By Dr. Adnan Bozan

Introduction: The Nature of Identity and Its Intertwining with Fundamental Philosophical Concepts

To enter the domain of “identity” is not to delve into a marginal or superficial topic, but rather to approach boldly the very heart of philosophy—the question of being and existence, of that critical distance between the self and its mirror, between permanence and transformation, between the “I” and its strange shadow known as the “Other.”

At first glance, the notion of identity may seem simple: for something to be “what it is,” to maintain its self-consistency, its coherent distinction, and its continuity through time. Yet this apparent simplicity conceals a complex web of deep concepts: essence, substance, otherness, selfhood, time, consciousness, language, body, and the other.

1. Identity as Self-Sameness

Logic tells us: “A = A,” meaning a thing is equal to itself. This is the classical principle of identity as formulated by Aristotle—one of the most basic and enduring principles of reason. But what does it truly mean for something to be equal to itself? Does it remain so through the passage of time, amidst changing conditions, through transitions from one state to another? Are we not, as human beings, constantly changing, yet never losing the sense that we are “still ourselves”?

In this sense, identity is not a strict physical equivalence, nor a mechanical repetition of the self, but rather a process of identification with oneself—a feeling that, despite transformations, I remain “I.” Thus, identity is not a static state but a dynamic dialectic between being and becoming, permanence and change.

1. The Deep Interrelation with Essence and Substance

Essence: What Makes a Thing What It Is
Essence answers the question: “What is it?” It is the set of essential characteristics without which a thing would no longer be what it is. In this context, identity and essence seem closely related, as both aim to define the “truth” of a being. However, identity differs from essence in that it is not confined to the rational substance of a being—it also includes its self-awareness, memory, relationships, and existential presence. Identity, then, is broader than essence, as it connects the “essence of the being” to its lived experience.

Substance: That by Which a Thing Exists
Substance refers to that which underpins the existence of a being—what allows it to actually be. In classical philosophy, substance was associated with permanence, in contrast to accidents, which change. If identity seeks to preserve a being from dissolution, it must invoke the notion of substance to anchor itself. Yet modern philosophical critiques, especially in phenomenology and existentialism, have questioned this essentialist view. Does the human have a fixed “essence,” or is identity shaped through experiences, relationships, and choices? Are we pre-existing identities, or are we projects in the making?

III. Otherness as the Condition for Identity

Identity does not emerge in a vacuum, but always in relation to the “Other.” Otherness is not merely the opposite of identity—it is its dialectical condition. Self-awareness is not born solely from within the self, but from reflection upon the other, through comparison, struggle, differentiation. “I” become “I” only when I realize that I am not you.

Hegel’s dialectic of the “Master and Slave” articulates this: identity is formed through the conflict between self and other, and through their mutual recognition. Every erasure of the other is a diminishment of the self. Any attempt to forge a pure, untainted identity unsullied by otherness becomes a project of isolation, contraction, and closure—a project against humanity.

1. Time and Identity – Am I Still “Me” as I Change?

One of philosophy’s deepest questions concerns the relationship between identity and time. If identity means self-sameness, can a person—who is in constant flux—retain their identity? Is “me now” the same as the “child me,” the “teenage me,” the “future me”? Where does identity reside in this temporal flow?

David Hume denied the existence of a fixed self, arguing that what we call identity is merely a series of successive impressions. John Locke, in contrast, linked identity to memory, suggesting that continuity of consciousness preserves personal identity. More recently, Paul Ricœur introduced the concept of narrative identity—identity not as something fixed, but as a story we tell about ourselves, changing over time, yet holding onto a unifying narrative thread.

1. The Body and Identity – Am I My Body?

In existential philosophies, the relationship between body and identity is brought to the fore. I do not merely live in a body—I am my body. The body is not an external shell but the medium of my being, my perception, my connection to the world. Yet in many religious and cultural traditions, identity is separated from the body and linked instead to the soul, mind, or spirit. Is identity reducible to the body, or does it transcend it? And what happens when the body changes—through illness, aging, or disability? Does identity change along with it?

Here we see that bodily identity is but one dimension of a broader identity—but it is a crucial one, for it is the field of our presence in the world. Identity is therefore always conditioned by time, space, and the inevitable bodily transformations of life.

1. Language, Consciousness, and Identity

Language is not merely a tool for expressing identity—it is what creates and shapes it. The self cannot define itself without the mediation of language. Heidegger famously said, “Language is the house of Being,” meaning that we access ourselves only through language. Identity, in this sense, is also a linguistic construction, defined through names, actions, narratives, and discourses.

Consciousness, on the other hand, is the self’s reflection upon itself—a being for-itself—which allows us to say “I.” This “I” is not merely a word but the dynamic center of identity, perhaps even its core. Yet this consciousness cannot form without the other—without the one who sees, hears, acknowledges, rejects, or loves. Thus identity arises from encounter: the encounter of the self with itself, and then with the world.

Conclusion: Identity is Not a Given, But a Project

In conclusion, identity is not a closed essence, nor a predefined definition. It is a project of existence, always open to possibility, to otherness, to time, to history, to the world. It is an ongoing construction, a continuous becoming, a hidden struggle between the desire for stability and the fear of dissolution.

If the human being is fluid, mutable, fragmented—as postmodern philosophies suggest—then identity is but an attempt to forge symbolic unity amid chaos, an effort to cling to an “I” in a world swept by the “non-I.” In this struggle—between memory and forgetting, presence and absence, self and other—the most profound and mysterious features of identity emerge.

Thus, we are faced with a concept that defies rigid definitions and final allegiances, touching the very core of the human—not as a complete being, but as an open question. Identity is not a mask we wear, nor a card we show to prove we exist—it is the beautiful fracture within us, where unity and multiplicity wrestle, where authenticity and transformation meet, where the self and the other, the inside and the outside, converge.

It is the living manifestation of that tension between the need for permanence and the fear of repetition, between the longing for origin and the desire to break free from it. Perhaps the most paradoxical aspect of identity is that it is a necessary illusion: we know it is not fixed, yet it grants us coherence; we know it is not absolute, yet it offers us security. It is the myth we live by, the narrative we rewrite with every moment of our being. It is not just what we are, but what we long to become, what we fear to lose, and what makes us tremble when asked to define it.

Therefore, any approach to identity must remain open to all fields of thought—from philosophy to psychology, from anthropology to politics, from art to religion, from language to history. In the chapters to come, we shall attempt to traverse this arduous path not in search of final answers, but of deeper questions—and of meditative spaces that might allow us to understand the self in its moment of incomprehension, and to contemplate the world not from the outside, but from within—where identities form, clash, intersect, dissolve… and reemerge.

Chapter One: Individual and Collective Identity – From the Singular Self to the Plural Whole

When the question of identity is raised, the first thought that comes to mind is: "Who am I?" But this quickly transforms into a more complex question: "Who are we?" As if identity never settles at a fixed point, but rather oscillates between the singular self and the collective, between the inner individual and the social mirror, between the personal sense of uniqueness and belonging to a broader web of relationships, symbols, and languages.

Human beings are meaning-seeking creatures, striving to define themselves not only through self-awareness but also through their relationships with others, with time, place, and the surrounding narratives. This makes identity a stage of highly complex interactions, where personal experience intertwines with cultural determinants, subjectivity with history, and freedom with necessity.

1. Individual Identity: The “I” as a Continuous Project
   Individual identity is first and foremost an existential experience rather than a fixed definition. The "I" is not something we possess, but a continuous process of becoming and re-becoming, of fracture and transcendence, of identification and detachment. Sartre says: “Man is a project”, meaning he is not a closed essence, but an open possibility. This implies that individual identity is not a ready-made given, but a voluntary act and personal history interwoven with countless elements: memory, language, the body, childhood, authority, longing, and even ambiguity.

We never fully know ourselves, because the "I" changes over time, constantly reinterpreting its past and reimagining its future. Thus, individual identity cannot be reduced to a name, a form, or a profession—it is an unending attempt to understand the self through accumulated experience and openness to transformation.

