Persimmon fruit hangs sweet and heavy in the air-
Bottomland forest along the Potomac,
First leaf falls whisp in and out, acorns, walnuts
Scatter and plop to the sandied floor, soundings.
Cool breeze washes the warm dense scent of the river
At end of summer up to us, promise of change. Memory’s scent,
Of my own late summer childhood nestling in
The sun-warmed receding pools, focusing the gentle force of drawn-
Down cascades in the Piney River, sniffing in the little river,
Shivering as the sun got low in afternoon
And we got out of the water. Now, my little son
Reaches out to feel the great round bole of a silver maple,
Smiling, two vigors, connecting. Together, we take in the
Touch, the forest and the river’s wafting multiplicities,
Such lines of continuity, untamed worlds, wild rivers,
Seasons in their turns and turns and turns.

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The following accounts treat an important, and well-nigh ubiquitous, type of Ottoman Muslim saint, the majdhūb (meczûb in Ottoman Turkish), the ‘divinely attracted or drawn one.’ For a longer explanation of this ‘mode’ of sainthood, see this post of mine from a while back. One of the chapters of my forthcoming dissertation will consist of a detailed history and analysis of majdhūb sainthood, as well. The two accounts below represent the different ways and environments in which this ‘immersive’ saintly identity could operate, across the diverse lands of the Ottoman Empire. The first, from an Arabic biographical compilation from the mid-17th century, treats the arguably most important and well known majdhūb saint in the Ottoman world, Abū Bakr ibn Abū al-Wafā’ al-Majdhūb (d. 991/1583), of Aleppo. The dervish complex and mazār (place of visitation or shrine) that grew up during his lifetime and especially after his death still stands, having gone from being on the outskirts of the city to well enveloped within it, a monument to the centrality this strange and powerful saint took on both during and after his life on earth (for more on this saint and his legacy, see Watenpaugh, Heghnar Zeitlian. “Deviant Dervishes: Space, Gender, and the Construction of Antinomian Piety in Ottoman Aleppo.” International Journal of Middle East Studies 37, no. 4 (2005): 535–65). In the story I have translated we see the saint’s intervention in one of most dangerous and pressing situations in any pre-modern society, the threat of drought- with the mere suggestion that drought might be imminent enough to send local markets into a price-raising frenzy, as noted in this story. The saint’s strange behavior- open to all manner of interpretation- is also displayed here, out of a long list of stories of strange and far more shocking action than manifested here.

The second story comes from an Ottoman Turkish (though in a very colloquial register) collection of lives of saints of Istanbul, focused on the early 18th century but stretching back to the early years of the Ottoman polity, and full of ‘divinely attracted’ saints, this form of sainthood seemingly having become established in Istanbul at some point in the 17th century if not somewhat earlier. The meczûb saint featured here, Taslak Dervîş Mustafâ (d. 1128/1716) is especially curious: originally a Bektaşî initiate, he evidently lived or at least spent a good deal of his time in the Üskudar tekke- sufi lodge- of Naṣûḥî Efendi, a saintly shaykh and eponym of a localized Ottoman ṭarīqa (sufi path or ‘order’) from within the larger Halveti lineage. He wanted to become a meczûb, and eventually did, spending most of his time in a state of ‘immersion’- which could cause him to ‘manifest’ some strange and remarkable states, as described in this story. Interestingly, though I am not yet sure what to make of it, fire and its manipulation for producing ‘liminal’ experiences is a recurring theme in his life.

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[My father] related to me that [one year] it failed to rain, so [Qāḍī] ‘Alī Efendī ordered my father to go out to supplicate for rain, but, asking him to be patient, [my father] said, ‘If God wills, God will send the rain. If we supplicate for rain during a month of no rain, prices will rise [I.e., the public prayers for rain will signal to the markets drought, causing prices to rise].’ The qāḍī listened to him. Then my father went forth to Shaykh Abū Bakr to ask him for help in seeking the rain, but before he reached the shaykh’s place the shaykh rose and turned, not towards my father coming towards him, but towards the mazār of Shaykh Bayram, stopping before the māzar. He recited the Fatiha in a chanting manner, per its arrangement, different from his custom, as he used to recite it without the [proper] arrangement. Then he said, ‘O God give us to drink as succor, Deliverer from distress….’ to the end of the traditionally transmitted supplication. The shaykh’s companions did not understand the reason for his doing this. Then he returned and found my father. His anger increased until the people of the majlis were all roiled up. My father was unable to state why he had come. Then my father wanted to leave but he prevented him, saying, ‘Sit!’ Then his eyes gushed with anger, and his face got red. My father wanted to stand but he blocked him from doing so. Then after a long while a little cloud came forth, then a great torrent of rain fell! The shaykh took to dancing and clapping, then said to my father: ‘Has your concern been soothed? Arise from us!’ Then my father went forth in the heavy rain, so that his clothes were completely soaked.

