Humanism: The Struggle to Possess a Word

THE BROAD OUTLINES of the story are well known. They center on the prestigious place of the Renaissance in the grand narrative of Western civilization, that is in the narrative of ultimate progress that so many have imbibed from their earliest years and, despite all, still cling to. ¹ According to this narrative, Western man began gloriously in Greece, more generally in the classical world, but then fell into darkness in the Middle Ages, only to recover—or perhaps surpass—ancient achievement in the Renaissance, the age of rebirth. At the heart of this rebirth was "Renaissance humanism," a turning from obsession with God and the soul to exploration of the world and humans in all their variety and achievements. ² From Renaissance humanism flowed the reform of religion itself, the birth of science, and all good things. ³

Although few may actually have read the writings of the Renaissance humanists, most have had at least some exposure to the great works of art and architecture that resulted from this turn to the human. The turn eventually gave the civilization a word—"humanism"—with a positive charge. ("Humanism," like "ism" words in general, is a nineteenth-century creation. ⁴ ) To be a humanist was, by and large, a good thing, and to associate one's cause with humanism was generally to its advantage. The definition of humanism remained flexible enough to allow the grand narrative to view historical movements that existed in tension with one another as though they were simply stages of a consistent story of human advancement. Renaissance humanism, in spite of a tendency, historically, to have neglected God for man, could be seen more as preparing the way for the Reformation purification of religion than as an alternative to the Reformation. ⁵

We all know at some level that terms such as humanism are not innocent or neutral and are not fixed in meaning for all time. We know, at least dimly, such terms invariably carry with them some large perspective on or program for the world. Yet if we at least partly know this, we rarely explore all its implications. Labels like humanism typically originate in some specific historical context—in this case a nineteenth-century attempt to describe what was believed to be a fourteenth-century development. (In the Romance languages, words such as humaniste had been used since the late sixteenth century.) These labels then become talismans others wish to possess and control, perhaps to redefine in pursuit of their own purposes.

Phenomena such as humanism do not have an essence—something intrinsically and structurally a part of the order of nature—in the way that a bear or a stone does. They are more malleable than that and can be pressed into many causes. If, for instance, one dislikes a powerful tendency in modern thought to associate humanism with atheism, one can respond with "Christian humanism" or Jacques Maritain's (1882-1973) "integral humanism." ⁶ The path breaker here is Dostoyevsky, with his extraordinary ability to draw characters (Roskolnikov, Stavrogin) who embody the logical consequences for man of atheism. ⁷ If, on the other hand, whether in a Marxian vein or in the spirit of Paul Kurtz, one wishes to reiterate the association of humanism with disbelief, "atheistic humanism" may be offered as a counter to Christian humanism. ⁸ In the second half of the twentieth century, the atheistic humanism of Communism and the Christian humanism of John Paul II can stand in direct confrontation, each claiming to be the true or proper humanism.

The story of humanism begins innocently enough in the late Roman Republic with Cicero, in particular, using the word humanitas to mean "human nature" or "humanity," and, by extension, both humane, gentle, or polite conduct toward others, and the mental cultivation proper to a liberally educated person. ⁹ Though the writers of...