[Reader-list] Talal Asad interview
Ravi Sundaram
ravis at sarai.net
Wed Oct 10 00:03:02 IST 2001
Talal Asad is the author of the well-regarded, "Genealogies of Religion :
Discipline and Reasons of Power in Christianity and Islam" Johns Hopkins
Univ Pr; 1993, This is a longish and dense interview with him , somewhat
academic, but a reflexive piece in this time where Islam which has a rich
diverse history of contradictory practices has been reduced to the image of
terror and intolerance. The interview took place a few years ago, but
remains useful even today.
Another wonderful resource on the history of Islam is Marshall Hodgson
classic 3 vol Venture of Islam (University of Chicago Press)
Ravi
interview
Talal Asad
modern power and the reconfiguration of religious traditions
Saba Mahmood
Contemporary politico-religious movements, such as Islamism, are often
understood by social scientists as expressions of tradition hampering the
progress of modernity. But given the recent intellectual challenges posed
against dualistic and static conceptions of modernity/tradition, and calls
for parochializing Western European experiences of modernity, do you think
the religio-political movements (such as Islamism) force us to rethink our
conceptions of modernity? If so, how?
Well, I think they should force us to rethink many things. There has been a
certain amount of response from people in Western universities who are
interested in analyzing these movements. But many of them still make
assumptions that prevent them from questioning aspects of Western
modernity. For example, they call these movements "reactionary" or
"invented," making the assumption that Western modernity is not only the
standard by which all contemporary developments must be judged, but also
the only authentic trajectory for every tradition. One of the things the
existence of such movements ought to bring into question is the old
opposition between modernity and tradition, which is still fashionable. For
example, many writers describe the movements in Iran and Egypt as only
partly modern and suggest that their mixing of tradition and modernity
that accounts for their "pathological" character. This kind of description
paints Islamic movements as being somehow inauthentically traditional on
the assumption that "real tradition" is unchanging, repetitive, and
non-rational. In this way, these movements cannot be understood on their
own terms as being at once modern and traditional, both authentic and
creative at the same time. The development of politico-religious movements
ought to force people to rethink the uniquely Western model of secular
modernity. One may want to challenge aspects of these movements, but this
ought to be done on specific grounds. It won't do to measure everything by
grand conceptions of authentic modernity. But that's precisely the kind of
a priori thinking that many people indulge in when analyzing contemporary
religious movements.
It seems that you are using the term tradition differently here than it is
commonly understood in the humanities and social sciences. Even the idea of
"hybrid societies/cultures," which has gained ascendancy in certain
intellectual circles, implies a coexistence of modern and traditional
elements without necessarily decentering the normative meaning of these
concepts.
Yes, many writers do describe certain societies as hybrids, part modern and
part traditional. I don't agree with them, however. I think that one needs
to recognize that when one talks about tradition, one should be talking
about, in a sense, a dimension of social life and not a stage of social
development. In an important sense, tradition and modernity are not really
two mutually exclusive states of a culture or society but different aspects
of historicity. Many of the things that are thought of as modern belong to
traditions which have their roots in Western history. A changing tradition
is often developing rapidly but a tradition nevertheless. When people talk
about liberalism as a tradition, they recognize that it is a tradition in
which there are possibilities of argument, reformulation, and encounter
with other traditions, that there is a possibility of addressing
contemporary problems through the liberal tradition. So one thinks of
liberalism as a tradition central to modernity. How is it that one has
something that is a tradition but that is also central to modernity?
Clearly, liberalism is not a mixture of the traditional and the modern. It
is a tradition that defines one central aspect of Western modernity. It is
no less modern by virtue of being a tradition than anything else is modern.
It has its critics, both within the West and outside, but it is perhaps the
dominant tradition of political and moral thought and practice. And yet
this is not the way in which most social scientists have talked about
so-called "traditional" societies/cultures in the non-European world
generally, and in the Islamic world in particular. So this is partly what I
mean when I say that we must rethink the concept of tradition. In this
sense, I think, we can regard the contemporary Islamic revival as
consisting of attempts at articulating Islamic traditions that are adequate
to the modern condition as experienced in the Muslim world, but also as
attempts at formulating encounters with Western as well as Islamic history.
