A. C. Grayling on rational hope

The 2026 World Humanist Congress in Ottawa concluded with a keynote address by philosopher A. C. Grayling.

Against a backdrop of global uncertainty, Grayling made the case for a form of hope grounded not in wishful thinking but in reason, human solidarity and practical action.

The final session of the World Humanist Congress, held under the theme Humanism as Resistance, was chaired by outgoing Humanists International Vice President Roslyn Mould. Introducing the distinguished philosopher A. C. Grayling, she observed that delegates had spent three days confronting some of the most troubling developments in the contemporary world: rising authoritarianism, shrinking civic space and attacks on freedom of thought and expression. It was fitting, therefore, that the Congress should conclude by considering what makes resistance possible: hope.

Grayling began by acknowledging the extraordinary challenges facing humanity. Speaking on the 81st anniversary of the atomic bombing of Nagasaki, he reflected that every generation has tended to regard its own circumstances as particularly difficult. Yet the present moment seemed to offer something approaching a perfect storm.

Climate change, the rapid development of artificial intelligence, the resurgence of authoritarianism and the continuing influence of religious and sectarian divisions were all sources of concern. He also drew attention to a less familiar danger: the emerging competition to exploit resources on the Moon and beyond, in the absence of adequate international agreements governing human activity in space.

Against this daunting background, what could it mean to speak seriously about hope?

Two kinds of hope

Grayling began with a philosophical distinction between rational and irrational hope. Irrational hope might be as commonplace as buying a lottery ticket or as desperate as wishing for a miracle when all other possibilities seem exhausted. Drawing on Albert Camus and his reflections on suicide and the meaning of existence, Grayling suggested that even apparently hopeless situations may leave us clinging to some possibility of improvement. He did not dismiss such hope entirely. Dreams and wishes can sustain us, even when their fulfilment is unlikely.

But rational hope was something different. It involved recognising genuine possibilities for improvement and identifying actions that might bring them about. We could imagine a better world, formulate ideals and then work towards their realisation. Perfection might be unattainable, but progress remained possible. Rational hope, therefore, was not simply a comforting state of mind. It demanded effort.

Humanism must be shown, not merely explained

What form should that effort take? Grayling argued that every individual possessed some opportunity, talent or interest that could be put to constructive use. Humanists could influence others not merely through argument but through the example of their lives.

He recalled the criticisms sometimes directed at Richard Dawkins and Christopher Hitchens during the so-called “New Atheism” period. If religious belief was undermined, critics asked, what could take its place? What alternative foundation for morality and meaning could be offered? Grayling's answer was humanism. But it was not enough simply to explain the humanist outlook. It needed to be demonstrated.

Borrowing a familiar principle from dramatic writing, he urged humanists not merely to tell but to show. Humanist ceremonies, including weddings, funerals and naming celebrations, already provided important public expressions of humanist values. But Grayling wanted the movement to go further, becoming more visibly involved in social welfare, volunteering, community activities and the defence of human rights. He encouraged cooperation with other organisations, irrespective of their religious or philosophical commitments, wherever there was common ground.

The Universal Declaration of Human Rights, adopted in 1948, provided a particularly important foundation. Grayling described human rights as creating a protected space around each individual, within which people could pursue lives they considered worthwhile. Such rights did not prescribe a particular worldview or way of life. Rather, they made possible the freedom to choose one.

Humanists, he argued, should be among their most committed defenders.

Sympathy and generosity

Perhaps the most warmly human dimension of the address concerned Grayling's understanding of what lies at the heart of humanism. He suggested that we should approach our fellow human beings with sympathy and generosity, making the effort to understand their circumstances and motivations.

Understanding others was not easy. Indeed, Grayling joked that most of us spend an entire lifetime failing fully to understand ourselves. Nevertheless, we could begin by extending to others the benefit of a generous interpretation.

He recalled Ralph Waldo Emerson's suggestion that we should give people the same advantage we give a painting when we look at it: the benefit of a good light. This did not mean tolerating cruelty, dishonesty or injustice. Grayling warned that liberal societies could sometimes tolerate intolerance for too long. There were occasions when wrongdoing had to be challenged firmly.

Nevertheless, he insisted that most human interactions were fundamentally decent. Newspapers were filled with reports of violence, dishonesty and conflict precisely because such events were newsworthy. Ordinary kindness and cooperation happened too frequently to attract headlines.

Human beings are social creatures who need friendship, affection, love and belonging. We flourish through our relationships with others, and one of the most meaningful ways to participate in community life is to contribute to it.

For Grayling, humanism is an ethical outlook concerned with the value of human life here and now, between cradle and grave. Its commitments should be expressed through practical concern for others, without expectation of reward.

The importance of asking 'Really?'

