Non-Player Dialectics

Non-Player Dialectics David L. Blaney is G. Theodore Mitau Professor of Political Science at Macalester College Naeem Inayatullah is Professor of Politics at Ithaca College Abstract: We show how Ashis Nandy might be seen as a theorist of International Relations (IR). Specifically, we demonstrate what aspects of Nandy’s writing and thinking became the foundation of our own work and how he has influenced other scholars within IR. We see Nandy as practicing a form of dialectics on behalf of Modernity’s others who have been relegated to the hinterlands of the modern. This aspect of Nandy’s thought has led some to emphasize his “critical traditionalism,” but we see his critical stance located within the modern as well, since Modernity’s others are always also within. Nandy makes clear that the modern serves as a challenge to ossified traditions as much as traditions can be mobilized to undercut modern thought’s pretensions to completeness and universality. These insights grow out of Nandy’s understanding that colonialism produces both the colonized and colonizers as victims, a co-suffering that makes the other a source of critical reflection and opens us up to the possibility of a softer and more democratic self. Following Nandy, we might see international relations as cultural encounters that remain colonial, but also offer the possibility for critical self-reflection to envision and fight for forms of society and political life beyond the oppressions of colonialism. NI: Sankaran Krishna insisted that I go with him on the one-hour drive from Syracuse to Ithaca and to Cornell University where someone named Ashis Nandy was to give a talk. I had just joined the academic profession and Krishna was about to take a job at the University of Hawaii. I said “yes” because his demand came with a gleam that commanded my trust. I recall the lecture room within which Nandy’s presentation created an energy that was confusing, mildly confrontational, and utterly seductive. A small and sly smile permanently held in his countenance. After hearing his presentation the only thing clear to me was that he knew something I did not know, something known to no one in the room. It felt like a new and different way of thinking but entirely blended in with what we thought we knew. Later someone would label it “critical traditionalism” but this fails to capture the mercurial nature of Nandy’s challenges. Norman Uphoff, the Cornell Professor who had invited Nandy, seemed peeved, not knowing whether to enjoy the audience’s appreciation of Nandy’s seeming tricks. Or to be upset by Nandy’s dismantling of the developmentalist agenda that he and his institution offered as common Ivy League currency to distraught and disoriented Third Worlders. Krishna’s car could barely contain our energy on the drive back to Syracuse. We had found something we didn’t know we needed. A way to respond to the West that wasn’t just defensive, a way to incorporate the strengths of the Western tradition as not only theirs, a way to historicize and encapsulate modernity as but a moment, even an important moment, within the deep and rich history of the rest of the world, a way to reconceptualize struggle, hope and learning such that it is the colonizer who is a primary victim and who the colonized must find a means to heal. All this Krishna and I carried back to our libraries. I vowed to read everything I could get my hands on by Nandy, certain that my training in Smith, Hegel, and Marx was suddenly not nearly enough. And so began my reading of Nandy and my academic re-training. Simultaneously, I also read Edward Said and Tzvetan Todorov for the first time. And through the extra time offered by a sudden illness and by a chance encounter my world began to change. Little did I know at the time that Nandy already had the same effect on my late father, Inayatullah, and my brother Sohail Inayatullah. Sohail knows Ashis because they are collaborators and pioneers in the field of future studies. My father and Ashis, besides being academics, were also members in peace activities that brought together Indians and Pakistanis in person-to-person diplomacy. Our family healing and bonding grew out of conversations that revealed our common reverence and respect for Ashis Nandy’s work. DB: Very soon after Naeem’s journey to Cornell, he wrote me saying, “there are two books we must read: The Intimate Enemy and Traditions, Tyranny, and Utopias.” We did and this launched a lifetime of work in which we imagined ourselves traveling with Ashis Nandy, following his later writings, but never leaving behind these two books. Eventually we saw ourselves, again following his phrase, engaged in time warps, reading and writing against the usual conventions of Enlightenment chronologies and developmental time, so that we might invite