Posthumanist Criticism: Challenging What It Means to Be Human

Posthumanist Criticism: Challenging What It Means to Be Human

We have always put humans at the centre. We produce knowledge, we understand the world, we control nature—or at least, that’s what we thought. But things aren’t that simple anymore. Technology has advanced, artificial intelligence has stepped into the spotlight, and our relationship with nature is being questioned all over again. So in light of all these changes, is our idea of “being human” still the same?

That’s exactly the kind of question that posthumanism asks.

Posthumanism does not stop at seeing humans as just “intelligent beings.” On the contrary, it focuses on the complex relationships we form—with animals, machines, nature, and even data. We’re no longer just “individuals”; we’re living beings entangled in digital networks, environmental systems, and technological tools.

So here’s the real question:

Are humans really the measure of all things?

Or are we just one part of a much bigger system—one that includes both nature and technology?

Posthumanism is one of those terms that sounds complicated at first. Like postmodernism, it carries a “post” that signals a shift — a move into something new. But what exactly is this “new” thing? Posthumanism is a way of thinking that challenges traditional human-centred views of the world. It questions the idea that humans are the most important beings, separate from nature, animals, or machines. Instead, it suggests we are deeply connected with everything around us — from the environment to technology.

The “post” in posthumanism doesn’t mean the end of humanity, but rather a new way of understanding what it means to be human. It pushes us to think beyond humanism — the belief system that places humans at the centre of everything. Posthumanism builds on some of humanism’s ideas, but also critiques and rethinks them.

In philosophy and critical theory, posthumanism responds to the ongoing presence of anthropocentrism — the belief that human beings are the central or most significant species on the planet. Posthumanism asks: What happens if we stop seeing ourselves as separate or superior? It also talks about posthumanization — the process through which society begins to include non-human members (like AI, robots, animals, or even ecosystems) as active participants that shape the world alongside us.

Humanism vs. Posthumanism

Humanism has long placed the human being at the centre of everything. It emphasizes human agency, creativity, and consciousness as the main tools for understanding the world. In this view, humans are often seen in contrast to everything nonhuman—nature, animals, or machines.

But posthumanism challenges this idea. Instead of seeing the human as a separate and superior entity, posthumanist thinkers widen the lens. They question the idea of a single, ideal human subject and blur the lines between human and nonhuman.

Posthumanist geographers, for example, go in two directions at once:

·  They explore the differences within the category of the human (recognizing diversity, disability, hybridity, etc.),

·   And they examine what happens at the edges—where humans meet animals, machines, data, and the environment.

The "post" in posthumanism marks a break from the old humanist idea of humans as isolated and exceptional. Instead of putting humans on a pedestal, posthumanism looks at the interconnected systems we’re part of—biological, technological, and social.

Thinkers like Haraway and Wolfe show that humans aren’t standing outside of nature or technology—we are becoming with them. Our minds, bodies, behaviors, and even emotions are shaped by constant interaction with other species, machines, and the world around us.

In short, humanism says: “We are the center.”

Posthumanism asks: “What if we’re just one thread in a much bigger web?”

What Makes Us Human?

Humanism vs. Posthumanism

Humanism has shaped how the Western world defines what it means to be human. According to this view, a "human" is:

·         (a) Separate from nature—because our minds rule over our bodies.

·         (b) Unique—thanks to our ability to speak and reason.

·         (c) Superior—seen as the top of the animal kingdom.

Humanism draws a firm line between culture (human) and nature (everything else), and it has influenced philosophy, politics, education—you name it.

But posthumanism flips this script.

Instead of imagining humans as apart from nature, posthumanist thinkers see us as deeply connected to everything around us—our environment, animals, machines, even data systems. Posthumanist scholars don’t limit themselves to philosophy; they pull from fields like art, cybernetics, ecology, geology, music, and even quantum physics to rethink the human experience.

Here’s how posthumanism redefines the human:

·      (a) We're biologically, chemically, and physically tangled up with the world around us.

·   (b) We’re driven not just by logic or speech, but by emotions, habits, and interactions.

·   (c) There’s no “essence” that makes us purely human—we’re part of a larger, constantly evolving ecosystem.

Now, here’s the twist: Posthumanism doesn’t always agree on how much control or influence a human actually has. Are we changing the world, or is the world changing us—or both at once?

A perfect example comes from pop culture: the Mockingjay in The Hunger Games. It’s a hybrid creature, part natural, part engineered. And its meaning shifts over time—from a symbol of love and resistance to one of power and destruction. That’s posthumanism in action: showing how symbols, beings, and meanings are always in flux.

