Social work stands for the values of humanity. Such a statement would go unchallenged by social workers throughout the world. Yet in this chapter we consider the values of humanity in some detail, recognising that they are both complex and contested, and that humanity is not to be idealised but can be brutally destructive. In pursuing this discussion, we show how a deeper and wider exploration of humanity can be an important source of inspiration for creative social work and can enhance social work’s advocacy of the values of humanity in the contemporary context, where much that seemed to be settled has become unsettled and where people often feel less like rational decision-making beings optimising their wellbeing and more isolated, bewildered and uncertain in a world of paradox and confusion.

In Chapter 4, I address humanism as a moral foundation for capitalism by discussing the lives and writings of Karl Polanyi and John Maynard Keynes. The narrowing of political economy by nineteenth-century classical economists was challenged on two fronts. Some economists fought to maintain a broad social and moral perspective, but some economists turned the narrowing theory of classical economists into a stinging rebuke of capitalism itself. I begin by discussing the rising influence of humanism in the twentieth century. Next, I discuss the Hungarian-Austrian political economist Karl Polanyi and his critique of capitalism based on humanism. Although he was initially attracted to Marx’s moral critique, Polanyi eventually rejected Marxism on similar grounds as Tawney. In his search for a moral foundation for capitalism, Polanyi rediscovered the moral theory behind Adam Smith’s writings. I then discuss the British political economist John Maynard Keynes. Similar to Polanyi, Keynes rejected the narrow utilitarianism of both Marx and the classical economists in forming his moral foundation for capitalism based on responsibility and duty. This sets up a discussion of humanism as a moral foundation for capitalism based on Polanyi’s and Keynes’s seminal works.

Industrialization and the concomitant growth in populations and economic activity happened in parallel with changes in everyday life, both material (hygiene, diet, mobility) and immaterial (literacy, law, values and ideas about political order and human life). It is associated with Enlightenment, the emancipatory stream of Modernity. It meant changing roles and relations between the major institutions: (nation-)state, church and (community-)market. The outstanding hallmark was and is the idea of Progress, exemplified in the characteristics of the scientific worldview and its claim to ’objective Truth’. Another feature lies in the new ideas about good and evil, as propounded in Industrial Era ethics of liberalism and utilitarianism and in Enlightenment ethics.

The Epilogue examines the failure of red secularism to reassert itself after 1945 due to the political climate in East and West Germany. It examines the further decline of Freethought as a consequence of lessening of confessional tensions in German society and the secularization and de-churching of German society in the 1960s.

The conclusion makes the case for Faulkner as an anti-ideological thinker, an artist engaged in attempting to disentangle image-making from propaganda as a key ingredient of his larger Yoknapatawpha project. I interpret Faulkner’s Stockholm Nobel address in this context, as a humanistic counter to modern disenchantment, an affirmation of human interiority in the face of scaling social systems in the process of becoming all-encompassing.

The second chapter will focus on the depiction of Clovis I, the first Christian king of the Franks. The inflation of the Clovis myth in the medieval chronicle tradition has been treated exhaustively, primarily in French historiography. This is why this chapter proceeds along an alternate route. Instead of interrogating the evolution of Clovis from Fredegar and the LHF to high- and late-medieval works of history, it will compare the story found in Gregory of Tours with that found in the sixteenth-century De rebus gestis Francorum [DRG] by Paolo Emilio. The reason for this choice is that, to a large degree, Emilio bypassed the intermediate sources, relying primarily on Gregory for this section of his opus. The DRG is thus only once removed from the Histories, although the differences in the two authors’ attitude toward character-building and in their stylistic approach are glaring, for reasons that will be elaborated upon in the chapter.

When Weber insists that scholars must choose between Stories, he is promoting what he calls an ethics of responsibility. Nowadays, liberal scholars are hard pressed to make such choices, because they do not share Stories of their own. They are humanists but, unlike the Founders, they are not united by commitment to, for example, a framework of natural law principles. In these circumstances, Judith Shklar proposed that instead of favoring a particular Story, liberals should make common cause by opposing instances of cruelty and tyranny. In this sense, they should be “philosophes” rather than philosophers.

The progressive thinkers of the Enlightenment rejected Christian Europe’s standard Stories which justified rule by monarchs, aristocrats, and clergy. They promoted instead reason rather than tradition and science rather than theology. Their faith in human agency, as expressed by thinkers such as Voltaire, Diderot, Jefferson, Madison, and Hamilton, amounted to a project based on Humanism. Later, Max Weber pointed out that this part of the Enlightenment amounted to an onset of disenchantment.

