EAS 209 Second Response Paper Topic Assignment Due .docx

EAS 209
Second Response Paper Topic
>>>Assignment Due Date: Friday, October 12, 2018<<<
Write 350 words, excluding works cited and references, on the
following topic:
Dipesh Chakrabarty cites John Stuart Mill to show one
dimension of historicist
consciousness: “a recommendation to the colonized to wait.”
What does Chakrabarty
mean by this phrase? Consider, e.g. why, according to Mill,
“Indians, Africans, and other
‘rude’ nations” had to be consigned to what Chakrabarty called
“an imaginary waiting
room of history.”
To respond to this question, you might find it helpful to
consider Chakrabarty’s discussion
on historicism or “stagist theory of history.”
▪ Submit a hard copy in your Tutorial Section on Friday,
October 12.
▪ Papers must be type-written, double-spaced, appearing in 12
points Times New Roman font or
its equivalent with 1” margins. Do not exceed 400 words. You
are responsible for keeping an

extra copy of your own paper.
▪ The assignment does not ask you to conduct additional
research. Papers that do not respond
to the given topic or do not follow the specific instructions
described above will receive no
marks. No resubmission allowed.
▪ You need to present your argument logically and clearly,
fully demonstrate the precise
understanding of Chakrabarty’s argument and substantiate your
argument convincingly and
with details.
▪ Observe the Chicago Manual of Style referencing practice and
properly cite the passages you
quote (i.e. author, title, page number, etc.). Works cited or
references should not be counted
toward the 350 word limit.
▪ Any ideas or expressions that are not your own must be placed
in quotation marks and
referenced with page number. Academic misconduct will not be
tolerated. See:
http://www.artsci.utoronto.ca/osai/The-rules/what-is-academic-
misconduct
▪ You may share notes and discuss your ideas with others for
preparation. But the paper you
submit must be exclusively written by you alone and in your
own words clearly distinguishable
from others’. Papers that plagiarize, replicate others, or contain
identical or near-identical
passages that appear in other papers will not be accepted or
credited.
▪ You must proof-read before submission. Sentences that are
incomplete or unintelligible will
not be read or credited.
▪ Late submission and papers submitted via e-mail will not be
accepted or credited unless
under extraordinary circumstances. ABSOLUTELY NO

EXCPETION!
http://www.artsci.utoronto.ca/osai/The-rules/what-is-academic-
misconduct
I N T R O D U C T I O N
The Idea of Provincializing Europe
Europe . . . since 1914 has become provincialized, . . .
only the natural sciences are able to call forth a
quick international echo.
(Hans-Georg Gadamer, 1977)
The West is a name for a subject which gathers itself in
discourse but is also an object constituted discursively;
it is, evidently, a name always associating itself with
those regions, communities, and peoples that appear
politically or economically superior to other regions,
communities, and peoples. Basically, it is just like the
name “Japan,” . . . it claims that it is capable of
sustaining, if not actually transcending, an impulse to
transcend all the particularizations.
(Naoki Sakai, 1998)
PROVINCIALIZING EUROPE is not a book about the region of
the world
we call “Europe.” That Europe, one could say, has already been
provin-
cialized by history itself. Historians have long acknowledged

that the so-
called “European age” in modern history began to yield place to
other
regional and global configurations toward the middle of the
twentieth
century.1 European history is no longer seen as embodying
anything like
a “universal human history.”2 No major Western thinker, for
instance,
has publicly shared Francis Fukuyama’s “vulgarized Hegelian
histori-
cism” that saw in the fall of the Berlin wall a common end for
the history
of all human beings.3 The contrast with the past seems sharp
when one
remembers the cautious but warm note of approval with which
Kant once
detected in the French Revolution a “moral disposition in the
human
race” or Hegel saw the imprimatur of the “world spirit” in the
momen-
tousness of that event.4
I am by training a historian of modern South Asia, which forms
my
archive and is my site of analysis. The Europe I seek to
provincialize or
Chakrabarty, Dipesh. Provincializing Europe : Postcolonial
Thought and Historical Difference, Princeton University Press,
2000.
ProQuest Ebook Central,
http://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/utoronto/detail.action?docI
D=3030277.
Created from utoronto on 2018-07-12 09:01:11.