But this existential journey does not occur in a vacuum. The individual is not born from nothing but emerges within networks of meaning—within a culture, a language, and a history—where their identity is imprinted with countless layers of influence. Therefore, despite their pursuit of uniqueness, the individual remains a child of the collective.

2. Collective Identity: When the Self Embodies the Other
   If individual identity is a personal project, collective identity is a shared narrative that shapes the “we.” It is not a mere arithmetic sum of individuals, but a fabric of symbols, imagination, myths, and discourses that forge a sense of belonging to a group—be it national, religious, linguistic, class-based, or cultural.

Collective identity is not built solely from within, but is also defined in contrast to the “other.” A group defines itself as “not the other.” As philosopher Paul Ricoeur says: “Narrative identity always relies on a story, and a story implies a hero, an adversary, and a conflict.” Thus, collective identity often becomes a defense of the self, sometimes a source of pride, but always a dual relationship with the other—marked by need and fear, attraction and aversion, imitation and distinction.

In societies that have suffered from colonization or oppression, collective identity takes on a liberational and resistant dimension. It becomes a means of preserving cultural selfhood from dissolution and transforms into a political and intellectual project of revival and existence.

3. The Tension Between the Individual and the Collective
   Yet, this convergence between the individual and the collective is not always harmonious. Often, a hidden tension or open conflict arises between the individual’s desire for independence and uniqueness, and the collective’s demand for conformity and alignment. The collective demands loyalty, while the individual seeks freedom; the collective values permanence, while the individual changes; the collective weaves totalizing narratives, while the individual crafts their own experience.

Here emerges one of the modern world’s identity crises: Can a person preserve their individuality without severing their roots? Can one be “themselves” without losing the “we”?

Modern philosophies have tried to resolve this tension in different ways. The Romantics glorified the individual and expressed identity as a unique inner calling, while the Hegelians advocated for the collective spirit that realizes the individual through the community. Existential philosophies, on the other hand, urged the individual to bear the burden of their freedom—even at the cost of belonging.

4. Religion and Identity: Sacredness and Belonging
   Religion occupies a central place in shaping collective identity. Some groups define themselves primarily through their religion. Religion is not only a system of faith but also a symbolic, linguistic, and cultural structure that weaves bonds among individuals and provides them with a sense of continuity and chosenness. Hence, religious identity often resists dissolution and is tied to intense emotions and deep loyalties.

However, religious identity can also pose a dilemma for individual identity when it becomes oppressive or when it is used to impose a single definition of the self. Here arises a contemporary question: How can we reconcile personal faith with interpretive diversity? Loyalty to the sacred with the freedom of the self?

5. Globalization and the "Identity Crisis"
   In today’s world, identities are no longer built within the confines of a single group. Globalization, modernity, media, migration, and digital revolutions have all opened space for multiple, and at times conflicting, identities. A person no longer belongs to just one group, but lives at the intersection of layered affiliations—they may be Kurdish, Muslim, secular, a migrant, an artist, and a feminist all at once.

Such fragmented identities are not necessarily a loss—they may be a source of richness. Yet, they also produce anxiety, uncertainty, and a desperate search for stable reference points. Hence arises the so-called “identity crisis” in modern societies: Are we what we want for ourselves, or what the group wants from us? Does a single identity still exist, or are we complex selves living within a mosaic of overlapping identities?

Conclusion: Identity as a Question, Not an Answer
At the end of this chapter, we can say that identity is not a closed given, but an open existential trajectory. It is not a fixed essence, but a constant movement between the individual and the collective, between freedom and belonging, between self and other, between inner and outer. A living identity is not one that closes in on itself, but one that renews through dialogue, learns from difference, and retains the ability to question itself.

An individual cannot be a free self unless they recognize their constraints. Collective identity does not mature unless it acknowledges its limits. Between the two lies the ongoing philosophical and human question of identity—one that requires constant renewal, not just in discourse, but in lived experience.

More profoundly, identity is not merely a social human matter—it is an ontological question touching upon being itself. When a human asks “Who am I?” they are not only asking about their name, origin, or belief—but about the meaning of their existence in this world, their place in the cosmos, their relationship with time, death, and nothingness. For this reason, identity is not a peripheral concern in philosophy, but the root of all thought about the self. Every major philosophy has attempted to understand what makes a “thing itself” despite change, what makes a person themselves despite experience, and what enables a group to retain its memory despite forgetting.

Here we encounter a profound paradox: As a temporal being, man cannot remain unchanged—yet insists on maintaining some identity. Identity, then, is not the opposite of change but a way to create meaning within change. It is a project of producing symbolic continuity—not literal replication. Therefore, the strongest identities are not those fossilized in the past, but those courageous enough to renew—those that transform memory from a wall of defense into a bridge toward the future.

Moreover, identity, as self-awareness, can only be completed in the mirror of the “other.” As Hegel said, self-consciousness arises only through struggle with another—through mutual recognition, through a dialectical experience where the other becomes essential to forming the self, not just a threat to it. Here emerges one of identity’s most beautiful dimensions: it can only be fulfilled through openness. Identity is not a fortified castle but a path toward knowledge. The more one knows the “other,” the more one knows oneself. The more one experiences otherness, the more one returns to the self with a touch of wisdom.

Today, we live in a world where identities are tested like never before. The greatest challenge is not to defend them blindly, but to reshape them with courage and deep understanding.

Chapter Two: Identity Between Stability and Change

If identity, as introduced in our previous chapter, appeared as an essence intertwined with being and alterity, we now face a more complex and troubling question: Is identity fixed or mutable? Is it an inherent, unchanging fabric across time, or is it a dynamic process that transforms through experience, history, and consciousness?

This question is not merely a theoretical debate—it is at the heart of the human existential experience. From the moment of birth, a person is assigned a certain identity: national, religious, linguistic, cultural, class-based… However, this identity does not remain static; it begins to fracture and open up—sometimes expanding, sometimes conflicting—as one deepens in self-awareness, collides with the Other, or travels through time and space.

Philosophy has offered divergent answers to this dilemma. While classical metaphysics sought to anchor identity in an immutable essence, modern and contemporary philosophies became more attuned to transformation, rupture, and identity as a project never truly completed. Descartes, for instance, attempted to ground a stable, central, rational "I", while Nietzsche dismantled the notion of fixed essence and proposed a fluid identity, constantly reinvented—indeed, multiple identities that ceaselessly clash within a single individual.

Accordingly, this chapter does not present identity as a given, but as a dialectical field between stability and change, between origin and development, between past and present. It is a chapter that investigates whether identity is a seed that grows or a chain inherited—whether a person must "be" or "become", cling or transcend.

Stability gives identity a sense of security, yet may lead to rigidity; while change liberates it from stagnation, yet risks dissolution. Between these poles, the human experience oscillates in a constant search for a kind of inner coherence amid chaos, or a form of moral continuity despite disrupted experience.

In this chapter, we will delve into the philosophical paradox between identity as memory and identity as a project. We will explore how a person, in attempting to construct their identity, is always caught between the call of the past and the lure of the future—between loyalty to origins and the desire for emancipation. We will also reflect on how collective identities—such as nationalities, religions, and cultures—enter into this same struggle: a tension between fidelity to tradition and the need for renewal.

This conflict, though it may appear philosophical on the surface, is in essence an existential question—indeed, a fateful one for both individuals and communities: How can we be ourselves without remaining prisoners of what we were? And how can we change without losing ourselves?

1. Identity as Continuity Through Time

Classical philosophy was founded on the concept of essence, and essence implies continuity and permanence. When Aristotle sought to define beings, he distinguished between essences, which determine what a thing is in itself, and accidents, which may change without altering its essential nature. Thus, a person remains the same as long as the essence that constitutes them persists, even if their apparent traits change. In this way, identity becomes the absolute continuity of what is essential, regardless of external fluctuations.

This conception shaped Western thought for centuries and echoed in the ideas of Plato (who linked identity to the unchanging world of forms), Descartes (who saw the thinking self as a "simple substance" incapable of division or change), and in Christian theology, which regarded the soul as an eternal entity preserving its identity beyond death.

