“Humanity” comes from the Latin humanĭtas, which referred not only to belonging to the human species, but also to kindness, culture, and compassion. It is related to humanus, meaning “human,” and stands in opposition to inhumanus, one who lacks refinement of spirit. But there is an even deeper origin: humanus derives from humus, meaning “earth,” the soil from which the human being is drawn. From this root also comes humilis, “humble,” reminding us of the fragile and earthly nature of human beings. In this sense, humanity is not merely a biological condition, but a moral and relational quality, rooted in the awareness of our limits.
In the context of narrative medicine, the term takes on an even deeper meaning. Humanity allows us to see the patient not just as a bearer of illness, but as a person. It is the lens through which suffering is recognized and welcomed. If authenticity is about self-expression, humanity is about mutual recognition: I see you because I listen to you, I believe you, I respect you. This implies a kind of narrative humility—the willingness of the doctor or healthcare professional to welcome the story of the other, allowing themselves to be moved by their fragility. In this sense, the ability to listen is already a form of care.
This perspective is closely tied to the ethics of care, which places the relationship at the center. Philosopher Martha Nussbaum has emphasized how vulnerability is an essential component of being human. It is not a flaw to be corrected, but a condition to be embraced. Humanity is manifested precisely in the ability to stand beside someone, to recognize oneself in the other, even in their suffering. To care, then, is not only to apply knowledge, but to enter into relationship with those who are fragile—with humilitas.
But this humanity can be threatened. In healthcare, haste, standardization, and technicalism risk reducing the patient to a clinical case. To recover humanity in care means returning to see the person in their wholeness: body, mind, emotions, and story. Just like informed consent—which is not merely a formal act but a moment of mutual recognition—humanity, too, requires time, shared language, and presence.
It also requires humility: the caregiver’s ability not to position themselves as superior, but as a participatory witness to the story of another. Narrative medicine teaches us that to heal also means to allow oneself to be touched: by stories, by fears, by hopes. Humanity is not only something we give—it is also something we receive.
To speak of humanity in healthcare is not rhetorical. It is a political and cultural act. It means asking ourselves: how do we want to be treated? How do we want to treat others? What space do we give to fragility and empathy?
Humanity is what remains when everything else is missing. It is what makes us feel seen, even at our most vulnerable. And it reminds us that care—before being knowledge—is relationship, rooted in the common ground of being human.
Bibliography:
- Vocabolario Treccani – voce “umanità” https://www.treccani.it/vocabolario/umanita
- Martha C. Nussbaum (2006) – Frontiers of Justice: Disability, Nationality, Species Membership Harvard University Press
- Rita Charon – Narrative Medicine: Honoring the Stories of Illness (2006)
- Joan Tronto (1993) – Moral Boundaries: A Political Argument for an Ethic of Care