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4 I N T R O D U C T I O N
decenter is an imaginary figure that remains deeply embedded
in clichéd
and shorthand forms in some everyday habits of thought that
invariably
subtend attempts in the social sciences to address questions of
political
modernity in South Asia.5 The phenomenon of “political
modernity”—
namely, the rule by modern institutions of the state,
bureaucracy, and
capitalist enterprise—is impossible to think of anywhere in the
world
without invoking certain categories and concepts, the
genealogies of
which go deep into the intellectual and even theological
traditions of Eu-
rope.6 Concepts such as citizenship, the state, civil society,
public sphere,
human rights, equality before the law, the individual,
distinctions between

public and private, the idea of the subject, democracy, popular
sover-
eignty, social justice, scientific rationality, and so on all bear
the burden
of European thought and history. One simply cannot think of
political
modernity without these and other related concepts that found a
climactic
form in the course of the European Enlightenment and the
nineteenth
century.
These concepts entail an unavoidable—and in a sense
indispensable—
universal and secular vision of the human. The European
colonizer of the
nineteenth century both preached this Enlightenment humanism
at the
colonized and at the same time denied it in practice. But the
vision has
been powerful in its effects. It has historically provided a strong
founda-
tion on which to erect—both in Europe and outside—critiques
of socially
unjust practices. Marxist and liberal thought are legatees of this
intellec-
tual heritage. This heritage is now global. The modern Bengali
educated
middle classes—to which I belong and fragments of whose
history I re-
count later in the book—have been characterized by Tapan
Raychaudhuri
as the “the first Asian social group of any size whose mental
world was
transformed through its interactions with the West.”7 A long
series of

illustrious members of this social group—from Raja Rammohun
Roy,
sometimes called “the father of modern India,” to
Manabendranath Roy,
who argued with Lenin in the Comintern—warmly embraced the
themes
of rationalism, science, equality, and human rights that the
European En-
lightenment promulgated.8 Modern social critiques of caste,
oppressions
of women, the lack of rights for laboring and subaltern classes
in India,
and so on—and, in fact, the very critique of colonialism itself—
are un-
thinkable except as a legacy, partially, of how Enlightenment
Europe was
appropriated in the subcontinent. The Indian constitution
tellingly begins
by repeating certain universal Enlightenment themes celebrated,
say, in
the American constitution. And it is salutary to remember that
the writ-
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P RO V I N C I A L I Z I N G E U RO P E 5
ings of the most trenchant critic of the institution of
“untouchability” in
British India refer us back to some originally European ideas
about liberty
and human equality.9
I too write from within this inheritance. Postcolonial
scholarship is
committed, almost by definition, to engaging the universals—
such as the
abstract figure of the human or that of Reason—that were
forged in eigh-
teenth-century Europe and that underlie the human sciences.
This engage-
ment marks, for instance, the writing of the Tunisian
philosopher and
historian Hichem Djait, who accuses imperialist Europe of
“deny[ing] its
own vision of man.”10 Fanon’s struggle to hold on to the
Enlightenment
idea of the human—even when he knew that European
imperialism had
reduced that idea to the figure of the settler-colonial white
man—is now
itself a part of the global heritage of all postcolonial thinkers.11

The strug-
gle ensues because there is no easy way of dispensing with
these universals
in the condition of political modernity. Without them there
would be no
social science that addresses issues of modern social justice.
This engagement with European thought is also called forth by
the fact
that today the so-called European intellectual tradition is the
only one
alive in the social science departments of most, if not all,
modern universi-
ties. I use the word “alive” in a particular sense. It is only
within some
very particular traditions of thinking that we treat fundamental
thinkers
who are long dead and gone not only as people belonging to
their own
times but also as though they were our own contemporaries. In
the social
sciences, these are invariably thinkers one encounters within the
tradition
that has come to call itself “European” or “Western.” I am
aware that
an entity called “the European intellectual tradition” stretching
back to
the ancient Greeks is a fabrication of relatively recent European
history.
Martin Bernal, Samir Amin, and others have justly criticized the
claim of
European thinkers that such an unbroken tradition ever existed
or that it
could even properly be called “European.”12 The point,
however, is that,
fabrication or not, this is the genealogy of thought in which

