3.75/5
CENTRAL RESEARCH QUESTION:
In Asad’s own words: “What is the connection between ‘the secular’ as an epistemic category and ‘secularism’ as a political doctrine? Can they be objects of anthropological inquiry? What might an anthropology of secularism look like?”
THESIS or THESES:
The political doctrine of secularism cannot be understood without studying how the secular, as an epistemic category and way of thinking the human, precedes and informs the development of political secularism. The present certainties on political secularism and religion must be traced back to their previous contingencies.
SUMMARY OF ARGUMENT(S):
[This very long summary is demonstrative of my hope to finally understand, in all of its intricacies and foibles, this book.]
In conversation with Charles Taylor, Asad’s introduction in Formations immediately addresses a core concern of his study: against Taylor’s idea of a secular democracy as a space in which persuasion and negotiation are encouraged and incubated, Asad is quick to argue that modern liberal governance does not deal in persuasion and that secularism is intertwined with eruptions of violence and intolerance in the capitalist West. In other words, Asad echoes Walter Benjamin’s argument that a secular state and its laws never seek “to eliminate violence since [their] object is always to regulate violence” (8). Whereas as apologists of liberal democracies and political secularism regard the religious and its actions as encroachments, at times violent, on the sphere of secularism, Asad demonstrates that secular and religious state-actors alike often do not need a textual or scriptural motive for their violence (9-12). Prior to concluding his introductory chapter, Asad demonstrates that his anthropology of secularism, insofar as it more than a pseudoscientific method of fieldwork, is curious about how the doctrines and practices of secularism impacted human “sensibilities, attitudes, assumptions, and behaviors” (17).
Differentiating his approach to the secular from a Frankfurt school styled inquiry which sought to locate a violent myth at the core of the secular, Asad traces the practical consequences of the use of the word myth and how the word develops into modern oppositions of “belief and knowledge, reason and imagination, history and fiction, symbol and allegory, natural and supernatural, sacred and profane” (23). In doing so, Asad contends that these binaries do not come with an essence that then are translated into the essences of the secular and the religious, but that such terms in the pre-modern world were instable and multiple in their use and thus in their meanings. Of course, Asad does insist on the interdependence of political secularism (which is explicit in its genesis and form) and the more ambiguated word and concept of the secular. Otherwise put, Asad illustrates how new discourse practices and grammars replaced previous ones, such as Greek mythos losing its heroic connotations and in the early modern era becoming the object of bourgeois aesthetic appreciation, synonymous with false, and understood to shape certain possibilities and actions (26-30). However, unlike the term myth, which enjoyed a near univocity of meaning in the early modern and modern world, the terms and concepts of sacred and profane were multiple in their pre-modern and early modern usage, it was only upon European colonialism (that is, the development of secularism) in which they took an essentialized moral, political, legal, and ethical function (32-37). After Asad provides a brief note on “old themes of historical theology and of the sacralization of history to focus on the project of historical authenticity” (41), he demonstrates how a presumed linearity of secular history and de-mything is the canon of all time.
Asad shifts gears into a complex discussion on myth, poetry, and secular sensibility. Throughout this discussion, Asad argues that romantic poets and novelists, to the likes of Elliot, Joyce, and Browning, participated in and formed a mythic method that aimed to impose a unity on the stratified individual of modernity, aimed to express sincerity of intention and ground secular experience. Such structural and grounding European Romantic use of myth serves a different function than it does in the work of Adonis, in which myth is plural, anarchic, and figural (52-56). Concluding the chapter, Asad engages with the liberal political theorist Margaret Canovan, who argues that liberalism will benefit from acknowledging that its public virtues are dependent on political myth. Canovan argumes that liberals of the bourgeois revolutions appealed to a mythological notion of nature as sociologized, of nature as that which does not really exists but nonetheless grants inalienable rights to humans. Canovan claims that contemporary liberals should also appeal to this myth of nature and reason, as abstract pro-liberal arguments (e.g., Rawls) are ineffective. In other words, according to Canovan “the essence of the myth of liberalism—its imaginary construction—is to assert human rights precisely because they are not built into the structure of the universe” (59). Against Canovan, Asad argues that such appeal to myth, to have the light of liberalism overtake the darkness of the world, is already a justification and explanation of the violence sparked in the name of universalizing reason (60-61). This secular redemption of humanity and history is not, perhaps counterintuitively, to be understood as essentially Christian; as secular redemption and Christian redemption have different politics, morals, and understandings of suffering. Alas, to demonstrate how secular views of the secular differ from one another, Asad turns to Paul de Man’s “The Rhetoric of Temporality” and Walter Benjamin’s The Origin of the German Tragic Drama (62-66). Whereas De Man maintains the secular as the real, Benjamin does not. That is, De Man’s secular invites a certainty, an unmasking of the apparent that reveals the real, that Benjamin’s uncertainty disavows.
