Throughout history, human societies have understood privacy as a cornerstone of individual dignity and well-being. The ‘sanctity of four walls’ has long been treated as inviolable by religions, cultures, nations and constitutions. This understanding rests on a simple assumption: human beings prefer to keep their personal lives separate from the public eye. There are aspects of one’s existence that one instinctively shields from others, habits and routines one reserves for the home, not because there is something wrong or shameful about them, but because there is a natural distinction between how people live privately and how they present themselves in public. In fact, privacy creates a boundary that allows individuals to express their truest selves without fear of scrutiny, misunderstanding or judgement. It safeguards dignity and gives each person a space to exist freely.
Of course, privacy itself has deep cultural dimensions. In some societies, especially where communal living and joint family system are the norm, privacy is almost a luxury. The idea of personal space is almost non-existent. In these households, a person’s room might not truly be their own, people walk in and out freely, and family members often see no issue in asking deeply personal questions or involving themselves in each other’s daily choices. On the contrary, some societies have pushed the concept of privacy too far. People tend to avoid intrusions so carefully that even warmth or casual interaction can be seen as overstepping. In these cultures, independence has become so closely tied to physical separation that young adults are expected to move out the moment they turn eighteen. In parts of Northern Europe, for instance, countries design urban housing with an emphasis on minimal shared spaces, maximizing personal compartments. In Japan, the culture of meiwaku — the fear of disturbing others — has led to astonishingly quiet trains and strict behavioral norms that create an invisible wall between individuals even in public.
The impact of both these cultural extremes on human wellbeing is a debate of its own. However, what can be stated with certainty here is that, despite their differences, most societies agree on one basic principle, that is, home is a private space, and one’s personal life is not meant to be exposed to the world. Because this sense of privacy is so deeply rooted – regardless of how differently cultures define it – people have consistently resisted attempts to cross these boundaries, be it by the government, community or even close family members. This resistance can be seen everywhere: in the quiet tension between authoritarian parents and their children, in public debates over state surveillance and in the protests that arise whenever institutions overstep their authority.
Now, fast forward to the era of social media, and the picture shifts dramatically. After centuries of safeguarding privacy, resisting invasion, and defending personal boundaries, people are now seen violating their own privacy by oversharing aspects of their lives with complete strangers. It is like inviting an entire crowd inside the ‘four walls of your home’. You show them how you spend your day, what food you eat, which places you go, and what people you meet. With just a few taps on a screen, you are opening up the most private, intimate corners of your life- moments once reserved for close family or trusted friends. The sense of exposure and vulnerability is profound. The reasons behind this shift are complex. One factor is the nature of modern platforms, which reward attention, visibility and constant engagement. Another is the deep human desire to be seen, understood and validated. Some people share to feel connected; others share to feel relevant. For many, the boundary between public and private is no longer clear, because technology has made sharing so effortless that it barely feels like a decision.
But the consequences of bringing a crowd into the sanctuary of your home –into your emotional space – are vast and often underestimated. You no longer enjoy life solely for yourself; you are performing for an audience. You begin to curate your life, sanitizing your natural imperfections to match the expectations of strangers. Your private joys become public property, and your vulnerabilities become ‘content’. The same digital crowd you welcomed in can just as easily judge you, misinterpret you, criticize you, or simply consume your life with curiosity but without empathy. What is astonishing is that the very individuals who once argued passionately with their families for privacy – the ones who claimed their room, their diary, their secrets- now hand over their lives to an invisible global audience. They resisted the watchful eyes of their parents only to open the door to millions of strangers!
This is not an argument against expressing or sharing one’s life with others. Humans communicate; humans express. That is fine. But the question is: at what point does sharing become self-violation? And how aware are we of the cost we pay – emotionally, psychologically, even spiritually – when we dissolve the boundaries that once protected us? Privacy was never just about hiding; it was about preserving the sanctity of what was precious – those moments, thoughts and emotions that define our individuality. It is the quiet space where we can reflect, grow and be wholly ourselves without the gaze of any intruder. In the rush to display our lives, we may be forgetting that some things grow best in quiet spaces, that not everything is meant for public consumption, that a life fully exposed can lose its depth, its mystery and its authenticity.
The sanctity of four walls once protected us from the world. Perhaps it is time to ask whether we still need them and if so, how we can reclaim them in an age that thrives on boundarylessness.