social scien-
tists find themselves inserted. Faced with the task of analyzing
develop-
ments or social practices in modern India, few if any Indian
social scien-
tists or social scientists of India would argue seriously with,
say, the
thirteenth-century logician Gangesa or with the grammarian and
linguis-
tic philosopher Bartrihari (fifth to sixth centuries), or with the
tenth- or
eleventh-century aesthetician Abhinavagupta. Sad though it is,
one result
of European colonial rule in South Asia is that the intellectual
traditions
once unbroken and alive in Sanskrit or Persian or Arabic are
now only
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matters of historical research for most—perhaps all—modern
social scien-
tists in the region.13 They treat these traditions as truly dead, as
history.
Although categories that were once subject to detailed
theoretical contem-
plation and inquiry now exist as practical concepts, bereft of
any theoreti-
cal lineage, embedded in quotidian practices in South Asia,
contemporary
social scientists of South Asia seldom have the training that
would enable
them to make these concepts into resources for critical thought
for the
present.14 And yet past European thinkers and their categories
are never
quite dead for us in the same way. South Asian(ist) social
scientists would
argue passionately with a Marx or a Weber without feeling any
need
to historicize them or to place them in their European
intellectual con-
texts. Sometimes—though this is rather rare—they would even
argue with
the ancient or medieval or early-modern predecessors of these
European
theorists.
Yet the very history of politicization of the population, or the
coming

of political modernity, in countries outside of the Western
capitalist de-
mocracies of the world produces a deep irony in the history of
the politi-
cal. This history challenges us to rethink two conceptual gifts of
nine-
teenth-century Europe, concepts integral to the idea of
modernity. One is
historicism—the idea that to understand anything it has to be
seen both
as a unity and in its historical development—and the other is the
very
idea of the political. What historically enables a project such as
that of
“provincializing Europe” is the experience of political
modernity in a
country like India. European thought has a contradictory
relationship to
such an instance of political modernity. It is both indispensable
and inade-
quate in helping us to think through the various life practices
that consti-
tute the political and the historical in India. Exploring—on both
theoreti-
cal and factual registers—this simultaneous indispensability and
inadequacy of social science thought is the task this book has
set itself.
THE POLITICS OF HISTORICISM
Writings by poststructuralist philosophers such as Michel
Foucault have
undoubtedly given a fillip to global critiques of historicism.15
But it would
be wrong to think of postcolonial critiques of historicism (or of
the politi-

cal) as simply deriving from critiques already elaborated by
postmodern
and poststructuralist thinkers of the West. In fact, to think this
way would
itself be to practice historicism, for such a thought would
merely repeat
the temporal structure of the statement, “first in the West, and
then else-
where.” In saying this, I do not mean to take away from the
recent discus-
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sions of historicism by critics who see its decline in the West as

resulting
from what Jameson has imaginatively named “the cultural logic
of late-
capitalism.”16 The cultural studies scholar Lawrence Grossberg
has point-
edly questioned whether history itself is not endangered by
consumerist
practices of contemporary capitalism. How do you produce
historical ob-
servation and analysis, Grossberg asks, “when every event is
potentially
evidence, potentially determining, and at the same time,
changing too
quickly to allow the comfortable leisure of academic
criticism?”17 But
these arguments, although valuable, still bypass the histories of
political
modernity in the third world. From Mandel to Jameson, nobody
sees
“late capitalism” as a system whose driving engine may be in
the third
world. The word “late” has very different connotations when
applied to
the developed countries and to those seen as still “developing.”
“Late
capitalism” is properly the name of a phenomenon that is
understood as
belonging primarily to the developed capitalist world, though its
impact
on the rest of the globe is never denied.18
Western critiques of historicism that base themselves on some
charac-
terization of “late capitalism” overlook the deep ties that bind
together
historicism as a mode of thought and the formation of political

modernity
in the erstwhile European colonies. Historicism enabled
European domi-
nation of the world in the nineteenth century.19 Crudely, one
might say
that it was one important form that the ideology of progress or
“develop-
ment” took from the nineteenth century on. Historicism is what
made
modernity or capitalism look not simply global but rather as
something
that became global over time, by originating in one place
(Europe) and
then spreading outside it. This “first in Europe, then elsewhere”
structure
of global historical time was historicist; different non-Western
national-
isms would later produce local versions of the same narrative,
replacing
“Europe” by some locally constructed center. It was historicism
that al-
lowed Marx to say that the “country that is more developed
industrially
only shows, to the less developed, the image of its own
future.”20 It is also
what leads prominent historians such as Phyllis Deane to
describe the
coming of industries in England as the first industrial
revolution.21 Histori-
cism thus posited historical time as a measure of the cultural
distance (at
least in institutional development) that was assumed to exist
between the
West and the non-West.22 In the colonies, it legitimated the
idea of civiliza-
tion.23 In Europe itself, it made possible completely internalist