This chapter takes up the mid-century politics of the Australian novel enacted in the terms dictated by the Cold War. Replicating the broader bipolar model of the cultural Cold War, the divide in Australia, mapped between modernism and realism, was complexly transnational, with vaunted stakes in the hot wars of the decolonising Asia Pacific and deconstructive receptions behind the Iron Curtain. The ideological debates of the cultural Cold War in Australia recall a faith in realism as a liberatory mode that is in danger of becoming unreadable. Australian post-war realism reached out to Indigenous issues, new migrants, women and working-class readers in structured and inclusive ways. Blurring into popular genres and facing strict federal censorship, realism’s traditional interest in the quotidian was mediated by its attention to topicality, or to the defining mid-century social issues motivating readers. This chapter is bookended by the scandalous court case of communist Frank Hardy for his Power Without Glory (1950), prosecuted for criminal libel in Australia’s McCarthyite moment, and Gerald Glaskin’s No End to the Way (1965), Australia’s first out gay novel, banned by the censors and marketed as ‘penetrating – honest – telling it like it is’.

Scholars have long debated the origins of John Skelton’s idiosyncratic form of verse, the so-called “Skeltonic.” In this chapter, I suggest that the action and effect of Skeltonics are best understood through the lens of one of Skelton’s long-standing preoccupations: the attempt to simulate, in writing, the presence of a living thing. During the early sixteenth century, Humanist intellectuals argued over the proper way to represent liveliness in verse, particularly in their discussions of imitatio and enargeia. Where Skelton differs from his contemporaries, however, is in his conviction that proper imitatio requires the use of copia, an abundant style that (in his hands) aims to depict a physical thing, not merely as it appears frozen in a single moment, but as it moves and breathes through time. After putting Skelton’s work into conversation with contemporary theories of imitatio and copia, I turn to two of his best-known poems, “Speke Parott” and “Phyllyp Sparowe,” which attempt to replicate living bodies in predcisely this way while also expressing some skepticism towards the politics of this procedure.

This chapter argues that Thomas Nashe created a novel role for the urban writer that also assumed an innovative set of aesthetic principles that we associate with the metaphysical and that was directly antagonistic to humanist ideals. The dissatisfaction that Nashe felt at his lack of advancement as a member of the supposed intellectual elite contributed to his deeply skeptical outlook on reality and on the efficacy of humanist writing more specifically. As I newly detail in this chapter, the precise quotidian realities of Nashe’s existence in London in the 1590s pushed him to formulate a novel advocacy of contention even as he pushed away the noisiness of the urban public world, an entirely ambivalent stance towards the city embodied in Nashe’s obsession with corners. In formulating a writing approach that corresponded with his objections to Philip Sidney and Gabriel Harvey and to his urban reality, Nashe innovated his prose style into something less mimetic than affective, a style that foregrounded a speedy aimlessness, as well as a heterogeneous mixture of materialist images. Nashe’s prose thus takes up the very features that we now call the metaphysical.

When did the emotions become political? It would be natural to view a formal political analysis of emotions as a classical phenomenon that was reprised under new and more decisive terms in late humanism and reimagined in the eighteenth century. In such a history we would expect to encounter the work of Thomas Hobbes and Giambattista Vico. It would also be natural to take Hobbes and Vico at their word and read this recovery of the political dimension of emotion as a rejection of medieval philosophy. I will propose the opposite: the grounds for this political turn were laid in late medieval scholasticism. The precedent for humanist and Enlightenment-era political thought about emotion lies with a repudiated scholasticism and its reinvention of classical Greek thought. It is the history of rhetoric that reveals this turn to the political. The thread that links these transformations together is the political reception and re-absorption of Aristotle’s Rhetoric and the modern assimilation of the Rhetoric began in earnest with the most influential statecraft treatise of the Middle Ages, De regimine principum, written about 1277 by the scholastic theologian Giles of Rome.