the hinterlands of modernity to serve as teachers of us moderns who have come unmoored from the world in all its diversity. I have been very fortunate at several points on that intellectual journey to find myself sharing space with Ashis Nandy. Though never as jarring as Naeem’s first encounter, hearing Nandy speak inspires In 1996, Nandy came to speak at Macalester College, both seducing and poking his finger in the eyes of his audience at the same time. Since Nandy’s writing were percolating in the field of international relation, Mustapha Pasha and I invited Nandy to feature on a key theme panel at the 2001 meeting of the International Studies Association (USA). I took the opportunity to put myself on the panel of discussants who considered his work “The Future of Poverty,” a reading reminiscent of Hegel’s struggle with a problem that refused to be resolved in his elegant synthesis of state and civil society, though Nandy read from a perspective that refused the modern pretensions that civility was its distinctive possession. I was honored to stand once again on the dais with Nandy, on a panel in New Delhi in 2012 that considered his contributions to International Relations. Finally, Nandy attended the workshop on “Alternative Cosmologies & the Knowledge Systems in International Relations: Voices from the Global South,” in New Delhi, in 2016, in which he brought friendship, advice and provocation. NI and DB: We knew immediately that The Intimate Enemy and Traditions, Tyranny, and Utopias were books we needed to read again and again. Their impact was jolting; reading Nandy radically shifted our way of thinking, seeing, and feeling. Since that time, everything we have written has involved, in some measure at least, working out the implications of Nandy’s work for the fields of International Relations and International Political Economy. More specifically, Nandy’s deft presentations of historical individuals, as in The Intimate Enemy and The Savage Freud, inspired us to develop strategies of reading that respect the complexity of individual authors or intellectual traditions—that attempt to account for their multiple selves, both their dominant and recessive elements. We learned to respect the multiplicity within ourselves as well, as a resource instead of something to be disavowed. When we read, we search for logical flaws and contradictions -- as do all analysts of texts. But we treat those tensions as deep and perhaps necessary. We imagine that the theorist is attempting something difficult, is trying to stay true to a vision that is necessarily multiple, or is trying to smooth or bridge opposing aspects of his or her self or reality. When we interact generously with our interlocutors, the logical flaws, contradictions, and apparent mistakes become tensions and tonal shifts that we can locate as the necessary result of some essential structural problem. We sometimes find it difficult to be similarly generous with ourselves. We allow these tensions or tonal shifts to lead us to the fundamental difficulties of self and other with which the theorist wrestles. Ascertaining these foundational difficulties allow us to chart the dominant and recessive horizons of the writer’s theoretical and existential world. Our task is to try to see the world as they tried to see it, because their theoretical and existential horizons provide alternative values and visions that may serve as lessons for us. In our own work on the Scottish Enlightenment (Blaney and Inayatullah 2010), we spoke of the savage Smith, both to call attention to Enlightenment civilization’s savage relegation of others into a superseded past, but also to recover those moments where Adam Smith turns to the savage as a mirror for critical reflection on his own commercial society. ***** The creativity of Nandy’s work continues to awe and inspire us. Three moments in his work stand out for us. First, in Intimate Enemy, Nandy gave us an intersectional account of colonial identities, well before this term became fashionable. For Nandy (1983, xiv) the natives were produced as racialized subjects suitable for colonization via a “moral and cognitive venture” operating along two registers: age or time and sex (we might now say gender). In brief, the colonizer projects himself as the epitome of “fully socialized, male adulthood” contiguous with Europe’s place at the height of human development or civilization, a self-image running across respectable and even dissenting European thinking – from Bentham and Mill and Protestant orthodoxy to Marx and Freud (1983, 12-5). Nandy (Lal and Nandy 2000, 92; Nandy 2000, 99-100) describes this as a theft of history, fitting “Third-World countries” into “a Western concept of history” –a “theory of progress . . . that placed all “cultures on a ladder of time.” The native is boxed in as