histories of
Europe in which Europe was described as the site of the first
occurrence
of capitalism, modernity, or Enlightenment.24 These “events” in
turn are
all explained mainly with respect to “events” within the
geographical con-
fines of Europe (however fuzzy its exact boundaries may have
been). The
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inhabitants of the colonies, on the other hand, were assigned a
place “else-

where” in the “first in Europe and then elsewhere” structure of
time. This
move of historicism is what Johannes Fabian has called “the
denial of co-
evalness.”25
Historicism—and even the modern, European idea of history—
one
might say, came to non-European peoples in the nineteenth
century as
somebody’s way of saying “not yet” to somebody else.26
Consider the
classic liberal but historicist essays by John Stuart Mill, “On
Liberty”
and “On Representative Government,” both of which proclaimed
self-
rule as the highest form of government and yet argued against
giving Indi-
ans or Africans self-rule on grounds that were indeed
historicist. Ac-
cording to Mill, Indians or Africans were not yet civilized
enough to rule
themselves. Some historical time of development and
civilization (colonial
rule and education, to be precise) had to elapse before they
could be con-
sidered prepared for such a task.27 Mill’s historicist argument
thus con-
signed Indians, Africans, and other “rude” nations to an
imaginary wait-
ing room of history. In doing so, it converted history itself into
a version
of this waiting room. We were all headed for the same
destination, Mill
averred, but some people were to arrive earlier than others. That
was

what historicist consciousness was: a recommendation to the
colonized
to wait. Acquiring a historical consciousness, acquiring the
public spirit
that Mill thought absolutely necessary for the art of self-
government, was
also to learn this art of waiting. This waiting was the realization
of the
“not yet” of historicism.
Twentieth-century anticolonial democratic demands for self-
rule, on
the contrary, harped insistently on a “now” as the temporal
horizon of
action. From about the time of First World War to the
decolonization
movements of the fifties and sixties, anticolonial nationalisms
were predi-
cated on this urgency of the “now.” Historicism has not
disappeared from
the world, but its “not yet” exists today in tension with this
global
insistence on the “now” that marks all popular movements
toward
democracy. This had to be so, for in their search for a mass
base, antico-
lonial nationalist movements introduced classes and groups into
the
sphere of the political that, by the standards of nineteenth-
century Euro-
pean liberalism, could only look ever so unprepared to assume
the politi-
cal responsibility of self-government. These were the peasants,
tribals,
semi- or unskilled industrial workers in non-Western cities, men
and

women from the subordinate social groups—in short, the
subaltern
classes of the third world.
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A critique of historicism therefore goes to the heart of the
question of
political modernity in non-Western societies. As I shall argue in
more de-
tail later, it was through recourse to some version of a stagist
theory of
history—ranging from simple evolutionary schemas to
sophisticated un-

derstandings of “uneven development”—that European political
and so-
cial thought made room for the political modernity of the
subaltern
classes. This was not, as such, an unreasonable theoretical
claim. If “polit-
ical modernity” was to be a bounded and definable phenomenon,
it was
not unreasonable to use its definition as a measuring rod for
social prog-
ress. Within this thought, it could always be said with reason
that some
people were less modern than others, and that the former needed
a period
of preparation and waiting before they could be recognized as
full partici-
pants in political modernity. But this was precisely the
argument of the
colonizer—the “not yet” to which the colonized nationalist
opposed his
or her “now.” The achievement of political modernity in the
third world
could only take place through a contradictory relationship to
European
social and political thought. It is true that nationalist elites
often rehearsed
to their own subaltern classes—and still do if and when the
political struc-
tures permit—the stagist theory of history on which European
ideas of
political modernity were based. However, there were two
necessary devel-
opments in nationalist struggles that would produce at least a
practical,
if not theoretical, rejection of any stagist, historicist
distinctions between

