A year or so after we were married, my husband asked me a question. It was unexpected, but it started a train of thought that returned to me as I was reading David Brooks’ latest book, How to Know a Person. As the title suggests, Brooks aims in this book to give the world a tutorial on how to be more openhearted, unselfish, and emotionally open. Brooks wants us to move through life trying to see deeply into the souls of the people we encounter. I’m not at all sure this is a good idea, and that old conversation with my husband helps to illuminate the reasons.

The question was this: Why are people constantly talking to me on planes? It was a common occurrence. My husband would pop in his earphones, take his Dramamine, and doze off, only to wake up hours later and find me still listening to the sad life story of the person on the other side.

It’s possible that something in my profile moves people to wax confessional, I suspect the bigger factor is that many people today just don’t have enough intimate acquaintances. Everyone’s got problems, but without a good confidante, things can start to build up inside. Finding themselves suddenly at close quarters with a sympathetic-seeming person they never expect to see again, it all tumbles out. Essentially, I’m therapy.

I usually don’t mind. Some memories of these conversations are rather poignant. There was the electric lineman who was trying to honor the memory of a friend who died on the job by establishing a non-profit for linemen in less wealthy countries. Many people discover that I’m religious, and start explaining why they left their childhood faiths. Once a father, on his way to visit young children from whom he was largely estranged, heard I was a mother and immediately broke my heart by asking for basic tips on how to interact with his kids. (How do you read a story to a child? Do they really like to be thrown into the air?)

In their way, these encounters can be a gift. They leave an impression, at any rate. I have more than once found myself staring at a baggage claim, musing on whether I ought to try to extend Airplane Rachel into other spheres of life. Am I giving The Guy in 34F a level of attention and concern that I should be offering to neighbors and friends? Brooks seems to think that we should go through our daily lives making a regular and concerted effort to “see” everyone around us, opening ourselves emotionally and dropping our protective barriers. Take some risks! Reach out and touch another soul!

Having read and considered his argument, I think it’s mostly wrong. The “openness” or “deep seeing” that he recommends may be fine in some contexts, but it’s not the key to resolving our modern epidemic of loneliness, or ending our crisis of trust.

It would be foolishly contrarian to suggest that all Brooks’ advice in this book is bad. There are digestible summaries of major principles in psychology and neuroscience. There are inspiring stories of people weathering hardship with good attitudes. The final chapter includes a very affirming acknowledgement of the importance of editors. I was discomfited by the prevalence of hugging, regularly mentioned as a beautiful thing. (Do we really need more hugging?) But I imagine the book as a whole would be perfectly enjoyable to take in as, well, a plane read. 

Still, I have concerns. Brooks’ failure to draw necessary distinctions between morals and manners is a very serious shortcoming of the book. There are areas of overlap between virtue and what we might call “people skills,” but they can certainly come apart, sometimes in very malevolent ways. Brooks seems to think that interpersonal skills are undervalued in our time; that just seems wrong. Often, we are far too punitive towards the awkward and socially maladjusted.

Most important of all, I submit that it is crucial to understand why every human interaction cannot be the airplane encounter. Brooks is surely right that humans crave intimacy and connection; his language about “desiring to be seen” is a little too Hallmark for my taste, but the point is basically correct. However, emotional intimacy, like physical intimacy, can be dangerous and destructive if it happens in the wrong context. Teenagers learn this on the internet every day. 

The modern epidemic of loneliness is not a consequence of our bottled-up, stiff-upper-lip refusal to open up to other human beings. If it were, all those airplane conversations would not have happened. But they did happen, because the more ordinary context in which human beings seek intimacy has largely eroded. We haven’t lost our intrinsic ability to connect deeply with other people. Rather, we’ve lost the structures, associations, and forms of community that enable that connection to happen in healthy ways. 

Intimacy should be enjoyed regularly, in conversations with spouses, parents, children, siblings, fellow parishioners, or well-established friends. These are the people who are supposed to be there for us (and we for them). There are reasons for favoring that arrangement. Intimacy creates vulnerabilities that can be exploited, which is why trust is something one should build over time. Beyond that, there is another important truth: much of the time, people hate or avoid each other not because they don’t understand one another well, but because they do. When we understand another person extremely well, we often (or perhaps usually!) see that there are some very good reasons to back away. Intimacy should happen in the context of existing relationships because the people whose lives are deeply intertwined with ours have much better reasons to care about and promote our real good, instead of using that intimate knowledge and familiarity to take advantage of us, or else just walking away and leaving us alone with our vices. 

