Limits of the Humanist Method

Introduction

” I do not believe that human nature is sufficient unto itself as a common principle for dialogue among civilizations. Human nature is too fluid, too changing. It is like the waves of the sea. And no humanism would be sufficient for a common basis of understanding amongst civilizations. The best that one can do is to show where there are certain areas of agreement. But if there cannot be agreement on the principles of what the nature of reality is, the origin of the world, where did it come from, where it is going… you cannot have agreement simply for the sake of peace. Peace does not come by appeasement, as the British learned in 1939. It has to be based on some truth, and if there is no common truth, expediency is not sufficient. That is humanism, and that is not a sufficient common ground for serious dialogue. Truth needs something more than that, and this makes things very difficult…but I am not saying it is going to be made easy.”

            This quote from S.H. Nasr’s June, 2001 lecture on “Religion and Civilizational Dialogue” provides both summation and starting point for understanding that civilizational dialogue and cooperation oriented toward peace cannot be fulfilled by the synthetic philosophy of humanism. It must be fulfilled by traditionalism. These contrasting viewpoints are paradigmatic; it is from them, out of them, based on them, that competing theories of governance, politics, and foreign policy rise. It is useful to understand these paradigms or superstructures as vectors: units consisting of both substance and message, which, operationally, give rise to theories or worldviews, such as those posited by a Huntington or a Fukuyama. 

The vectors underlying every modern theory or analysis – and each of these has indeed a vector, as “everything that needs to be said has already been said” – are essentially systems of philosophy, elaborate, complex, comprehensive and, though usually related, equally autonomous. More simply, every theory embodies a more systemized message – to understand a theory, we must understand its message, that is, its skeletal framework.

From this opening we must clarify, at least, three central ideas. In proper order, each ‘vector’ can be said to composite an antithesis, a thesis, and a synthesis, in that order. Though Hegel’s dialectic begins with thesis, moves to antithesis, and ends with synthesis, every thesis is in fact an antithesis, a perceived flaw, objection, or qualification of an antecedent statement or synthesis. In comprising these elements in this particular order, our vectors can then also be said to be becoming: in flux, prehending phenomena through a constant concrescence, in accordance to Whitehead’s metaphysic. [1] This would signify a kind of inter-relationship between all vectors. It does; it signifies that there is never any real discontinuity; there is always a common ground and a middle way, even philosophically, ideologically speaking.

The second expansion: theories and analyses result from our application of philosophy to contemporary political life. Bernard Lewis’s interpretation of early Ottoman history and its relevance in the modern Middle East is grounded in his own philosophy of history. [2] Edward Said’s Orientalism [3] rises from his readings of Foucault and his roots in academic comparative philology on the one hand and singular psychological expatriation on the other. Every major thinker has a rooting in past thinkers, and they before them. The significance of this ancestry (or more appropriately, hierarchy, as the various systems do not expand or contract, they integrate or differentiate; that is to say, we are speaking of an axis vertical and not horizontal) will be discussed below.

          Finally, to speak of “related but autonomous” philosophical systems seems contradictory enough; expounding on prehension by concrescence of these systems (as vectors) to and from one another, thus relating them, only adds to the paradox. The truth, however, is that every system is purported ‘final’ or ‘complete.’ In a practical reading, it is; if it were not, it would not be a system and it would not stand the test of time. For example, Hegel’s system is, in most regards, perfectly satisfactory; but it is nonetheless possible to augment it, limit it, reinterpret it or re-tool it; in the last analysis, in accordance to a given motive at the outset of evaluation, it is possible to disprove it, as Kierkegaard eventually did.

The point is, every system can act as a world and thus operate within its delimitations smoothly,  but there are always “more things in heaven and earth…”; of course, there are “more” only insofar as there are things now being considered which were perhaps not there before, not relevant enough, not important enough. Said’s original Orientalism would be theoretically valid…if the Western study of the Eastern world stopped at an ‘Anglican-izing’ rendition of Arabian Nights; the reality of serious Western scholarship such as that of Louis Massignon or Henry Corbin point out, diametrically, that there is more to orientalism than a cultural imperialism or demonizing colonialism. 

Every vector, then, is in theory independent. But historically, it rises from one before it, and it will give rise to another after it. It is this historical reality which gives birth to all kinds of seemingly arbitrary combinations of “new” and “ism”, historicism and new historicism, modern and postmodern, constructivism, reconstructivism, etc, etc. 