the premodern or the nonmodern and the modern. One was the
national-
ist elite’s own rejection of the “waiting-room” version of
history when
faced with the Europeans’ use of it as a justification for denial
of “self-
government” to the colonized. The other was the twentieth-
century phe-
nomenon of the peasant as full participant in the political life of
the nation
(that is, first in the nationalist movement and then as a citizen
of the
independent nation), long before he or she could be formally
educated
into the doctrinal or conceptual aspects of citizenship.
A dramatic example of this nationalist rejection of historicist
history is
the Indian decision taken immediately after the attainment of
indepen-
dence to base Indian democracy on universal adult franchise.
This was
directly in violation of Mill’s prescription. “Universal
teaching,” Mill said
in the essay “On Representative Government,” “must precede
universal
enfranchisement.”28 Even the Indian Franchise Committee of
1931, which
had several Indian members, stuck to a position that was a
modified ver-
sion of Mill’s argument. The members of the committee agreed
that al-
though universal adult franchise would be the ideal goal for
India, the
general lack of literacy in the country posed a very large
obstacle to its

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implementation.29 And yet in less than two decades, India
opted for uni-
versal adult suffrage for a population that was still
predominantly nonlit-
erate. In defending the new constitution and the idea of
“popular sover-
eignty” before the nation’s Constituent Assembly on the eve of
formal
independence, Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan, later to be the first
vice presi-
dent of India, argued against the idea that Indians as a people

were not
yet ready to rule themselves. As far as he was concerned,
Indians, literate
or illiterate, were always suited for self-rule. He said: “We
cannot say that
the republican tradition is foreign to the genius of this country.
We have
had it from the beginning of our history.”30 What else was this
position if
not a national gesture of abolishing the imaginary waiting room
in which
Indians had been placed by European historicist thought?
Needless to say,
historicism remains alive and strong today in the all the
developmentalist
practices and imaginations of the Indian state.31 Much of the
institutional
activity of governing in India is premised on a day-to-day
practice of his-
toricism; there is a strong sense in which the peasant is still
being educated
and developed into the citizen. But every time there is a
populist/political
mobilization of the people on the streets of the country and a
version
of “mass democracy” becomes visible in India, historicist time
is put in
temporary suspension. And once every five years—or more
frequently, as
seems to be the case these days—the nation produces a political
perfor-
mance of electoral democracy that sets aside all assumptions of
the histor-
icist imagination of time. On the day of the election, every
Indian adult
is treated practically and theoretically as someone already

endowed with
the skills of a making major citizenly choice, education or no
education.
The history and nature of political modernity in an excolonial
country
such as India thus generates a tension between the two aspects
of the
subaltern or peasant as citizen. One is the peasant who has to be
educated
into the citizen and who therefore belongs to the time of
historicism; the
other is the peasant who, despite his or her lack of formal
education, is
already a citizen. This tension is akin to the tension between the
two
aspects of nationalism that Homi Bhabha has usefully identified
as the
pedagogic and the performative.32 Nationalist historiography in
the peda-
gogic mode portrays the peasant’s world, with its emphasis on
kinship,
gods, and the so-called supernatural, as anachronistic. But the
“nation”
and the political are also performed in the carnivalesque aspects
of democ-
racy: in rebellions, protest marches, sporting events, and in
universal adult
franchise. The question is: How do we think the political at
these mo-
ments when the peasant or the subaltern emerges in the modern
sphere of
politics, in his or her own right, as a member of the nationalist
movement

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against British rule or as a full-fledged member of the body
politic, with-
out having had to do any “preparatory” work in order to qualify
as the
“bourgeois-citizen”?
I should clarify that in my usage the word “peasant” refers to
more
than the sociologist’s figure of the peasant. I intend that
particular mean-
ing, but I load the word with an extended meaning as well. The
“peasant”
acts here as a shorthand for all the seemingly nonmodern, rural,

nonsecu-
lar relationships and life practices that constantly leave their
imprint on
the lives of even the elites in India and on their institutions of
government.
The peasant stands for all that is not bourgeois (in a European
sense) in
Indian capitalism and modernity. The next section elaborates on
this idea.
SUBALTERN STUDIES AND THE CRITIQUE OF
HISTORICISM
This problem of how to conceptualize the historical and the
political in a
context where the peasant was already part of the political was
indeed one
of the key questions that drove the historiographic project of
Subaltern
Studies.33 My extended interpretation of the word “peasant”
follows from
some of the founding statements Ranajit Guha made when he
and his
colleagues attempted to democratize the writing of Indian
history by look-
ing on subordinate social groups as the makers of their own
destiny. I find
it significant, for example, that Subaltern Studies should have
begun its
career by registering a deep sense of unease with the very idea
of the
“political” as it had been deployed in the received traditions of
English-
language Marxist historiography. Nowhere is this more visible
than in
Ranajit Guha’s criticism of the British historian Eric