Within this framework, the human being is understood as possessing a fixed "identity", either inherited or granted—by God, reason, or nature. This identity is expressed through essential characteristics: reason, will, soul, biological belonging, native language, national culture… everything that makes a person "themselves" and not "another". It is this which gives the sense of inner coherence and unity, and enables societies to feel connected across generations.

Yet this model—despite its rigor—was not without flaws. It struggled to account for psychological shifts, internal ruptures, and transformations that affect the self without destroying it. Is a person the same in childhood, adolescence, and old age? Does someone who loses their memory lose their identity? Do societies that change language or culture remain themselves? These questions push us toward the other side of thinking about identity...

2. Identity as Continuous Change (Dynamic Identity)

At the heart of modern philosophy—especially since Hegel—a radically different approach emerged, viewing identity not as something preserved, but as something continuously produced and reshaped. Identity is no longer a given, but a project, an unfinished process, forever open to history, experience, and alterity.

Hegel, in his famous dialectic, asserts that identity is only understood through contradiction. A thing affirms itself only through struggle with its opposite, and by transcending itself in a process of "negation of the negation". Identity here is not static, but in motion—reproducing itself through conflict with the Other. The self becomes conscious of itself only in opposition, and forms itself through the adventure of consciousness and history.

Nietzsche entirely demolished the essentialist view of identity. For him, there is no stable self—only a set of conflicting drives and forces within the human being, with each moment representing a new identity. "The self is nothing more than a grammatical fiction," he argued, and identity is merely a mask that changes with the will and with power. For Nietzsche, the human is a being of transformation, a creature of eternal flux—like Heraclitus' river, never the same twice.

Gilles Deleuze deepened this view, asserting that identity is not built on stability and repetition, but on difference and invention. The self produces itself through a decentralized process, beyond all essentialist binaries. There is no original identity, but rather "multiplicities", "micro-identities", that shift depending on context, desires, relationships, and the forces passing through the individual.

This radical shift in thinking led us to perceive identity as a political, social, linguistic, psychological, and temporal construction—even as an illusion we need for symbolic stability, though it cannot long withstand the storm of transformation.

Within this perspective, identity becomes closer to a "narrative" the person tells about themselves, and reconfigures constantly, as Paul Ricœur argued. It is a linguistic, temporal, and logical construction inseparable from memory—and from forgetting. Narrative identity is a mutable one, yet it maintains a certain thread of continuity—illusory, yet necessary.

3. Identity and Memory: Between Accumulation and Forgetting

If identity is the self’s continuity through time, then memory is the bridge that connects this span, the vessel that preserves and grounds this continuity. The self remembers its past to affirm it is still "itself", despite the passing of time, changing conditions, and shifting circumstances.

But memory is not a neutral photographic record. It is a selective act, blending what is retained and what is forgotten, what is magnified and what is marginalized, what is narrated and what is erased. Thus, identity built on memory is not absolute—it is fragile, ideological, and fragmented.

John Locke was among the first philosophers to link personal identity to memory. For him, the self is not defined by mental or physical essence, but by continuity of consciousness—the ability to remember past actions. Whoever remembers doing something in the past is the same person who did it. Hence, memory becomes the only guarantor of personal identity.

Yet this leads to unsettling questions: What about someone who loses their memory? Do they lose their identity? If memory changes over time—whether by forgetting or reinterpretation—does one remain the same "self"? Is identity dependent on the narrative of memory, or on the present which reconstructs the past as it pleases?

Paul Ricœur moves beyond this dilemma by proposing the concept of narrative identity, formed through the intersection of memory, time, and storytelling. Identity, then, is not a static entity but a changing story the self tells about itself. This story is subject to revision, justification, and reinterpretation. It may be coherent, fragmented, or even contradictory—but what matters is the presence of a narrative thread, however faint, that enables the self to recognize itself amid the chaos

Chapter Three: The Dialectic of the Self and Otherness
From the Self to the Other... The Passage of Identity through the Mirror of the Other

When a human being utters the word “I,” they are not merely affirming their existence—they are also drawing invisible boundaries between their self and what lies beyond it. Thus, the self is constituted as an “I” in contrast to what is called the “Other,” who always forms the implicit background from which the meaning of the self emerges. Otherness is not merely an external concept; it is a foundational structure of self-consciousness. Without the Other, the “I” would lack a defined shape or distinct meaning. In this sense, every discourse on identity is, at its core, a discourse on the Other.

Yet the relationship between the self and the Other is neither simple nor stable. It is a problematic, ambiguous, and multidimensional relationship—a relationship of recognition and denial, of desire and domination, of fascination and fear. The Other can be a mirror, but also a threat; a condition for freedom, but also a source of alienation.

Philosophy has contemplated this relationship since its inception—beginning with Socrates, who made dialogue with the Other a path to knowledge; passing through Descartes, who began with “I think” and temporarily bracketed the world; and arriving at Hegel, who asserted that self-consciousness is only fulfilled through a struggle with the Other—a struggle for recognition. Existentialists and phenomenologists sought to understand the Other as an independent consciousness, not merely an object. Thus, the relationship between the self and the Other became an existential, ethical, and epistemological dialectic—one that touches the roots and boundaries of the self, and the conditions of its possibility.

Otherness is not a negation of the self, but a condition for its existence
Otherness is not merely “difference”—it is a mode of presence that is posited in contrast to the self; a presence that makes the “I” possible, yet at the same time threatens it with exposure and destabilization. Otherness interrogates the self, places it face to face with itself, and compels it to contemplate itself from the outside. In this sense, the self can never be completely identical to itself, for the Other always appears as a critical position—as an existential limit that cannot be transcended.

The question of otherness is not merely an epistemological one—"Who is the Other?"—but also an ethical one: How do I relate to the Other? How do I perceive them without reducing them? How do I acknowledge their existence without negating my own? This tension between recognition and domination, between openness and closure, is what renders the relationship between the self and the Other a continual site of cultural, political, and religious conflicts.

In the age of globalization and threatened identities: where does the Other stand?
In today’s world—where identities intermix, affiliations intersect, and distances collapse—the Other is no longer a “distant person” or a “foreign culture.” The Other now lives with us, beside us, enters our homes through the screen, and shares our language, voice, and image. Here, otherness becomes a daily test, revealing the urgent need for a new understanding of the self—one not founded on exclusion, but on dialogue and mutual recognition.

In this chapter, we will engage in a deep analysis of the dimensions of the self–Other relationship, through three fundamental levels:

• The Other as a condition of self-awareness (in the philosophies of Hegel, Sartre, and Levinas)
• The Other in the mirror of culture: identity and difference (in anthropology and postcolonial thought)
• Otherness as an ethical responsibility and a condition for freedom (in the philosophies of Levinas, Derrida, and the struggle for recognition)

Let this chapter be a passage from singular identity to identity in the presence of the Other; from the closed self to the open self; and from static identity to the identity that dares to encounter... for every “I” reveals its truth only when it converses with its “Other,” and discovers that it was never truly alone.

Chapter One: The Other as an Existential Condition for Self-Consciousness

1. The Self in the Dilemma of Foundation: Why Do We Need the Other to Be?
   At the heart of every philosophical meditation on the self lies the central question: Can the "I" be self-aware without the mediation of the Other?
   Descartes tried to establish the certainty of the self through the self-enclosed "Cogito"—"I think, therefore I am"—without the need for the Other. Yet, he overlooked that this "I" is not formed in total isolation but within a web of relationships, experiences, and interactions with a world that includes an "Other".
   Self-awareness is not merely an inward withdrawal but always a movement outward toward the Other, followed by a reflective return to the self.

Thus, alterity emerges as a structural necessity: it is not merely an external element but a constitutive condition. The self's awareness of itself is only possible through a phase of recognition by the Other. It is a double-edged relationship: the Other is the mirror through which I see myself, yet at the same time, a threat to my autonomy and a test of my limits.