weak, passive and “childish.” Deploying “a new parallel between primitivism and childhood,” the local culture is rendered as submissive and infantile, its past civilizational achievements characterized as decrepit, aged now into the weakened effeminacy of a second infancy (1983, 15-8). In this fashion, both the natives and the British were psychologically prepared for a colonization involving economic exploitation and political domination, but with a historical/ethical justification beyond mere greed (Nandy 2000, 100). But what is most striking and lasting, Nandy suggests, is that this polarization of self and other -- here as native and colonizer, British and Indian -- produced a “shared culture” and a shared “psychology of colonialism” that persists well after formal colonialism ended (Nandy, 1983: ix-xii). Second, Nandy’s almost novel notion that the colonizer/oppressor suffers perhaps most in his relation to the colonized/oppressed startled us. What appears polarized as colonizer/oppressor and colonized oppressed is also intertwined and overlapping. The ‘shared culture’ of colonialism ensnares the colonizer as much as the colonized, such that Nandy (1983, xv) pictures the colonizer as “a self-destructive co-victim . . . caught in the hinges of history he swears by.” The self-destructive element results from a personally and culturally costly effort to police the boundaries of age and sex; the attempt to purify the British self of its feminine/childlike elements cripples the humanity of the colonizer himself (Nandy, 1983: 40, 65-70). The British, like Kipling and Orwell in Nandy’s account, repress those parts of themselves – the androgynous, the gentle, the playful – that show themselves also to be Indian, to be intimately connected to and overlapping that which they imagine they have conquered. This boundary policing also denies the possibility of the colonizer learning or being healed by the insights or responses of the colonized to colonization. Nandy draws two implications from this blurring or breaking down of the oppressor/oppressed binary. First, he shows that certain responses to domination growing from this overlapping cultural space may prove largely self-contradictory. Nandy (1983, xiv-v) argues that, failing to understand the colonizer as a co-victim, leads anti-colonial resistance to adopt the stance of “counter-players,” the “standard” response in which denunciation of the West stays within the modern colonial domain. Counter-players “indirectly admit the superiority of the oppressors and collaborate with them,” by inadvertently reaffirming the colonizer’s view of themselves as singularly powerful agents, the universal expression of human domination of nature and ethical development, by claiming this masculine power for themselves. More precisely, in an effort to establish or restore a mutuality of relationships, the subordinated self may lose, or perhaps repress, those elements of itself that colonialism devalues. Indeed, far too much of Indian resistance, Nandy (1983: 19-24) explains, involved an effort to claim power by recovering those “British” or masculine aspects of the Indian self, unacknowledged or repressed by the British. Figures like Michael Madhusudan Dutt and Bankimchandra Chatterjee are exemplary in their search for the British self and British valuations of India within Indian cultures and traditions themselves. Yet Nandy sees this as the search for a recessive voice that may be reclaimed and elevated only once it is purified of the residual elements of Indian backwardness and submissiveness. As Nandy puts it, recovering the Indian self in this way – retooling oneself as a master, as a hard self – involves a simultaneous loss of the softer and more democratic elements of the self (Lal and Nandy 2000, 68, 79-81; Nandy and Darby 2015). His study of the “psychology of colonialism” suggests a second and more encompassing implication: civilizations/traditions face each other not as homogenous and fixed entities, but as layered, comprising “different levels or parts,” or perhaps dominant and recessive moments (Nandy, 1987b: 17). Our civilizational selves are, Nandy (Lal and Nandy 2000, 36) suggests, “configurative,” “living with multiple identities, . . . living many selves.” Civilizational selves appear, then, more like an “open-ended text” than a “closed book” (Nandy, 1987b: 2; 1987a: 118), and, no matter how different, the subjects of cultural encounters can find connections and overlaps between their own values and visions and the various “levels and parts” and dominant and recessive moments of the cultural practices and traditions of the other (Nandy, 1987b: 54-55). In The Intimate Enemy, Nandy turns to individual biographies to make this point. He describes how a small, but important group—Sister Nivedita (born Margaret Noble), Anne