Hobsbawm’s cate-
gory “prepolitical” in his 1983 book Elementary Aspects of
Peasant In-
surgency in Colonial India.34
Hobsbawm’s category “prepolitical” revealed the limits of how
far his-
toricist Marxist thought could go in responding to the challenge
posed to
European political thought by the entry of the peasant into the
modern
sphere of politics. Hobsbawm recognized what was special to
political
modernity in the third world. He readily admitted that it was the
“acquisi-
tion of political consciousness” by peasants that “made our
century the
most revolutionary in history.” Yet he missed the implications
of this ob-
servation for the historicism that already underlay his own
analysis. Peas-
ants’ actions, organized—more often than not—along the axes
of kinship,
religion, and caste, and involving gods, spirits, and supernatural
agents
as actors alongside humans, remained for him symptomatic of a
con-
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sciousness that had not quite come to terms with the secular-
institutional
logic of the political.35 He called peasants “pre-political people
who have
not yet found, or only begun to find, a specific language in
which to ex-
press themselves. [Capitalism] comes to them from outside,
insidiously
by the operation of economic forces which they do not
understand.” In
Hobsbawm’s historicist language, the social movements of the
peasants
of the twentieth century remained “archaic.”36
The analytical impulse of Hobsbawm’s study belongs to a
variety of
historicism that Western Marxism has cultivated since its
inception.
Marxist intellectuals of the West and their followers elsewhere
have devel-

oped a diverse set of sophisticated strategies that allow them to
acknowl-
edge the evidence of “incompleteness” of capitalist
transformation in Eu-
rope and other places while retaining the idea of a general
historical
movement from a premodern stage to that of modernity. These
strategies
include, first, the old and now discredited evolutionist
paradigms of the
nineteenth century—the language of “survivals” and
“remnants”—some-
times found in Marx’s own prose. But there are other strategies
as well,
and they are all variations on the theme of “uneven
development”—itself
derived, as Neil Smith shows, from Marx’s use of the idea of
“uneven
rates of development” in his Critique of Political Economy
(1859) and
from Lenin’s and Trotsky’s later use of the concept.37 The
point is,
whether they speak of “uneven development,” or Ernst Bloch’s
“syn-
chronicity of the non-synchronous,” or Althusserian “structural
causal-
ity,” these strategies all retain elements of historicism in the
direction of
their thought (in spite of Althusser’s explicit opposition to
historicism).
They all ascribe at least an underlying structural unity (if not an
expressive
totality) to historical process and time that makes it possible to
identify
certain elements in the present as “anachronistic.”38 The thesis
of “uneven

development,” as James Chandler has perceptively observed in
his recent
study of Romanticism, goes “hand in hand” with the “dated grid
of an
homogenous empty time.”39
By explicitly critiquing the idea of peasant consciousness as
“prepoliti-
cal,” Guha was prepared to suggest that the nature of collective
action by
peasants in modern India was such that it effectively stretched
the cate-
gory of the “political” far beyond the boundaries assigned to it
in Euro-
pean political thought.40 The political sphere in which the
peasant and his
masters participated was modern—for what else could
nationalism be but
a modern political movement for self-government?—and yet it
did not
follow the logic of secular-rational calculations inherent the
modern con-
ception of the political. This peasant-but-modern political
sphere was not
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bereft of the agency of gods, spirits, and other supernatural
beings.41 So-
cial scientists may classify such agencies under the rubric of
“peasant be-
liefs,” but the peasant-as-citizen did not partake of the
ontological as-
sumptions that the social sciences take for granted. Guha’s
statement
recognized this subject as modern, however, and hence refused
to call the
peasants’ political behavior or consciousness “prepolitical.” He
insisted
that instead of being an anachronism in a modernizing colonial
world,
the peasant was a real contemporary of colonialism, a
fundamental part
of the modernity that colonial rule brought to in India. Theirs
was not a
“backward” consciousness—a mentality left over from the past,
a con-
sciousness baffled by modern political and economic
institutions and yet
resistant to them. Peasants’ readings of the relations of power

