The Misanthropic Humanist
Some secular humanists are bound to hold most people in contempt
Christian apologists like to say that God loves sinners but hates sin. Yet following Paul the Apostle’s rationale for the supposed need for the sacrificial death of God’s son, these apologists will also insist that human nature is corrupt, that we all suffer from an “original sin” of proudly departing from God’s plan for us.
At some point, just as pebbles added to pebbles eventually turn into a heap, our tendency to “sin” would have made us less lovable to our Maker. Similarly, if you invent a device that eventually keeps malfunctioning, you may lose even your nostalgic admiration for how this bit of handiwork used to operate well.
If a deity created the universe, and God expects perfection, why should God be understood as loving his Creation? God might pity lesser beings for their struggles, but that’s not uplifting adoration. Or God might be self-sacrificially compassionate so that he rushes to the aid of lesser beings, but again, that would say more about God’s nature than our merits.
Setting aside that dubious religious context, a similar question arises for secular humanists.
You don’t hear much about humanism even though this ethos is implicit in all the institutions that distinguish modern lifestyles from ancient and medieval ones, such as science, capitalism, and democracy. A humanist is supposed to be a humanitarian, someone who’s devoted to human welfare and who studies the arts or humanities or advocates a naturalistic, human-centered philosophy that’s supposed to improve people’s earthly lives.
Yet is there room in humanism for misanthropy? Is the concept of a misanthropic humanist oxymoronic, and why might a humanist be expected to have contempt for people in general?
The key distinction would be between our potential and our practice. In theory, personhood is marvellous, perhaps even sacred. Reason, imagination, language, autonomy, empathy, ingenuity, ambition, creativity — traits like these distinguish people from animals, or they call for a cultural sense of our species that doesn’t reduce to the concept of animality that you find in biology. Biologically, our bodies and primitive behaviours make us animals, but you need the arts and social sciences to make sense of our cultures and history because, in some emergent sense, we’re people rather than animals.
In practice, though, people might be the pits. At least, that’s how a humanist with an introverted, idealistic character might be inclined to regard most folks. A misanthrope is in some sense opposed to humanity, but we should distinguish between misanthropy and nihilism. A misanthrope might oppose what we tend to make of ourselves, as misanthropy emphasizes our practical failures and confusions, even while this harsh critic admires our potential or theoretical contribution to nature. Yet a nihilist rejects the ideals themselves that follow from our potential greatness.
Probably, humanism conflicts with nihilism in that sense, but not misanthropy. Humanism is ideological, whereas misanthropy is the mark of a countercultural character. The misanthrope could be so idealistic and fixated on what should be that this critic is appalled by how far reality is from achieving those ideals.
Plato was an arch misanthrope or elitist. On the likely basis of his psychedelic, neoshamanic experience in the Eleusinian Mystery cult, he posited a perfect world that was made up of rational abstractions, and he viewed the whole natural universe as a lesser shadow of that heaven. That dualism was the basis of Christianity’s later distinction between God’s perfection and nature’s “fallenness.” Plato had such high standards that he regarded only an elite class of would-be philosopher-kings as worthy of respect.
He was a proto-humanist only in the loose sense that he thought people could “recollect” their former, inner greatness and discipline themselves to live a rational, virtuous life. On Orphic or proto-Gnostic grounds, we tend to lose ourselves to distractions, as our divine spark is entombed in a fragile, easily misdirected vessel, so only a minority end up freeing themselves with philosophical insights.
In any case, secular humanism doesn’t imply that everyone is perfectly equal. Our species is supposed to be made up of persons, and personhood is a set of traits we all share. But we don’t express those traits in equal ways since we have different upbringings that neglect our growth in certain respects, so we end up specializing in different areas. Thus, humanism is consistent with elitism in that while we can admire our theoretical potential to excel in any area, we can respect the few who most fully realize their potential and actually excel.
Moreover, as marvelous as our personal qualities may be, they’re hardly innocent. Contrary to Jean-Jacques Rousseau, we’re not born as naifs or saints who are corrupted only by society. Sure, babies are helpless, but all animals are driven to survive by narrowing their focus to their private welfare. Life’s evolution features both cooperation and competition, and our species has used its high intelligence to advance mainly at the expense of a host of our fellow species and by trashing the planet’s biosphere. This selfish, short-sighted urge to survive at all costs and, if possible, dominate is likely a genetic component of all animal species, including ours.
We thus have a daunting hurdle to overcome if we adopt humanism and hold up our potential as something that ought to be fulfilled. What’s disappointing is how our animal side frequently overwhelms our higher calling or our potential to liberate us from our enslavement to the evolutionary paradigm.
For instance, humanism itself conflicts with the tribalism that smart technologies have ironically re-established in late-industrial societies. Social media polarizes us and confines us to echo chambers that flatter our self-images. We often don’t think of what’s good for humanity since we’re fixated on our narrow tribes of fellow travellers. We wage shallow culture wars, such as the one between Democrats and Republicans in the United States, or between the manosphere and “woke” social justice advocates. We often identify with some such subculture, and even spiritualists aren’t generally preoccupied with the abstraction of “humanity” or “personhood.” Instead, they posit some oneness with the universe or an underlying supernatural power.
Secular humanists must condemn both tribalism and supernaturalism if those alternatives impede human progress. The priority should be improving our species or fulfilling our potential, which is defined by our existential condition, yet that’s a lofty goal that most of us pursue only indirectly, if at all.
Also, as I said, although a humanist might sometimes succeed in thinking abstractly about human welfare, he or she may be subject to a grumpy character. A humanist wouldn’t be so cynical as to succumb to nihilism or lose all faith in our potential to redeem ourselves. But secular humanism doesn’t entail an optimistic outlook or an extraverted fetish for superficial charms.
In short, a jaded humanist might harp on our failure to achieve our potential rather than the potential itself. In eras of social decline or appalling atrocities, that misanthropic emphasis might even be a prerequisite for improving our situation by reminding us of the extent of our failures that result from our lack of existential vision.