In the posthuman world, even things we once saw as nonhuman—rocks, animals, toys, machines—can become meaningful players. They’re not background; they’re part of the story.

So, maybe it’s time to stop asking, “What makes us human?” and start asking, “How are we human with everything else?”

Posthumanism vs. Transhumanism: Same or Different?

When we talk about the future of humanity, two big ideas pop up: Posthumanism and Transhumanism. They both deal with what’s next for us, but their views couldn’t be more different.

First off, transhumanism keeps humans front and centre. It basically says, “We’re not post-human yet, but with technology, we’re evolving.” Think of it as humanism 2.0—boosting our brains, bodies, and abilities with tech to become something beyond human. Humans are still the main players, but now tech is the ultimate sidekick.

Posthumanism? It flips that whole idea on its head. Critical posthumanism rejects the idea that humans are special or in control of nature. It says, “We’re not separate or superior; we’re tangled up with animals, machines, environments—everything.” It blurs the line between human and nonhuman, shaking up that old ‘us vs. them’ mentality.

 

What Do Posthumanist Critics Actually Do?

Posthumanist critics zoom in on the immediate, physical reality of things—how humans and nonhumans are connected through real, material relationships. They don’t just focus on people; they pay serious attention to the non-human actors in our world—animals, machines, environments, even objects—that often get ignored.

Their goal? To open up new ways of thinking about what it really means to be human. They question the usual, dominant ideas about humanity by digging into the history and lived experiences that shape our understanding of being human.

Posthumanism looks at how technology—and other forces beyond technology—are reshaping society, breaking down the old idea that humans are the centre of everything. Instead, humans become part of a bigger mix, alongside other beings and entities.

A major focus for posthumanists is to blur or challenge simple oppositions we take for granted: like human vs. nonhuman, natural vs. artificial, alive vs. non-alive, and biological vs. mechanical. The boundaries aren’t clear-cut anymore, and posthumanism wants us to realize that.

Narratology: Propp, Genette, and Aristotle on Storytelling

Narratology: Propp, Genette, and Aristotle on Storytelling

We all hear, watch, or read stories. Movies, books, fairy tales… They don’t just tell us what happens, but also how it is told. Narratology is the study of this how part. Just as Trauma Theory asks how the unspeakable finds voice in literature, narratology turns our attention to the how of storytelling itself. What structures hold a story together? Who speaks, when, and why? From Homeric epics to postmodern fiction, narratology examines the bones of narrative: its time, voice, perspective, and order.

Main Questions in Narratology:

• Who is telling the story? Is it a character or an outside narrator?
• When is the story told? After the events, or while they happen?
• What order is it in? From beginning to end, or does it jump in time?
• Whose eyes do we see through? Which character’s thoughts or feelings do we follow?

I want to give a simple example:

Imagine watching a movie. First, a child is talking. Then we go back in time to see what happened when they were younger.

That’s called a flashback.

Or in a book, a character tells the story but forgets things or tells them in a strange way. That’s an unreliable narrator.

What is Narratology? Understanding Stories and Plots

Narratology is the study of how stories are built and structured. It started as a part of structuralism, a theory that looks at the basic structures in culture and language, but it has grown into its own field. Narratology borrows some ideas and terms from language studies, which helps it explain stories better. At its core, narratology is all about stories. But it does not focus on understanding just one story or book. Instead, it looks at what a “story” really is, as an idea and a cultural practice.

One important idea in narratology is the difference between “story” and “plot.” The “story” means the actual events that happen, in the order they really happened. It starts at the beginning and moves forward without skipping anything.

The “plot” is different — it’s how those events are arranged and told in a narrative. Sometimes the plot doesn’t start at the beginning; it might start in the middle, then jump back to earlier events in a flashback. It can also include flash-forwards, which give hints about what will happen later. So, the plot is a way of presenting the story, not the story itself. Understanding this difference helps us see how stories are created and why they are told in certain ways. Narratology teaches us that stories are not just about what happens, but also about how those events are shared with us.

Different Terms for Story and Plot in Narratology

In narratology, the difference between 'story' and 'plot' is crucial. But the story of narratology itself is a bit messy because different groups like to use their own special terms for these ideas. For instance, David Lodge, a well-known scholar, prefers to use the Russian Formalist terms: fabula instead of 'story' and sjuzhet (pronounced "soojay") instead of 'plot'. This shows how the same concepts can have different names.