ʻUrḍī, Muḥammad ibn ʻUmar. Maʻādin al-dhahab fī al-aʻyān al-musharrafah bi-him Ḥalab. ʻAmmān: Markaz al-Wathāʼiq wa-al-Makhṭūṭāt, al-Jāmiʻah al-Urdunīyah, 1992, p. 50.
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One day in winter the air was especially cold with the season’s chill, and the saint [Taslak Dede] was in his room lying down. Because the air had reached utmost cold, they brought one or two handfuls of wood and ten kıyye of coals, saying, ‘Taslak Dede ought not feel cold!’ But as the fire blazed up with the fuel, Taslak Dede stood up and filled his tobacco-pipe. As the fire needed stoking, in that very moment divine immersion (istiǧrâk) overtook him completely and he began to address his pipe, saying, ‘If he fell with his pipe into the midst of the fire, could he lie in it for an hour, or longer?’ We scattered about inside the room, as more than half his body and face were entirely within the flame, so three or four of us took hold of him and with force pulled him out of the fire. But his flesh, his dervish coat (hırka), and his dervish cap (sikke) were completely unharmed, and his pipe, in his left hand, had dropped to his left side and was entirely within the fire, yet was unharmed. Picking him up we place him on a cushion. For the course of three hours he remained in divine immersion. Afterwards, ‘Eyvallah! Eyvallah!’ he cried, and stood up, and once again we began conversing with him (sohbete başladık). Many strange and marvelous things such as this were made manifest through him.

Enfî Hasan Hulûs Halvetî, Mustafa Tatçı, and Musa Yıldız. Tezkiretü’l-müteahhirîn: XVI. – XVIII. asırlarda İstanbul velîleri ve delileri. İstanbul: MVT Yayıncılık, 2007, p. 110.

There our monuments red gritstone grave markers on a low rise
South of the Sipsey River, river where amongst the cypress knees
Whispering trace of baptisms in the tannin water flow silent and slow.
Jesus behind every sacred tree and over every fireant hill.

These our monuments kudzu covered loess hills
Towering above where the River once ran
Some blood bled white there, and the blood of our others went free.
One day we’ll all go free, a hot wind in August says low.

The man who tells you anything is any other than tragedy and transcendence
Is a fool or a liar or both. That is all there is here, that is all there is anywhere.
Here, here it is sharp and bright, engraved.

These our monuments the lilting into earth house our greatgrandfather built,
Where for a few seasons buzzards roosted.
The floorboards splattered white, in spring, the face of the world there renews,
Snowdrops scattered under the oaks the tornado three years back just missed.

These our monuments the burial grounds of ancestors and ancestors’ slaves,
Hollowed bald cypress, an arrowhead cupped in hand,
Concaved thunderheads looming in July longleaf heat.

These our monuments my sharecropper granny’s fingers that
Picked cotton like nobody’s business, coaxed bloom and beauty for
Year and years from the tough soil and the takings of time.

These our monuments on red clay and muddy water, grave and ghost,
Sweat on brows, the thick air filling up our lungs,
Life and death, hate and love, pedestals untoppled and unwreathed.
Memory, we fear and pray, eternal.

Bright Monday. Christ is risen sounds again
In the quiet of the church, and rises, more gently
Than the great eruption in the night. Outside, rain
Falls through the cool grey. After the great drama,
Rest, and the reflection of small spaces,
The garden close, spring leaves make bowers,
Huddled in a room, hands warming in the bright circle
Of a fish-cooking fire, the air still sharp these nights. Home-
Comings, partings, expectation. We will watch the trees
Grow dark and heavy, as the days stretch and fill. The warm
Melancholy of summer, the descent of the Spirit. Trampling
Down death by death, we will strain to hear, and remember.
Maranatha.