Besant, Mira Behn (born Madeline Slade), and C. F. Andrews—locate these overlaps and evade the colonial imperative to police the boundary between self and other. Not only do they distance themselves from dominant aspects of their own British society, using Indian “versions of religiosity, knowledge and social interaction” as an internal mirror, they also build on this critical self-reflection to envision and fight for forms of society and political life beyond the oppressions of colonialism. Gandhi, similarly but more profoundly in Nandy’s (1983: 36-51) account, creates alliances between recessive traditions in the West and themes in India’s cultures that offer a vision of liberation from colonialism—for both Indians and the British. These figures represent for Nandy the ability to acknowledge that the other is not simply external, but also exists within the greater whole of the self. More powerful and creative is the capacity to uncover the other within as a source of critical self-reflection and cultural transformation. For Nandy, the key is that each figure uses his or her own experience of suffering, not only to establish a connection to the suffering of others, but also to make overcoming of suffering central to thought and action. In Nandy’s (1983: 54) evocative phrasing, “a cultural closeness” of otherwise diverse civilizational experiences is made possible by “this experience of co-suffering.” Somewhat more expansively, Nandy (1987b: 3) refers to this as the production of a “creative tension:” by exposing the “gap between reality and hope,” we invigorate “a source of cultural criticism and a standing condemnation of everyday life to which we otherwise tend to get reconciled.” Third, Nandy teaches us to practice a dialectics of the non-player. Responses to the shared colonial culture, Nandy (1983, xiii) insists, require “defenses of the mind” that draw on and mobilize hinterlands of thought or traditions against the claim of the colonizing West as the embodiment of an achieved and complete universal. These hinterlands offer “diverse sources of defiance” found in “legends, informal public memories, and private and public myth,” including “other Wests,” that, like the relatively uncolonized elements of the self, reflect alternative “imageries, myths and fantasies” more open to the feminine, to “meekness,” that might be an ally against the shared psychology of colonialism. It is in these spaces of the self that we locate the capacity to be “nonplayers” who can mobilize a “moral and cognitive venture against oppression” that stands as a genuine alternative, a “higher-order” universalism outside of Western modernity and the moves and countermoves entrapped within a shared colonial culture. These “‘simple’ outsiders, the non-players,” offer the most thorough understanding and critique of the colonial culture shared by oppressor and the counter-players because they are the most consistent victims of that colonial culture. Nandy’s non-players occupy an always available “third space” beyond and within modernity’s binaries. This third space beckons us to refuse the usual terms of most encounters, but this space is often difficult to access, since it lies outside of acceptable terms of defiance or dissent. A social world built on masculinist assumptions, a willful ignorance of racism and colonialism, of class domination, and certainties built on acts of denial invite modern voices of protest: feminist, postcolonial, Marxist, and poststructuralist scholars. But these voices of protest usually operate within modernity’s accepted range of dissent (Nandy in Lal and Nandy 2000, 37). Nandy (2007, xi) calls us to open our hearts and minds more widely -- “to venture out” and engage those “who do not employ the favored categories of the academic world,” who remain “underprofessionalized and undersocialized.” We might then cultivate a capacity to hear those who don’t speak in academic tones, who express themselves in folk tales, in popular sayings, in song and film, in novels. These “non-players” also theorize the world, often being able to “read the West in ways it can’t read itself (Lal in Lal and Nandy, 2000, 44), though we have been trained to ignore them by placing them into a non-scientific space or a pre-scientific past. Taking these voices seriously risks charges of anti-intellectualism, nostalgia, anti-secularism, or some kind of general soft-headedness. Withstanding those charges requires an intellectual fortitude or stubbornness, the cultivation of new senses, a spirit of generosity to those schooled differently, and patience. Here is where we need the arts and strategies of the intellectual street fighter that Ashis Nandy has modeled in his career. In our reading, the intellectual street fighter employs dialectics on behalf of the other. The third space dialectically