Others, The Other, Otherness (Forms of what is not myself)
The Cartesian sense of what a selfhood is remains our modern baseline of how we experience consciousness. It does beg the question, ‘what is thinking?’, addressed much more recently by Heidegger, for instance, but at the same time, it proposes that in whatever form does thought produce and reproduce itself, this event phenomenologically precedes being. It is one of the first instanciations of the idea that existence comes before essence and indeed, is in itself a necessary precedent. Over the ensuing decades, we find that culture (Vico), history (Hume), and eventually, evolution (Darwin) and even the unconscious (Freud) find their way into this precedent-setting existential amalgam which is humanity as we know it. Yet, what does not deviate within this rather self-interested pedigree is how the other is defined. Almost as an afterthought – and in this Buber’s criticism of Heidegger actually extends much further back in the history of ideas; Heidegger, perhaps unfairly, is seen as representing only a specifically dangerous form of auto-ontology – the other-to-self is simply seen as that and not much more. We must wait until the early years of the twentieth century to begin to understand the nuances of the other as a conception which not only markedly departs from that of the self but in fact stands alone without it.
The first systematic attempt to reexamine ‘the other’ comes, ironically in some ways, in Cooley’s 1902 Social Organization. Here, it is at first and once again the self which occupies much attention, but with a difference. His conception of the ‘looking-glass self’, through which the self defines itself as not how I imagine myself nor how others actually imagine me but rather how I imagine others think of me, opens the door to an entirely new way of perceiving the other. Here, the other has become an active agent in my mind. I have no access to her actual thoughts – generally a blessing, one imagines – nor does my own self-image identify with them in any exact manner. Instead, I imagine myself through the lens of the equally imagined other, and the only consolation to this double jeopardy, Cooley tells us, is that everyone else is doing the same thing. Yet this imagined otherhood is not made up of any singular person. G. H. Mead, a colleague of both Schutz on the one side, and the behaviorist John Watson – his Theory of Modern Advertising, 1925, marks the birth of just that; the shill we know today wherein it is the self which is sold on the basis of what others think of us; mark that! – on the other, supplements Cooley’s new definition by understanding the other to be an abstraction of everyone who is not me. He calls this amorphous presence the generalized other.
This conception is not only the source for an imagined social selfhood, Mead argues, but is also the station of socialization in general. This conception embodies, in an indistinct yet homogenous mass, everything we understand to be part of being a self within the folds of the particular society in which we live. The generalized other is the on-the-ground version of both a superego – it is the space of moral suasion, the press of the manual on how to live in this culture – and indeed, also the libidinal limits of the desiring self – it contains the objects of my desire but as well ‘contains’ them in a second sense, that of self-other limitation; she is not me and thus must be treated accordingly. Mead’s novel widening of the aperture of the other away from simply another individual who is too like myself to provide either a morality or, for that matter, a sexuality, combines with his sense that the looking-glass self is yet too partial to navel-gazing to account for the presence of society as a whole, even if it does do an excellent and indeed, even self-sartorial, job of analyzing how I myself engage in self-perception. The generalized other is today the accepted understanding of ‘others’, plural and undifferentiated, coming, akin to the cogito, before the ‘sum’ of consciousness as given to us.
But there are two further distinctions to be found in twentieth century discourse which have contributed to our fuller understanding of what is not myself. First, The Other, in capitals, is taken to refer to what has supplanted, in an invidious manner, the older and pre-modern conception of Godhead. And this characterization could be taken as well advised, for it is both unpleasant and unfair to imagine that what is uncanny for its own sake should somehow ‘replace’ either divinity or yet infinity. Stepping back for a moment, let us recall that it is along phenomenological lines that ‘The Other’ establishes its ‘presence’ as non-presence. Originally hailing from the otherworld, this presence is both sudden and irruptive to our own and the social world in which our mundane lives are played out. It appears to us as part of the irreality of another kind of being, and it is in Husserl that we discover the most dedicated analysis of this form of being, which can take on the aspect of non-being or even that of Parousia. Certainly, I judge myself in this second worlding, which a moment before was unknown to me. Yet our modern millennial is self-contained, and appropriately given the rest of our general focus; thus its uncanniness rests within itself and does not refer to any evaluation at all, let alone one that is both fatal because final. Instead, what is perceived as radically other to myself occurs as momentary rather than momentous, as hallucinatory rather than as visionary, and as being sourced most likely in the altered perception of my own state of mind. For modernity, Godhead is, quite literally, in one’s head.
