To me, solipsism just seems to fall apart. If, in some way, I am God why does this universe not bend to my every whim? One may argue that the part of you “projecting” this universe is hidden from your consciousness but, for me, that argument does not pan out because the “other” part must really be God as we experience ourselves as distinct selves and anything apart from me cannot really be me, can it? And if the “other” is not a mind, then how can it create or project all of that which seems to be “out there”?
Really though, what is the “problem” here? If we truly are “selves” we cannot be aware of another as we are of ourselves, else we would lose our selfhood. In other words, If your thoughts emotions and ideas were present to me as mine are, I would no longer be me.
So I think the truth is that we are each of us respectively given our “self” from the Supreme Self (God) and we are able to know other minds because you are able to use your body and the matter around each of us to express what is on your mind, I am therefore able to know what you are thinking.
G.K. Chesterton wrote of solipsism:
"There is a sceptic far more terrible than he who believes that
everything began in matter. It is possible to meet the sceptic
who believes that everything began in himself. He doubts not the existence of angels or devils, but the existence of men and cows. For him his own friends are a mythology made up by himself. He created his own father and his own mother. This horrible fancy has in it something decidedly attractive to the somewhat mystical egoism of our day. That publisher who thought that men would get on if they believed in themselves, those seekers after the Superman who are always looking for him in the looking-glass, those writers who talk about impressing their personalities instead of creating life for the world, all these people have really only an inch between them and this awful emptiness. Then when this kindly world all round the man has been blackened out like a lie; when friends fade into ghosts, and the foundations of the world fail; then when the man, believing in nothing and in no man, is alone in his own nightmare, then the great individualistic motto shall be written over him in avenging irony. The stars will be only dots in the blackness of his own brain; his mother’s face will be only a sketch from his own insane pencil on the walls of his cell. But over his cell shall be written, with dreadful truth, “He believes in himself.” - Orthodoxy