This doesn't mean that they succeed. But at least they try in different ways.
In discussing different historical experiences of modernity, are you
suggesting that there are also different kinds of modernities? There is a
certain centrality to the project of modernity that scholars like Foucault
have described and analyzed. How does one reconcile the European model of
modernity, that modernization theorists and their critics alike pose, with
different historical and cultural experiences of modernity?
In the first place, given that we are situated in contemporary Western
society, and given that we are in a world in which "the West" is hegemonic,
the term modernity already possesses a certain positive valence. Many of
its opponents-- for example, the so-called postmodernists--to some extent
have a defensive strategy towards what they think of as the central values
of modernity. Very few postmodernist critics of modernity would be willing
to argue against social equality, free speech, or individual
self-fashioning. In fact, the very term "postmodernity" incorporates
"modernity" as a stage in a distinct trajectory. So it may be a tactical
matter in some cases to argue that there are multiple forms of modernity
rather than contrasting modernity itself with something else. In other
words, the equation of a specific Western history (which is specific and
particular by definition) with something that at the same time claims to be
universal and has become globalized is something that to my mind isn't
sufficiently well thought out. An ideological weight is given to modernity
as a universal model, even when it is merely a form of Westernization.
I think that at one level there is the problem of conceptualizing modernity
as a term that refers to a whole set of disparate tendencies, attitudes,
traditions, structures, and practices--some of which may be integrally
related and some not. At times, people think of modernity as a certain kind
of social structure (industrialization, secularization, democracy, etc.),
and sometimes as a psychological experience (e.g., Simmel on "The
Metropolis and Modern Life"), or as an aesthetic posture (e.g., Baudelaire
on "The Painter of Modern Life"). Sometimes modernity is thought of as a
certain kind of a philosophical project (in the Habermasian sense) and
sometimes as a post-Kantian universal ethics. Do they all necessarily hang
together? There is an implicit assumption that they do--that just because
certain aspects of "modernity" ("modern" science, politics, ethics, etc.)
have gone together historically in parts of Europe, all of these things
must and should go together in the rest of the world as well. A curious
kind of functionalism is actually at work in this assumption. Whereas in
other contexts social scientists have become skeptical of functionalism,
this doesn't seem to be the case here.
Part of the problem is deciding whether "modernity" is a single tradition,
a singular structure, or an integrated set of practical knowledges. And if
things go together, then does this mean that what we have is a moral
imperative or a pragmatic fit? In other words: what criteria are we using
when we call a person, a way of life, or a society, "modern"? Where do
these criteria come from? Are they simply descriptive or normative? And if
they are descriptive, then do they relate to some immutable essence? If
they are normative, then on what authority? Such questions need to be
worked through before we can decide meaningfully whether there are
varieties of modernity and, if there is only one kind of modernity, then
whether it is separable from Westernization or not. I have not encountered
a satisfactory answer to this question, either by social scientists or
philosophers.
Now, when Foucault talks about modernity, he is speaking quite specifically
about a development in Western history. He is really not interested in the
history of the non-Western world, of the West's encounter with that
heterogeneous world. And he is not interested in different traditions. As
you know, his emphasis is on breaks rather than continuities. It is
possible to think of these breaks, of course, as occurring in certain kinds
of continuities, and to some extent Foucault understood that. Otherwise, he
would not have pushed his investigation into modernity back to early
Christian and Greek beliefs and practices. This inquiry brought him to a
conception of the Western tradition, with all its ruptures and breaks,
although he didn't think systematically about "tradition" as such.
You also argue in your book Genealogies of Religion that modernity, by
definition, is a teleological project in its desire to remake history, the
nation, and the future. You argue that "actions seeking to maintain the
local status quo are therefore always resisting the future." Could you
please speak to what you meant by this?