Since this is an oddly unfulfilling terminus to the career of this second concept, that of The Other, we have populated source-points of this once radical other in extraterrestrial visits (that is, not visitations), or, less logistically demanding on the part of these others as well as being predicted by and predicated from the quantum theory, the presence of interdimensional limens, only seemingly irruptive because they are relatively rare and rattle our reality-cage with a glimpse of what lies just adjacent to it. Quantum cosmology presents an anonymous version of Heidegger’s sense of ‘what is closest to us’. It is impersonal and wholly non-human, and takes on the mantle of a remanential resident only due to our unthinking expectations of what the day-to-day world should be like. Even so, in taking another step back from the astonishment an alternative universe might present to both the senses and to our own biographies given the corresponding fetish associated with the Doppelganger – who is, in this case, more truly a Hinterganger if anything at all – we realize that both extraterrestiality and interdimensionality are neither uncanny nor irruptive, and in fact are mere quantitative extensions of the reality which we already know as generally ‘real’. This too, is somehow disappointing, for it robs the radicality of The Other as previously conceived. To be fair, there must also be some kind of relief present as well, for no alien or double appears in judgment of ourselves.
The third and final guise of the other in modernity is defined as the at first unknown version of the generalized other, and this is, simply, otherness. This concept is originally associated with the phenomenology of the social world, as per Schutz, and is best understood as characterizing a number of zones to be found in his contoured cartography of how the self perceives that same world. What is ‘at hand’ to me as a Dasein is, in Schutz, a presence which denotes something available to me but not necessarily known by me in any detail. If we imagine ourselves looking out from the apex of a perceptual height, as we gaze outward and downward, we trail away from the intimate and then the familiar, off toward the cognizant and thence the unfamiliar but not yet truly strange. Yet further, and approaching the very horizon of my vision, lies the hinterland of my knowledge; things, people, and ideas that I know exist, but of which I have no further interest or knowledge. Beyond this is utter ignorance, mirroring our species’ lack of general knowing about certain reaches of the cosmos. At the same time, I am aware that this space, however alien, remains in the category of the ‘possibly-to-be-known’, either to me or to my fellow-persons. If there actually is anything yet more distant, something which would forever be beyond human comprehension itself, I tend to dismiss it, not only along the lines of a cumulative science – in this epistemological stance, all that is at present unknown is simply something which is yet to be known – as well as along the more personal lines of a ‘need to know’ basis. In this dual take, we redefine the infinite as merely the indefinite.
This, in a word, is the function of the concept of otherness, with perhaps the additional remark that through this quantification of ‘the other’ as an idea, we as well redefine human finitude as merely finiteness, with all that this reduction implies. Oddly, we have come almost full circle: the Cartesian cogito exists only as long as does an agentive consciousness. This consciousness is, in its self-posited existence, conscious only of its own measure as a finite form of being-aware. What is gained by our contemporary tripartite understanding of the other as ‘others’, ‘The Other’, and ‘otherness’, is that we are no longer by default either neurotic or xenophobic about the novel which may obtrude upon our lives. There is a temper of mundanity attached to each of these three conceptions in turn, and, indeed, one by which I can myself participate in their othering capabilities. But what is lost to me, and to my culture more generally, is both the experience of the meaningful uncanny and the ability to create meaning in the face of not only human finitude as an essential element of the species-historical project but as well in the face of mine ownmost death, the completion of my Dasein’s thrown project. In order to reorient myself to this recent condition, I must take what is at first merely unknown to me and somehow reinsert the experience of facing down its momentarily irreal presence as if it were in its essence unknowable.
To do this, to traverse an empirical threshold while maintaining the wonder of transgressing an uncanny limen is no mean trick. To see the other in her radically alien quality and yet immediately lend to her the humane and ethically necessary succor of being recognized as a being like myself, is also a canny challenge. But in either case, whether that cosmic or intimate, what passes for the other today, in its also necessary secular pragmatism, invokes a daring deontology which may yet be premature.
G.V. Loewen is the author of over 60 books, and was professor of the interdisciplinary human sciences for over two decades.