2. Hegel: Master-Slave Dialectic – The Dialectical Birth of the Self
   In The Phenomenology of Spirit, Hegel presents one of the most intricate views of the relationship between the "I" and the Other. At the moment of self-consciousness, it is not enough to say "I"; another must recognize me as an "I".
   This recognition, however, only occurs through conflict—a struggle in which both parties seek to assert themselves, a confrontation Hegel calls "the struggle for recognition".

From this struggle emerges the so-called "Master-Slave Dialectic", in which an asymmetrical relationship is born: one self prevails and becomes the master, the other submits and becomes the slave.
Yet, the Hegelian paradox is that the slave, through labor and experience, produces the world and gains a deeper awareness of self than the master, who remains suspended in an illusion of sovereignty.

In other words, the self is not formed in isolation but is born from the womb of relation, conflict, and interaction. Recognition becomes genuine only when it is mutual, unconditioned by submission or objectification.

3. Sartre: "Hell is Other People"... and the Necessity of the Other Despite the Threat
   Sartre, in his existentialist philosophy, portrays an even more tense relationship between the self and the Other. In Being and Nothingness, he presents a famous scene: when the Other looks at me, I feel that I have become an "object" in their eyes.
   I, who possessed my freedom in the openness of being, suddenly feel exposed, observed, and defined from outside.

Here, the Other appears not just as a mirror, but as a symbolic authority, as a gaze that confines me, a force that turns me from a free being into one who is seen. Hence Sartre’s famous statement: “The Other is hell.”
And yet, we cannot escape the Other, for our self-awareness remains incomplete without them. The Other reveals me to myself, even if as a threat.

4. Levinas: The Other as an Ethical Face Beyond Possession
   Levinas rebelled against all conceptions that reduced the Other to something comprehensible, graspable, or possessible. In his philosophy, the Other becomes an ethical summons.
   The Other is not an object of knowledge but a face that addresses me—present before me as an inescapable responsibility. In the face of the Other, Levinas sees a divine trace—not in the religious sense, but in the deeply human and ethical sense.

Here, the Other is not to be defined or absorbed but listened to, received, and respected in their uniqueness. The Other is “that which cannot be contained,” making the self responsible without conditions.

5. Toward a Complex Understanding of the Self: The I and the Other as a Dynamic Co-Formation
   In light of these philosophical positions, it becomes clear that personal identity is not a closed unity but a complex, anxious formation shaped through interaction with the Other.
   The Other is not merely a mirror, but an existential challenge, a condition for awareness and responsibility, a presence without which the self cannot be complete.
   Conversely, the Other can only be understood through a self that listens, reflects, and reshapes its meaning.

It is a relationship of interweaving and dynamic reciprocity, not a separable duality. Every "I" carries within its depths the shadows of the "Other", not as an enemy or threat, but as a fundamental element in the fabric of self-consciousness, a mirror in which the self is redefined.
Similarly, every "Other" is not reducible to strangeness or difference, but contains the latent potential to become "I" in different contexts—through interaction, dialogue, and shared experience.

In this sense, the question of identity is not about essence or fixity, but about movement and exchange—about how the self is formed through plurality of voices, intersections of history, and the tensions of shared living. Identity is not something we already possess, but something we build together, in a space full of differences—where recognition of the Other is not a concession but a condition for the self’s fulfillment.
Thus, the understanding of identity can only be completed when it is linked to the question of plurality, otherness, and mutual recognition as foundational moments of every human existence worthy of truth and dignity.

Chapter Two: The Other in the Mirror of Culture – Identity and Difference

1. From the Individual Other to the Cultural Other: Shifting the Question from the Self to the Collective
   While the first chapter examined the Other from an existential-individual perspective, this chapter expands the scope toward the collective and cultural level, where the relationship between “I” and “Other” takes on a civilizational and political character.
   Here, the Other is no longer just an individual facing me, but another culture, another people, another language, a different narrative.

Thus, the question "Who am I?" becomes "Who are we?"—and the Other transforms from a person to a full symbolic structure: the Arab Other, the Western Other, the infidel Other, the migrant Other, the female Other, the Bedouin Other...
All these classifications reveal how collective identity is constructed only in relation to a difference that is drawn as a boundary to protect the self from disintegration.

But the deeper philosophical question remains: Can identity exist without difference? Is a group defined solely by itself, or does it need an “Other” to define itself against?

2. Cultural Identity as a Narrative Structure: The Self as Story
   Philosopher Paul Ricoeur argues that identity is not a fixed given but a narrative constructed over time.
   A human being—along with the group, the nation, the culture—only knows itself through storytelling: stories of origin, struggle, emergence, and "who we are and who we are not".

Every group narrates itself through a grand narrative: heroes, enemies, founding places, foundational crises, collective memory...
In doing so, it reshapes identity as a product of time and experience—not as a transcendent or pure essence.

But this narrative is only complete when the “Other” is included as a structural element in the story: the invader, the traitor, the linguistically, religiously, or sexually different Other.
Thus, otherness becomes a function within the story—not just an external description.

3. Orientalism: When the European Self Is Built on the Denial of the Eastern Other
   One of the most revealing representations of identity’s relationship with difference is what Edward Said uncovered in his groundbreaking study Orientalism.
   He showed how the West did not understand the East as it was, but reconfigured it as a fictional—imagined and power-laden—concept serving the construction of the Western self.

The Orient, according to the discourse of Orientalism, is not an entity in itself, but an image produced by the West to act as its opposite: emotional, mythical, sensual, irrational, unmodern.
In contrast, the West appears as civilized, rational, progressive, and sovereign.

Orientalism, at its core, is not just a narrative about the Other but a reproduction of the self through the denial of the Other.
The more the Other is negated, the more the self deludes itself in its superiority.
Thus, the mechanism of producing “identity-through-negation” appears as a fundamental dynamic in the history of culture—especially during moments of imperial expansion, colonization, and cultural wars.

4. The Culture of Objectification: From Difference to Stereotyping
   In the age of modernity and beyond, the Other is no longer seen as a complete human being but is often reduced to a ready-made image or stereotype:
   the image of the migrant, the Oriental, the Muslim, the Eastern woman, the Black man, the Bedouin...
   Thus, the Other is stripped of individuality and turned into a pre-fabricated mold—easier to deal with as a threat, a danger, or a stranger.

This is what some thinkers call the “objectification of the Other” or “the production of the Other as a symbolic being”.
It poses a double danger: it produces a false identity of the self based on superiority, and it erases the real Other in favor of a fabricated image.

Hence, “difference” shifts from being a source of richness and diversity to a justification for violence, domination, and exclusion.

5. Toward an Open Identity: Recognition, Not Negation
   The way out of this dilemma lies not in denying... (to be continued)

Chapter Three: Identity and the Other in the Context of Political and Cultural Conflicts

1. Identity as a Political Line of Defense: When the Self Becomes a Weapon

In moments of historical transformation—revolutions, wars, coups—identity emerges not merely as an existential definition of the self, but as both a defensive and offensive weapon. When a community feels threatened, identity is invoked as the last remnant of symbolic sovereignty, the final element that cannot be stripped away.

At such times, identity becomes a political banner—fought for in its name, and used to besiege the "different" as an internal threat. In nationalist and populist discourses, one often hears: "us versus them," "authenticity versus infiltration," "sons of the land versus foreigners." Identity enters a heated narrative battle with the Other, who takes the form of a rival, an enemy, or an intruder.

Consequently, identity is often reduced to narrow elements: one language, one religion, one memory—as though it cannot bear plurality or contradiction. The conflict here is waged not only on the ground but also on the level of symbols, representations, and the right to define.

2. Politics of Recognition and Denial: Who Has the Authority to Define Identity?

In pluralistic societies, a fundamental question arises: Who has the right to define whom?
The state often seeks to monopolize the definition of "national identity," while minorities or other cultural groups struggle for recognized legitimacy—an acknowledgment that allows them to reposition themselves within the collective narrative.

Here, philosophers such as Charles Taylor and Nancy Fraser enter the discussion through the lens of "politics of recognition," emphasizing that human dignity is built not only on rights, but also on the recognition of cultural identity.