I meant that ironically, of course. I think what I said was that actions
that only maintain the status quo--to conserve daily life--are not thought
of as "making history," however long such efforts take. And movements which
could be branded as "reactionary" were by definition trying "to resist the
future" or "to turn the clock back." The point is that the advocates and
defenders of Western modernity are explicitly committed to a certain kind
of historicity, a temporal movement of social life in which "the future"
pulls us forward. The idea is that, in some measure, "the future"
represents something that can be anticipated and should be desired, and
that at least the direction of that desirable future is known. The "future"
becomes a kind of moral magnet, out there, pulling us toward itself. On the
one hand, humans are thought of as having the freedom to shape their own
(collective) destiny. On the other hand, "history," as an autonomous
movement, has its own momentum, and those who act on a different assumption
are thought of as being either morally blameworthy or practically
self-defeating--or both. The concept of history-making relates to this
grand and somewhat contradictory idea. And all societies--including non-
Western ones--are judged by the phrases you quote. I briefly mentioned the
frequent derogatory references to the situation in what has happened and is
happening in Iran, to cargo cults, etc. My point is not that one should not
criticize--or even denounce--what has happened and is happening in Iran,
say. My point is that most people who do so are also employing a very
peculiar notion of "history" and "history-making."
In discussing the relationship between Western and non-Western experiences
of modernity, two different traditions of argument come to mind: the school
of dependency theory in the 1970s and post-colonial theory more recently,
of which the Subaltern Studies project from South Asia is an important
part. It seems that whereas the dependency theorists had emphasized how
Western modernity had effected and arrested the development of non-Western
societies, post-colonial theorists (like Chatterjee, Prakash, and
Chakrabarty) focus on the cultural and historical specificity of
non-Western experiences of modernity. Chatterjee, for example, makes the
point that privileging the Western-European liberal experience often
occludes conceptions of polity and community that are an integral part of
non-Western societies but remain untheorized in both radical and liberal
analyses of modernity. How do you see the relationship between these two
traditions of thought and their implications for understanding culturally
and historically specific experiences of modernity?
Well, of course, the West is what it is in large part because of its
relationship to the non-West, and vice versa. And if by Western modernity
one means the economies, politics, and knowledges characteristic of
European countries, then much of this is incomprehensible without reference
to Europe's links with the non-European world. In its own way, this point
was made by the so-called dependency theorists concerned with Third-World
development. But one must not exaggerate this point. What I mean is that
there are certain experiences that have nothing to do with the
West/non-West relationship. After all, the term "non-West" is simply a
negative term. It's important to keep this relationship in mind, but in
itself it tells us very little about all the things it covers. There are
experiences that have to do with other kinds of relationships, such as the
relationship of a given people to a distinctive past.
I think whether certain societies can or cannot develop economically was an
argument that was carried on by dependency theorists on the basis of
certain economic models that had certain indicators, so that one was clear
what the aim was supposed to be. So, many of the people who argued against
modernization theorists said that economic development was not possible in
the peripheral countries given their links with the core capitalist
countries. People who belonged to the dependency tradition tended to argue
over whether it made sense to try to break those links, skip the capitalist
stage, and go straight for socialist development, or to make a strategic
alliance with national capitalists, which was necessary for full economic
development. (This was a repeat, of course, of the old Bolshevik/Menshivik
dispute.) But the argument, anyway, was not about where all the countries
should end up. The common assumption was that there were several roads to
Rome but there was, of course, only one Rome. When one got to moral and
cultural issues, this assumption became more difficult to sustain.
Whereas in the West political debate about liberal-democratic states more
or less takes for granted where things are now, discussion about the Third
World tends to be about where politics and morality ought to be heading.
This is what needs to be noticed. Even when it is agreed that there are all
kinds of changes that would improve conditions in Western societies (urban
poverty, racism, etc.), it is usually assumed that this is the best of all
possible political systems. The claim seems to be: yes, we do have racism,
but where isn't there racism? At least we in the West have a system in
which some kind of political fight for racial equality is possible, whereas
other political systems don't allow this. The assumption, you see, is that
even if the changes needed to eliminate the massive poverty,
institutionalized racism, international power-play, etc. were effected, it
would still be the same political system. And if a radically new future is
desired, it is assumed that this is reachable only through the present
Western "modern" system. Western "modernity" is, therefore, thought to be
pregnant with positive futures in a way that no other cultural condition
is. That wasn't explicit in the old argument about dependency, because the
focus there was on the conditions for a productive industrial economy,
which would, therefore, increase the possibilities of general wealth and
material welfare. That was what "modernity" meant to dependency theorists
(or to those who deliberately used this concept). Now it tends to mean a
system of government (representative democracy, periodic elections,
parliamentary pressure groups, continuous polls, controlled media
presentations, etc.) and individualism in morality, law, aesthetics, etc.
