On humanism

I think this quote's amazing. Do we too often stamp science and pathology on human realities that belong to the realm of mystery? This is said by the narrator after a character explains that someone is "really not ready" to love her.

What was it about this unlovable century that convinced us we were, despite everything, eminently lovable as a people, as a species? What made us think that anyone who fails to love us is damaged, lacking, malfunctioning in some way? And particularly if they replace us with a god, or a weeping madonna, or the face of Christ in a ciabatta roll--then we call them crazy. Deluded. Regressive. We are so convinced of the goodness of ourselves, and the goodness of our love, we cannot bear to believe that there might be something more worthy of love than us, more worthy of worship.

--Zadie Smith, in White Teeth