Denial—refusing to acknowledge the Other’s uniqueness—becomes a symbolic form of violence, making the marginalized feel invisible, as if their cultural existence is unworthy even of symbolic presence.
In this sense, identity shifts from a personal matter to a legal and institutional struggle, linked to representation, education, media, and constitutional rights.

3. Identity and Colonialism: When the Other Is Imposed by Force

In colonial contexts, identity played a double role: it was used by the colonizer as a weapon to distort the self-image of colonized peoples, while simultaneously serving as the seed of symbolic resistance through which these peoples reclaimed their being.

Colonialism does not merely occupy land—it seeks to reshape the human being: their language, memory, and even self-awareness. As Frantz Fanon expressed, “Colonialism does not only want to occupy land—it wants to create the colonized as a flawed mirror of the European Other.”

In turn, the struggle for independence has always been accompanied by a symbolic fight to reclaim identity: mother tongues, folk poetry, rituals, mythology, songs, even traditional clothing—all became acts of resistance against a foreign identity imposed by force.

Thus, identity becomes a field of struggle between domination and liberation, between alienation and empowerment.

4. Globalization: Disappearance of Differences or Proliferation of Identities?

With the rise of globalization, the expansion of the digital sphere, and the movement of people and ideas across borders, the question reemerges: Is identity still possible?

Globalization threatens particularities through a culturally and economically dominant universal model. Yet, paradoxically, it also triggers the rise of sub-identities that resist hegemony: gendered, ethnic, local, digital, rebellious identities.

Within this tension, identity walks a tightrope:

• Either it hardens and closes in on itself, fearing dissolution;
• Or it fragments into scattered particles with no binding core.

The danger in the age of globalization is not just the loss of identity, but its submersion in a marketplace of identities—where it is bought, sold, and used for branding and influence, rather than expressing the depth of the human being and their history.

5. Toward a New Horizon: A Critical, Non-Dogmatic Identity

In conclusion, there is a need to move beyond the two traditional models: the rigid identity that denies the Other, and the fluid identity that dissolves into the Other.

The solution is not a choice between stability or change, between self or Other, but rather the construction of a critical identity—capable of self-reflection, of recognizing others, without giving up its uniqueness.

A critical identity neither locks itself in the past, nor melts into the future. It inhabits the creative tension between memory and openness, between belonging and freedom.
It is an identity that respects difference, builds common ground, and preserves its right to individuality—without arrogance.

Chapter Four: Identity as Lived Experience – The Phenomenological Approach

Approaching identity from a phenomenological perspective is not merely an abstract theorization of the nature of the “self,” nor a rational deconstruction of its ontological dimensions. Rather, it is a descent into the arena of living consciousness, into the emotional and experiential life that the human being undergoes in relation to the self and the world. Here, identity is not understood as an external definition of the self or an objective classification imposed upon it, but rather as a mode of feeling oneself, an inner awareness of belonging, coherence, uniqueness, and an existential sense of alignment—or alienation.

Phenomenology, as a philosophical method established by Edmund Husserl, began with the idea of returning to the phenomena of the world as they are given in consciousness, without metaphysical or scientific preconceptions. In this context, identity is not a “thing” we possess, but a phenomenon we are aware of, interact with, and live through within the horizon of daily experience—with its fluctuations, contradictions, crises, fulfillments, and disappointments. From this viewpoint, identity is not merely a name we apply to the self; it is the qualitative experience of the self as it senses itself to be “itself” and recognizes itself in the mirror of consciousness—not merely in an ID card.

This phenomenological approach to identity opens a fertile field for philosophical reflection, as it liberates the question from closed essentialist definitions and places it within the flow of feeling, existential temporality, and direct subjective experience. Do I feel that I am myself? Do I align with my own self when I look inward? Does my current experience stretch its roots into the past, which I live as personal history? And does the future I anticipate reflect possibilities that I see as part of “myself”? These are not peripheral questions—they form the essence of the identity experience as understood by the phenomenological method.

Thus, identity becomes not a given, nor an external construct, but a project of consciousness being formed at every moment—with every new awareness of the self, with every encounter with pain, joy, loss, or recognition. Hence, states such as alienation, self-estrangement, and identity collapse are not merely psychological symptoms, but signs of a rupture in the experiential continuity of identity—or a disruption in the horizon through which the self sees itself as a coherent “I.”

This chapter therefore aims to examine identity from within—through its phenomenological dimension—as a lived experience that changes with time, is shaped by relationships, and is formed in the light of lived reality rather than rigid definitions. We will explore the analyses of Husserl, and their extensions in the thought of Heidegger, Sartre, and Merleau-Ponty, to understand how identity is constructed as a form of awareness rooted in the body, time, language, and memory—and how this identity can fracture when the self loses connection with itself.

It is an invitation to understand the human not as a concept, but as an experience—and to view identity not as a static essence, but as a movement within consciousness, a scar across passing existential time.

1. Phenomenological Analysis: Where Does the Sense of Identity Arise?

From a phenomenological perspective, identity does not appear as an external issue or a ready-made definition imposed on the self from above. Rather, it emerges as a lived experience, arising from the depth of one’s feeling of self. It is not apprehended as an independent object, nor determined by fixed essential or social traits; it is formed in the flow of individual consciousness as it unfolds in lived time. When we say “I,” we are not pointing to something isolated outside of awareness—we are living that “I” as an internal experience, as a felt event that constitutes us moment by moment.

From Object to Experience

Phenomenological analysis rejects starting with preconceived ideas about the self or with ontological assumptions about its essence. It begins instead from the self’s first appearance in consciousness—at the point where we begin to notice “ourselves” as beings. Identity is not seen from the outside, but experienced from within. It cannot be understood through classifications, but only through living it. Identity is not a metaphysical fragment embedded in being—it is the continuous formation of the self in its awareness of itself.

From this angle, consciousness is not merely a tool for observing identity—it is the very field in which identity appears and takes shape. Identity is not something the self “owns,” but the self in its act of being aware, of turning toward its own existence, of feeling that it is “itself” despite temporal and spatial transformations.

The Temporal Flow of Identity

If identity is a lived experience, then time becomes a central element in its structure. We do not live our selves in a static moment, but in a continuous stream of consciousness woven from memory, emotion, and anticipation. Our sense of being “ourselves” does not arise from intellectual knowledge, but from an internal feeling of continuity despite changing moments and shifting events. The “I” of the past, the “I” of the present, and the “I” imagining the future—all are tied together in a single thread of feeling: this is the fabric of identity in the phenomenological perspective.

Here, identity is not a recollection of an image or a narrative—but a continuous act of self-positioning in time. This continuity does not imply rigidity, but that consciousness, despite its changes, maintains a deep sense of belonging to itself.

From Experience to Meaning

Since the feeling of identity arises from experience, its meaning is not imposed from outside, but generated from within. This is what makes every personal experience of identity unique and unrepeatable. We do not share “the same identity” with others as we share a nationality or language—we intersect with them in circumstances, but the feeling of identity is a uniquely subjective experience. What gives it meaning is not the external world, but the self’s interpretation of its own experience in existence.

In conclusion, in light of this analysis, it becomes clear that identity does not begin with external definitions or social descriptions, but with the moment in which a person feels their own being, and lives their “I” as a living emotional truth. This truth is not grasped from the outside, but built from within—through consciousness, by means of time, and within experience. Identity, from the phenomenological perspective, is not something we have—it is something we are always becoming. It is not only what we are, but also what we feel as we are it.

2. The Body and Identity: The Essence of Existence and the Experience of Self

In contemporary philosophy—especially existential and phenomenological thought—the body is not viewed as a mere vessel or neutral material frame for identity. Rather, the body is the living essence through which identity and the experience of self are lived. Identity does not arise from an abstract idea or an entity separate from sensory experience; it is a living and dynamic manifestation within the body, where awareness and existence meet in an inseparable unity.