The emphasis on the individual as voter, moral personality, and
consumer--whether of state or market goods--is certainly central to the
liberal version of modernity. But so, too, is a faith in a boundless
future. (That is not, by the way, the same thing as saying "a faith in
limitless growth," which is not fashionable anymore.)
Chatterjee is absolutely right in pointing out that liberal modernity
doesn't pay adequate attention to the idea of community. That has been the
complaint of socialists (and of conservatives, of course). Even some
liberals who were influenced by Hegel argued against unfettered
contractarian individualism (Green and Bosanquet, for example). But I think
we need to historicize the idea of community. At any rate, we shouldn't
allow ourselves to be locked into the binary "individualism versus
communitarianism" argument. This confrontation of principles sounds
fundamental only because the language of liberalism has already acquired a
hegemonic status.
Are different options really possible in this matter? Or will today's
powerful countries force the rest of the world to adopt the only "sensible"
and "decent" model--i.e., political, economic, and moral liberalism? I
don't know. It's one thing to say that we ought not to accept their
definition of "modernity" as binding on us. It's another thing to claim
that we possess the material and moral resources to resist effectively and
to create our own options--regardless of whether we wish to call these
options "modern" or not.
In studying specific cultures, you have emphasized the necessity of using
theoretical concepts that are relevant to the practices and assumptions of
those cultures. Your work on religion, in this regard, is similar to the
subalternist historian Dipesh Chakrabarty's work on Indian working-class
movements, insofar he has criticized the concept of class consciousness in
its inability to account for non-liberal solidarities and alliances that
are not hegemonically structured by the ideology of liberal-humanism. To
what extent do you think the task of analyzing politico-religious movements
(such as Islamism) is hampered by a similar problem of deploying inadequate
conceptual categories?
One of the valuable things that post-modernism has done is to help us be
skeptical of "grand narratives." Once we get out of the habit of seeing
everything in relation to the universal path to the future which the West
has supposedly discovered, then it may be possible to describe things in
their own terms. This is an eminently anthropological enterprise, too. The
anthropologist must describe ways of life in appropriate terms. To begin
with, at least, this means terms intrinsic to the social practices,
beliefs, movements, and traditions of the people being referred to and not
in relation to some supposed future the people are moving towards. These
"intrinsic terms" are not the only ones that can be used-- of course not.
But the concepts of people themselves must be taken as central in any
adequate understanding of their life. This is why Chakrabarty rightly
criticizes the use of categories, such as class-consciousness, where they
don't make sense to the people themselves.
I repeat: That's not to say that we should never employ terms that don't
immediately make sense to the people being studied. The trouble with using
notions like "class-consciousness" for explanatory purposes is that you
take for granted that a particular kind of historical change is normative.
Political opposition, political activity is "more developed" if it is
organized in terms of class-consciousness and "less developed" if it is
not. Marxism tends to see class politics as essential to modernity and
"modernity" as the most developed form of civilized society.
Once we set that grand narrative, that normative history, aside, we can
start by asking not, "What should such-and-such a people be doing?" but,
"What do they aim at doing? And why?". We can learn to elaborate that
question in historically specific terms. This certainly applies to our
attempts to understand politico-religious movements, especially Islamic
movements. It is foolish, I think, to ask: "Why are these movements not
moving in the direction History requires them to?". But that is precisely
what is being asked when scholars say: "What leads the people in these
movements to behave so irrationally, in such a reactionary manner?".
Given our discussion about polity and community, in what ways do you think
the contemporary Islamist movements represent a vision of polity that is
distinct from regnant conceptions of the nation, political debate, and
consensus?
