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Me, the Other, the World

Given the proposed indefinition of the “problem,” it seems that asking “Where is the (human) problem?” presupposes that we first determine what it means to be human, and how the concept of a problem is largely inseparable from one’s personal and collective history. It is here that an initial triptych emerges: me, the other/others (particularly within communities and societies), and the world…

Me, or the problem as a unique experience…

For each of us, a problem often begins with a personal experience: something I don’t understand, that I may fear, but also that I feel, or even desire, or that I seek to accomplish, or that disrupts the course of my life. This problem may concern my body, my health, my relationships, my choices, my knowledge, my work, my beliefs, my emotions, or my future. Thus, on this level, the problem possesses an irreducibly unique dimension: what constitutes a problem for me may not be one for someone else [and vice versa], and what I consider self-evident – and in particular, in need of resolution – may be profoundly inaccessible to what another person perceives or experiences. Furthermore, my problem also depends on what I know, what I have experienced, what I hope for, or what I am capable of imagining. What appears to me as a problem – or even *THE* problem – may therefore be only part of the problem, or may result from the particular position I occupy in a situation.

The other, the others, or the problem as a relationship…

The nature of the problem changes when it no longer concerns only each “self,” but includes the other – and even more so, the others. Indeed, we rarely live in isolation: we belong to families, groups, communities, societies, institutions, cultures, generations, peoples, and networks that influence – and often determine – the ways we live and think. A problem thus becomes relational. It may arise from a difference, a disagreement, a misunderstanding, competition, domination, exclusion, injustice, and so on. But it can also arise because several people are seeking to build something together that none of them could accomplish alone. At this second level, a clarification is needed: what are the boundaries of the “we” involved in this problem? Who is included in this “we” and who is excluded? Who can speak on its behalf? Who decides, who benefits, and who bears the consequences? The human problem is then no longer merely what each person experiences individually, but what occurs between people and within the communities they form. Understanding this requires holding together both individual experiences and the collective structures that make them possible, limit them, or transform them.

The World, or the Problem as Interdependence…

Finally, on an even broader scale, the human problem emerges as an issue concerning the world we share – or are supposed to share. The boundaries between individuals, communities, and societies cannot, in fact, limit or obscure the broader phenomena that affect us. Human mobility, economic exchanges, environmental changes, technologies, information, conflicts, epidemics, resources, and climate change connect places and populations that may be very far apart. An action taken in one place can have effects elsewhere. A decision made today can affect people who have not yet been born. A local way of producing, consuming, or communicating can contribute to transformations with global implications. The human problem thus becomes one of interdependence: how can we collectively make sense of realities that exist neither in the same place, nor at the same time, nor on the same scale? How, finally, can we take this interdependence into account when a series of more local commitments or attachments – let alone a narrative that relegates others to the “periphery” of a centralized “us” – leads us to exclude the world from our consideration of this problem, including only a part of it for which we claim exclusive dignity?

The Living and the Non-Human, or the Problem as a Relationship to the World…

The triptych of “me,” “other,” and “world” – centered on the human problem – cannot, however, stop at the very boundaries of the human. For what we call “the world” is not merely the space we share among individuals, communities, and societies. More fundamentally, it is a web of relationships with living beings, animal and plant species, environments, soils, waters, mountains, complex ecosystems, materials, and resources on which our existence depends – without these elements being reducible to our own needs. We breathe air we did not produce, drink water we do not own, live alongside other forms of life, inhabit territories shaped by processes that predate us by a very long time, and use mineral materials whose formation lies almost entirely beyond the scope of our lifetimes. In this light, the human problem takes on yet another dimension: what do we do with that on which we depend and which we are not? Our relationship with other species raises questions about exploitation, domestication, predation, extinction, and biodiversity, but also about coexistence and responsibility. Our relationship with the environment raises questions of habitat, transformation, and limits. Our relationship with material and mineral resources raises questions of extraction, appropriation, sharing, depletion, and the consequences of our use. And these questions are never separate from the three previous themes: what I consider necessary may conflict with what someone else considers vital. The choices made by one society can affect other societies. A local decision can transform a distant ecosystem or have implications for future generations. The “world,” therefore, is not a backdrop external to the human problem, for it is a condition of it, a partner, and sometimes its limit. Perhaps we must then expand our initial question – “Where is the problem?” – when we are no longer the only beings concerned, when those who will suffer the consequences of our choices cannot always speak for themselves, when certain forms of life disappear before we have even had a chance to get to know them? Framing the human problem thus requires recognizing that our very humanity is built upon a relationship of dependence on that which is not human. Understanding this relationship may be the first step toward realizing that being human does not simply mean learning to live among other humans, but learning to respect a living, material world of which we are neither the center nor the sole heirs.