
In "Humanly Possible," Sarah Bakewell brilliantly chronicles seven centuries of freethinking that shaped our world. This NBCC Award winner's intellectual odyssey asks: What connects Erasmus to modern thought? Praised by Kirkus as "wonderfully learned," it rekindles humanist hope in our posthumanist era.
Sarah Bakewell, acclaimed historian and award-winning author of Humanly Possible: Seven Hundred Years of Humanist Freethinking, Enquiry and Hope, merges philosophical rigor with narrative flair in this exploration of humanist thought. A former curator of rare books at London’s Wellcome Library, Bakewell draws on her expertise in intellectual history to trace themes of reason, ethics, and secular inquiry across centuries.
Her bestselling biography How to Live: A Life of Montaigne (National Book Critics Circle Award winner) and At the Existentialist Café (New York Times Top 10 Book of 2016) established her as a master of making complex ideas accessible.
A frequent contributor to The Guardian and The New York Times, she teaches creative nonfiction at the University of Oxford and splits her time between London and Italy’s Marche region. Humanly Possible builds on her signature blend of scholarship and storytelling, cementing her reputation as “the best philosophical tour guide of our time” (The Telegraph). Her works have been translated into 30+ languages, and she received the 2018 Windham-Campbell Prize for lifetime achievement in nonfiction.
Humanly Possible explores 700 years of humanist thought, tracing its core principles of freethinking, rational inquiry, and hope through figures like Montaigne, Kant, and modern thinkers. Bakewell argues that humanism—rooted in ethics, reason, and human dignity—remains vital in confronting today’s challenges, from authoritarianism to AI. The book balances historical narrative with urgent relevance, emphasizing humanity’s capacity for progress despite imperfection.
This book is ideal for readers interested in philosophy, history, or ethics, particularly those curious about humanism’s evolution and its modern applications. Educators, advocates of secularism, and anyone seeking inspiration from thinkers who prioritized reason and empathy will find value. Bakewell’s accessible style also appeals to general audiences exploring timeless questions about human purpose.
Yes—critics praise Bakewell’s ability to distill complex ideas into engaging prose, earning accolades like the Windham-Campbell Prize. The book offers a timely defense of humanist values amid political and technological upheaval, blending scholarly depth with relatable storytelling. Readers gain both historical insight and a framework for addressing contemporary moral dilemmas.
Bakewell identifies three pillars: freethinking (moral autonomy), inquiry (reason over dogma), and hope (faith in human potential). She expands on Tzvetan Todorov’s triad—autonomy of the self, recognition of others, and universal human rights—to argue that humanism thrives by embracing imperfection and collective progress.
The book critiques early humanism’s exclusion of women, non-Europeans, and marginalized groups, highlighting how later thinkers broadened its scope. Bakewell emphasizes inclusivity, noting modern humanism’s push to extend dignity and rights to all, reflecting evolving social justice movements.
Like How to Live (on Montaigne), this book blends biography with philosophical analysis, offering accessible insights into intellectual history. However, Humanly Possible adopts a broader chronological scope, connecting Renaissance thinkers to 20th-century humanists like Sartre and Beauvoir.
Bakewell links historical humanism to modern issues: combating misinformation, ethical AI development, and preserving democracy. The book serves as a manifesto for maintaining human-centric values in an increasingly automated and polarized world.
Some reviewers question whether pre-19th-century thinkers fit modern humanist definitions. Bakewell counters by highlighting enduring themes—reason, empathy, anti-authoritarianism—that transcend eras, affirming humanism’s adaptive, inclusive legacy.
Bakewell frames imperfection not as a flaw but a shared condition requiring collective effort. Figures like Montaigne and Todorov exemplify how acknowledging limits fosters resilience and ethical growth, countering utopian ideologies.
Bakewell combines rigorous research with narrative flair, weaving personal anecdotes and humor into historical analysis. Her focus on marginalized voices and interdisciplinary connections (literature, science, activism) enriches humanism’s story.