The body is not an object to be possessed or observed from the outside as if it were separate from the “I.” Rather, it is the self itself. More precisely, awareness of the self is awareness of the body as a necessary condition of existence. The human being is their body—not merely possesses it, but originates from it. Hence, identity is a deep existential relationship with the body—not just an accumulation of physical or biological attributes.

The body is the first and only place where the world is experienced and the self is constructed cognitively and emotionally. Through the body, identity moves and transforms; through it, one’s presence in the world is shaped. The movements of the body, the emotions it feels, and the desires that arise from its depths—all these form the fabric and structure of identity. Thus, the body becomes the carrier of self-experience, the stage upon which the experience of existence ripens, where identity either finds stability or undergoes transformation.

However, the relationship between the body and identity is not always harmonious or smooth. A disruption in bodily awareness or a loss of harmony with the body can lead to a fragmentation of identity and a rupture between the self and itself. When one becomes disconnected from their body or experiences it as something alien, an identity crisis begins to emerge—manifesting as feelings of alienation, separation, or a loss of self. This crisis is not merely psychological; it is existential—revealing the fragility of the essential bond between self and body.

Disruption in the relationship with the body can result from various factors, including physical or psychological illness, or traumatic experiences that deeply impact self-perception. In such cases, identity shifts from being a harmonious unity to a fragmented entity—where the ability to recognize oneself as a coherent “I” weakens.

Thus, the body becomes not only a vital condition for identity, but also a constant test of the health of selfhood. Achieving identity requires continuous awareness of the body, and a sense ofinhabiting it as an intimate space of being. … (to be continued)

Chapter Five: Collective Identities – Between Belonging and Conflict

At the core of the human experience, identity is not merely tested in isolation or lived individually—it is experienced within a broader fabric, in the context of collective affiliations that shape our consciousness of the world and of the self. By nature, the human being is open to the Other, drawn toward community, seeking recognition, and searching for meaning in shared existence. Since emerging from his first cave, man was never alone—always part of a tribe, a member of a group, a voice within a larger chorus shaping the narrative of collective identity.

But what causes a group of individuals to feel that they are a "we" in opposition to "others"? Where does this mysterious identification with a language, a land, a religion, or a historical memory originate? How do cultural, ethnic, or political bonds evolve into collective identities that move through history, engage in present-day conflicts, and provide their members with a sense of existence and belonging—sometimes, also with enmity and antagonism?

Collective identity, at its core, is a multidimensional structure. It does not emerge abruptly but is built through a long process of interaction between memory and experience, narrative and myth, reality and aspiration. It is not a mere reflection of material facts but a symbolic reconstruction of what is shared among individuals. It employs language to express itself, history to take root, and symbols to construct its narrative. In this symbolic formation, collective identity becomes a tool of cohesion and unity, yet at the same time, it may turn into an instrument of exclusion and conflict.

Human experience—from ancient times to the present—has shown that every collective identity carries a dual paradox: it grants belonging, but it simultaneously lays the groundwork for distinction. It creates "us" and "them," "inside" and "outside," "authentic" and "foreign." Initially, this distinction may be a legitimate recognition of difference, but it often evolves—under the pressures of power, fear, or political ambition—into an exclusionary tendency that generates tension and conflict.

In this context, it becomes necessary to rethink collective identities from a philosophical standpoint, revealing their deep structures and internal tensions. They are not natural entities but rather complex historical, political, and cultural constructions. They are not always homogeneous, but often suffer from fractures and internal divisions, experiencing conflicts between centers and peripheries, between idealized pasts and fragmented presents.

This chapter aims to explore the concept of collective identity from multiple angles. It begins by examining the notion of belonging as an existential value that allows the individual to feel part of a larger whole. Then, it reflects on the idea of the "collective Other" as a mirror through which the collective self is constructed by negation or perceived threat. The chapter also addresses the role of language, symbols, memory, and myth in constructing these identities—highlighting the paradox that these same elements can become bridges for dialogue or fuel for conflict.

It then delves into analyzing moments of conflict between identities: how nations clash, how civil wars arise, and why identity becomes a tool of political provocation. Is the problem inherent in “identity” itself, or in its instrumentalization by power? Can we imagine a collective identity not founded on symbolic violence but on mutual recognition and creative plurality?

Through this philosophical reflection, the chapter seeks to pose a central question: Can collective identities be transformed from sources of closure and conflict into spaces of openness and integration? Can thought redraw the boundaries of "belonging" so they become not preludes to exclusion but foundations for just and sustainable coexistence in a world increasingly entangled in identity-based sensitivities?

Rethinking collective identities is not a philosophical luxury but a moral and political necessity in an era oscillating between calls for belonging and cries of conflict—between nostalgia for origins and fear of the Other. At this historical crossroads, philosophy must intervene—not to offer ready-made answers, but to open up questions we have long suppressed.

1. National and Cultural Identity: From the Collective Self to a Battleground

When identity moves from the confines of the individual self into the public realm of the collective, it ceases to be a mere internal emotional reflection and becomes a complex structure of memory, history, language, and symbols. Identity becomes a collective project that surpasses personal experience to be reproduced at the level of the nation, religion, or ethnicity—practiced as both daily routine and collective imagination. In this transformation, identity takes on a national or cultural character and shifts from the "I" of feeling to the "we" of existence—and here begin its major paradoxes.

National identity is not born in a vacuum—it is forged through historical accumulations and symbolic choices. It is a grand narrative that seeks to produce symbolic unity from plurality and to bestow meaning upon a collective experience often fragmented or troubled. Thus, it is not a mere reflection of an "objective reality," but an interpretive project offering a specific narrative of "who we are," often defined sharply against the "Other."

Every national identity is built upon several pillars: a language regarded as the vessel of collective spirit; a land to which origin and belonging are tied; a history reinterpreted as a glorious past; and foundational myths that sanctify these elements. Identity thus becomes a unifying project—but simultaneously a project of exclusion: Who belongs and who does not? Who is “authentic” and who is “foreign”? What boundaries must be protected to prevent the Other from infiltrating?

At the heart of this construction lies a profound paradox: national identity seeks homogeneity but is built from difference. What we call “the people” or “the nation” is, in reality, a diverse and fragmented entity—but is symbolically reconstituted as a singular image, often imaginary or selective. National identity thus becomes a tool of political imagination, drawing on literature, history, and educational systems to implant a unified image of the group, even when that image does not reflect the actual diversity present in society.

But this imagination is not always innocent. Frequently, national identity transforms into a project of domination, where cultural and historical symbols are used to justify exclusion and control. When a particular culture is declared the “national identity,” those who differ—whether in language, religion, or history—are marginalized and asked to either assimilate or disappear. Diversity becomes a threat, difference a rupture, and dissent a betrayal.

As such, national identity often navigates a precarious space between belonging and conflict. It grants a sense of rootedness and affiliation, but it may also plant the seeds of exclusion and enmity. This is seen clearly in ethnic, sectarian, and religious conflicts tearing apart modern societies: every group defines itself through a specific identity, constructing its legitimacy through symbolic meanings that portray the Other as a threat.

This paradox is most evident during times of crisis. When the state weakens or political structures disintegrate, groups retreat into their primary identities in search of security and belonging. But this return to origins often reproduces violence. History is invoked to settle scores with the present, and myth is used to justify the exclusion of the Other. Thus, national identity—rather than being a project of liberation—becomes a tool in the hands of power or ideology for reproducing fear and closure.

But is national identity inherently inclined toward violence? Or is it distorted when used as a political tool? This is a profound philosophical question that requires distinguishing between identity as an existential need for belonging and identity as a top-down project imposed through symbolic or physical violence. An individual cannot live without belonging, but a community that encloses itself and transforms its identity into a transcendent narrative loses the capacity for plurality and interaction, becoming governed by fear of infiltration or dissolution.

National identity, when built upon mutual recognition and cultural plurality, can become a framework for creative coexistence. But when based on denial and exclusion, it turns into a force of fragmentation and war. Hence, today’s philosophical challenge lies in rethinking the meaning of "national belonging"—not as uniformity or sameness, but as recognition of difference within a broader unity.

