Paradox

Walking around Manhattan earlier this evening, watching people hanging out and enjoying a Friday night on the town, I was struck by a particular paradox of human existence: On the one hand we are all so completely connected with each other – we quite literally give meaning to each others’ existence. All of the people I saw out on the street were focused upon each other, watching each others’ facial expressions and body language, not just communicating but performing the act of being themselves – or the version of themselves that they were bringing to this particular social situation.

So yes, we are all deeply connected, that is clearly true, and yet the paradox is that this connection matters precisely because we are each so separate. Nobody can reach inside the mind of another. Outside of science fiction, there is no actual mind-reading. And if you think about it, the very fact that the fantasy of mind-reading is so prevalent in science fiction – given that the real thing does not in fact exist – suggests that we are deeply and emotionally engaged in this paradox of connection and separateness.

There is one person on this planet with whom I have regular extended conversations which can last for hours – we quite literally never run out of things to talk about. Movies, novels, songs, weddings we’ve been to, when and how relationships in our lives went wrong, which friends we can trust and which we cannot, or the best way to cook broccoli. It doesn’t seem to matter – whenever Sophie and I are together, our endless conversation continues, full of life, sometimes darting here and then there, but constantly moving, and always fascinating. And after all these years, this conversation we have is always thrilling to me, as we continually discover new topics to explore and old ones to revisit.

I find myself wondering whether it is the fact that we each start out trapped in our own minds that makes this connection so thrilling. Imagine, just for a moment, some alternate universe in which true mind-reading indeed existed. Sophie and I would have no need to explore the coastline of each other’s thoughts – and there would be no surprises. In such a world, the thrill of connection, at least as we now know it, would be gone. All of those hours and years of conversation would be as pointless as sitting in a room alone for years and talking to yourself.

I would argue that this is the glorious paradox which gives pleasure to our existence: Each of us, so very separate and unable to see directly inside the mind of another, must work to bridge that gulf – through conversation, art, poetry, even conflict. We need to struggle, to exert effort, to achieve that connection which makes life worth living.

And as soon as we make that effort, the moment we communicate to each other that our bond with them is worth struggling for, that is the moment when we create the very meaning that we are seeking.