brought into the whole is not outside of the self, but part of an open-ended sense of the whole. He speaks of experiences that push or draw us beyond or outside of any closed borders of ourselves, only to discover that this projecting outwards always involves a re-interiorization of that outside within the self, though Nandy admits this discovery may be painful and we tend to construct defenses against it (Nandy in Lal and Nandy 2000, 40). Here Nandy draws on the insights of the psychoanalytic tradition. He explores the mechanisms by which we desperately attempt to establish a closed wholeness or purity of the self by splitting off and repressing some elements of our self. This act of violence against otherness occurs within the self, so that the play of self and other within the self parallels the violence that occurs between individuals, groups, and cultures. But within selves, cultures, or groups, this effort to establish wholeness or purity is never fully successful. The other always exists within. Following Nandy, we would stress that this relation of open-endedness, of dominant and recessive selves with a whole, operates within intellectual traditions and within key texts taken to be canonical or definitive of those intellectual traditions. There is no simply modern, western, or secular thought; all traditions are multiple and overlapping. Challenges to the modern intellectual arise from those whose very exclusion is central to the claims of modern scholarship. We read Nandy’s claims in relation to what Hegelians sometimes call “expressive holism.” This is the idea that all parts of the universe already contain within them the full universe, meaning every encounter is merely an internal shift in emphasis and that, most importantly, Nandy’s critical traditionalist approach is also a quasi-modernist critique of modernity that defends living cultural alternatives in the hinterlands of the colonial universe (see Lal in Lal and Nandy 2000, 10). In much of modern, liberal thought, the other gains recognition only in the terms set by the liberal self. The struggle for recognition is governed by the telos of modern liberalism, but as Nandy and others have warned, colonial relations have been governed by liberal standards of civilization and racialized hierarchies that police the boundaries of sameness and otherness. But that which is denigrated is also within the whole. Thus, Nandy allows us to see other possibilities than this liberal/colonial logic of recognition. The terms of recognition might be set differently, drawing on alternative traditions of selfhood including different ways of negotiating relations of self and other. The possibilities for politics expand dramatically: Nandy shifts our frame away from a logic of recognition that demands conformity to modern science and civilization, and towards an ethics of coexistence with difference within an enlarged sense of totality. Finally, there is an ethicopolitical humility tied to this sense of totality. Consistent with Nandy’s embrace of the non-players, he warns of the hubris of control accompanying modern ideas of science and politics, including supposedly “emancipatory ideas”, which often are turned into “tools of violence and oppression” (Nandy 2007: ix). Nandy calls us to articulate instead “the diverse concepts of a tolerable society” at work in our world. Perhaps we cannot avoid demarcating these alternative visions of a “tolerable society” as either self or other. However, as long as we recognize that the other is also within and that our common experience of suffering may show us the way to establish connections between self and other, the other may serve as a source of critical self-reflection allowing possibilities both for “cultural self-discovery” and a joining of “social criticisms” (Nandy, 1987b: 55). Nandy (1987b: 13) sees this as a “negatively defined” utopia, not one involving an appeal to a universal order. This may disappoint those who long for some ultimate reconciliation, but Nandy suggests that it is precisely this longing for a unified order that needs to be abandoned. Only by abandoning this quest for a universal order and refusing to attempt “to summate the values of diverse civilizations” can we possibly “establish communications among social criticisms.” ***** In the 1990s, IR took a cultural turn, where international relations were imagined as cultural encounters (Lapid and Kratochwil 1996). As part of this move, some found Nandy useful (alongside other authors) for reflecting on the postcolonial state’s tendency to homogenize national identities to the detriment of ethnic and religious minorities (Krishna 1999). Phillip Darby’s recent interview with Nandy draws attention to precisely this feature of Nandy’s thought for IR scholars (Darby and Nandy 2015). Similarly, Devare (2013) deploys