John Dewey, in his 1938 essay, “Does Human Nature Change?”, answered in a way consistent with his presupposition of Darwin’s theory of evolution, i.e. yes. Human nature is malleable, insofar as the current iteration of humanity is itself a product of an extremely long period of adaptive change. The label “unnatural,” attached by conservatives to stigmatize certain behaviors, is just an artificial limitation on a flexible and self-transcending human nature.
Yet, in spite of Dewey’s thin conception of human nature, he did believe in certain universals and constants. The common theme of these constants, which I will unpack here, is a kind of loneliness, not one that is not only an aberrant state of social isolation, but one that is inherent to the human condition.
Even a minimalist about human nature like Dewey draws near, though not explicitly, to a root drive of human nature to transcend the self, and to remedy a loneliness basic to our condition. Dewey identifies the following universals in human nature in his 1938 essay: 1) needs for food and drink, 2) needs for moving about, 3) some kind of companionship, 4) the need for exhibiting energy, for bringing one’s power to bear in some field of activity, 5) the need for cooperation with and emulation of one’s fellows for mutual aid and competition, 6) the need for aesthetic expression, and 7) the need to lead and to follow.
I propose that the notion of loneliness is the root drive underlying these constants, which are like symptoms or branches from the original loneliness of the human being. The human being is distinctive, from inanimate things and non-rational animals, insofar as he/she is lonely. Loneliness is not merely an aberrant state in times of social isolation, but an intrinsic feature of the anthropology of the human person. Loneliness defines us, as creatures that are by nature incomplete and seeking communion with what is other than ourselves. The human person is inveterately relational, reaching beyond itself in constant movements of self-transcendence. Aristotle notes that we are the most social of animals, since we do not merely work to satisfy biological urges, but have needs to communicate that go beyond the biological. We constantly exchange news, not because our bodies need to survive, but because we seek to link our interior lives with those of others. But, even our biological urges come under our social urges, since we feed and clothe ourselves by linking ourselves with society. We are in need of communion beyond the self, in an existential way, and so we can never “play” in a pure, technical sense, the way a divine being can. A divine being is complete in itself, and so any sharing is purely for the fun of it.
Loneliness is such a fundamental part of our nature—not a mere state we may or may not enter into—that it is, I propose, a genus of many subspecies of pathology or aberration. Various forms of suffering and frustration are, in fact, species of loneliness, insofar as they are forms of frustrated aspirations to communion. Loneliness is not an aberrant state, but an ontological feature of the self, part of its very being, since the self is in constant motion towards communion, a connection of its inner state to what is outside of it.
The list of human universals Dewey identifies points to a perpetual state of incompleteness. The person is not content to be a self-contained thing, the way a stone, or some other inanimate object, is. Stones do not reach out beyond themselves. The loneliness of the human person is evident most clearly in his/her social needs. We are not self-sufficient, but need the companionship of others. This need for companionship is constant, and its expansion throughout life is a mark of vitality. We do not reach some limit of satiety in our need for companionship. We seek deeper connections with those we know, and we form new connections. Our release of old connections is not a sign of too much companionship, but a sign of loneliness. Our old connections cease to placate our sense of alienation as we evolve new dimensions of our selves, which old friends do not understand.
Our ontological loneliness, a root drive of the self to reach out from within us to what is other, explains other problems that seem to be different from loneliness, but which are really manifestations of it. When someone insults us, we say we are hurt, not lonely. But, the hurt comes from a frustration of the communion that is normative, we sense, between people. Political division is painful, because it signifies a rupturing of communion. It is a species of loneliness.
Completely pulling away from relationships is not a viable option for us, but an indication that we are undergoing a substantive change in being. Someone who is withdrawing inward is likely moving towards death, towards a transition away from personhood towards thinghood, i.e. from a person to a corpse.
Our ontological and anthropological loneliness expresses itself in a need to exhibit energy and apply it in some form of work. We reshape reality in our image in our work, connecting ourselves with the outside world and developing an identity in society. Our work is a form of communication, in which we share who we are with others. Loneliness motivates our work, since our work arises from a need to connect with others and be a part of their lives. Someone struggling with unemployment is, in a way, lonely, since this suffering comes from a desire to share inner creativity with others. Lack of work is a species of loneliness.
The ontological loneliness of the self emerges in our aesthetic needs. Beauty is an indication that our sense of proportion finds an echo in the external world. As Kant sees it, beauty is a symbol of moral goodness, a kind of sensible representation of an idea that itself cannot figure in experience. Beauty is a hint that the world is good, and so we are not alone. Our idea of goodness has an echo in the structure of the world which, beauty suggests, is not absurd.
We even show, I propose, a kind of loneliness in our physical needs for food and water. Our physical needs for other things in our environment presuppose a demand for harmony between our selves and our environment. We rely on the fact that our environment has what we need, and so we almost expect that the environment is built for us, as if we were the end of nature. Hunger can be a species of loneliness, insofar as it suggests an alienation from a hostile universe, or an indifferent and unjust society.
Loneliness can be a kind of cosmological key, as well as an anthropological key. We are lonely insofar as we seek to bridge the gap between matter and spirit, i.e. that the material world is not alien to the spiritual ideals with which we feel kinship. We are lonely insofar as we seek a union between time and eternity, in which our transience does not violate our desire for permanence.
We can see hints of this growing unity in the latest technology, such as the internet and A.I., which merges data generated by individual minds into one repository. There is a kind of metaphysical loneliness, in which we feel an alienation between our inner lives and the material world, including our bodies. We aspire to order, intelligibility, and moral ideals in our inner world, but many times the material world seems indifferent to these values. We cannot “connect” with the material world, just as we cannot connect with other people in our moments of loneliness. Our bodies slow our progress and do not seem aligned with our inner aspirations. The progression of time, also, seems irresistible and relentless, and violates an aspiration to eternity we harbor. Again, the appropriate hermeneutic for this alienation is loneliness. We cannot communicate our desire for permanence to time, which seems implacable and uncaring.
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