The second chapter constitutes Asad’s aim “to consider how, by whom, and in what context the concept of agency is defined and used if one is to get a better understanding of the ways ‘the religious’ and ‘the secular’ are continuously made and remade. Shifts in that concept, and in its connection with ideas of responsibility and consciousness, are crucial to revisions in our understanding of the religious-and therefore of the secular” (99). Asad also figures questions of agency in relation to pain. He does so to demonstrate how religious practices of pain are imagined to hinder history-making and self-empowerment, to be progressively replaced by the achievement of pleasure, and thus enable and justify certain secular notions of reason and agency. In tracing how categories such as resistance presume a natural and transhistorical human subject who rationally pursues their self-interest, Asad asserts that not every human action is undertaken by a competent agent with clear intentions (72). Such a point allows Asad to think of moral agency and action as propelled by habits and the environment one occupies. Rather than redefining and reinscribing agency, Asad, per usual, looks at how usages of the term change throughout historical contexts such as acting and religious history (73-79). Asad then goes on to make a similar point about pain: often times people who suffer are thought to be objects robbed of agency; however, Asad contends that this opinion is wrong. The experience of pain is physical and cultural, those who experience pain do so relation with others: “The ability to live such relationships over time transforms pain from a passive: experience into an active one, and thus defines one of the ways of living sanely in the world” (84). Using this social theory of pain, Asad turns to showing how martyrdom, childbirth, and Islamic rituals of devotion each testify to the experience of pain within a tradition, a social context (85-92). Less concerned with how people attribute meaning to pain, Asad develops the importance behind pain as communicable, active (rather than passive and objectifying), and social. Such an understanding of pain antagonizes secular progress narratives that hold non-religious ways of life as an agential and collective pursuit of pleasure. Additionally, it shows how pain serves moral, communal, and epistemological potentials. This point is solidified by Asad reading Oedipus as paradigmatic of secular notions of responsibility for one’s actions (and thus punishment for those actions which harm).
The themes of pain and agency are carried on, via a study on cruelty and torture, in the third chapter. In this chapter, Asad argues that the history of torture is part of a secular story of how one becomes truly human, that the sufferer becomes referential to the nonhuman, and that the prohibition of torture conflicts with other secular values such as the rights of individuals to choose and the duty of the state to maintain security (101). In his discussion of two books, GR Scott’s The History of Torture and D. Rejali’s Torture and Modernity, Asad analogizes two perspectives on cruelty: the state is best equipped to eliminate cruelty and that torture is integral to the functioning of the state (102-107). This leads Asad to analyzing a paradox: why are modern liberal states both participants in torture and resolutely against justifying torture? Such a paradox is addressed through Asad’s discussion on colonial law and practice. Through European colonial law, new human subjects are being made, subjects who are civilized. However, in this process, pain and the infliction of suffering was to be both useful and merited, it was to achieve the ends of civilization. That is, civilization has its victims, cruelty must have its utilities, it must be measured and not gratuitous (109-113). Thus, as Asad states, Israel, which Asad categorizes as a ‘humanizing society,’ engages in acts of applying ‘physical and psychological pressure,’ but does not overindulge in doing so. Relatedly, Asad highlights how cruel and vicious modern weapons contradict the measured and analytic idea of pain that liberal democracies espouse. In other words: “So how can the calculated cruelties of modern battle be reconciled with the modern sensibility regarding pain? Precisely by treating pain as a quantifiable essence. As in state torture, an attempt can be made to measure the physical suffering inflicted in modern warfare in accordance with the proportionality of means to ends” (117). This contradiction, perhaps unsurprisingly, opens a conversation on sadomasochism. Throughout this conversation, Asad asserts that pain is only permissible when it is in accord with a particular concept of being human, one that is private, in consent, and autonomous (118-124).
Continuing with his idea of ‘humanizing’ and ‘redeeming’ history and its subjects, Asad’s fourth chapter, which is arguable the most theoretically and historically dense chapter, maintains that subjects can be violated in some ways as citizens of a given state (e.g., military causalities and capitalism), but cannot be violated in other ways insofar as they are conceived as having inalienable natural rights (e.g., torture and slavery). I take it that Asad makes this differentiation to demonstrate that inalienable human rights (a language which developed during the transatlantic slave trade in Portugal and the Netherlands) are only applicable insofar as they interact with how liberal democratic states regard them as being a citizen or not. That is, the discourse of human rights proffers a certain idea of what is involved in becoming human in a secular state (139-140). Through a juxtaposition of Malcolm X’s use of human rights language and Martin Luther King Jr.’s use of religious and prophetic language, Asad presents how supposedly universal or particular languages are both dependent on certain cultural milieus and political moments (140-148). After a commentary on and critique of Martha Nassbaum’s Aristotelian notion of the human (one highly detached from history) and the relation between the human and the nonhuman, Asad concludes his chapter by maintaining that the idea of the human as a self-owning subject is inevitability going to be complicated by forces of the market, class struggle, technological development, and legal proceedings (150-158). In this way, human rights become floating signifiers that can be whimsically attached to various subjects for disparate reasons.