We do not need an identity that excludes, but one that embraces. Not a nationalism that forces all into uniformity, but one that acknowledges diversity as a value, not a threat. This can only happen if identity is freed from being an ideological tool and becomes a space of free interpretation, where the collective self is built not on negation but on dialogue—not on closed myth but on critical memory—not on fear, but on the desire for shared life.

Chapter Six: The Crisis of Identity in the Postmodern World

In our contemporary world, identity—that concept which has long formed the core of the self and the anchor of its existence—appears to be in a constant state of confusion, reflecting a profound crisis in the face of the radical transformations brought about by globalization, the digital revolution, and the information explosion, as well as the cultural and social shifts that characterize the postmodern era. Identity is no longer, as it was in the classical modern age, a fixed and coherent construct that defines and secures the self within a clear framework. Rather, it has become a conditional, fluid, and unstable phenomenon, moving through currents of fragmentation and disconnection, at a time when certainty about "Who am I?" and "Where do I belong?" is dissolving.

The identity crisis in postmodernity represents a clash between the self and a world open to infinite possibilities and changes—a world in which fixed centers of value and meaning are vanishing, while multiplicity, fragmentation, and the overlapping of diverse and shifting identities multiply. Modernity, with its grand narrative rooted in rationality and progress, constructed itself upon the presumption of an objective, cohesive unity—a singular, robust identity representing the true self. Postmodernity, however, breaks these illusions and exposes the falsity of singularity, throwing the self into an unending spiral of search and skepticism, where everything becomes subject to revision and any identity appears threatened with erasure under the weight of denial and rejection.

A deep problem arises here, concerning the very nature of identity: is it a fixed truth, inherent within the self, or merely a shifting socio-cultural construct? Does postmodern identity imply a complete negation of any unified selfhood, or is it a call to rethink the self as a continuous process of formation and transformation? Postmodern philosophy seeks to show that the self is no longer a stable center but has become an open space for plurality and difference, where no final or central truth exists, but rather a decentering and dispersal of the forces and practices that constitute identity.

This crisis extends beyond the theoretical into the existential and the everyday. The individual in the postmodern world faces sharp internal divisions: conflicting desires, contradictory affiliations, and ongoing struggles with both self and other. The individual becomes a perpetual traveler among interwoven realms of belonging: local and global, digital and physical, traditional and modern. Within these domains, the question of identity battles for space, forcing the individual to either adapt or risk sliding into an abyss of alienation and loss.

On another level, the identity crisis in the postmodern world points to a crisis in grand concepts—concepts that once governed the relationship between the individual and society, between freedom and responsibility, between self and other. When identity loses its stability, values shift, assumptions collapse, and the question changes from "How can I be myself?" to "How can I reconstruct myself in a world without fixed centers?" This situation requires not only a diagnosis of the crisis but also an exploration of the mechanisms for confronting this existential vacuum and the possibilities of building a renewed, flexible identity capable of harmonizing with the multiplicity of worlds and the richness of differences.

Thus, this chapter offers a space for philosophical reflection on the fate of contemporary identity in light of postmodernity, where existential questions intertwine with cultural, political, and social issues. It examines the roots, features, and dimensions of this crisis, showing how the quest for identity in an age of fragmentation and detachment from certainties becomes a complex endeavor requiring a re-reading of the self through the lens of profound global transformations.

It is a call to understand identity not as a fixed truth or a final entity but as a continuous process of dialogue with the self and the other—a process that challenges boundaries and redefines the self in a constant movement between belonging and renewal, between stability and change, between the individual and the community. Under this understanding, identity can reclaim its deeper meaning as a horizon for human experience, not as a rigid prison that restricts freedom but as an expansive space for life and difference.

1. The Collapse of Certainties and the Fragmentation of Identity in the Postmodern World

At the heart of the identity crisis that characterizes the postmodern age lies the phenomenon of the collapse of grand certainties, which once formed the solid foundation for the self of both individual and community. These certainties—such as faith in God, the nation, the homeland, and the stable self—used to be cohesive metaphysical pillars that provided humans with a clear and defined framework for their identity and existence. Today, however, in the age of postmodernity, these concepts have been stripped of their sacredness and absolute authority. They have collapsed under the storms of radical doubt and critique, opening the door to a time dominated by fragmentation, multiplicity, and uncertainty.

This collapse of certainties is not a mere intellectual shift or a simple cognitive evolution but rather a fundamental existential upheaval in the nature of self-awareness. In the past, the question "Who am I?" referred to a coherent and stable identity, one that defined itself through adherence to fixed and central values. Today, that question has shifted to "Who am I today?" —meaning that the "I" is no longer a final entity or a fixed subject but a temporary, mutable self that changes with every wave of accelerating events and transformations. This new self, which one philosopher called the "liquid self," resembles a drop of water in a stormy sea—knowing neither stability nor permanence, but dissolving and changing in infinite currents of information, images, and events.

This condition is reflected in a diminishing confidence in the grand concepts that once organized humanity’s relationship with the world and others. These concepts are increasingly called into question: God becomes an object of critique and doubt, the homeland is bound to conflicting identities and a disrupted social order, the nation becomes a fragile entity governed by shifting interests, and the self is transformed from a fixed center into a continuous process of becoming and formation. All this leads to the disintegration of the collective identity from which the individual once derived stability and existential legitimacy.

In this context, fragmentation becomes the dominant condition. Identity is no longer a coherent unity but an internal dispersion that generates a profound sense of estrangement and alienation, as the individual feels lost among clashing and contradictory identities. This fragmentation reflects a global phenomenon that transcends specific categories or regions and extends into all fields of life: political, cultural, social, and even psychological.

However, despite its existential challenge, this fragmentation also holds within it the potential to rethink identity as an open-ended dynamic process. In the postmodern world, identity is not imposed from outside the self or through rigid structures but is built in renewed moments of choice, critique, and interaction with a changing environment. This ongoing process of formation and change reframes the question of identity from a new angle: not "Who am I?" in the essentialist sense, but "How do I construct myself in the face of uncertainty?" and "How can I coexist with the multiplicity of selves in a changing world?"

Ultimately, the collapse of certainties and the fragmentation of identity in postmodernity does not necessarily signal the end or disappearance of identity, but rather the beginning of a new stage of self-awareness. Identity becomes a space liberated from rigid constraints, yet one that introduces new existential challenges, requiring ongoing confrontation of the self with a changing reality that rejects stability and celebrates multiplicity and difference.

2. Technology and Digital Identity: The Reality of Identity in the Virtual Space

In our contemporary world, where digital technology permeates all aspects of life, identity is no longer solely rooted in sensory, material experience or traditional social interactions. It has transformed into a multifaceted entity shaped and reshaped within limitless virtual spaces. In this context, digital identity has emerged as a dominant and subjective expression of the self—yet one that is constantly evolving and manipulated by the very tools of technology that shape and distort it.

Digital identity is no longer a mere reflection of the true self but has become an independent entity, constructed and formed through images, videos, social media profiles, and clusters of data that represent "who I am" on screens. The original meaning of the self is no longer confined to our physical existence but is now tied to what we choose to display or conceal in digital communication spaces, which mediate between the self and the world. Here, "I" is no longer who I am in reality but who I appear to be on Instagram, Facebook, TikTok, and other platforms.

This digital identity is characterized by immense flexibility. It can be modified and beautified using digital filters, image and video editing, and tools of digital simulation that reshape our features and image—even aspects that we cannot change in physical life. Thus, identity becomes increasingly detached from stability and reality, as the material truth gives way to a carefully crafted virtual image, one that may be built at the cost of obscuring reality or denying the real body that carries human experience...

Chapter Seven: Identity and the Other – A Critique of the Philosophy of Closure

In the philosophical discourse surrounding identity, the question of the "Other" has always been an inevitable and necessary reflection of the self—for there is no identity without alterity, no self without the other. However, throughout history, a recurrent mode of thought has emerged—what might be called the philosophy of closure. This mode envisions identity as a fortified bastion, surrounded by fixed rules and rigid boundaries, within which the self defines itself precisely by excluding that which is different or divergent. While this mode appears to safeguard the purity and coherence of identity, it ultimately fragments the world into clashing shards, relegating the Other to the margins of existence, or rendering them as an enemy to be denied and criminalized.

