The Posthumanist Summary

Chapter 1

In the first chapter, we learned that humanism came under attack in the 20th century by anti-humanist scholars, who critiqued the concept of the human as a white, male, rational figure. However, according to Braidotti, anti-humanists were more focused on deconstructing this notion than on proposing an alternative vision of what it means to be human.

For Braidotti, anti-humanist critiques revealed that human identity is shaped by relations—both material and immaterial. Historically, however, material relations have been undervalued, a point she seeks to redress.

A key concern for Braidotti is how this relational view of humanity reshapes subjectivity. But the posthuman, she argues, should also have profound implications for morality and knowledge.

Chapter 2

In Chapter 2, we return to Braidotti’s focus on materiality. She begins by emphasizing that a crucial aspect of the posthuman is its position in a post-Anthropocene world. Rather than placing humans at the top of a hierarchy, the posthuman perspective sees all life on a level playing field. This shift is grounded in Braidotti’s concept of Zoe, which describes the self-organizing force inherent in all living matter.

Braidotti notes that while "we" have struggled to cultivate a posthumanist sensibility for ethical purposes, capitalists have been remarkably adept at treating humans, animals, nature, and technology as interchangeable. There is, I think, an interesting parallel between Zoe and capital: like Zoe, capital—or the ability to reduce anything to a price—is a force that pervades all things. However, while Zoe elevates non-humans to the level of humans (e.g., through ethical treatment), capital does the opposite, reducing humans to the status of the non-human.

When it comes to subjectivity and the development of a posthuman sensibility, I would argue that we have already been restructured by capitalism’s own version of posthumanism. The widespread treatment of humans as resources suggests that, in many ways, we are already living within a posthumanist framework—just one shaped by market logic rather than ethical imperatives. Of course, people do still treat humans, animals, and nature as ends in themselves, but this often exists in tension with capitalism’s reductive tendencies.

This, I believe, presents a fundamental challenge to the broader project of developing a positive posthumanist sensibility: to break free from capitalism’s lens, people must act in ways that appear irrational within its logic. For instance, paying more for an ethically produced product only becomes "rational" when one steps outside the self-interested framework of capitalism. The increasing prevalence of loneliness, the static nature of our built environments, and the commodification of animals as products all shape our relational subjectivity in ways that make a Zoe-based perspective difficult to cultivate.

If we are to develop such a perspective, it seems we would need to radically restructure daily life—encouraging people to form relationships with non-humans, spend more time in nature, and live and work in close connection with others. Perhaps, then, the first steps toward a posthumanist ethics are as simple as getting more people to adopt pets, immerse themselves in natural environments, and engage in communal ways of living and working.

Chapter 3

There is a common fear that technology, especially when merged with the human, is something to be resisted. But Braidotti argues this has already happened. While bio-capital comes with its horrors, she urges us to focus on the generative potential of this entanglement—the death of the human. This death is not just metaphorical; in becoming cyborgs, the human as we know it ceases to exist. But Braidotti’s deeper point is that to see this transformation as affirmative and vital, we need a different conception of death—one that views life and death as a continuum, with death as a generative event.

Examples? The Arab Spring, sparked by a worker’s public suicide. Potlatch. The extinction of dinosaurs making way for other species. A felled tree turned into a table.

This chapter was difficult, but with rereading, it becomes more impactful. I’ve started feeling a deep connection to inanimate objects—seeing them, like myself, as matter shaped by historical trajectories. Developing a posthumanist sensibility feels more intuitive with objects than with humans.

Conclusion

What would a world look like if our sense of self, ethics, politics, and view of life and death were shaped by a posthumanist paradigm?

How do humanist and anti-humanist perspectives limit our understanding of the self? A posthumanist approach, like the growth mindset, might offer a more flexible and dynamic view of identity.

How do these perspectives constrain ethics? Humanist and anti-humanist ethics often fixate on what not to do rather than what to do. Maybe we need to make space for ethical ambiguity—if we accept that death is generative, then action, even if imperfect, becomes more viable. A choice that is 90% ethical might be enough.

How do these perspectives limit politics? Politics is where posthumanism’s impact is clearest. If we see power as distributed rather than centered in individuals, we can rethink political strategy. The American government’s system of distributed power could be seen as a posthumanist project—an attempt to move beyond monarchy as the closest embodiment of "the Human."

I’m leaving the book feeling more like an idiot, which is frustrating and makes it easy to dislike. But even if I don’t fully grasp the posthuman yet, I do agree that the human can’t be separated from violence—and that anti-humanism is too reductively negative.