Hope here is active—not passive optimism but a commitment to incremental progress. Bakewell cites humanists who persevered through crises (e.g., fascism, censorship), demonstrating how hope fuels advocacy for justice and free expression.
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all the wisdom and ingenuity of man were unavailing.
Petrarch maintained attention to literary technique.
books created a certain living and penetrating intimacy.
I alone knew what no one else knew.
scraping off the medieval barnacles
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Have you ever felt the ground shift beneath your feet-not physically, but in your understanding of what matters? On November 1, 1755, the earth literally moved in Lisbon. Within minutes, 40,000 people were dead. Churches collapsed during All Saints' Day mass. Across Europe, people struggled with a haunting question: if this is God's plan, what kind of God are we dealing with? A six-year-old boy named Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, hundreds of miles away in Frankfurt, heard adults whispering in confusion and fear. Their certainty had cracked. This wasn't the first time humanity faced such questions. For seven centuries, a particular group of thinkers had been wrestling with what it means to be human without relying on divine blueprints. They called themselves humanists. Their journey-from plague-ravaged Italy to the salons of Paris, from the horrors of slavery to the trenches of two world wars-reveals something profound about our capacity to create meaning in an uncertain universe.
In fourteenth-century Italy, amid plague and chaos, Petrarch and Boccaccio abandoned practical careers for literature, obsessing over ancient texts and treating long-dead authors as living friends. Petrarch discovered Cicero's personal letters in a cathedral library, thrilled to find the great orator wasn't a marble statue but a flawed, relatable human. He wrote his own letters for posterity, sometimes addressing dead authors directly. When plague killed his beloved Laura and countless friends, his response was defiant: write more, preserve more. Boccaccio took action. Discovering no Latin translations of Homer existed, he convinced Florence to create Western Europe's first Greek professorship, hosting the translator in his home for three years. Their successors became manuscript hunters, venturing into monastery libraries like treasure seekers. Poggio Bracciolini discovered lost works of Cicero, architectural treatises, and Lucretius's poem about atoms and a universe without divine intervention-texts they saw as prisoners rescued from dungeons.
Not all humanists were gentle scholars. Lorenzo Valla combined brilliant detective work with "intellectual violence." He demolished the Donation of Constantine-a document claiming the Pope owned half of Europe-by proving it was a medieval forgery. His evidence? The Latin used words that didn't exist in Constantine's time. It was like finding a letter from George Washington mentioning the internet. Valla escaped the Inquisition through powerful patrons. Others weren't so lucky. In 1460s Rome, scholars formed an "Academy" where they wore laurel wreaths and staged ancient plays. The Pope arrested twenty of them for heresy-their crime was taking ancient culture too seriously. Marsilio Ficino and Giovanni Pico della Mirandola developed bolder ideas. Pico's "Oration on the Dignity of Man" imagined God telling Adam that unlike other creatures with fixed natures, humans could choose what to become-beast-like, angelic, or uniquely variable. We weren't just God's creation; we were works in progress, self-determining. The ideal of the "universal man" emerged-someone like Leonardo da Vinci or Leon Battista Alberti, excelling at everything from architecture to athletics. Alberti claimed he could jump over a man from standing and throw an apple over a church. Whether true or not, the aspiration mattered: humans could develop themselves into something magnificent.
For centuries, medical students read Galen's ancient texts while barbers did the actual cutting during dissections. When corpses didn't match the book - like Galen's description of blood vessels that only exist in sheep - people assumed the body was wrong. Andreas Vesalius changed everything. As a student, he collected body parts from execution sites. As a professor at Padua, he did the cutting himself while lecturing. His 1543 masterwork featured stunning illustrations of human figures - likely executed criminals - standing in heroic poses despite being anatomically opened. The message: look at the body itself, not just what ancient authorities claimed. This questioning spirit spread north. Erasmus, born illegitimately in Rotterdam, escaped traumatic monastic education to become Europe's most celebrated scholar. Unlike Italian humanists who served princes and popes, he championed a middle way - educated, civilized, skeptical of dogma, and deeply opposed to war. Michel de Montaigne took skepticism further. Living through France's religious wars, he retreated to his tower to write essays exploring every aspect of being human - from thumbs to cannibals. His philosophy? Play "the man well and properly" while recognizing we're all beautifully flawed.