The following is a pair of Muslim saints’ lives, included in a biographical compilation (Luṭf al-samar wa qaṭf al-thaman) by an early 17th century Ottoman author from Damascus, Najm al-Dīn al-Ghazzī, the scion of a prominent family of ‘ulama, and one of the more prolific Damascene authors of the first part of the 17th century. His biographical histories include many saints’ lives, with a special emphasis on holy men with whom he or his saintly brother Shihāb al-Dīn al-Ghazzī had contact. Perusing the pages of these collected lives, a veritable ecosystem of sainthood and sanctity comes to life, populated by individuals of striking piety and of often controversial actions and behavior. Sainthood was and is a deeply social phenomenon, particularly in the Ottoman world wherein no ecclesial or political authority offered canonical guidance in the question of who was and was not a ‘true’ friend of God. Rather, something of a consensus among devotees would emerge, often alongside challenges from other directions, concerning a given person’s sanctity and closeness to God.

In the first life which I have translated here, we meet an enigmatic majdhūb, or possessed saint, who displayed seemingly erratic and irrational behavior, interpreted by those around him as the manifestation of jadhb, or divine attraction. Like many such majadhīb, he seems to have come from a rural environment, and in lieu of complex doctrinal teachings, he manifested his sainthood through strange, even shocking actions. And like many such possessed saints, he deliberately transgressed social boundaries, in particular, strictures on gender segregation and contact. His companion, Dervish Ḥusayn, was also marked by his transgressing of social norms, in his case, through living for a time an extremely hermetical life, even refusing to speak directly to most pious visitors. Yet before we imagine a gulf between such ‘transgressive’ forms of sanctity and the scholarly ‘ulama class from which our author hailed, al-Ghazzī also describes the ties of members of the ‘ulama with these two saints. Dervish Ḥusayn, for instance, made an exception to his hermit’s life to discuss religious matters with al-Ghazzī and his shaykh.

Finally, these two lives, in addition to revealing aspects of the ecology of sanctity that animated the Ottoman world- not just Damascus, obviously- is also a poignant look at a natural disaster that hit the city and took the lives of both saints. The seventeenth century was a period of intense climatic flux across the Ottoman world, and indeed across Eurasia and North America. For already marginal ecologies and landscapes such as that around Damascus, the intense weather patterns often associated with this period of climatic instability could be quite tragic. Indeed, al-Ghazzī ends his life of Dervish Ḥusayn with a note of sorrow, a rather rare intrusion of emotion in a genre known for its workmanlike nature more than its emotional depth. Lives of holiness could generate social bonds among people otherwise quite distant, bonds whose emotional traces could live on long after the physical death of the holy person.

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Ḥasan al-Sayyid al-Majdhūb, the believed in. It is possible that he was from one of the villages outside of Damascus. He entered Damascus and dwelt near the Umayyad Mosque, by Bāb al-Ghazāliyya, for two years, being provided for from the unknown realm of God (min ghayb Allāh), from what the people gave him as charity, they believing in him. Then he moved to the Yalbagha Mosque, below the Damascus Citadel, and dwelt near it. Then there was a day in which a man from the Mevleviyye, from the faqīrs of Molla Hunkār, sat near him. A cat came and received something from the hand of the Mevlevi, who then killed the cat. So Sayyid Ḥasan stood up and killed the Mevlevi! Then he was turned over to ‘Ali Ḥasan Pasha ibn Muḥammad Pasha the Vizier—who was then the nā’ib of Damascus—who asked him: ‘Why did you kill this man?’ He answered: ‘Because he killed my cat!’ So he released him due to his jadhb.

After this he moved to a garden, in the area of Arza, that was part of cultivated lands. A group of people from this area reported to me that in the wintertime the snow would not touch him when it fell, nor would it affect the place in which he was. He was not harmed by either heat or cold, summer and winter. The people sought to visit him here, come to him with food and drink, sometimes perceiving from him mystical unveilings. Next, he moved to the summit of Mount Qāsiyyun, dwelling in the Grotto of Scarcity, between the Grotto of Blood and the Cave of Jibrīl. Shaykh Ḥusayn al-Rūmī associated with him—he used to worship in that wadi before him for some two years—as well Shaykh Abu Bakr al-Dabbāgh, though he died before the other two of them, they remaining after him. The people, men and women, went up to visit the two, with many women believing in him. Sometimes they would unveil their faces and he would touch them, they receiving blessing through his touch. Sometimes women would seek him out in order to fulfill some need of theirs and it would be fulfilled. He was immersed, he neither rationally understanding nor being rationally understood. Disapproval from many fell upon him, the main object of the disapproval being the unveiling of women before him.