A different vision of polity. That is an aspect of Islamist thinking that
requires much more original work. I feel that there is a need to rethink
the nature of the political in a far more radical way than Islamic
movements seem to have done. To a great extent, there has been an
acceptance of the modernizing state (and the model of the Western state)
and a translation of its projects into Islamist terms. Often Islamists
simply subscribe to the parameters of the modern nation- state, adding only
that it be controlled by a virtuous body of Muslims. A much more radical
idea is needed before we can say that Islamists have a vision of a
distinctive kind of polity.
However, I don't want to exaggerate the homogeneity of these movements.
There have been some interesting schematic attempts at rethinking. For
example, the Tunisian Islamic leader Ghannushi, who is banned from Tunis,
has recently argued for the political institutionalization of multiple
interpretations of the founding texts. In one sense, the
institutionalization of divergent interpretations is already a part of the
Islamic tradition (both Sunni and Shi`a). But, if I understand him
correctly, Ghannushi is trying to politicize that traditional arrangement
and make it more fluid, more open to negotiation. Starting from the classic
distinction between the essential body of the text, on the one hand, and
its commentaries (i.e., "consequences"--what follows), on the other, he
argues that the latter be brought into the political arena. This would
involve the electorate being asked to vote for or against the policies that
flow from given interpretations--and always having the option of changing
its mind about them. In other words, the political implications of an
interpretation (not all "the meanings" of the text itself) would be open to
acceptance or rejection like any other proposed legislation or project.
This clearly needs to be much more elaborately developed and clarified if
it is to make political sense.
Are elements of this kind of thinking part of the Islamic discursive
tradition?
I certainly think they are. That's what ijtihad, the principle of original
reasoning from within the tradition, is all about. There is a lot of talk
about ijtihad nowadays among Muslims, but too often it's used as a device
to bring Islamic tradition in line with modern liberal values for no good
reason. I believe it ought to be used to argue with other Muslims within
the tradition and to try to formulate solutions to problems that are
recognized as problems for the tradition by other Muslims.
You discuss in your work the practice of nasiha in Saudi Arabia, as an
example of public critique within the Islamic tradition, which is quite
distinct from the liberal notion of public criticism. Can you speak to
that, given your comments on the limits and possibilities of specific
traditions of thought?
Yes, nasiha is different from liberal notions of public criticism. For
example, it doesn't constitute a right to criticize the monarch and/or
political regime but an obligation. Similarly, the business of criticism is
not restricted only to those expressly qualified--the educated and
enlightened few. It's something that every Muslim has the duty to
undertake, and whose theory the `ulama must continually reconsider and
discuss for each time and place. It is, therefore, a form of criticism that
is internal to a tradition. That is to say, only someone who has been
educated in that tradition, who has been taught what "appropriate Islamic
practices" are, can undertake it properly. This is not a criticism that
anyone coming from the outside, a total stranger, say, armed with a fine
sense of logical argument and a set of universal moral principles, can
carry out. So it is quite different from the notion of abstract and
generalized criticism that has to be confined to the enlightened, literate
members of a polity.
So are you suggesting that there are traditions that can continue their own
trajectory of debate, without necessarily coming into conversation with
other parallel traditions--in this case the Western-liberal tradition of
political and public critique?
No, that is not what I'm saying. My point, first of all, is that nasiha, in
the way that I described it in my book, is a form of criticism that can
only be mounted if the critic is familiar with the relevant tradition that
provides the standards defining Islamic practices and also with the
specific social conditions in which those standards are to be applied. But
when social conditions change, the standards often have to be extended or
modified. In the case I discuss, this process is closely connected with the
development of the modern Saudi state. Many of the practices in that state
are modeled on the practices of the modern nation-state. This also applies
to various aspects of "private life." In other words, the new social
conditions are beginning to include aspects of Western political
traditions. Wahhabi religious discourse is, therefore, involved in a
complex process of appropriating and rejecting parts of those traditions.
Thus, even though the principles of nasiha still remain distinctive, and
quite different from Enlightenment principles, the scope and objective of
nasiha has changed very significantly. That's not exactly what I would call
a "conversation" with another tradition, but it is certainly an engagement
with it. I can't see how any non-Western tradition today can escape some
sort of an engagement with Western modernity. Because aspects of Western
modernity have come to be embodied in the life of non-European societies.
