Timothy Gutmann

This is the personal scholarship page for Timothy Gutmann. My PhD in religion is from the University of Chicago. I focus on Islamic and East Asian thought.

My research and teaching also focus on diverse traditions of educational theory and practice, the politics of belonging and the minority question, and liberalism in contemporary society.

Having taught at the UChicago and elsewhere, I am Assistant Professor of Philosophy and Religion at the University of Southern Mississippi. I split my time between Hattiesburg and Chicago.

Remainders

What I owe you- well, what I feel like I owe you, to kick the blog off in earnest:

Two personal reflections on Anglican traditions: "Nativity" on belonging and difference, "Singleness of Heart" on the habitation and appropriation amid difference.

"Malala and Jean-Paul" on Western laurel-politics and the charge of collaboration.

"Can Xi Jinping Save the Humanities?" on Chinese politics and the future of liberal arts education.

"Looking Backward"- questions about genealogy and scholarly methodology approaching Islamic texts.

Wednesday Hangover

At least in the US, graduate school tends to disillusion people from electoral politics. Nevertheless, I'd guess there's one conversation going on in grad-lounges from Cambridge, Mass to Oxford, Miss: why didn't most of the country come out and stop this? I don't want this conversation to swallow up this blog, but it's hard. In fact, I started having this conversation myself with an old friend, a Denver attorney with a big political future. So, it bears some note.

Scholarly demographers like Ruy Teixeira and analytic designers like Charles Blow have been saying for a long time now there's no way the Republican Party can speak to a majority in contemporary America. Their policies never poll all that well, and the party brand name conjures associations of old embarrassing relatives one doesn't introduce to friends. So, what explains the massive success of the Tea Party, a right-wing faction that revitalized the party and has dictated discourse in Washington since Barack Obama's inauguration? Why don't more young people, more working people, more non-white people turn out to resist forms of politics that regard them as criminals?

There's a basic problem with this question that surrounds us today: it implies a duty of a people on the outs to support the Democratic Party. I think we ought to ask questions with another formula in mind. In the media and popular imagination, this is a personal question: what has Obama done for vulnerable people?

But the "plus" column in Obama's case seems to come down to his idea of forcing poorer people to buy health insurance and trusting the industry to transform into a profession of caregiving out of the goodness of its conscience. The "minuses" only add up from there: Guantánamo, the normalization of the security state and low-heat forms of international aggression, the blessing of income inequality through deference to the global financial and trade system.

But those were Bush's legacies! My friends and I will protest. In this, one ignominy stands out, one innovation for which Obama himself is singularly culpable: the historically unprecedented deportation of undocumented people.  In claiming he was seeking good faith from conservative allies for the greater good of immigrants, his administration has vied with Alabama and Arizona for the title of most committed to emiseration of people who might not be here under the rules, their families and their communities.

So what has the Jefferson-Jackson legacy, a legacy of populism, done for the people lately? Of course, that party or any alternative would depend for significance on the sustained commitment of those who don't have as much to give as well as the middle-class progressives who are soldierly Democrats today.

What form is such a commitment-worthy movement to take? This is a much harder if much more productive question than the one that liberals are asking today. If that open-endedness in disappointment can suffice, I hope I can be done with politics in the US in this space. But to take the faux-folksy mode of a campaigning politician: you might say fat chance.

How Might Allies Help?

In the last post, I tried to think through the idea of being an ally. I understood it as basically about the question of confronting suffering that is not one's own or of one's own. I tried to think about how this problematic concept fits in our social historical location and the contemporary theory that has grown up to describe it.

This time I want to think about privilege and precarity beyond the descriptive. I'm not going to offer the definitive solution-scheme- I can sense your disappointment, I know. I'm going to try to offer some variously-related topics and treatments that might point to other possibilities of mutuality amid the differences we know.

The first thought I have is that there are some very deep resonances of the ally-problem in postcolonial thought. Dipesh Chakrabarty describes the failure of organized labor in Bengal before the end of British raj in terms of a basic problem. Labor organizers were middle-class nationalists who spoke the language of historical consciousness. They preached Marx to the streets and tried to study how people they wanted to excite responded to and resisted the pressures of the colonial order.

What they found of course was religion. Traditional worship and practice vitalized in generative and heterodox ways did not conform to resisting the occupation in the ways desired. But, the nationalists did not want to consign people's lives to the classical Marxist category of false consciousness. They had read British socialists like E.P. Thomson who looked at Methodist devotion among the English working class but could not find an easy equivalent of the workers' diaries of the 19th century among farmers in India. There wasn't literature, and so not history, how the intellectuals of that time were looking for it.

All of this lies at the roots of Chakrabarty's own intellectual tradition, that of Ranajit Guha, Partha Chatterjee and Gayarti Spivak. The memorable jumping-off point that tradition leaves us is of course subaltern studies. But what would Spivak's essay that tries to come to terms with the problem of voicelessness have to do with being an ally to people here now for whom basic modern institutions like health care and education are not working?

The discourse changed in South Asia after the disappointments of the postcolonial age. Independence didn't transform society even as intellectual life was transformed. The Hindu right has challenged the Congress-elite's political dynasty claiming to speak directly to working people's aspirations to see their country kept their way. 

The general reaction, like Obama's bitter gun-clingers, has been for cultivated people to want nothing to do with the violence-infused chauvinism that targets women and Muslims and earns the polite consternation of foreigners.

It's in this situation that Spivak wrote "Moving Devi", where she does not try to distance herself, as the direction of her Marxist and deconstructionist work might suggest. She rather describes sacred sites of Bombay, then renamed Mumbai, that are hers, that inscribe her situation as a high-caste Hindu, an identity bound up in the politics of the colonial era.

So, what does Spivak's idea of inscription do for the allies today? She is accounting for the distance that colonial-era nationalists felt from dispossessed workers of their time and the intellectuals of the contemporary diaspora and those with different designs for globalizing India. And is not contemporary Western liberalism, in which the ally is a conceptual formation, characterized by similar kinds of difference? 

I don't know of a way endemic to liberal traditions that quite addresses what inscription addresses. Of course, there is much if not most of the left in the West that repudiates the liberal tradition outright if not always because of the problems described. But to repudiate the problems of the discourse of freedom has nothing to do with saying one has never benefitted from it or that its nearest counter-discourses are not built on a world shaped by it. 

A concept allies could realize that could correlate to the idea of inscription would only do half the work of course. What kind of discourse is open to listening, if nothing else, to different kinds of experience? Spivak has no such optimism for those Indian traditions that she understands constitute her position. In our scene, I would generalize to say that no American Christian tradition that is vital and growing- that is traditionalist Roman Catholicism and charismatic conservative Protestantism, has sustained intellectual or spiritual interest in an analog to the idea of historical inscription or recognition of others in conditions of historical subordination. Optimism about possibilities for that kind of recognition of others based only on the grand old Rawls-Nussbaum American liberalism would be naïve. 

Productive allies would have to address themselves, whether in terms of religion or not, in common ways of understanding the  conditions that inscribe those we want to find ourselves allied to.

Background Photo: Aasil K. Ahmad