The most pressing question we face today is that of the Psalmist: “What is man?” So urgent is the question of man that the question of God has re-emerged among our intellectual and cultural leaders. Ayaan Hirsi Ali, Niall Ferguson, Paul Kingsnorth, and Russell Brand have all recently professed faith. Tom Holland and Elon Musk have commented on the importance of Christianity to culture. Most surprisingly, Richard Dawkins has claimed the mantle of “cultural Christian,” though he subsequently assured the world that reports of his spiritual evolution had been greatly exaggerated.
This development is not unprecedented. In 1950, Partisan Review ran a series titled “Religion and the Intellectuals.” The authors included Hannah Arendt, W. H. Auden, I. A. Richards, John Dewey, Robert Graves, A. J. Ayer, Sidney Hook, and Paul Tillich. The editors’ introduction could describe our own moment:
One of the most significant tendencies of our time, especially in this decade, has been the new turn toward religion among intellectuals and the growing disfavor with which secular attitudes and perspectives are now regarded in not a few circles that lay claim to the leadership of culture. There is no doubt that the number of intellectuals professing religious sympathies, beliefs, or doctrines is greater now than it was ten or twenty years ago, and that this number is continually increasing or becoming more articulate. If we seek to relate our period to the recent past, the first decades of this century begin to look like decades of triumphant naturalism; and if the present tendency continues, the mid-century years may go down in history as the years of conversion and return.
That last claim now looks wide of the mark. As significant as that revival of elite sympathy for religion might then have seemed, it did not initiate a long-term change in the overall direction of the West or the cultural fortunes of Christianity.
It is too early to know whether today’s revival will prove more than a fad. But like the earlier one, it indicates something about its context. Today, as in the aftermath of World War II, what it means to be human is contested. Those who perceive this are seeking a stable foundation for an answer, and they are seeking it in religion. The turn to theological matters is one response to an anthropological problem.
It was likewise in 1950, as the world emerged from the slaughter of war, facing the realities of the Holocaust and the spread of communism. Technology, too, posed new challenges. As Sartre commented, the advent of atomic weapons placed human beings in an unprecedented situation: They had to decide to continue to exist. Today the question of what it means to be human is, if anything, more vexed. Yet the shift in the rhetoric surrounding religion offers a glimmer of cultural and political hope.
To adapt a phrase from Nietzsche, the problem in our modern world is that man is dead and we have killed him. The concept of human nature is no longer subject to any kind of consensus, with obvious and catastrophic implications for society. Man has been abolished. So what has led to this abolition? Four causes suggest themselves: Human nature has been dismantled, disenchanted, disembodied, and desecrated.
The dismantling has various causes. The Christianity that shaped western societies’ anthropology was teleological, exemplified by the thought of Thomas Aquinas and summarized in the first question-and-answer of the Westminster Shorter Catechism: “What is the chief end of man? Man’s chief end is to glorify God and enjoy him forever.” Humanity was defined by a purpose that transcended the desires of any individual. Man had ends that defined him, some natural, some supernatural. But teleology has been rare in western thinking for generations. As science restricted its consideration of causes to the efficient and the material, understandings of the significance of the world, and therefore of human nature, were transformed. The most obvious examples are theories of evolution that eschew final causality. As they have shaped the modern cultural mindset, they have dismantled the notion of human exceptionalism. When man has no God-given end, he has no stable or distinct nature. In killing God, we kill man.
The point was made by Nietzsche in his critique of Kant. One could not murder God and then expect human nature to do the late God’s work for him. If God had died, so had the notion that human beings were made in his image. Nietzsche’s program was pursued with vigor in the twentieth century by Michel Foucault, who dismantled the notion of human beings as self-constituting, rational agents. He saw them as the hapless products of networks of discursive power relations, a view that now rings out from countless university seminar rooms and underpins the rhetoric of identity politics, left and right.
The irony is that man’s very brilliance—instanced by his intellectual curiosity, analytical abilities, and technological achievements—is what enables him to assert his unexceptional status. Confusion over the question “What is a woman?” has generated headlines in recent years, but it is the result of deeper confusion over the question “What does it mean to be human?” The answer seems to be: “We don’t know whether it means anything at all. Man is a directionless clump of animated cells, drifting through time and space.”