Readers of Asad’s work are likely familiar with his general comments on Muslims in Europe and his particular comments on Muslims in France. Asad’s fifth chapter is paradigmatic of his work on this topic. This understanding of Muslims as a minority presence (and, paradoxically, absence) in Europe owes its genesis not to supposed Muslim absolutism, but European conceptions of state, civilization, and culture. Muslims, Asad powerfully argues, are excluded from the idea and identity of Europe (160-170). This idea and identity of Europe both represses the violence internal to it (e.g., Nazis) and views itself as a non-porous, self-contained entity whose influences have not been external (i.e., from the Turks and others from the Middle East). Europe, as a civilization and culture, at once immune from the influence of the Arab and the Jew, has reconstructed the world “in its own Faustian image” (170). Of course, such an image is historical false, as Europe’s influences—intellectual, technological, cultural—have often come from the outside. As the borders of Europe shift, Asad’s question, “can Muslims be represented in Europe,” leads him to his subsequent argument (172). That is, Asad argues that if Muslims continue to be represented as minorities within Europe, then they will have minimal political success and representation. Or, in his own words, “The ideology of political representation in liberal democracies makes it difficult if not impossible to represent Muslims as Muslims” (173). In lieu of taking up a tradition of liberal political theory that regards Muslims in Europe as a minority, Asad, using William Connolly’s concept of decentralized pluralism, a concept that both embodies a “continuous readiness to deconstruct historical narratives” and calls for multiple, overlapping, and non-oppositional social and religious identities, demarcates a way forward (177). In other words, there are only minorities and Muslims, as one of many minorities, should be able to find institutional representation and power. Asad then ends the chapter by showing how John Milbank’s idea of complex gothic space and heterogenous time reduce nationalist practices and identities and permit a decentralized pluralism (178-180).
Turning to the secularization thesis that has attracted much attention over the past several decades, Asad’s sixth chapter is a consideration of how this thesis interact with issues of nationalism. Beginning with a thoughtful disagreement with Jose Casanova (if religion is not privatized in the modern world, then how it is the case that religious people do not participate in politics proper?), Asad then argues that “only religions that have accepted the assumptions of liberal dis- course ate being commended, in which tolerance is sought on the basis of a distinctive relation between law and morality” (183). Muslims, in their refusal to disconnect law from morality, are thought to not be fit participants for a Habermasian public sphere. That is, Muslims, like most people, don’t engage in public debate for the hell of it, but because they have vest moral and ethical interests and hopes they’d like to see politically and socially realized. As such, “from the point of view of secularism, religion has the option either of confining itself to private belief and worship or of engaging in public talk that makes no demands on life” (199). Asad then asks, as many since have, if nationalism can be understood as a secularized religion. His answer is no. Reason being that he does not think symbolic functions within national life are enough to constitute it as a secularized religion (189). Asad demands that we look at differences, rather than correspondences, between religion and nationalism. Such a look at the differences allows the scholar and layperson alike to not think of the secular as progressively new content of a previous religious form (191). Ending his chapter, Asad asks the converse question if Islamism should be regarded as nationalism. His answer is no. Reason being that Islam has historically differentiated, quite significantly, between community and nation.
In a long final chapter, which I only briefly summarize, Asad looks at secularization in Egypt and its recent relegation of shari’a law to the sphere of ‘personal status law.’ Rather than looking at this as a secularizing trend in which religion is simply demarcated into a smaller sphere than it once was, Asad demonstrates how such relegation of shari’a is a reconceptualization and replacement of ethics and politics. This replacement and reconceptualization of shari’a, indeed this formation of the secular in Egypt, is a specific understanding of shari’a as distinct and not related to the embodied sunna, the way of the Prophet. As Asad says, the Egyptian government “presupposes a very different conception of ethics from the one embedded in the classical shari’a” (209). Secularization is not just a limiting of religious power and presence, but a particular way of understanding religious practice and belief.
CRITICISM:
This is a massive question: is Asad too genealogy-pilled? At the end of the day, is there really no essence to religion? I, as much as anyone else, appreciate the impressive genealogical inquiry that Asad engages in, but is there no essence behind these words? Even a pragmatic essence, if you will? Similarly, does a secular episteme only produce secularism? That is, does atheism always become liberal, owing to their common genealogical origins?
Unrelatedly, I do think that Asad understates the role sadism plays in the development of modern politics. Gratuitous violence is the name and game of modernity and Asad’s insistence upon modern preference for calculated violence overlooks the presence and importance of gratuitous violence.
I read Asad as excusing Christianity in his critique of the secular. If the secular is neither neither continuous with nor a break from the religious, then is Christianity not impugned in his critique of the secular? This is a significant issue in the work that I haven’t resolved. It also, perhaps, contextualizes his appreciation for John Milbank and religious conservatives.