On Monday, the 13th of Ṣafar, in the year 1018 (May 5, 1609), the 8th of May (Ayyār), before noon, a cloud-mass came in which were roaring winds, strong thunder, and sheets of lightning. Then its clouds heaped up and grew denser, then great strong hail began to fall, the size of musket-balls, at three or four different points in time, concentrated on the Ṣālaḥiyya [Neighborhood] and the Mount, mostly on its western flank, much of it on the city of Damascus itself, to the point that courtyards and alleyways were filled with hail. The valleys of the Ṣālaḥiyya began to flood from the storm, particular the valley in which is the Grotto of Scarcity, the flash-flood sweeping along houses and tombs, many among the living dying, a group of buried dead being brought forth as if resurrected from the dead. Due to the force of that flood a deep channel was gouged out in that area, and great rocks were dislodged. Among those who were swept up and buried by the flood were Sayyid Ḥasan—the subject of this entry—and his companion the dervish Ḥusayn al-Rūmī. Sayyid Ḥasan was pulled out on Tuesday, the 14th of Ṣafar, the aforementioned year of 1018, and a massive crowd of men and women attended his funeral procession, the women being more numerous than the men, because they made up the greatest number of his devotees. Among those present were Shaykh Muhammad ibn Shaykh Sa’d al-Dīn, and his son ‘Īsa and his brother Sa’d al-Dīn. I prayed as imam for him and for the woman who died with him under the destruction brought down by the aforementioned deluge. Later that day, the dervish Ḥusayn was extracted, and was buried the following day in accordance with what will be mentioned in his biographical entry.

Ḥusayn al-Rūmī the Dervish, dweller on Mount Qassiyūn for two years. He came to Damascus as a young man, devoting himself to acts of worship. He frequented our shaykh, Shaykh al-Islam Shihāb al-Dīn al-‘Aythāwī, and would ask him about matters of religion. Then he secluded himself in a little cave near the Grotto of Scarcity on Mount Qassiyūn, retreating to it, narrowing its entrance upon himself. He would not go out to anyone who intended to visit him, so people would pay visitation to him from behind a veil. Our shaykh—God be merciful to him—used to make visitation to him, I with him, and he would come out to us and discuss various matters with the shaykh, asking him of religious matters that occurred to him, and he would give him indications in various sorts of acts of worship, our shaykh thus giving him instruction.

There was upon him the luminosity of obedience and the traces of sanctity. He remained in that state for two years, then Shaykh Abu Bakr al-Ḍabbāgh gathered to him and dwelt in the Grotto of Scarcity, the two coming together for acts of obedience to God. Then Shaykh Ḥusayn got married, and lived with his wife in a little house built for him nearby his cave, Shaykh Ḥasan the aforementioned joining with him subsequently.

When the flash-flood, mentioned in the entry on Sayyid Ḥasan, came, on Monday, the 13th of Ṣafar, in the year 1018, it picked up rocks of the valley, carrying them along and engulfing the house in which he lived, he and Sayyid Ḥasan being in the house along with a woman, the sister-in-law of Shaykh Husayn’s wife. They all perished under the rubble. Sayyid Ḥasan and the woman were pulled out Tuesday morning, and I prayed over them together as previously mentioned. Dervish Ḥusayn was not seen, only being found in the evening of the day, and pulled out. The next day, Wednesday, he was washed and shrouded, and our shaykh went forth for the prayers over him. It was not easy for me to be present at his funeral due to the love between him and I and my belief in him. He was buried alongside Sayyid Ḥasan on the summit of Mount Qassiyūn. God be merciful to him!

Najm al-Dīn al-Ghazzī, Luṭf al-samar wa qaṭf al-thaman, j. 1, 402-405, 416-417

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The dome of al-Shāfi’ī’s tomb in Cairo, Egypt, with its distinctive and somewhat mysterious boat perched atop. Source.

When once [‘Abd al-Wahhāb al-Sha’rānī, d. 1565] was hindered from making a visit to [the tomb of] Imām al-Shāfi’ī, God be pleased with him, he [al-Shāfi’ī] came to him in a dream-vision and said to him: ‘O ‘Abd al-Wahhab, I am censuring you for your paucity in visiting me!’ ‘Abd al-Wahhāb replied, ‘Tomorrow I’ll come and visit you.’ But the Imām said to him: ‘I won’t release you until I go with you to my place.’ So he took him by the hand, until he ascended with him upon the back of his dome (qubba), underneath the boat (markab) that is upon it. He spread out for him a new mat and place before him a dining-cloth upon which was tender bread, cheese rounds, and split open for him an ‘abdallāwī melon. He said to him: ‘Eat, O ‘Abd al-Wahhāb, in this place which kings of the earth now departed desired to eat!’

