Translated by AI

In every culture, there is a specific mold into which a person is expected to pour themselves. These expectations form the boundaries of what we call "Normal." This boundary is neither a biological mandate nor a psychological absolute; rather, it is a collective covenant—an agreement on which behaviors are intelligible, which emotions must be governed, and which reactions are deemed fitting.

Thus, the word "Normal" becomes one of culture’s most successful sleights of hand. It makes a tapestry of diverse individuals appear uniform, effectively veiling the richness of human variation.

In Western societies, "Normalcy" is often tethered to the consistency of the self. In the lexicon of psychology, this implies a self that is autonomous, expressive, and distinct from others (Markus & Kitayama). The outward manifestation of emotion and the clarity of opinion are hallmarks of health. To be "psychologically mature" is to be true to oneself and to voice one’s authentic thoughts.

However, the logic of "Normalcy" in East Asian cultures operates on an entirely different frequency. Silence, restraint, and the attunement to others are viewed as social wisdom; excessive self-display is often seen as jarring or abrupt. Triandis refers to this as "Collectivism," where the individual’s emotions and actions must harmonize with the rhythm of the group rather than accentuate difference. What is often called "propriety" or "knowing one's place" is simply "Normalcy" in its cultural attire.

The same behavior, placed in different cultural soils, bears vastly different fruit. A student who remains silent in an American classroom might be judged as lacking engagement; in Taiwan, that same silence might be revered as humility and stability. Therefore, "Normal" is not a component of human nature, but a cultural imagination of order and stability.

Henrich, Heine, and Norenzayan point out that modern psychology has long relied on WEIRD (Western, Educated, Industrialized, Rich, Democratic) samples, mistakenly extrapolating these findings as universal human nature. This practice has unwittingly established a parochial "norm," rendering other cultures as "exceptions" or "deviations." Yet, if we lay aside this assumption, we discover a profound truth: The "Normal Person" does not exist. There are only survival strategies that are temporarily viable within specific cultures and contexts.

This perspective extends naturally to the concept of "Adulthood."

In the European Enlightenment tradition, "Adulthood" is viewed as the awakening of reason. Kant famously proclaimed that enlightenment is man's emergence from his self-incurred immaturity; adulthood, then, represents an existence that is autonomous, independent, and responsible for itself. In East Asian societies, however, "Adulthood" is closer to an ethical identity: it is the capacity to fulfill obligations within the family and the collective, to care for others, and to stabilize relationships.

But social shifts have caused these two conceptions to coexist—and collide—in the contemporary era. Young people delay entry into the workforce; the structures of marriage and family are loosening. "Adulthood" no longer has a clear threshold. Psychologist Jeffrey Arnett proposes the concept of "Emerging Adulthood," noting that people in their twenties and thirties are still exploring the self and engaging in repeated trials. One does not become an adult in a single stroke; rather, one plays multiple roles interchangeably across different fields.

Sociologist Erving Goffman uses the metaphor of the "Stage" to describe this phenomenon. He suggests that human social action always carries a performative nature: we play different roles in different scenes to maintain the order of interaction. The so-called "Adult" is merely the name of a specific role—one that includes expectations of stability, reliability, and emotional control. Yet, these expectations are constantly rewritten by culture and time. Today’s "Adulthood" is no longer synonymous with financial independence or emotional stasis; it resembles a continuous negotiation: trying to keep one's lived world from collapsing amidst constant change.

Seen in this light, "The Adult does not exist," because no single person can forever meet the expectations of all roles; and "The Normal Person does not exist," because culture itself possesses no stable baseline. These two propositions reveal the same fact: Humans are always in a state of unfolding. We adjust continuously through experience, learn through misalignment, and grow amidst contradictions.

As we mentioned in previous writings: "We are all performing on a stage, but we forgot to ask where the stage came from."

"Normalcy" and "Adulthood" are merely two sets of scenery on this stage. They allow the plot to proceed and give the actors a place to stand. But once we mistake the scenery for reality, we lose our awareness of the stage itself.

The power of culture lies in its ability to enable cooperation, but also in its ability to make us mistake the constructed for the natural. The work of phenomenology is to remind us to return to the position of the "experiencer": to observe how we generate "Normalcy" and "Adulthood" under different cultural rules. When we do this, the definitions of both terms soften, bringing us closer to the truth.

To declare that "The Normal Person does not exist" is not a pessimistic proclamation, but an admission of diversity. To say that "The Adult does not exist" is not to deny growth, but to offer us a chance to redefine maturity. It is not about arriving at a final destination, but simply continuing to learn how to dwell in harmony with the world.