Do you think that the post-Reformation Protestant conception of religion,
as an internal belief system that has little to do with arranging political
and social life, influenced or transformed the character of Islamic debates
in this century? If so, in what ways?
Well, I think to some extent they have--where Islamic reform movements have
adopted standards of rationality from modern Western discourses or even
where Muslim apologists claim that Islam does quite well when properly
measured by Western standards of justice and decency. This influence is
also evident whenever the shari`a is made compatible with Western law and
practice and is subjected to institutions of the modern state. And the
modern state gives rise to two quite distinct movements--those for whom
religious faith is something that fits into "private space" (in both the
legal and the psychological sense), and those for whom the "public
functions" of the modern state must be captured by men with religious faith.
It has often been argued that the tradition of liberalism is based upon
principles of pluralism and tolerance in ways that Islamic tradition is
not, and that the concept of plurality remains foreign to Islam. How would
you respond to that?
Well, I would say that it is certainly not a modern, liberal invention. The
plurality of individual interests is what the liberal tradition has
theorized best of all. On the other hand, the attempt to get some kind of
representation for ethnic groups and minorities in Western countries has
been difficult for liberalism to theorize. Liberalism has theories of
tolerance by which spaces can be created for individuals to do what they
wish, so long as they don't obstruct the ability of others to do likewise.
But these aren't theories of pluralism in the sense we are beginning to
understand the term today. Liberalism has theories of multiple "interests,"
interests which can be equalized, aggregated, and calculated through the
electoral process and then negotiated in the process of formulating and
applying governmental policies. But that is a very different kind of
pluralism from the different ways of life which are (a) the preconditions
and not the objects of individual interests, and which are, (b) in the
final analysis, incommensurable.
Now the Islamic tradition, like many other non-liberal traditions, is based
on the notion of plural social groupings and plural religious
traditions--especially (but not only) of the Abrahamic traditions [ahl
al-kitab]. And, of course, it has always accommodated a plurality of
scriptural interpretations. There is a well- known dictum in the shari`a:
ikhtilaf al-umma rahma [difference within the Islamic tradition is a
blessing]. This is where the notions of ijtihad and ijm`a come in. As modes
of developing and sustaining the Islamic tradition, they authorize the
construction of coherent differences, not the imposition of homogeneity.
Of course there are always limits to difference if coherence is to be aimed
at. If tolerance is not merely another name for indifference, there comes a
point in every tradition beyond which difference cannot be tolerated. That
simply means that there are differences which can't be accommodated within
the tradition without threatening its very coherence. But there are, of
course, many moments and conditions of such intolerance. One must not,
therefore, equate intolerance with violence and cruelty.
On the whole, Muslim societies in the past have been much more
accommodating of pluralism in the sense I have tried to outline than have
European societies. It does not follow that they are therefore necessarily
better. And I certainly don't wish to imply that Muslim rulers and
populations were never prejudiced, that they never persecuted non-Muslims
in their midst. My point is only that "the concept of plurality," as you
put it, is not foreign to Islam.
Talking of pluralities of interpretations within the Islamic tradition,
some scholars make a distinction between the Sufi [mystical] and Salafi
[reformist] tradition within Islam. You have criticized the ways in which
these two traditions are often mapped onto rural/urban, folk/elite, and
oral/scriptural dichotomies, respectively. Yet it is hard to deny the
substantial differences between Sufi and Salafi thought. How can one
fruitfully engage with these differences without falling into simplistic
dichotomies?
Unfortunately, people continue to make these simplistic contrasts. It is
true that for some sections of the Islamic tradition, such as the Hanbali
tradition that is officially dominant in Saudi Arabia today, Sufism is
thought to be quite different from what is defined as the central Islamic
tradition. But the definition of the central Islamic tradition according to
Saudi Hanbalis is not, strictly speaking, a Salafi one either. Wahhabi
Islam has a specific connection with a particular state--even when it
constitutes a contemporary language of opposition to the regime. This is a
complicated question, and I don't want to get into details here. All I want
to say here is that it's not as if there were only two options in Islam--
Sufi or Salafi. For reformers like Muhammad `Abduh, these were not mutually
exclusive categories. `Abduh, one of the founders of the Salafiyya [reform]
movement, always accepted the Sufi tradition. Certain aspects of his
relationship with Jamal al-Din al-Afghani, including the Sufi language of
love in which they sometimes communicated, can only be explained in terms
of their familiarity with Sufism. `Abduh thought that certain kinds of
reform were necessary for contemporary Islam, but he regarded these as
compatible with Sufi thought and values. This was not a new attitude. The
great medieval reformer, Imam Ghazali, was at once a scripturalist (an
elitist, if you like) and a Sufi.