When Lisbon's earthquake struck, Leibniz's followers claimed it proved we live in "the best of all possible worlds"-God's perfect plan required occasional mass death. Voltaire was disgusted. His satire "Candide" mocked this through Pangloss, who maintains "all is for the best" even while experiencing earthquake, near-hanging, and enslavement. Voltaire championed "meliorism"-the world isn't perfect, but we can improve it through human effort. Diderot's Encyclopedia placed "man at the center," documenting all knowledge. When authorities tried shutting it down, they smuggled manuscripts in false-bottomed suitcases. These thinkers proposed something radical: morality doesn't require God. It springs from our natural capacity for empathy-"fellow feeling." David Hume, known as "the Atheist," was also called "le bon David" for his unfailing kindness. When James Boswell visited the dying Hume in 1776 expecting deathbed conversion, he found Hume cheerfully discussing his impending end without fear. Yet these enlightened men had glaring blind spots. Hume wrote that non-white people were "naturally inferior." Rousseau insisted girls needed only to learn pleasing husbands. Voltaire, who studied with brilliant mathematician Emilie du Chatelet, considered it a compliment calling her "a great man" whose only defect was being a woman.
For those excluded from "universal man," claiming full humanity was revolutionary. Mary Wollstonecraft's 1792 "Vindication" demanded women be considered "in the grand light of human creatures." Frederick Douglass, born into slavery, discovered literacy as his pathway to freedom. When his master forbade reading, Douglass learned secretly, understanding that language enables critical thinking and human connection. Education became the path to flourishing. Wilhelm von Humboldt redesigned Prussia's schools in 1809, believing character develops when "unfolded from the inner life of the soul." John Stuart Mill emphasized that freedom, diversity, and development nourish each other. His recovery from depression at twenty came through Wordsworth's poetry, which offered emotional depth beyond his father's utilitarian rationalism. Charles Darwin's 1859 "Origin of Species" implied humanity's animal origins. Matthew Arnold responded that humanities were essential for making human sense of scientific discoveries - without ethical guidance, evolutionary theory might lead to moral nihilism. Arnold captured this era's disorientation in "Dover Beach," hearing the Sea of Faith receding and leaving only human fidelity as consolation.
Despite approaching horrors, remarkable humanists embodied optimism. Ludwik Zamenhof created Esperanto-a neutral bridge-language to combat prejudice-publishing the first primer in 1887 as "Doktoro Esperanto" (Doctor Hopeful). Robert Ingersoll championed a simple creed: "Happiness is the only good. The time to be happy is now. The place to be happy is here. The way to be happy is to make others so." Fascism's rise challenged humanist ideals profoundly. Thomas Mann identified humanism's fatal weakness: abandoning "position after position" when facing fanaticism. Yet from California exile, he broadcast monthly BBC messages insisting "Mankind cannot accept the ultimate triumph of evil." Post-World War II, humanist organizations flourished globally. The 2022 Amsterdam Declaration emphasizes ethics, fulfillment, scientific inquiry, and rejects prejudice. Modern humanism prioritizes inclusivity over anti-religious rhetoric, recognizing its true adversaries aren't supernatural beliefs but cruelty and suppressed freedom. Seven centuries after Petrarch and Boccaccio, their insight endures: we create meaning through connection, critical thinking, and empathy. In an age of algorithmic certainty and ideological tribalism, humanism offers something quietly radical-the conviction that we can figure things out together, that nothing human should be alien to us, and that happiness begins with making others happy.