Secular Critique

Sorry for the delay!

A few of you have mentioned that it's difficult to relate critique to your personal lives, or that so-called politics and current events aren't interesting. I suppose I have the opposite stance, in that it's hard for me to see how these things don't relate to our everyday existence, from interpersonal relations (not just meeting people from other cultures, but interacting with others in general) to how we conceive of ourselves as citizens (subject to the laws and policies of the state, but also with a responsibility to social justice). I've struggled with seeing other people's perspectives, especially during religious debates, such as the head scarf law in Quebec--my strong secularism is either supported or compromised by different/conflicting aspects of my (also strong) feminism. I've always found that the critical skills I learn in school are never separate from the problems I encounter in my own life, and in fact help me understand the inevitable contradictions that are a part of all of our experiences. Throughout my twenties, it's been clear to me that as I mature in my life, I also do in my work -- not a one-way causality, but developing concurrently. In as mild a way as possible, I'd like to point out that a lot of people don't have the privilege to go about life without critique or without an awareness of "politics" and how structures of power affect us. It's important to have these questions thrust upon us if we wouldn't approach them willingly, at the beginning of our research, because no matter what we're studying, we should not attempt to elide these so-called political questions. Why can't we all get along? For the most part, individuals do. Let's consider, then, how people are put or place themselves into groups, and the power dynamics that structure those groups in our society and among societies.

Angela's (funny, not offensive) Far Side cartoon is a good example of clashes between semiotic systems. As Mahmood points out, it's not so much that Mohammed is represented, as there has been Islamic art representing him before. The reference in the Far Side cartoon is a fairly politically neutral aphorism, so not galvanizing angry mobs. Depicting Mohammed as a terrorist, on the other hand, is hardly neutral. In fact, I don't believe the mobs were riled up until some mullah somewhere for political reasons brought the cartoons to a greater audience a few months after the publication. And, yes, I do think the cartoons were meant to offend, and the Far Side cartoon was just a play on a common saying (which is a lot of what Gary Larson does, he's not meaning to offend). Jyllands-Posten is a right-wing publication and the cartoons above all are undeniably racist. Their intentions are beside the point, though. The semiotic system the cartoonists were assuming and that of the Muslim audience are different, according to Mahmood--this is something she argues independent of intention. Considering how heterogeneous the Muslim world is, though, it seems like she's making a specific argument about a specific type of offense, albeit one that is the most relevant to her question of secular critique (which I think should have probably taken up more space in her essay).

I tried to fit in some of Living in the End Times during my leisure time over the break. We can make fun of Fukuyama as much as we want, but it does seem like we've sort of resigned ourselves to a certain type of political and economic system that is apotheosis or end. Zizek and others frequently point out how it's easier to imagine the destruction of the planet than it is to imagine the end of capitalism (and better for the box office too, no doubt). No more revolution, just some tweaks here and there. It's so important to be aware (critical!) of what we take for granted as the secular, best, rational way of existing in the world, and Mahmood's essay illuminates how these assumptions operate not only on the grand scale of geopolitics, but even on the smallest syntagmatic units. I've considered myself such a strong secularist my whole life that the ways in which spiritual traditions have shaped my ideas about language and interpretation have never been foremost in my own critiques. In Alberta I've encountered many religious people and realize that I need to be more flexible and understanding of that perspective, whereas before I would feel comfortable dismissing religion altogether. What I'd like to discuss are the ways that we see our political (and other) assumptions creep up in our academic lives, especially in scholarship that is not overtly political or what one would call "theoretical."