This philosophy of closure, rooted in extreme nationalism, closed-off cultural identities, and religious fanaticism, recognizes the Other only as an existential threat to the being and stability of the "Self." It thus perpetuates discourses of conflict and dissonance, constructing psychological, social, and political walls around identity, turning it into a sealed system incapable of dialogue or difference. Within this framework, the Other becomes a symbol of fear and suspicion, and identity undergoes a profound loss of what could be called the "human horizon"—that which opens the path for encounter and exchange.

Yet, contemporary reality—and many currents in modern philosophy—call for a transcendence of this closure, urging a departure from dualistic, binary thinking that extinguishes meaning and blinds insight. Identity is not a part of a tightly sealed narrative; rather, it is a dynamic and open process, shaped through interaction with the Other, growing through dialogue and cultural cross-pollination. Recognizing and respecting the Other is not a concession of the Self, but a fundamental condition for identity to grow and overcome the confines of closure. True identity is not built upon the exclusion of difference, but upon the acceptance of diversity—an opening of new horizons in which the self understands itself in relation to the other, enriching both individual and collective consciousness, and deepening the sense of shared humanity.

In this chapter, we will engage in a critique of the philosophy of closure by exploring its roots, justifications, and impact on the construction of both collective and individual identities, with a focus on the psychological, social, and political dimensions of this discourse. We will also discuss how theories of dialogue and cultural pluralism, as well as frameworks of phenomenological and hermeneutic understanding, can open the way toward a more inclusive and open identity—one that sees the Other as a companion in the existential journey, not an adversary or threat. Through this critique, we seek to construct a new philosophical vision of identity, one that transcends closure and rebuilds the bridges between self and other, fostering values of tolerance, mutual respect, and coexistence in an interconnected and diverse world.

1. Identity as Openness, Not Closure

The first philosophical fallacy committed by many nationalist or religiously rigid conceptions is the assumption that identity is a complete and closed entity, resistant to change and intolerant of difference. When identity is reduced to race, language, religion, or a particular history, it shifts from being a possibility for openness and communication into a tool of exclusion and isolation—from a field of shared meaning into a weapon of conflict and rejection. This mode of thinking is not content with defining “who we are,” but necessarily requires the definition of “who is not one of us,” i.e., the production of an excluded Other to be feared and possibly opposed.

However, contemporary philosophy, having faced the crises of modernity and nationalist and religious closure, began to re-examine the notion of identity—not as a fixed essence, but as a narrative movement, a becoming-in-process, nourished by interaction and shaped in relation to the Other. Within this framework, Paul Ricœur introduced the concept of narrative identity, which holds that the self is not given as a substance but is constructed over time through the story it tells about itself—a story that cannot be completed without the presence of the Other, not as a threat but as a partner in meaning-making.

Narrative identity transcends rigid definitions that assume the existence of a “pure essence” that must be preserved from contamination. It recognizes that the human being does not live in a vacuum, but within a web of relationships; that the self is not a closed unit, but an event in the making; and that “I” does not exist without “You,” just as dialogue cannot exist without plurality. Here, identity is not equivalent to sameness, but to differentiation within unity. Any narrative of identity that refuses to open its doors to the Other and does not allow for a multiplicity of voices within itself becomes a veiled form of oppression, even when cloaked in the garments of belonging.

In fact, the excessive attachment to a closed identity is nothing but a fragile response to fear—the fear of difference, of change, of losing control, of being dissolved into the Other. Yet this fear arises from a fragile conception of identity—one that sees identity as something constantly under threat, rather than something strong enough to live in diversity and thrive in dialogue. True strength lies in an identity that does not fear difference, but embraces it—not shutting out the Other, but welcoming them. For the Other is not the negation of the self, but the condition for its existence.

We do not exist as pre-defined essences; we become selves through engagement with the world, with time, and with relationships. Hence, closure is not merely a failure to understand the Other; it is, at its core, a failure to understand ourselves. Any identity that denies alterity transforms into symbolic violence, turning belonging into a shackle and the past into a prison.

In an age of globalization and planetary interconnection, where solid boundaries collapse and identities intersect across new terrains—digital, cultural, environmental, linguistic—openness becomes an existential and intellectual necessity, not a philosophical luxury. Identity, if it does not evolve, dies. If it does not open, it ossifies. Thus, the call for “open identity” is not a call to abandon the self, but to reclaim it within a broader horizon—where identity is built not on denial but on recognition; not on purity but on plurality; not on walls but on bridges.

We now need a new philosophy of identity, one not founded on “us versus them,” but on “us with them,” where meaning is rebuilt through encounter, and the self is reinterpreted in the light of the Other—in an unending process, for true identity is not a state, but a path.

2. Identity as Ethical Responsibility

Identity is not merely a mirror in which I reflect my self-image, but a window through which I face the Other, and a response to the ethical summons their existence imposes. To settle for the question “Who am I?” reflects a narrow understanding of identity, where the being revolves around itself, content with closed linguistic, historical, religious, or cultural definitions. But once we add the existential and ethical dimensions—“What do I do?” and “For whom do I exist?”—identity opens onto a horizon that transcends essentialist definitions and becomes an open project founded on commitment, recognition, and responsibility.

In this sense, identity is not defined solely by what I think I am, but by what I do in relation to the Other, and by the face I show to the world. It is not something granted or acquired once and for all, but something continually practiced and built through relationship—with the Other not as threat or adversary, but as an existential call that awakens the self’s deepest ethical possibilities. Thus, identity-awareness is no longer an exercise in narcissism, but a participation in a shared human experience founded on care, solidarity, and responsibility.

In this context, the French philosopher Emmanuel Levinas offers a radical conception of identity that surpasses all prior theories. For Levinas, the self is not constituted by possessing an image of the Other, but by its exposure to the face of the Other—a face that strips the self bare and places it under question. This “face” is not a physical appearance, but an ethical presence that confronts me, obliges me, and compels me to leave my ego-centeredness and recognize the Other not as an extension of myself, but as a radical difference. In this view, the Other is not something to be known, but someone to be answered.

Thus, identity becomes a relationship of responsibility: toward the Other who reveals their vulnerability before me, and toward the world we share. This responsibility is not a voluntary social contract—it precedes all choice: it is a call that comes before the will, knocking on the door of the self from where it least expects, asking it to become more than it thought it was. It is a responsibility without guarantees, not based on interest, but on response to vulnerability, to the human in the human.

Therefore, one who speaks of “their identity” without recognizing the Other possesses not a true identity, but a mask. For ethical identity cannot form without a double recognition: to acknowledge my humanity through my recognition of the Other’s humanity. To be “I” means to be open...

ــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــ

1. Ricoeur, Paul. Oneself as Another. Translated by Kathleen Blamey, University of Chicago Press, 1992.
2. Bauman, Zygmunt. Identity: Conversations with Benedetto Vecchi. Polity Press, 2004.
3. Taylor, Charles. Sources of the Self: The Making of the Modern Identity. Harvard University Press, 1989.
4. Levinas, Emmanuel. Totality and Infinity: An Essay on Exteriority. Translated by Alphonso Lingis, Duquesne University Press, 1969.
5. Merleau-Ponty, Maurice. Phenomenology of Perception. Translated by Colin Smith, Routledge, 1962.
6. Sartre, Jean-Paul. Being and Nothingness. Translated by Hazel E. Barnes, Routledge, 1956.
7. Stuart Hall. Cultural Identity and Diaspora. In Identity: Community, Culture, Difference, edited by Jonathan Rutherford, Lawrence & Wishart, 1990.
8. Judith Butler. Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity. Routledge, 1990.
9. Manuel Castells. The Power of Identity. The Information Age: Economy, Society, and Culture Vol. II. Blackwell, 1997.
10. Anthony Giddens. Modernity and Self-Identity: Self and Society in the Late Modern Age. Stanford University Press, 1991.