that they
confronted in the world, Guha argued, were by no means
unrealistic or
backward-looking.
Of course, this was not all said at once and with anything like
the clarity
one can achieve with hindsight. There are, for example,
passages in Ele-
mentary Aspects of Peasant Insurgency in Colonial India in
which Guha
follows the tendencies general to European Marxist or liberal
scholarship.
He sometimes reads undemocratic relationships—issues of
direct “domi-
nation and subordination” that involve the so-called “religious”
or the
supernatural—as survivals of a precapitalist era, as not quite
modern,
and hence as indicative of problems of transition to
capitalism.42 Such
narratives often make an appearance in the early volumes of
Subaltern
Studies, as well. But these statements, I submit, do not
adequately repre-
sent the radical potential of Guha’s critique of the category
“prepolitical.”
For if they were a valid framework for analyzing Indian
modernity, one
could indeed argue in favor of Hobsbawm and his category
“prepoliti-
cal.” One could point out—in accordance with European
political
thought—that the category “political” was inappropriate for
analyzing
peasant protest, for the sphere of the political hardly ever

abstracted itself
from the spheres of religion and kinship in precapitalist
relations of domi-
nation. The everyday relations of power that involve kinship,
gods, and
spirits that the peasant dramatically exemplified could then with
justice
be called “prepolitical.” The persisting world of the peasant in
India could
be legitimately read as a mark of the incompleteness of India’s
transition
to capitalism, and the peasant himself seen rightly as an “earlier
type,”
active no doubt in nationalism but really working under world-
historical
notice of extinction.
What I build on here, however, is the opposite tendency of
thought that
is signaled by Guha’s unease with the category “prepolitical.”
Peasant
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insurgency in modern India, Guha wrote, “was a political
struggle.”43 I
have emphasized the word “political” in this quote to highlight
a creative
tension between the Marxist lineage of Subaltern Studies and
the more
challenging questions it raised from the very beginning about
the nature
of the political in the colonial modernity of India. Examining,
for in-
stance, over a hundred known cases of peasant rebellions in
British India
between 1783 and 1900, Guha showed that practices which
called upon
gods, spirits, and other spectral and divine beings were part of
the net-
work of power and prestige within which both the subaltern and
elite
operated in South Asia. These presences were not merely
symbolic of
some of deeper and “more real” secular reality.44
South Asian political modernity, Guha argued, brings together
two
noncommensurable logics of power, both modern. One is the
logic of

the quasi-liberal legal and institutional frameworks that
European rule
introduced into the country, which in many ways were desired
by both
elite and subaltern classes. I do not mean to understate the
importance of
this development. Braided with this, however, is the logic of
another set of
relationships in which both the elites and the subalterns are also
involved.
These are relations that articulate hierarchy through practices of
direct
and explicit subordination of the less powerful by the more
powerful. The
first logic is secular. In other words, it derives from the
secularized forms
of Christianity that mark modernity in the West, and shows a
similar
tendency toward first making a “religion” out of a medley of
Hindu prac-
tices and then secularizing forms of that religion in the life of
modern
institutions in India.45 The second has no necessary secularism
about it;
it is what continually brings gods and spirits into the domain of
the politi-
cal. (This is to be distinguished from the secular-calculative use
of “reli-
gion” that many contemporary political parties make in the
subconti-
nent.) To read these practices as a survival of an earlier mode of
production would inexorably lead us to stagist and elitist
conceptions of
history; it would take us back to a historicist framework. Within
that
framework, historiography has no other way of responding to

the chal-
lenge presented to political thought and philosophy by
involvement of the
peasants in twentieth-century nationalisms, and by their
emergence after
independence as full-fledged citizens of a modern nation-state.
Guha’s critique of the category “prepolitical,” I suggest,
fundamentally
pluralizes the history of power in global modernity and
separates it from
any universalist narratives of capital. Subaltern historiography
questions
the assumption that capitalism necessarily brings bourgeois
relations of
power to a position of hegemony.46 If Indian modernity places
the bour-
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geois in juxtaposition with that which seems prebourgeois, if
the nonsecu-
lar supernatural exists in proximity to the secular, and if both
are to be
found in the sphere of the political, it is not because capitalism
or political
modernity in India has remained “incomplete.” Guha does not
deny the
connections of colonial India to the global forces of capitalism.
His point
is that what seemed “traditional” in this modernity were
“traditional only
in so far as [their] roots could be traced back to pre-colonial
times, but
[they were] by no means archaic in the sense of being
outmoded.”47 This
was a political modernity that would eventually give rise to a
thriving
electoral democracy, even when “vast areas in the life and
consciousness
of the people” escaped any kind of “[bourgeois] hegemony.”48
The pressure of this observation introduces into the Subaltern
Studies
project a necessary—though sometimes incipient—critique of
both histor-
icism and the idea of the political. My argument for
provincializing Eu-
rope follows directly from my involvement in this project. A
history of