The disenchantment of human nature has many causes and takes many forms. Georg Lukács’s concept of reification points to some of them. The industrialized society and the bureaucratized state treat people as commodities, interchangeable with one another, lacking intrinsic value as individual persons. Industrialization detached labor from community significance. But blaming industrial capitalism alone is tendentious Marxism. The ideologies of the left have also played a role. The sexual revolution, that progressive watershed, has arguably done more than anything to turn people into things. And pornography, the most consistent iteration of the logic of the revolution, makes sex into a commodity, turning the actors on the screen into objects for consumers.
Then there is the transformation of abortion from an evil into a regrettable necessity and then into a right to be celebrated. Society’s moral imagination has been shaped by the logic of the sexual revolution, in which children are deemed accidental to sex; the humanity of the child in the womb has thus been stripped of its mysterious personhood. Much the same is accomplished by reproductive technologies such as in vitro fertilization (IVF) and surrogacy. Though these phenomena witness to the good, indeed very human, desire to have children, they also propose children as things, as consumer items made to order, not begotten in mystery. Motherhood too is transformed, with egg donation and surrogacy turning women into service providers or reproductive machines.
Recent reports that the United Kingdom is on the verge of being able to manufacture sperms and eggs in the laboratory are a harbinger of what is to come. Gene editing, embryo screening, and the commercialization of fertility all tend to the disenchantment and commodification of human life. The term “designer babies” reflects a plausible concept. Human beings, once begotten through the sexual union of two persons, are set to become consumer products. Persons have become things.
The third element of our culture of dehumanization is that of disembodiment. Radical feminism since de Beauvoir has tended to treat women’s bodies and procreative functions as problems that must be solved if sexual equality is to be achieved. This has been reinforced by technologies that subvert natural bodily ends, treating them as bugs rather than features. The body is a hindrance to liberation of the self.
Disembodiment is not restricted to sexual matters. The more our interactions are mediated by technology, whether Uber apps or social media sites, the less important our bodies become. Never in human history has life required less actual, physical, interpersonal engagement. The ascendancy of chatbots, AI, and robotics will only compound this. I can order a meal, ride in a taxi, even have a romantic conversation without ever having to engage another person.
The convenience hides the cost. George Orwell once sent an angry note to a publisher, denouncing Stephen Spender for his homosexuality. Eight months later, he wrote to Spender to apologize. Spender wondered what had led to this change of heart. The answer was that in the interim, Orwell had encountered Spender in person. He explained:
Even if when I met you I had not happened to like you, I should have been bound to change my attitude, because when you meet anyone in the flesh you realise immediately that he is a human being and not a sort of caricature embodying certain ideas.
Meeting Spender in real life humanized him. He became a person, not simply an idea. We might add that it also humanized Orwell. Bodily interaction is key here: Looking into the eyes of another person involves a degree of communion; it reveals that person as a human being, such as we are ourselves. Bone of our bone and flesh of our flesh, to borrow biblical language.
Today social media have universalized disembodied social interaction and perhaps made it normative for interpersonal engagement. Disembodied interaction often reduces interlocutors to the sum of the opinions they express and thereby turns them from real persons into aggregates of ideological fragments. No wonder social media can prove to be a cesspool.
The consequences are not restricted to social media. Part of what makes surrogacy plausible is the assumption that the experience of pregnancy is of little importance to the relationship of mother and child—that the maternal bond occurs postpartum. One might object that adoption assumes the same, but the cases are not parallel. In adoption, a couple takes the place of biological parents who should be there but for some reason are not. It presents itself not as a normative model for parenting, but as compensation for a privation. Surrogacy introduces a new model of what a parent is—a model in which gestation is accidental. And it reinforces the transformation of the body into a commodity.
The transgender issue is also pertinent, given that it involves a psychologized view of identity that marginalizes the sexed nature of the body and also the belief that bodies are simply raw material. Such ideas are plausible partly because of the way in which society’s intuitions about embodiment have been shaped by technology.