In North America, many narratology writers use the word 'story' as usual, but instead of 'plot', they often say discourse. This is smart because the 'plot' is not just about the order of events; it also includes things like style, viewpoint, and pace — basically, how the story is told or “packaged.” Another important figure, Gerard Genette, uses yet another set of terms: histoire (similar to 'story' or 'fabula') and récit (which means 'plot' or 'sjuzhet'). Therefore, while the ideas are similar, narratologists don’t always agree on the words. This variety in terminology shows how rich and complex the study of stories really is.

Aristotle’s Ideas About Stories: Characters and Actions

Aristotle, in his book Poetics, says that the most important parts of a story are character and action. He thinks we understand a character by what they do — their actions show who they really are.

He also talks about three important things in a story’s plot:

1.    Hamartia: This refers to a mistake or fault. In tragic stories, it is often a big flaw in the main character that causes problems or disaster.

2.  Anagnorisis: This is the moment when the main character realizes something important. It is like a “recognition” or a “big discovery” about themselves or the situation.

3.  Peripeteia: This means a sudden change or reversal in the story. Things turn around quickly, and the character’s fate changes a lot.

 

Vladimir Propp and the Shapes of Stories

Vladimir Propp was a Russian critic who studied Russian folk tales. He wanted to find common patterns and parts that appear again and again in these stories. In 1928, he wrote a book called The Morphology of the Folktale. The word “morphology” means the study of shapes or forms, so his book was about the structure of stories, not their history or meaning in society.

Propp found seven main roles or “spheres of action” in many folk tales:

1.     The Villain: The bad character who causes trouble or harm.

2.     The Donor: The person who gives the hero a special object or help needed to beat the villain.

3.     The Helper: Someone who helps the hero with their strength or cleverness.

4.     The Princess and Her Father: The princess is someone the hero wants to save or marry. Sometimes she is a victim.

5.  The Dispatcher: The person who sends the hero on the quest after the villain causes a problem.

6.     The Hero: The main character who goes on the journey or solves the problem.

7.     The False Hero: A character who pretends to be the hero and tries to take credit for the hero’s success.

Even though Propp studied Russian stories, he believed these roles are common in stories from all cultures and times. 

 

Gerard Genette and How Stories Are Told

Gerard Genette is a famous thinker in the field of narratology, especially structural narratology. He focused on how stories are told, not just what happens in the story. He explained five important parts of narration:

1. Narrative Mode

This is about how the story is shown or told:

• Mimesis means the story is shown by acting it out or "showing" things slowly, like in a play or movie.
• Diegesis means the story is told by a narrator who "tells" quickly, summarizing events.

2. Narrative Focalisation (Viewpoint)

This means from whose eyes we see the story:

• External focalisation means we only see what characters say and do, from outside their minds.
• Internal focalisation means we see what characters think and feel inside.
• Sometimes, the narrator can know everything about all characters (called zero focalisation).

3. Voice (Who Tells the Story)

Who is the narrator and where do they stand?

• Intra-diegetic narrators are inside the story.
• Extra-diegetic narrators are outside the story.
• If the narrator is a character in the story, they are called homo-diegetic.
• If the narrator is not a character, they are called hetero-diegetic.

4. Order

Stories are not always told in the order they happen. Sometimes, they jump back in time (flashbacks or analepsis) or forward (flashforwards or prolepsis).

5. Narrative Speed

This is about how fast or slow the story is told:

·         Pause: The story stops, and the narrator describes something in detail.

·         Scene: The story time and narration time match, like in a dialogue.

·         Summary: The story is told faster than it happened, in a shorter form.

·         Ellipsis: Some parts of the story are skipped entirely.

Genette’s ideas help us understand how authors make choices about telling stories. Why do they slow down, speed up, or skip parts? What effect do these choices have on us as readers?

Aristotle talked mostly about themes, Propp focused on plot and characters, and Genette shows us the “how” of storytelling — the narration itself. Together with other thinkers, they help us understand stories fully.

 What Do Narratologists Do?

1.     They study individual stories to find the common patterns that appear in all stories.

2.     Instead of focusing only on what the story is about (the content), they focus on how the story is told — the narrator and the act of telling.

3.     They take simple categories found in short stories and develop them to explain more complex, longer stories like novels.