The modern cosmopolitan ideal is often associated to the Enlightenment, but it is important to understand it early modern genealogy, because it defines many of its intellectual possibilities and contradictions, and there was no simple intellectual thread from the Stoic ideal of world citizenship to Kant. The Renaissance cosmopolitan tradition was historically conditioned by the consolidation of political and religious divisions within Europe and by growing colonial rivalries, notwithstanding the existence of a common cultural horizon – humanist and Christian - that supported the pursuit of peace. This cultural horizon compensated for those divisions and rivalries in two ways: with a transnational ideal of travel and learning within Europe, and through an ideal of global commerce that assumed the moral unity of mankind. The chapter emphasizes the impact of travel writing in shaping perceptions of cultural diversity and argues that the definition of human nature through empirical diversity is distinctive of European cosmopolitanism, despite some scepticism about the capacity of human reason to reach a universal moral understanding in all circumstances. However, this focus on describing and explaining empirical diversity opened a paradox never fully resolved: whether the "universal spirit" of the cosmopolitan ethos was not inevitably tied to a particular notion of civilization, or even, at a deeper level, to some particular language and cultural system at the expense of others. In this respect, early modern cosmopolitanism was inevitably hierarchical: internally biased towards urban elites with the kind of education and experience that allowed them to participate in the Republic of Letters, and externally associated with a new idea of polite civilization whose values and institutions were often culturally specific. In this process, the role of non-European cultures as partakers of universal values was increasingly (and perhaps unnecessarily) marginalized.

Lionel Johnson is more famous now for his life (and death) than his work – for his alcoholism and insomnia, conversion to Catholicism, erroneous claims to Irish heritage, and death by severe brain haemorrhage at the age of thirty-five. As a founding member of the Rhymers’ Club and contributor to the notorious Yellow Book, he is frequently referred to as a major figure of British Decadence, but his work is rarely considered in any detail. This chapter looks at Johnson’s criticism, poetry, and letters as expressive of a religious humanism heavily influenced by Pater’s sensuously continent aestheticism. No one was more excited by the world than Johnson, by the crowds of London as much as by the wonders of nature, and the continence he described was hardly a cloistered retreat. But sex was at the heart of what he saw as wrong in the modern world: its lack of respect for tradition; its bad manners; the haste that led people to look to their own uncultivated selves for a guide to right and wrong. Like Pater, Johnson portrayed continence as a sociable practice, leading to better relationships with people, objects, and the past.

This chapter completes the story of Giorgio Amendola (and his wife Germaine) and his communist brothers: the independent Antonio (who died young in 1953) and the orthodox Pietro. After an account of Giorgio as a fighting partisan, or an organiser of fighting partisans, we move on to his history in the renamed Italian Communist Party after 1945. We examine his role in the establishment of the Italian Republic in 1946–7 and the concentration Togliatti then expected from him on the South. The PCI’s slow detachment from Stalinism is also reviewed. Until his death, Giorgio could never bring himself to prefer American civilisation to Soviet. Nonetheless, he actively favoured the PCI policy of a national ‘Italian road to socialism’. The automatic succession of Luigi Longo to party leadership in 1964 dashed Giorgio’s hopes in that regard. By the 1970s, he had become a (massive) party elder, with time to write his deeply humane memoirs. He died on 5 June 1980, Germaine following him to the grave within hours; she had become a well-regarded painter and the two were always thought to be engaged in their deeply romantic love story. They were given public and family burial in the Campo Verano.

Outlining the historical scope of the book, this chapter discusses Shakespeare’s and Beckett’s works in periods that were conceived of as inherently transformational. The chapter will address the early links between Shakespeare and Beckett that were established in British theatre history. The second part of this chapter will read the scenes on Dover cliff in Act IV of King Lear as a metaphor for the theatre in which both Beckett and Shakespeare explore the edges of their very medium. This latter part examines Beckett’s ‘variations on rise and fall’ in many of his plays, such as All that Fall, Rough for Theatre and Waiting for Godot – which, in dialogue with King Lear, dramatize the experience of blindness, crawling and falling.

This chapter shows how competing notions of care shape ethical, political, and amorous life in Shakespearean drama. If care is a virtue, it seems unique among other classically recognized virtues such as courage, justice, and temperance, in that care is more ubiquitous as a feature of normative life and yet less conceptually distinct. While sometimes appearing as a virtue in itself — or as a precondition to the sharpening of any particular virtue — care just as often shows up in Shakespeare’s plays as a demanding expenditure of psychosomatic energies that shades into anxious worry or self-consuming attachments. This chapter in turn illustrates how ancient Greek and Roman virtue ethics inform Shakespeare’s articulations of care as an innate and omnipresent facet of human experience, which can benefit self and others but in its extreme forms also weigh upon body and soul to cause harm. Despite cultivating skepticism concerning our human abilities to know and to exercise the virtues of care, Shakespearean drama also stages encounters with care in its rarest guise: as a benefit that alleviates forms of suffering or distress to which human life is invariably susceptible, and which cultivates our capacities for virtue.