And then, once again, there is pornography. I noted above its role in disenchanting human nature. It also serves to disembody it—perhaps a counter-intuitive claim, given the central role of bodies in pornography. But pornography separates sex from relationships, indeed from physical contact with another person. Consumers enjoy that quintessentially embodied form of human behavior in a manner that detaches them from any of the ordinary concomitants of sex, from personal hygiene to the effort involved in romantic relationships, not to mention marriage.
Pornography also points to the fourth element of the modern assault on human nature: Human nature has been desecrated. Sex has historically been regarded as having sacred connotations. The Torah deals with sexual matters in terms of cleanness and uncleanness. The Qur’an prescribes postcoital washings. Paul in the New Testament sees sex as a matter of great importance, such that a man’s use of a prostitute involves a fundamental disruption of his humanity and his relationship to the church. To consider sex sacred makes sense, for in creating new life, it is the act that makes humans most like God. The sexual revolution did not simply make sex into recreation; it stripped it, and therefore the human nature of which it is a central part, of its sacredness.
The concept of desecration helps to clarify the delight some people take in the dismantling, disenchanting, and disembodiment of human nature, which those categories in themselves cannot explain. To wish abortion to be “safe, legal, and rare” is to hold a disenchanted view of human nature. But to glory in it as a “reproductive right” bespeaks an exhilaration that only transgression can deliver. Current pro-abortion politics are the politics of transgression, specifically the transgression of what was once considered sacred.
The same applies to death. Cultures have typically surrounded the end of life, no less than its beginning, with sacred significance. The Torah’s approach to sex and cleanness has parallels in its regulation of the treatment of dead bodies. Even today, our laws against the abuse of corpses often use the language of desecration. And yet western societies are making great efforts to transform death from a mystery into a medical procedure—a procedure that governs not just late-stage terminal illness but old age in general, depression, indeed any condition that can be presented as burdensome to the individual, the family, or even the state.
Human nature has been demolished, disenchanted, disembodied, and desecrated. The results are the cause of much of the moral chaos that characterizes contemporary Western societies. The Psalmist’s question “What is man?” was originally meant to express wonder at his undeserved status before God. In our mouths, it expresses our nothingness.
This brings us to the continuity between orthodox Christians and cultural Christians: a shared desire to respond to the chaos on the basis of a stable anthropology, a retrieval of what it means to be human. How can this be done? The question is difficult, because of at least two challenges, which I note here merely as matter for future discussion. First, there is the fact that, whatever its theoretical origins in nineteenth- and twentieth-century thought, as a practical matter the abolition of man has been accomplished by means of technological developments on which we all now depend. The concept of human nature has become negotiable because it seems inseparable from, and largely subject to, the technologies by which we relate to the world and to each other. Nor can we simply withdraw from this technological context. Modern-day anchorites might call us to do so, but it is worth remembering that Simon Stylites could stand at the top of his pole only because other, lesser mortals produced and supplied the food that kept him alive. We must find ways to recover human nature that do not present an unrealistic romanticism as normative for the majority of people.
Second, there is the fact that a lack of social consensus on the existence of God, let alone on religious dogma and practice, precludes consensus on any view of human nature grounded in the divine image. This lack of consensus is a problem, since the response to the desecration of human nature must be its consecration, and consecration must occur in a religious context. Given the secularity of our contemporary context, Christians must be modest about what we can achieve.
Nonetheless, some progress can be made on the first three elements of the anthropological crisis. The Christian distinction between natural and supernatural ends is helpful here. The two cannot be absolutely separated in Christian theology, but evidence suggests that on at least some natural ends, consensus between the religious and the nonreligious can be reached. The revival of interest in religion among intellectuals, even where it is pragmatic rather than dogmatic, witnesses to a shared intuition that our cultural problems arise from anthropological confusion. That fact should encourage us. It may not amount to a return to Christian civilization, if ever there truly was such a thing. But it may mark an era in which discussion of a new humanism can be pursued by both the religious and the nonreligious.