Alongside sympathy and practical engagement, Grayling emphasised the importance of critical thinking. Drawing on his long experience as a university teacher, he argued that education should do more than transmit information. A good teacher inspired students to become independent learners, capable of evaluating the claims, arguments and theories they encountered. This was especially important in the digital age, when anyone could publish opinions instantly and misinformation could circulate with extraordinary speed. Critical thinking was sometimes treated as a tired educational slogan, but Grayling offered a simple way of making it meaningful. Whenever somebody presented a claim or attempted to persuade us of something, we should ask one question:

“Really?”

That single word could prompt investigation, verification and reflection. It encouraged the intellectual independence needed to resist manipulation, dogmatism and conspiracy thinking.

Grayling traced the historical importance of such questioning through the scientific revolution and the Enlightenment, when methods of critical inquiry increasingly challenged established authorities and transformed understandings of nature, society and politics. For humanists, this intellectual tradition remains indispensable. But its value is ultimately practical: clearer thinking can help people identify what needs changing and how change might be achieved.

Responding to the challenges of our time

Returning to the contemporary world, Grayling considered how rational hope might inform responses to particular problems. Climate change, for example, was likely to intensify pressures on migration as populations confronted drought, flooding and shortages of food and water. Yet political debate remained preoccupied with exploiting present anxieties about immigration rather than preparing communities for the humanitarian challenges ahead.

Similarly, the rise of authoritarianism demanded active resistance. Democracy might be imperfect, but its protection of civil liberties and the rule of law made it precious. No individual, however powerful, should stand above the law. Humanists can contribute by defending democratic institutions, challenging authoritarian arguments and supporting those whose freedoms are threatened.

Yet Grayling repeatedly returned to the importance of individual action. The world's problems might seem overwhelming, but the starting point is always the human individual, working with others in families, communities and organisations. There was little point in hoping that somebody else would take responsibility. Each person had to become part of the hope they wished to sustain.

Hope, emotion and reason

The questions following the address added further depth to Grayling's argument. Roslyn Mould asked whether hope was something people waited to feel or something they chose to practise. Could hope itself be a form of resistance? Grayling replied that hope required the cooperation of emotion and reason. Empathy for others and anger at injustice were essential sources of motivation. Referring to Aristotle, he suggested that anger, when felt for the right reasons and expressed in the right proportion, could be a positive force. But emotions also need direction. Outrage alone is insufficient; it has to be translated into constructive and sensible action. Grayling pictured emotion and reason as two horses harnessed to the same carriage. Both are necessary, although reason ultimately had to guide their course.

Another questioner, from Argentina, asked why hatred had once again become politically profitable despite the terrible lessons of the Second World War. Grayling suggested that tendencies towards cooperation and hostility had always coexisted in human societies. Fear and tribalism could readily be exploited by those seeking political advantage, particularly when other groups were portrayed as threats. The answer was vigilance. A decent social order could never simply be taken for granted.

A further question referred to Rebecca Goldstein's opening Congress address and the concept of entropy: why was destruction so much easier than construction? Grayling acknowledged the force of the comparison. Schools, hospitals, museums and entire cities could take generations to build and only moments to destroy. Progress required sustained effort, and setbacks were inevitable.

Nevertheless, human history also demonstrates the cumulative achievements of cooperation, learning and scientific discovery. Humanity had built an extraordinary inheritance of knowledge and institutions. There are sound reasons for hope, even if progress is never guaranteed.

Learning from the past

One of the final questions came from a young philosophy student at Harvard, who asked about nostalgia. Both opponents of authoritarianism and advocates of Christian nationalism sometimes appealed to an idealised past. Could nostalgia be used constructively, and what were its dangers?

Grayling distinguished between romanticising history and learning from it. The past is humanity's accumulated experience, offering indispensable lessons about choices, motivations and consequences. But an institution or tradition cannot be justified simply because it's old. Equally, valuable achievements should not be discarded merely because they belonged to an earlier age.

What matters is an intellectually honest assessment of history, retaining what remains valuable while recognising failures and injustices. Roslyn Mould connected this response with the Ghanaian concept of Sankofa: learning from the past in order to understand the present and move wisely into the future.

Hope begins with us

Grayling's closing address offered no easy reassurance that humanity's present difficulties will be overcome. He acknowledged the scale of the threats, the persistence of destructive forces and the certainty of setbacks. But his argument was that hope need not depend on optimism about the inevitable course of history. It could instead be grounded in what human beings are capable of doing: thinking clearly, acting generously, defending freedoms, building communities and working together to improve the conditions of life.

For a Congress devoted to Humanism as Resistance, this was a fitting conclusion. Resistance was not simply opposition to what was wrong. It also meant sustaining and building what is good. The case for rational hope is ultimately a case for human agency. A better future is neither guaranteed nor beyond our influence. It is something we have to help create.