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One idea after which is attached an “ism” gives us moderns a particularly significant phenomenon, and it is this “ism” which we seek to address today. At the outset, this “ism”, humanism, is not like most: it is not theory or analysis, those being, functionally, derivatives; it belongs to the first category; it is a vector. Of course, true to most vectors, it possesses a handsome array of its own derivatives (imperialism and Orientalism on the one hand, modernism and, in some interpretations, multiculturalism, on the other).

But to put first things first: humanism is that particular branch of Western ethical philosophy which asserts the inherent intelligence, dignity, and wholesomeness of all peoples. It is a rationalistic philosophy, grounded in self-determination and in opposition to the notions of transcendent realities to which we should conform. On the whole, it rejects the idea of religious texts, creeds, and obedience as infallible pathways to truth and morality; it says that there is a universal code of ethics and we can figure it out for ourselves; that as humans, we are the ontological summit, and need nothing else to guide the way towards our goals, whatever they may be.

As we mentioned, every vector has an outgoing form, or manifestation. Pure philosophy is by nature not dynamic; it is an explication of principles; de facto, humanism is a vector – that is to say, it carries weight and moves in a particular direction – because of its applications. 

Among these is the chosen method of analysis, or response to the Huntington thesis positing a “clash of civilizations”, “civilizational dialogue”. Edward Said brought this interplay to new heights in his analysis of the Western examination, evaluation, and response to the oriental phenomenon. In his most popular work, Orientalism, Said laid down what he thought were the governing principles of the Western Orientalist attitude: the orient was a stagnant and backwards society analogous of Europe in its darkest hours, a crude and culturally bereft civilization of materialistic value and violence. Said translated these views into his own interpretations: the occident illustrated the orient was a repressed “other”, in order to assert its own cultural and intellectual superiority, to impose its own values on a people who knew no better, and most importantly, to institutionally dominate the Orient. [4] In this analysis of the West’s true motives, Said is repeatedly employing the Foucauldian relationship between knowledge and power, namely, that knowledge is always implicated in power.

However, this principle is too blunt a tool to use for such a complex and intricate object of study – it is akin to using an axe to cut through a birthday cake. Further, Said’s epistemic sources are themselves Western; the conceptual apparatus Said deploys is itself subject to his attack, for if no knowledge, colonizing or otherwise, can be apolitical, this qualification must apply to Said’s own critique. 

          In any case, Said’s solution to the Orientalist problem, which in essence begins with a biased scholarship and moves towards an imperialistic political hegemony, is humanism. Said turned to humanism more and more directly in the final years of his life, believing it was the only resistance we possessed that was (or is) potent enough to carry us through these times and reach that elusive inter-civilizational “dialogue” or “understanding” we so determinedly seek. In retrospect, it is interesting that Said would be such a staunch supporter of humanism: he was a man who for the better part of his professional career criticized myriad peoples, civilizations, governments and governmental policies. He openly talked about an entire hemisphere’s collective lack of integrity, a whole civilization’s corrupt and self-centered scholarship, culture, politics, and even morality. These are harsh stances for a man who adheres to a theory that advocates the primacy of the human body, the intrinsic good of humans and their globally-connected prioritization of ethics.

As an ethics, humanism is similar to Objectivism, Ayn Rand’s re-tooling of Nietzsche’s übermensch. Founded in rationalism, both philosophies undermine religion and move us towards an isolationist pottery shop, where man is the artist and ideals such as knowledge, ethics, and morality are shapeless mounds of clay, fashioned by us for us, in whatever way we like and towards whatever ends we imagine, arbitrary and superficial. Though of course the body of moral/ethical teachings in humanism is not similar to Objectivism, as a philosophy, humanism is very synthetic. More importantly, epistemologically, it poses more problems than it resolves. 

As a method, humanism is, in Said’s words, “centered upon the agency of human individuality and subjective intuition, rather than on received ideas and authority. Texts have to be read as texts that were produced and live on in all sorts of what I have called worldly ways.” This is, baldly, a subtle ideological shift from institutional bases such as religion to more flexible, generic, and ecumenical principles from which ethics are derived and politics are justified. One can see very easily the improvement from the contemporary political situation this shift would be. If there existed a constant body of ethics which was everywhere the same, and more importantly, everywhere equally prioritized, there would be simultaneously more and less freedom of action and expression. On the one hand, “war on Christmas” would be null and void, as the specific forms of religion would always be superseded by universal ethics which took into account only pure empiric ratiocination. In other words, the role of religion and ideology would be much more clearly defined. On the other hand, George Bush could not so easily justify his “war on terror”, because the world (and America is included in this term; it is not above or outside the idea) would understand that war on an idea is both practically impossible and intellectually impractical, and what is more, there are more effective ways to combat terrorism than to invade one of its nests.

