People are so entangled in their own subjectivity that the Other ceases to exist as an autonomous being; instead, they are reduced to a projection, a prop in the theater of one’s self-conception. The Other is not seen as a consciousness with its own projects and freedoms but as a necessary validation of the individual’s self-delusions. When this fragile construct of the Other fails to comply—when they assert their own freedom and refuse the roles assigned to them—the projection shatters. Yet, instead of acknowledging this as a failure of their own perception, the individual declares the Other to be the narcissist, an entity whose crime is simply refusing to orbit their ego.

What we are witnessing in the contemporary dating discourse is not connection but collision: two opaque, self-contained bubbles, each seeking the Other as a mirror and recoiling in disillusionment when the reflection is distorted. The very possibility of authentic relationships collapses under this weight, for to recognize the freedom of the Other requires the relinquishment of one’s own fantasy of control. Instead, people ricochet off one another in a cycle of blame, perpetuating a Sartrean hell: a world where the Other is both indispensable and intolerable.

This pattern extends beyond the realm of personal relationships to encompass every sphere of human activity—engineering, art, and politics—all of which become battlegrounds for this existential blindness. In engineering, the focus has shifted from the creation of tools that serve collective needs to the production of objects that glorify the creator’s vision of efficiency, control, and domination. Engineers do not solve problems for others; they solve problems for themselves, projecting their own ideals onto a world that often resists them. When the world pushes back, revealing its complexity and indifference, the failure is externalized, blamed on users, nature, or “unrealistic expectations.” The engineer cannot see their tools as instruments for others, only as extensions of their own will.

In art, the same malaise dominates. The artist no longer seeks to reveal truths or explore the Other through their work but instead offers up an infinite series of self-portraits disguised as universal statements. Every brushstroke, lyric, or line of text becomes a cry for recognition: See me! When the audience resists, refusing to elevate the artist to the level of genius they imagine themselves to inhabit, the artist recoils, retreating into accusations that the world does not understand their “vision.” Art becomes an endless series of monologues delivered into the void, the Other reduced to an audience, a necessary but resented presence.

Politics is perhaps the most glaring theater of this pathology. Politicians, ideologues, and even activists operate not to serve the collective good but to impose their personal vision of justice, order, or freedom onto a world that refuses to conform. The Other is invoked as an abstract mass—the voter, the citizen, the marginalized—but never as a living subject with their own freedoms and contradictions. Policy becomes an extension of personal identity, a vehicle for self-expression rather than a tool for governance. When reality intrudes—when people resist, when systems collapse, when the unintended consequences of hubris emerge—the blame is shifted. The public is ungrateful, the opposition is evil, the world is simply not ready for greatness.

In all these spheres, the same Sartrean dynamic unfolds: a refusal to see the Other as anything but a distorted mirror. The result is a pervasive disconnection, an existential isolation masquerading as engagement. We are, all of us, trapped in our bubbles, crashing against one another, unwilling to accept that freedom exists not just for the self but for everyone. And so, the machinery of life—our engineering, our art, our politics—grinds forward, powered not by understanding but by alienation, perpetuating the same dissonance that defines modern existence.