political modernity in India could not be written as a simple
application
of the analytics of capital and nationalism available to Western
Marxism.
One could not, in the manner of some nationalist historians, pit
the story
of a regressive colonialism against an account of a robust
nationalist
movement seeking to establish a bourgeois outlook throughout
society.49
For, in Guha’s terms, there was no class in South Asia
comparable to the
European bourgeoisie of Marxist metanarratives, a class able to
fabricate
a hegemonic ideology that made its own interests look and feel
like the
interests of all. The “Indian culture of the colonial era,” Guha
argued in
a later essay, defied understanding “either as a replication of
the liberal-
bourgeois culture of nineteenth-century Britain or as the mere
survival of
an antecedent pre-capitalist culture.”50 This was capitalism
indeed, but
without bourgeois relations that attain a position of
unchallenged hege-
mony; it was a capitalist dominance without a hegemonic
bourgeois cul-
ture—or, in Guha’s famous terms, “dominance without
hegemony.”
One cannot think of this plural history of power and provide
accounts
of the modern political subject in India without at the same time
radically

questioning the nature of historical time. Imaginations of
socially just
futures for humans usually take the idea of single, homogenous,
and secu-
lar historical time for granted. Modern politics is often justified
as a story
of human sovereignty acted out in the context of a ceaseless
unfolding of
unitary historical time. I argue that this view is not an adequate
intellec-
tual resource for thinking about the conditions for political
modernity in
colonial and postcolonial India. We need to move away from
two of the
ontological assumptions entailed in secular conceptions of the
political
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and the social. The first is that the human exists in a frame of a
single and
secular historical time that envelops other kinds of time. I argue
that the
task of conceptualizing practices of social and political
modernity in
South Asia often requires us to make the opposite assumption:
that histor-
ical time is not integral, that it is out of joint with itself. The
second as-
sumption running through modern European political thought
and the
social sciences is that the human is ontologically singular, that
gods and
spirits are in the end “social facts,” that the social somehow
exists prior
to them. I try, on the other hand, to think without the
assumption of even
a logical priority of the social. One empirically knows of no
society in
which humans have existed without gods and spirits
accompanying them.
Although the God of monotheism may have taken a few
knocks—if not
actually “died”—in the nineteenth-century European story of
“the disen-
chantment of the world,” the gods and other agents inhabiting
practices
of so-called “superstition” have never died anywhere. I take
gods and
spirits to be existentially coeval with the human, and think from

the as-
sumption that the question of being human involves the question
of being
with gods and spirits.51 Being human means, as Ramachandra
Gandhi
puts it, discovering “the possibility of calling upon God [or
gods] without
being under an obligation to first establish his [or their]
reality.”52 And
this is one reason why I deliberately do not reproduce any
sociology of
religion in my analysis.
THE PLAN OF THIS BOOK
As should be clear by now, provincializing Europe is not a
project of
rejecting or discarding European thought. Relating to a body of
thought
to which one largely owes one’s intellectual existence cannot be
a matter
of exacting what Leela Gandhi has aptly called “postcolonial
revenge.”53
European thought is at once both indispensable and inadequate
in helping
us to think through the experiences of political modernity in
non-Western
nations, and provincializing Europe becomes the task of
exploring how
this thought—which is now everybody’s heritage and which
affect us all—
may be renewed from and for the margins.
But, of course, the margins are as plural and diverse as the
centers.

Europe appears different when seen from within the experiences
of coloni-
zation or inferiorization in specific parts of the world.
Postcolonial schol-
ars, speaking from their different geographies of colonialism,
have spoken
of different Europes. The recent critical scholarship of Latin
Americanists
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EAS 209 Second Response Paper Topic Assignment Due .docx

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