      But this is an ideal. In a vacuum, humanism seems like the best approach to the world, a generic affirmation of human potential. But we are not in a vacuum. Despite eclectic formal manifestations which, in seeking to combine two or more ideologies to suit a specific political end, in doing so misunderstand both, such as in ‘Christian’ or ‘Islamic humanism,’ humanism is essentially the ethics of an atheistic or agnostic religious tendency. Yet the world is predominantly religious; that religion is making a comeback — in form sensationalist or otherwise — few would deny. Humanism as “the final resistance we have against the inhuman practices and injustices that disfigure human history” then seems a naïve or at least unrealistic assessment of the modern world. It would call for a two-fold movement towards peace, abandonment of religious — thus integral — principles, and then cultivation of humanistic principles. For many, this would seem the trading away of a house for its basic furnishings, a carpet, throw rugs and an armchair. Ethics are intrinsic in religion; to move away from revealed text and towards synthetic ethics would amount to a cheap imitation without real substance, or, in religious terms, eschatological (de facto, soteriological) overturns.

The humanist method finally meets its ends in it implied opponent, traditionalism, wherein divine texts are treated as divine and men are given an ethics as well as the reasons for its institution. There is no ideal generic body of ethics which we shall all, somehow as myriad blind men who feel around an elephant and miraculously assess the same thing, come up with haphazardly and then adhere to. There is no feel-good sentimentalism wherein formal aspects of every religion are bent and shaped so that they all agree; or diametrically, the spheres of religion and social theory are delimited, educational systems presenting a bifurcation of praxis which is regional and theory which is global; rather, faithful and intellectually penetrating (and the one does not preclude the other) comprehension of one’s own religion yields an authentic ecumenical understanding towards a real common ground of all religions, that common ground useful but not compromising, potent but not destructive.

The traditionalist method is a much more effective and useful means towards our goals, because it implies a more profound understanding of our own traditions and not an upending or rooting out towards the assimilation of a new, faceless sentimentalism. It is a one-step process, the arrival within implying the comprehension without. But for the sentimentalism of irreligious intellectuals (many following Said for his political stance on Palestine more so than for his intellectual stance as a theorist), as a practical and globally viable position, traditionalism should render humanistic methods, at least in the modern Middle East, obsolete.   

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      Every vector is, in its own theoretical domain, equally sensible. Our distinguishing criteria are its possibilities in the real world. The humanist philosophy of “replacing the Kingdom of God with the Kingdom of Heaven” cannot function on a practical level. The reasons made for this assertion can be complex: because the majority of people are first of all religious; because perhaps we are not “sophisticated enough” to function at a generic intellectual level; because even as a philosophy humanism is so pliable it has no concrete pillars to stand on; as putty it can be molded so that its effectiveness is never more than ephemeral, potent only when the particular worlds leaders that rule want it to be; because men are fickle, and the governing principles of society cannot rest on such fickleness. 

        The goals Edward Said wishes to achieve, that is, civilizational dialogue and understanding, oriented towards peace and respect, cannot be fulfilled by humanism. They must be fulfilled by traditionalism. This is an unpopular philosophy today, because it implies that humans are not powerful enough in themselves; that we need help; that there are things above us and beyond us, but which can help us; and that we cannot construct a comprehensive global ethics on our own. Nonetheless this should not be a surprise. Every synthetic philosophy finds its antithesis, and the resultant synthesis usually compromises the original identity.  Every system functions smoothly in its own world; its measure is determined when it must venture outside it, to a world that is usually bigger and always painfully more real.

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Notes:

[1] See Whitehead, Process and Reality. The transposition of philosophy of ‘organism’ to philosophy of ‘abstraction’ should not be a significant resultant change. 

[2] Lewis in fact makes this quite clear. See his From Babel to Dragomans.

[3] Capital ‘O’, because Said’s Orientalism is not the only orientalism under study – nor was it ever.

[4] See Harry Oldmeadow, Journeys East, p. 3-20.