Nandy’s reading of time and colonial identities to explore the making of a postcolonial Hindu self in relation to modernist/secular temporalities that place other Indians outside of history. Others draw on Nandy for creative non-violent responses to these colonial practices within modern states (Agathangelou and Ling 1997). In a similar spirit, we engage Nandy to suggest the possibility of a conversation of cultures in international society (Blaney and Inayatullah 1994). But our reading at that point may have been overly optimistic given that cultural encounters might be seen as a “contact zone,” a power-laden area shaped by the violent legacies of colonialism (Pratt 1991). But it is precisely in the space of colonial psychology and culture that Nandy locates the dialectic of the non-player who is placed beyond speaking and being heard within a modern universalist vision. Nandy’s non-player dialectics might serve as the foundation for an alternative theory of IR that centers difference as always within what we think of a modern international relations. An alternative theory deploying non-player dialectics begins with the question: How do we locate the other’s difference as more than a mere threat to be disavowed or eradicated? How do we envision an encounter in which the other’s difference both within and beyond the self is also a resource for us? How do we map the terrain between enemy and intimate? By posing the problem this way, IR appears as a form of heterology – the study of difference – which might be another way of saying that IR might find its purpose in non-player dialectics (Inayatullah and Blaney 2004). Several thinkers recognizably deploy a non-player dialectics. Peter Mandaville’s (2003) work aligns Nandy with Immanuel Levinas and Tariq Ramadan. In each case, these figures themselves appear as others, being situated outside but also within a cosmopolitan West. Their sensitivity to their own position allows them to speak as and on behalf of disavowed others. More specifically, Mandaville’s work dislocates the “I” of “hyperglobalized” cosmopolitans that erases the space for dissent and foreclose alternative worlds. He highlights Nandy’s “refiguring” of tradition, so that it appears not simply as the antithesis of modernity, “but as a mode of engagement in the here and now.” Similarly, Robbie Shilliam (2016) turns to Nandy as a resource for decolonial projects in a pervasively colonial world. For Shilliam, Nandy’s work helps IR restore faith in “hinterlands” that have been treated as eradicated by colonial modernity or out-of-sync with time. For example, Shilliam (2013) shows the continuing power of the hinterlands of modernity. He counterpoises the temporality of former slaves’ performance of their own redemption to abolitionists’ liberal cosmopolitan account of the granting of legal emancipation. This redemption involves these non-player’s continuing connection to an African God and the practice of wrapping oneself in one’s kumbla – a process of healing that requires the assistance of, at once, one’s ancestors and descendants. Shilliam (2015, 7-12) suggests that these hinterlands remain available to us as a resource. They enliven contemporary political projects that re-connect the colonized victims of empire with their past and future – a past and future that had been severed by modernity’s purification of its others. In language that Nandy would surely appreciate, Shilliam proposes we “walk with” the “living knowledge traditions of colonized peoples,” that we can be in ‘deep relation’ with the “spiritual, philosophical, and political standpoints” that they deploy to “rebind” themselves to their ancestors, and that we can “heal the wounds suffered at the hands of Cook and Columbus.” Perhaps, here, we find in IR a model for non-player dialectics. Ashis Nandy’s catalyzing interventions have enabled our work. He has been in us since we met him and perhaps before. References Agathangelou, Anna and L. H. M. Ling (1997) “Postcolonial Dissidence within Dissident IR: Transforming Master Narratives of Sovereignty in Greco-Turkish Cyprus,” Studies in Political Economy 54, 1-38. Blaney, David L., and Naeem Inayatullah (2010) Savage Economics: Wealth, Poverty and the Temporal Walls of Capitalism. London: Routledge. Blaney, David L., and Naeem Inayatullah (1994) “Prelude to a Conversation of Cultures in International Society? Todorov and Nandy on the Possibility of Dialogue,” Alternatives 19(1), 23-51. Devare, Aparna (2013) History and the Making of the Hindu Self. New Delhi: Routledge India. Inayatullah, Naeem, and David L. Blaney (2004) International Relations and the Problem of Difference. New York: Routledge. Krishna, Sankaran (1999) Postcolonial Insecurities: India, Sri Lanka and the Question of Nationhood. 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