Relational Solipsism and the Post-Truth Condition

Donald Trump did not invent the post-truth world. He merely capitalized on it. Long before Twitter became a political weapon and fact-checking a performative ritual, there existed a certain personality type: individuals for whom truth is relational rather than objective. They do not necessarily lie; they genuinely believe that disagreement is aggression, that evidence is a social maneuver, and that objectivity is a fiction upheld by power. In their view, truth is not discovered but negotiated.

This mindset echoes postmodern thought, though only in caricature. It is not the critical skepticism of Foucault or Lyotard, but a defensive distortion of it. Instead of questioning power structures, it rejects the possibility of shared reality altogether. Call it relational solipsism: a belief that feelings outrank facts, and that contradiction wounds rather than challenges.

People like this are not uncommon. They appear in academia, in families, in meetings, and in comment sections. They interpret argument as hostility, and correction as humiliation. Presenting them with data, no matter how gently, feels to them like an attack. To such minds, truth does not stand apart from relationship; every assertion signals either respect or dominance. Debate becomes less a search for clarity than a ritual of pecking order.

This worldview remained largely contained until it found a platform. Historically, these individuals rarely ascended to power. Their emotional reasoning made them seem irrational, their defensiveness a liability. But as information splintered and performance eclipsed substance, the conditions changed. The solipsist began to flourish—not quietly, but visibly, in high office and national discourse.

Trump is not unprecedented. He is a familiar archetype: someone who equates persuasion with dominance, contradiction with betrayal, and reality with public perception. What is novel is not the personality but the amplification. Social media rewards outrage and self-victimization, not accuracy. In such an environment, the solipsist does not merely survive; he thrives.

What makes the term "post-truth" misleading is its implication of a rupture. In fact, this mentality has always existed. What is new is its reach. Platforms now transmit it frictionlessly and reward its emotional appeals. Outrage cloaked in grievance travels faster than measured thought.

Still, this is not a new philosophical position. It is not even a coherent one. It is a failure to distinguish between feeling and thinking, between being wounded and being wrong. Yet we increasingly mistake it for insight. We tolerate it in meetings, excuse it in public figures, and even dignify it as resistance to dominant narratives.

If we wish to navigate this fog, we must stop indulging the confusion. Relational solipsism is not a perspective; it is an evasion. It corrodes institutions and distorts discourse. Intellectual honesty begins to feel violent in such a climate, because truth is misread as betrayal. But disagreement is not disrespect. Evidence is not manipulation. Reality does not depend on popularity, volume, or emotion.

This is not a plea for cold detachment. We are social beings, shaped by context. But we must still draw a line. Otherwise, we will continue to mistake charisma for competence, grievance for insight, and solipsism for leadership. And that is not only a philosophical failure. It is a political one.