It is no surprise to Christians that attempts to deny human nature end up either in confusion or subject to a dialectical transformation into the opposite of what was intended. Those confusions and transformations are visible to many secular thinkers, too. Therefore, pointing out the failure of secular policies to deliver on their promises is useful in building a humanist alliance and in putting anti-humanists on the defensive. Such immanent critique is a way of making space for genuine dialogue and constructive policy formulation.
Transgender ideology is a good example. At its heart lies an obvious contradiction: It authorizes disembodiment in its denial of the relevance of sexed physiology to gender identity; yet it insists on the transformation of the body, if an individual is to be authentically who he or she really is. The body is simultaneously of no importance and of overwhelming importance. Further, allowing psychological states to determine identity risks incoherence. Why cannot a man be a wolf, for example, if he is convinced that that is what he is? Yet can a human being self-consciously be a wolf, when one attribute of wolfness is unconsciousness of one’s wolfish essence?
The trans issue also exacerbates a strange contradiction within the culture of death. In at least two cases in Canada, depressed individuals have been refused medically assisted deaths after having undergone gender transition surgery. The surgeries had left these individuals in physical and mental pain, but their requests for medically assisted death were refused. We thus note the contradiction generated by progressivism’s commitment both to trans ideology and assisted suicide, for to grant medically assisted death in these cases would be to acknowledge that gender transition does not always resolve gender dysphoria. It would seem that in our progressive Animal Farm, some causes of suffering are more equal than others.
The issue of biological men competing in women’s sports has gripped the public imagination, since its focus on fairness circumvents the issue that makes trans ideology plausible to so many: its foundation in psychologized selfhood and happiness. The sports issue thus offers the opportunity for highlighting the importance of embodiment. Which is more plausible—the prose of a Judith Butler, the libertarianism of the ACLU, or that picture of Riley Gaines standing on a podium beside a man posing as a woman? The case for a new humanism is there made incarnate.
The transgender issue is connected to IVF. President Trump’s actions regarding transgenderism are most welcome, but his promotion of IVF suggests that these policies are not driven by a coherent anthropology. The Trump administration is not wrestling with the broader question: What status should we grant biological limitations in an era of Promethean technology? Disappointing as the inconsistency is, it offers a chance for serious discussion about why these policy decisions are inconsistent.
The sexual revolution is also ripe for critique. Its intention was to liberate, but it has ended up turning everyone into objects. Easy access to the pill was sold as good news for women, but men have gained, too, from the promiscuity it enabled. And, despite the claims of some feminists, pornography is bad news for women, with its exploitative labor practices and transformation of the sexual expectations of its users.
Much of this has recently been pointed out by Mary Harrington and Louise Perry, writers who use secular arguments and evidence. Their work protests both the disembodiment of human nature and its disenchantment, seeing in the sexual revolution a prime example of promises betrayed and humans dehumanized. Likewise, when Jonathan Haidt warns of the effects of social media on young people, he speaks not in religious terms, but from an understanding that human nature is not infinitely pliable. There is the work of David Berlinski, an avowedly secular thinker. There is support across traditional political divides for anti-pornography initiatives. Many parents are becoming skeptical of the role of screens and smartphones in the lives of children. Combine these developments with the renewed interest among intellectuals in Christianity and its cultural influence, and the moment may have arrived for a new humanism. We need not wait for consensus on religious premises before starting these discussions. We need only point to the internal contradictions and the catastrophic consequences of our modern anti-humanist ways.
None of this is to say that a new humanism will certainly emerge in this earthly city. We may not win the day, and one who puts on his armor should not boast as one who takes it off. But there are signs that the anti-humanism of our age is overreaching by pressing the dismantling, disenchantment, and disembodiment of human nature to extremes. Many are realizing that we can fight human nature for only so long. It remains to be seen whether we will self-destruct or a new consensus on what it means to be human will shape our political discourse, our social policies, and our communities. The struggle for our cultural and political future is not best understood as a struggle between right and left, conservative and progressive, but as one between humanists and anti-humanists. And given the lateness of the day, I submit that the hour for advocating a new humanism is upon us.
This essay was delivered as the 2025 D.C. Lecture.