4.     They focus more on actions and structure in the story rather than just characters and their motives.

5.     They enjoy finding connections between different stories, rather than only admiring a few unique or famous works.

Trauma’s Trace: War, Memory and Peace

Trauma’s Trace: War, Memory and Peace

I believe this theory is also closely related to us. Every person experiences emotions and reacts to events in different ways. Trauma Theory is, in my opinion, a highly valuable approach both on an individual and a societal level. It helps us understand the period, the people, the causes, the silences, and the unspoken truths. Whether it’s recent history or distant past, traumas leave permanent marks in the memory of individuals and societies alike. Seeing how these marks are reflected in literature makes this theory even more meaningful. Trauma theory does not just explore the essential world of individuals; it also examines the collective memory of societies. Wars, migrations, genocides, and other devastating events leave psychological scars alongside physical consequences. Literature can serve as a vessel and expression of these wounds. Often, traumas are not expressed directly but through fragmented narratives, gaps, and silences. Trauma theory listens precisely to these missing or repressed voices.

In truth, this theory concerns all of us. Everyone has gone through some form of trauma—sometimes without realising it, sometimes without being able to put it into words. And this is exactly where the healing power of literature comes into play. To write, to narrate, to understand—all of these are responses to trauma.

Trauma theory does not only ask “What happened?” It also allows us to ask questions like “How do we remember?”, “What do we suppress?”, and “Why do we speak now?”

I will begin the blog with a general introduction. Then, I would like to discuss the concepts of "trauma" and "traumatic events," explaining how trauma theory emerged. I will touch on its place in both individual and collective memory. After that, I will move on to how trauma is reflected in literature, exploring its relationship with literary works. Following this, I will focus on key concepts and the literary techniques used in trauma theory. Finally, I plan to conclude the blog with a personal reflection and overall commentary.

 Understanding Trauma Theory: Memory, Identity, and Literature

Trauma Theory is an interdisciplinary approach that explore the psychological and emotional effects of traumatic experiences on individuals and communities. It looks into how such events disturb ordinary cognitive and emotional processes, often resulting in long-lasting effects on memory, identity, and behaviour. In literary studies, trauma theory serves as a powerful lens to examine how literature represents trauma, giving voice to pain, loss, and the journey toward healing. Writers often use narrative to explore the unspeakable—what lies beneath language, buried in memory, and sometimes inaccessible to the conscious mind.

Origins of Trauma Theory

Trauma theory initially emerged from the studies of scholars who focused on the psychological wounds of Vietnam War veterans. These early explorations led to a broader understanding of trauma as a rupture in the mind’s protective shield, resulting in what is now recognized as Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD).

Traditional trauma interpretations, heavily influenced by Freudian psychoanalysis, framed trauma as something unpresentable, pathological, and silent. However, contemporary trauma scholars have expanded the field with more pluralistic and refined approaches. These newer perspectives move beyond essentialist views, considering how trauma functions across both personal and societal dimensions.

One significant expansion of the theory includes cultural trauma—a form of collective psychological damage that occurs when a group endures a devastating event. This type of trauma leaves permanent marks on group consciousness and influences the collective identity of communities, cultures, and even nations.

Defining Trauma and the Traumatic Event

Trauma is a sudden and overwhelming experience that deeply affects a person’s mind. It usually happens after a shocking or dangerous event, such as facing violence or the risk of death. This experience can shake the person’s beliefs and create a gap between who they were before the event and who they are after it. As a result, the person may feel afraid, confused, and emotionally hurt. A traumatic event often makes someone realize how fragile life is. It changes how they see the world and themselves. In literature, such events are often shown in a powerful way, highlighting the deep, often unspoken pain that trauma leaves behind.

The Origins of Trauma Theory

In the 19th century, psychology was not yet recognized as a serious science. Early mental health practitioners—often called “mad doctors” or “alienists”—struggled to gain credibility. To be heard, they had to anchor their ideas in biological or mechanical explanations, seeing mental illness as a sign of hereditary weakness or even degeneration—a fall back down the evolutionary ladder.

But a shift occurred with the arrival of dynamic psychology, a new perspective that gave more autonomy to the workings of the mind. In 1893, two Austrian physicians, Sigmund Freud and Joseph Breuer, challenged prevailing ideas in their essay “On the Psychical Mechanism of Hysterical Phenomena.” They proposed that hysteria wasn’t rooted in physical degeneration, but in psychical trauma—emotional wounds rooted in memory and experience.

According to Freud and Breuer, traumatic memories—especially those involving intense fear, shame, or pain—do not fade away. Instead, they linger in the unconscious, causing psychological symptoms. As Freud famously wrote, “Hysterics suffer mainly from reminiscences.” Their cure? A method Freud’s patient Bertha Pappenheim (known by the pseudonym “Anna O.”) would later call “the talking cure”—uncovering and expressing the hidden memory to relieve the symptom. Freud’s 1896 lecture “The Aetiology of Hysteria” went even further, controversially arguing that repressed sexual experiences lay at the root of hysteria. This claim ended his collaboration with Breuer and marked Freud’s deeper dive into the study of trauma. Yet Freud didn’t stop there. After the horrors of World War I, he returned to the idea of trauma—this time, in light of the phenomenon called “shell shock.” Soldiers returning from the trenches displayed signs of severe psychological distress: memory loss, flashbacks, nightmares, hallucinations. It wasn’t just fear; it was the haunting return of unprocessed horror. Freud introduced the concept of repetition compulsion—the idea that people unconsciously repeat traumatic experiences, attempting to master them. This became a cornerstone in how trauma was understood not only in individuals but also in cultures and societies.