Muḥammad Muḥyī al-Dīn al-Malījī, Tadhkirat ūlī al-albāb fī manāqib al-Shaʻrānī Sayyidī ʻAbd al-Wahhāb

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A symbolic depiction of Ukrainian nationalism, c. 1920

While the world probably doesn’t need any more commentary on the recent American election, I’d like to offer some anyway, though in a way that looks at happenings beyond the US to the rest of the world, where we see related patterns unfolding according to local particularities and conditions. While the US is its own case, it is also part of an interconnected world, the ties of global capitalism, human movement, globalized classes, elites, and political structures, and other things working to move American realities in directions broadly congruent with other, often quite different, parts of the world. My thoughts here—which are reflective of the halting directions my political thought have been taking as of late, but should not be interpreted as final or fully coherent—are springing off an article by Jonathan Haidt from back in the summer, but which is rather prescient and worth reading in its own right. What follows here, then, are three interlinking thoughts precipitated by, but in some cases sharply diverging from, Haidt’s article.

One, while right now the dominant options are either liberal ‘cosmopolitan’ globalism or some form of nationalism, within the framework of nation-states (whether more autonomous or more directed from supra-national entities being at question) and of some form of globalized (if not globalist) capitalism, those are not in fact the only options. To give but one example, the recent resurgence of indigenous American assertion and resistance, symbolized and embodied in the Standing Rock movement, presents a form of anti-globalism that is not ‘nationalist’ (or ‘rightist’) in the conventional sense, but embraces and draws upon particularity, a form of ethnic solidarity, respect for and continued use of tradition, and respect for place and collective past, without aspiring to possession of a nation-state, the rituals of nationalism, or the temptation of xenophobia. We could point to any number of indigenous movements around the world, or inter-related struggles for peasants’ rights, food sovereignty, and the like, most of which are grouped under a ‘left’ rubric but are in fact more complicated than that. While they may ‘speak’ some of the language of liberalism and of universalisms, they also speak in indigenous registers and traditions, out of an attachment to place, ‘tribe,’ and ‘particularity,’ against the forces of both nationalism and globalism. Dismissing these movements and peoples as ‘reactionary’ or ‘backwards’ not only betrays a lack of empathy but, more importantly I think, a lack of imagination for what is possible once we begin thinking past the confines of existing political philosophies and cultural configurations.

Second, one of the reasons for the enduring, indeed seemingly irrepressible nature of nationalism over the past hundred and fifty plus years, is that it is in general explicitly closer to human reality than are internationalist and globalist ideologies (something Haidt suggests in his article). That is not to say that nationalisms do not depend upon abstractions, constructions, and all manner of schemes to create, regularize, and defend the abstractions within them. They do, and scholars have spent a great deal of time dissecting and detailing the ways nation-states do this work. The nation-state is a construct of power and a construct of imagination. But—and this is the crucial point—while a given nationalism might have mythical abstractions, and even universalist pretensions in its ideological genetic material, those abstractions and pretensions do tend to recognize certain fundamental truths about human beings, truths that globalists also embody (in different ways) but do not, or cannot, so explicitly recognize, often seeing them as obstacles to ‘progress.’ Humans are embodied, contingent creatures. Humans build social relationships through face-to-face interactions, and are predisposed to care more for other, often related (whether through blood ties or fictive kin formations) human beings than for abstracted groups or ‘humanity’ at large. Humans inhabit particular places and form their psychic landscapes through those places. For most of humanity, including in the present, ‘home’ is a concrete, spatially fixed location in the world, with its own cultural dynamics, ecological systems, and sets of human relationships, regulated by unspoken custom. Human relationships are strongest within a certain numerical limit, and humans find it easiest to relate to people similar to them. While industrialization and the rise of the nation-state have introduced immense changes and disruptions to how humans experience the world and their home, or homes, in it, much of that basic reality remains, even as it has become transmuted into new and different and often decomposing forms.

