Nussbaum on Butler
In her 1999 article in The New Republic[1], Martha Nussbaum tells us that Judith Butler has “led …many to adopt a stance that looks very much like quietism and retreat.” She tells us that Butler gives us no meaningful political program, that she writes badly, that her ideas are either false or unoriginal, that her arguments neglect material fact, that she is a nihilist who wants to deny all norms, that she finds oppression sexy and that her project “collaborates with evil.”
These are strong charges and, for the most part, based on a blinkered view of Judith Butler’s project. But they are not unprecedented. Variations have been leveled at most species of Continental philosopher by opponents on the left and right for over a hundred years[2]. In their constant return, they highlight not simply a difference in style or even in choice of ultimate question; they also carry a fundamentally different understanding of the possibilities and role of philosophical critique, and represent fundamentally different choices of how these possibilities should be deployed. In this case, we see tensions between Butler and liberal feminism that cannot be reconciled by an appeal to more thorough understanding, or by the search for a higher vantage point.
Martha Nussbaum’s primary complaint is that Judith Butler distracts from practical action: “Feminist thinkers of the new symbolic type would appear to believe that the way to do feminist politics is to use words in a subversive way, in academic publications of lofty obscurity and disdainful abstractness. These symbolic gestures, it is believed, are themselves a form of political resistance; and so one need not engage with messy things such as legislatures and movements to act daringly.”
Nussbaum keeps returning to a variation on this point— namely, that feminism should primarily be a practical and political matter, with a definite program of action, and that Judith Butler’s feminism fails this practical test. This is an odd argument to make, especially for an academic. Every program needs its theorists, and very few academics directly and immediately cause practical change. Most seem comfortable with this, and few of our intellectuals are simultaneously dashing revolutionaries. But if Nussbaum can’t really be demanding an end to theory, what she must be saying is that Butler both misunderstands the role of a feminist intellectual and that her pessimism about the extent of human freedom is damaging to the movement.
The problems and, to a large extent, the solutions are clear to Nussbaum, and she sees the endless theorizing as distracting from clearly apparent action. To Butler the actions are often based on shaky ground. A common feature of much left-radical philosophy is an ambivalence to modernity: a belief that liberalism, despite its benefits, rests on shaky foundations and that an uncritical acceptance of the categories we inherit from it may lead us to preserve hierarchies we’re hoping to dissolve. Liberal, often rights-based, conceptions of the human being have been a valuable weapon in the fight for justice. But they also tend to assume a formal equality that neglects context, conceive of the self as a pre-existing monad, with rights and desires prior to society and, at least historically, in claiming a universal human nature have reified existing socio-economic relations and created new undesired and unconscious normative constraints.
Nussbaum keeps returning to a variation on this point— namely, that feminism should primarily be a practical and political matter, with a definite program of action, and that Judith Butler’s feminism fails this practical test. This is an odd argument to make, especially for an academic.
If we buy some version of this critique, then we are led to the conclusion that interrogating received categories and conceptions is crucial to feminist thought, and that this questioning must include the ubiquitous and foundational categories of sex and gender. Moreover, the attempt to unsettle what seems natural must inevitably seem difficult, obscure, and contradictory. So to Nussbaum’s question, “Why does Butler prefer to write in this teasing, exasperating way?” and her conclusion that this “bullies the reader into granting that … there must be something significant going on,” Butler can only reply, “No doubt, scholars in the humanities should be able to clarify how their work informs and illuminates everyday life. Equally, however, such scholars are obliged to question common sense, interrogate its tacit presumptions and provoke new ways of looking at a familiar world…. If common sense sometimes preserves the social status quo, and that status quo sometimes treats unjust social hierarchies as natural, it makes good sense on such occasions to find ways of challenging common sense. Language that takes up this challenge can help point the way to a more socially just world. The contemporary tradition of critical theory in the academy, derived in part from the Frankfurt School of German anti-fascist philosophers and social critics, has shown how language plays an important role in shaping and altering our common or “natural” understanding of social and political realities.”[3]
Most important among the categories that Butler wishes to dismiss is sex, and Nussbaum sees this as both false and dangerous. False, she says, because “we might have had the bodies of birds or dinosaurs or lions, but we do not; and this reality shapes our choices.” And yes, this is tautological. But it is by no means obvious that we have access to the ways in which our bodies shape our choices, and history should convince us that the differences that count as essential and those that count as artificial are never naturally given. If we reached a point where sex no longer told us anything about a person’s capabilities, experience and history and lead us to expect nothing from them as a consequence of that attribute, then it is hard to see how it would exist as a category more meaningful than, say, hair color. This may seem implausible, but regardless, the attempt to dethrone sex as an absolute category and as the unreflective foundation to which gender is loosely tethered seems valuable. It is also good to remember that Butler is not saying that there is some natural androgyny underlying it all that we’ve somehow missed. A transcending of sex will also take contingent shapes and given that none of these categories are given to us without mediation, it could not be otherwise.[4]
Judith Butler’s retreat to subversion is entailed by her rejection of universal norms: by her recognition that power is everywhere and we cannot step outside of it and look down. But how then do we preserve our normative force? Nussbaum sees no way of following through this critical philosophy without becoming a passive nihilist:
“There is a void, then, at the heart of Butler’s notion of politics. This void can look liberating, because the reader fills it implicitly with a normative theory of human equality or dignity. But let there be no mistake: for Butler, as for Foucault, subversion is subversion, and it can in principle go in any direction. Indeed Butler’s naively empty politics is especially dangerous for the very causes she holds dear.”
There are a couple of responses that could be made to this. The first is that at the very least the attempt to historicize and critique what seem like natural unchanging truths is, in the tradition of critical philosophy, already resistance, and opens up the space of human freedom. To realize the contingency of our context is to realize our power to shape it for our own ends, even if in small ways; and to realize how thoroughly we participate in the continuation of that which we try to resist is also to realize how essential we are to it.
This doesn’t give us a universal notion of justice. And worse, it doesn’t quite give us a program for action. At best it hints at a procedural or methodological approach to justice, an attempt at constant criticism and vigilance. Yet at some level, very little has changed.
There is no alternative to acting under a set of norms and beliefs (not acting is itself a definite choice). At the end of this journey, we’re left with many of the same projects we started with. We are a little more critical and alert for contradictions, more tentative and ironic in our conclusions, simultaneously realizing how power relations occupy every crevasse and alert to our disruptive potential. But we are not now disinterested and detached subjects, free of politics and engagement.
This is all certainly a distraction from feminism as Nussbaum imagines it. And it might even turn out to be a distraction from feminism as we should understand it. An attempt to respond to Nussbaum’s criticism does not imply an acceptance of Butler’s position. But it is a recognition that the choices Butler makes and the ways that she sees the world are compelling and important ones, and that these are choices we must engage with and attempt to understand in our struggle for a critical philosophy.
[1] Martha Nussbaum, “The Professor of Parody”, The New Republic, February 22nd, 1999
[2] For example, Bertrand Russell and A.J. Ayer on Martin Heidegger. For an interesting contemporary example see Terry Eagleton’s essay on Gayatri Spivak in the London Review of Books, May 13th 1999. This, and the ensuing debate, recapitulates Nussbaum’s critique in another arena.
[3] Judith Butler, New York Times, March 20th 1999
[4] In case you were wondering, Nussbaum says that the dismissal of sex is dangerous because research on women’s particular bodily needs (lactating mothers, female athletes) has been useful. Lacking a good counterfactual, this pragmatic view of sexual identity seems beside the point.
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Rishi Chaudhuri is a graduate student in Applied Mathematics at Yale.




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