happens in our presence, our instinctive reaction is to quickly look around for anyone else who might have noticed it too. We want there to be another witness to the striking event; someone standing next to us — even a stranger — to whom we can exclaim, “Did you see that?” Generally speaking, the more impactful or meaningful an experience is to us, the more we wish to “share” it. But we can’t — not fully, in the way we long to — because there is no objective reality that we can mutually inhabit. All experiences are produced and processed by the mind. All minds are separated and sealed off from one another. Each mind is a universe unto itself — a universe of one.
12 Thus, no matter how close we may try to get to other people, there’s an inherent loneliness to our condition. The well-known saying, “We all die alone,” doesn’t mean to suggest physical isolation at the time of death — many people are surrounded by loved ones when they die — but rather mental isolation; the idea that we can only personally experience what it is like to die — that is, what it is like for us to die — by ourselves. There is no one with whom we can share the termination of our existence, no one who can “go through it” with us, even if there is another person right beside us who’s ending their existence at exactly the same time. This is a generally accepted proposition; but unfortunately it must be extended much further. For not only do we all die alone, in this way, but we also all live alone, for the same reason. Just as the subjective experience of dying can not be shared, neither can any other subjective experience. We do our best to overcome this; we go to great lengths in our efforts to get others to see what we see, feel what we feel. But we always come up short. They can never be us, and we can never be them. Our paths may cross, but we never meet.