Now, it should go without saying that nationalism maps but imperfectly onto those human realities. In fact, it must often struggle against many of those facts of human nature, but it does so with a close and open eye to them, to integrating the psychic drives and bodily formations into the needs of the nation-state. Nationalism must always strike a balance between preserving, and appropriating, attachments to real particulars—home, family, locale, landscape, linguistic practices—and subsuming or even destroying those particulars in the national project, particularly when localized identities refuse to congeal into the ‘nationality’ under construction. The construction of ‘race’ is one such construction, ultimately abstract and indeed empty, but lining up with deeply embedded and embodied human ways of being and doing, even if its potency requires reinforcement and locating within a nation-state project. Unlike, for the most part, globalism, nationalism ‘knows’ to speak human languages and to at least project the appearance of human scale. It must maintain its ties to the human and particular, it must always draw upon the concrete, the personal, the customary, even if in the process all of those things are reduced to so much rubble. Globalism, on the other hand, while it has its own particular language and customs, either tends to reduce cultures outside the metropole to romantic artefacts or cooks them down into legible and regulated ‘identities’ that may exist under globalism through the rubric of ‘diversity.’ But it cannot appeal to particularities and local ties and ‘parochial’ concerns in the way nationalism can, and this makes it weak outside of those spheres economically and culturally representative of globalism and cosmopolitanism. A liberal globalist might confront ‘Islamophobia,’ but he is unlikely to actually defend Muslim gender constructions or valorize Islamic forms of devotion.

Finally, it is important to recognize that globalism and the ‘cosmopolitanism’ that underwrites it are not in fact truly ‘global’ or ‘cosmopolitan,’ but expressive of, and expressed in, particular situations and places, supported by economic and political force—something that has been true since colonial times and continues to be true today (and there is a vast literature on the paradoxes and resources to violence that earlier forms of liberal ‘cosmopolitanism required and expressed).  In fact it would be better to speak, as with nationalism, of plural globalisms, unified analytically by shared traits and tendencies—mutually intelligible registers and dialects of one language, perhaps. The cultural-social ‘homes’ of these globalism(s) are almost overwhelmingly in major cities and their ‘satellites,’ particularly universities, but also, and increasingly, online—a ‘place’ of a different sort, but still a place with many of the same functions and contours as literal socially-conditioned and created spaces. While liberal globalists might find contingent allies in many places—particularly among migrant members of ethnic minorities—the core inhabitants of the liberal globalist ‘world’ tend to be middle-class and up, often of European descent but not necessarily so, ‘secular,’ and spatially mobile within limits. While they may move from London to New York, or from Princeton to Portland (and may have their natal origins almost anywhere), there are clear ‘tracks’ of localities along which the ‘global citizen’ moves and recognizes herself. Just as there are geographic routes, there are also clear and recognizable ideological and cultural routes, overlapped with practices and beliefs that are shared among all permutations of liberal globalists. As with any broad analytical grouping, globalists are heterogeneous, even as they aspire to universalism and abstraction (a unifying characteristic, even if they vary greatly otherwise). They can afford not to feel threatened by immigration for two reasons beyond ethical or ideological considerations: one, by its nature ‘global’ citizenship assimilates people from every background (like many imperial or quasi-imperial systems in the past), provided they accept the dominant tenets and cultural practices of the particular subgrouping into which they assimilate. Two, globalists occupy the upper echelons of economic life, which translates into cultural and socio-geographic stability. While their political power might fluctuate, since America and Western Europe remain committed to albeit weak forms of democratic governance, their economic and cultural situation has so far evaded any serious assaults, even if the penetrative power of globalist hegemony is unlikely to extend much beyond its economic-geographical enclaves.

In conclusion, both ‘nationalism’ and ‘globalism’ are in their own ways quite strong and quite entrenched. Right now nationalisms are pretty clearly ascendant politically, though things could change from one place to another. Globalisms are not going away, of course, and as long as global capitalism—the economic envelope that makes all forms of globalism possible—continues to be the strongest and most viable form of economic organization, globalisms will also thrive in their native habitats. But the liberal universalisms espoused by globalists, and the political forms enacting them, are probably going to continue to run into interference, particularly as globalists find themselves locked in battle with nationalists—a situation that is not actually a necessary one, as Haidt suggests in his article. Globalists must have recourse, if they are to win political fights, to at least some of the languages of nation, particularity, and so on, mixed with the appeals to abstract and universal values that are more native territory (nationalists, too, it should be noted frequently have appeal to universal values and beliefs—the difference being more one of emphasis and centering than of mere matters of inclusion or exclusion). But such appeals, even if they reflect the social reality of globalist life, tend to undermine the stated ideological foundations, and anyway mostly work best on insiders (just like nationalist language). A better solution, though, I have to admit, for now a less likely one, is to explore possibilities outside of this dualism, outside of the givens of nation-state, global capital, liberal hegemony, and centralized power.