In the late 20th century, Cathy Caruth intensified this idea in her seminal work Unclaimed Experience: Trauma, Narrative, and History (1996). She argued that trauma exists in a paradox: the most direct experience of a violent event may actually be experienced as an inability to fully grasp it. Trauma, she suggested, often arrives with a delay, creating gaps between what is experienced and what is understood.

Another key figure, Geoffrey Hartman, emphasized that trauma drives language to the symbolic. For him, trauma was a negative force that calls forth poetic expression—language struggling to capture what resists being spoken.

As Hartman wrote in 1995: “There is something very contemporary about trauma studies, reflecting our sense that violence is coming ever nearer, like a storm—a storm that may have already moved into the core of our being.”

Key Concepts of Trauma Theory

• Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD): A mental health condition caused by experiencing or witnessing traumatic events. Common symptoms include flashbacks, emotional numbness, and heightened anxiety.
• Traumatic Memory: Traumatic memories are often fragmented or suppressed. These memories can affect how a person recalls or makes sense of past experiences.
• Survivor Narratives: Stories that portray the experiences of individuals who have lived through trauma. These texts often focus on themes such as recovery, endurance, and the journey toward healing.
• Cultural Trauma: Traumas that impact whole communities or societies. Such events leave lasting marks on cultural identity and collective memory.

Literary Techniques in Trauma Narratives

• Fragmentation: Writers often use broken, non-linear structures to reflect the disoriented and fractured nature of traumatic experience.
• Unreliable Narration: Traumatized narrators may offer unclear or distorted accounts of events, showing how trauma affects perception and memory.
• Symbolism and Metaphor: Authors use powerful images and metaphors to express the emotional and psychological weight of trauma.

Examples from Literature

• Mary Shelley's Frankenstein (1818): Victor Frankenstein suffers emotional turmoil due to the consequences of his scientific obsession. The novel explores themes of guilt, isolation, and inner conflict.
• Charlotte Brontë's Jane Eyre (1847): Jane faces emotional abuse and neglect in her childhood, shaping her strong sense of self and resilience throughout the novel.
• Emily Brontë's Wuthering Heights (1847): Heathcliff carries the emotional scars of a traumatic childhood and unfulfilled love. His pain leads to obsession and revenge, showing how trauma can shape identity.
• Virginia Woolf's Mrs. Dalloway (1925): Septimus Warren Smith, a World War I veteran, suffers from what we now call PTSD. His story highlights the lasting impact of war on mental health and the experience of social alienation.
• Ian McEwan's Atonement (2001): Briony Tallis deals with guilt and regret after a false accusation changes lives forever. The novel explores trauma through memory, remorse, and the longing for redemption.

Today, in many parts of the world, war is not a distant memory but a daily reality—Ukraine, Palestine, the fragile borders between Pakistan and India, and the ever-burning wounds of terrorism in the Middle East. In these regions, people wake not to the sound of birds, but to the roar of jets, the cry of the injured, and the silence of those who did not survive the night.

What does a child in Gaza feel when the sky above her home glows red at midnight, not with fireworks, but with fire? How does a Ukrainian woman soldier carry the weight of both her rifle and the memory of her lost comrades? What remains in the soul of a Pakistani boy who sees border tensions not as a political issue, but as a daily uncertainty—will his father return from the market, or has the road turned into a battlefield again?

Years from now, these individuals may appear in stories, novels, testimonies. A Palestinian child, grown into adulthood, may write of the fear etched into every corner of his childhood, of dreams that ended with the sound of bombs, of laughter buried under rubble. A Ukrainian nurse, perhaps, will recall how she stitched bodies by candlelight, and stitched her heart closed, again and again, so it wouldn’t break in the middle of battle.

Trauma theory, then, becomes more than academic—it becomes a bridge. A way to reach across silence, across languages and cultures, and listen to what cannot be said directly. Literature, with its fragmented forms, unreliable voices, and poetic metaphors, gives voice to the unspeakable. It does not heal the wound—but it names it.