Much of the advice in How to Know a Person would be perfectly fine if it was offered as part of an exploration of “good etiquette.” The chapter on good listening, for instance, instructs readers to make eye contact, avoid one-upmanship, and give verbal cues to a speaker to make clear that they are attending and understanding. That all seems reasonable, and in fact, etiquette does have a significant moral element. I learned this from Judith Martin as a teenager, and I have always been grateful to her for making the point clear. Etiquette involves rules, but the goal is not to enforce mindless compliance with arbitrary rules. It’s meant to help us treat others with kindness and respect. Good people should of course want to do that, and etiquette facilitates the effort. Morals and manners are thus connected, but it is important to understand that good people may sometimes have bad manners (owing to ignorance, poor training, or comparatively minor human foibles), while bad people can have excellent manners. The ability to charm and manipulate can be extremely advantageous for a predator.

Brooks, unfortunately, does not seem to have a good grasp on the morals/manners distinction, and he further complicates things by turning regularly to cognitive psychology or neuroscience for tips on how to read and predict others more accurately. Normative and prescriptive tips are thrown out willy-nilly, as garden-variety social tips are augmented with high-minded moral advice. Be curious! Be generous! Understand that it isn’t always about you! All those things sound good in themselves, but the muddy mixture could give rise to some dangerous misunderstandings. Is it reasonable to assume that the people who make eye contact, or read our moods accurately, are the ones who truly care about us? Cads and con artists are often extremely good at making people “feel seen.” Demagogues have a superb instinct for reading moods. 

Undoubtedly, there are people in this world who combine virtuous motives and well-honed people skills. Such people can indeed do tremendous good, perhaps as great statesmen or diplomats, or maybe as the church lady that quietly helps members of her community through dark hours. I will always remember, from my graduate school days, a middle-aged woman who worked as a cashier at the local Taco Bell. When you put in your order, she would always ask sweetly, “Now, do you want a cup of ice water with that?” Presumably she was paid by the hour; nobody sells tacos on commission. She just really seemed to care whether I was thirsty. In my early days in Ithaca I felt rather alone, and I can’t lie. I went to that Taco Bell a few times mostly because I craved that little moment of kindness. 

Temperaments and talents differ, however. As a rule, I think people with those kinds of gifts tend to land on their feet. Socially awkward people, by contrast, may struggle mightily in a workforce where customer service, professionalism, and interpersonal skills can all be essential to holding down a job, even when one is superbly qualified and credentialed. Needless to say, social deficiencies can also make it hard to find a spouse, build a good marriage, or just make friends. Maybe we don’t need to go out of our way to build up the value of people who make others “feel seen.” 

Brooks, though, has been telling us a similar story for years, in book after book about meritocracy and misplaced priorities. The basic plot is fairly simple. Once, people cared about moral formation, and even our schools “thought it was their primary job to turn out people of character, people who would be honest, gentle, and respectful towards those around them.” Today we’re all selfishly focused on career success and even parents mostly accept their children’s moral failings and “just cheer them on for their academic and athletic achievements.” The remedy, therefore, is to be more other-oriented, following the road to character or finding the “second mountain” or whatever today’s metaphor may be. Stop being selfish and go make someone happy!

Outside of elite culture (which has always been Brooks’ real specialty), I can’t see this as a helpful diagnosis. America’s loneliest people are not busily raising Organization Kids; more likely they are spending several hours each day playing video games, aimlessly surfing, or watching porn, with absolutely no expectation that they will ever be interviewed for a fancy job. They’re not isolated by meritocracy. They’re isolated by purposelessness and the empty pursuits that fill empty time. They need a life script, and it can’t just be about wandering around seeking intimacy from Whoever. Many of those people would probably benefit more from Jordan Peterson’s “lobster” spiel than from Brooks’ bland advice to be more emotionally open and “other-centered.” 

 For the record, most young children do like to be thrown into the air. I don’t know that because I’m such an emotionally open, “other-centered” person. I know it because I have children. I’ve lived under the same roof with them for quite a number of years and it’s hard to do that without coming to care about their welfare, learning to read their moods, and enjoying some moments of closeness. For most people across history, it has been family life, not cognitive psychology or moral-formation homework, that has supplied the first tutorial in virtue. Perhaps if we could have more of them, I’d finish my books on airplanes.