I think that most Salafi reformers would be critical of Sufism when it
transgressed one of the basic doctrines of Islam: the separation between
God and human beings. I've heard criticism of Sufi practices that seemed to
imply the possibility of complete union with God as opposed to the
possibility of complete openness to God. I think that that is the crucial
point for many people who are critical of Sufism.
There is, incidentally, an interesting debate that occurred in the
eighteenth century between Muhammad `Abd al-Wahhab (the Arabian reformer)
and the chief qadi of Tunisia (whose name escapes me) about the so-called
worship of saints' tombs which some reformers see as a feature of the Sufi
tradition. The argument is over whether the frequenting of tombs and the
invoking of saintly blessing constitutes `ibada [worship] or ziyara
[visitation]. The qadi argues that this is not a case of `ibada, for the
very reason that visitation to the Prophet's tomb at Mecca is not `ibada.
The Prophet, after all, can't be worshipped (worship is reserved for God
alone), but visiting his tomb is an act of piety that elicits blessing. I
don't think that `Abd al-Wahab was persuaded by this argument, but there
was an argument. The denunciation by some sections of the Islamic movement
of other Muslims as kufar [infidels; sing. kafir] is, of course, a
termination of argument. Even worse, it is a quasi-legal judgment which
carries serious penalties.
It is curious that those in Islamic movements who declare other Muslims to
be kufar are also the ones who argue that the door of ijtihad [exercise of
independent judgment in a theological question] is open in Islam. Yet the
entire idea of ijtihad, as an exercise in debate and reconsideration of
scholarly argument, seems to contradict the kind of closure entailed in
declaring someone a kafir.
Many Muslims would not accept, of course, that ijtihad is open to the
introduction of new interpretations. Incidentally, among Sunnis, ijtihad is
much more a central part of traditional Hanabli doctrine than of other
schools-- for them the gate of ijtihad was never closed. But although they
are open to the principle of ijtihad, they are hostile to what they regard
as its arbitrary use. They are similar, in some ways, to the Khawarij in
the seventh century who were prepared to call other Muslims kufar, even to
make war on them. They decided that certain things were open to ijtihad and
others were not. To talk about some things in the light of ijtihad was
simply to open the door to kufr [infidelity]. So it is a question of where
you draw the conceptual boundaries, and what action follows from the way
you draw those boundaries.
In examining world traditions, theorists of religion have often contrasted
deistic religiosity with a "traditional" sensibility that emphasizes, for
example, correct bodily practices, literal understandings of texts, etc.
Deism, on the other hand, is associated with an abstract understanding of
the idea of divinity, sacred texts, and general principles of a religious
doctrine. Evolutionary models of religious theory associate deism with a
post-Enlightenment conception of religion, of which Post-Reformation
Christianity is considered paradigmatic, and Islam, Hinduism, and certain
forms of Judaism are associated with a literalist understanding of
religion. Even if we reject an evolutionary model of religious development
in history, there are obvious differences in the focus on correct bodily
practices in some of these religious traditions. Given your emphasis on
historicizing the concept of religion, and on the inimical relationship
between religious discourse and bodily practices (particularly in medieval
Christianity), what do you suggest are some ways to engage with this
characterization of religious traditions as deist and/or literalist?
I think this is a false opposition, because abstract principles and ideas
are also integral to various Islamic, Judaic, and pre-Reformation Christian
traditions. Abstract ideas are relevant not only for theology, they are
important also for programs aiming to teach embodied practices. I talk
about these programs in Genealogies of Religion. In this sense abstract
ideas are not opposed to embodied practices. This point applies to the way
Christian virtues are developed in the monastic context, and it applies
equally to the way nasiha constitutes an embodied practice, as I try to
show in my book. The point is that, in contemporary Protestant Christianity
(and other religions now modeled on it), it is more important to have the
right belief than to carry out specific prescribed practices. It is not
that belief in every sense of the word was irrelevant in the Christian
past, or irrelevant to Islamic tradition. It is that belief has now become
a purely inner, private state of mind, a particular state of mind detached
from everyday practices. But although it is in this sense "internal,"
belief has also become the object of systematic discourse, such that the
system of statements about belief is now held to constitute the essence of
"religion," a construction that makes it possible to compare and evaluate
different "religions." These systematic statements, these texts, are now
the real public form of "religion."
So I think the contrast one should make is between the development of
prescribed moral-religious capabilities, which involve the cultivation of
certain bodily attitudes (including emotions), the disciplined cultivation
of habits, aspirations, desires, on one hand, and on the other hand, a more
abstracted set of belief-statements, "texts" that contain meanings and
define the core of the religion.
Now, insofar as certain modern forms of religiosity have been identified
with sets of abstracted belief-statements which have barely anything to do
with people's actual lives, you get the curious phenomenon of Christians,
non- Christians, and atheists allegedly believing in or rejecting religion,
but living the same kind of life. Now, if this is the case, then clearly it
is different from embodied practices of various kinds. I think the
important contrast to bear in mind is the difference between this kind of
intellectualized abstracted system of doctrines that has no direct bearing
on or relationship to forms of embodied practices, and lives that are
organized around gradually learning and perfecting correct moral and
religious practices. The former kind of religiosity is much more a feature
of modern religion in Europe and, indeed, a part of what religion is
defined to be: a set of belief-statements that makes it possible to compare
one religion to another and to judge the validity--even the sense--of such
abstract statements. This state of affairs is radically opposed to one in
which correct practice is essential to the development of religious virtues
and is itself an essential religious virtue. After all, while you can talk
about certain belief- statements as being credible or non-credible, true or
false, rational or irrational, you can't really talk like that about
embodied practices. Practices aren't statements. As Austin pointed out in
How to Do Things with Words, they are performatives and not constatives. We
do not say of performatives that they are believable or unbelievable. We
inquire, instead, as to whether they are well done or badly done;
effectively done or ineffectively done. So different kinds of questions
arise in these two contexts. That is the opposition one has to bear in
mind, and that is partly what my two chapters on monastic discipline are about.
In Islam, this is what matters, and if Muslims simply argue about whether
or not a particular doctrine is "true Islam," and if the answer to that
question makes no difference to how they learn to live, how they develop
distinctive Islamic virtues, then it makes no difference whether that
doctrine is the same as Christianity or not, because the way in which they
live is the same, or pretty much the same. That is the point one has to
bear in mind. The crucial question, it seems to me, is this: Are there
practical rules and principles aimed at developing a distinctive set of
virtues (articulated by din [religion]) which relate to how one structures
one's life? That is what I mean by embodied practices.
Since you mostly focus on medieval Christianity in your book, I am curious
if you think that this sense of embodied practice also exists in parts of
the contemporary Islamic world, where the cultivation of correct bodily
practices actually modifies the way people live on a daily basis?
Yes, I think it does in some areas. I tried to describe some aspects of
that in the context of the Wahhabi concept and practice of morality, as
opposed to post-Kantian conceptions of morality. In varying degrees, you
continue to have this sense of morality in parts of the Muslim world,
although it is gradually becoming eroded there as elsewhere. I think that,
in a way, the recent Islamist movements have a sense that the pursuit of
correct bodily practices is important and has to be somehow reinstituted
where it has eroded, and protected wherever it exists. Unfortunately,
Islamists often tend to link the maintenance of these practices to the
demand for a modernizing Islamic state. This seems to me very problematic
for all sorts of reasons. Anyway, the learning of these moral capabilities
did not originally depend on the existence of a modernizing state. Yet now
most Islamic movements are concerned to capture the center that the modern
state represents, instead of trying to cut across or dissolve it.
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