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This chapter focuses on diversity issues in France. It shows how these issues came historically in the French context and how the main tensions generated, notably the equality-diversity and universality-diversity tensions, are not understandable without a knowledge of the French Republicanism which gives to the foundations of the French social fabric its peculiarities.

In 1967, Robert N. Bellah famously argued that there existed an “American Civil Religion,” which was distinct from churchly religion and captured the “transcendental” dimension of the American project. In this chapter, I revisit the civil religion concept and reconstruct it along more Weberian lines. Specifically, I argue that the civil religion tradition is one of three competing traditions for thinking about the proper relationship between religion and politics in America; the other two are religious nationalism and liberal secularism. Whereas liberal secularism envisions a complete separation of the religious and political value spheres, and religious nationalism longs for their (re)unification, civil religion aims for a mediating position of partial separation and productive tension. Following Bellah, I argue that the two central strands of the civil religion tradition have been covenant theology and civic republicanism. The body of the chapter sketches out the development of the tradition across a series of national foundings and refoundings, focusing on the writings of leading civil theologians from John Winthrop and John Adams through Abraham Lincoln and John Dewey to Martin King and Barack Obama. The conclusion advances a normative argument for American civil religion – and against liberal secularism and religious nationalism. I contend that liberalism is highly inclusive but insufficiently solidaristic; that religious nationalism is highly solidaristic but insufficiently inclusive; and that only civil religion strikes a proper balance between individual autonomy and the common good.

In 1967, Robert N. Bellah famously argued that there existed an “American Civil Religion,” which was distinct from churchly religion and captured the “transcendental” dimension of the American project. In this chapter, I revisit the civil religion concept and reconstruct it along more Weberian lines. Specifically, I argue that the civil religion tradition is one of three competing traditions for thinking about the proper relationship between religion and politics in America; the other two are religious nationalism and liberal secularism. Whereas liberal secularism envisions a complete separation of the religious and political value spheres, and religious nationalism longs for their (re)unification, civil religion aims for a mediating position of partial separation and productive tension. Following Bellah, I argue that the two central strands of the civil religion tradition have been covenant theology and civic republicanism. The body of the chapter sketches out the development of the tradition across a series of national foundings and refoundings, focusing on the writings of leading civil theologians from John Winthrop and John Adams through Abraham Lincoln and John Dewey to Martin King and Barack Obama. The conclusion advances a normative argument for American civil religion – and against liberal secularism and religious nationalism. I contend that liberalism is highly inclusive but insufficiently solidaristic; that religious nationalism is highly solidaristic but insufficiently inclusive; and that only civil religion strikes a proper balance between individual autonomy and the common good.

In this paper I argue that the liberal problem of religion, which defines religion in terms of dogmatism or opaque justifications based on ‘revealed truth’, needs to be rethought as part of a broader problem of dialogue, which does not define religion as uniquely problematic.

Habermas argues for religious positions to be translated into ‘generally accessible language’ to incorporate religious citizens into democratic dialogue and resist the domination of instrumental rationality by enhancing ‘solidarity’. I contrast this with Rowan Williams’ and Gadamer’s work.

Williams conceptualises religion in terms of recognising the finitude of our being, rather than dogmatism or opacity. This recognition, he argues, allows people to transcend the ‘imaginative bereavement’ of seeing others as means. Using Williams, I argue that Habermas misdefines religion, and reinforces the domination of instrumental rationality by treating religion as a means. I then use Gadamer to argue that the points Williams makes about religion can apply to secular positions too by recognising them as traditions subject to finitude.

This is original because it argues that the liberal problem of religion misdefines both religion and secular positions, by not recognising that both are traditions defined by finitude. To reach, dialogically, a ‘fusion of horizons’, where religious and secular people are understood non-instrumentally in their own terms of reference, will take time and not trade on immediately manifest – ‘generally accessible’ – meanings.

This chapter explores the impact of the seemingly new recognition of non-Muslims in Turkey, a historically marginalized minority. In the 2000s, the ruling AKP party, a religiously and socially conservative party, made a number of symbolic gestures toward the increasing recognition of these communities. This chapter explores this ethnographically and historically by looking at the political effects of AKP’s democratization attempts on the Rum Orthodox (“Greek”) community in Istanbul. It argues that these attempts paralleled a similar language of democracy within the community particularly in the aftermath of the government’s permission to run elections in the non-Muslim community institutions (vakıfs), following a period of time during which no elections had been held in these institutions. At the same time, these attempts occasioned old and new forms of hierarchies within the community, which emerged as a result of the competing claims within it to its representation. These seemingly ambiguous effects of democratization within the Rum community emerged in the gap between the AKP’s democracy discourse that claims universal inclusion and its highly selective practice of democracy. This was so because the AKP preserved the ethnoreligious definition of national identity even while it readopted the historical legacies of the Ottoman millet system that managed society along religious confessional lines. These findings contribute to the existing theories on democratization by highlighting the inextricable link between inclusion and exclusion that emerges in the gap between the discursive claims of democracy toward universal inclusion and the selective actualization of these claims in practice. Such selective inclusion that is inherent to the politics of democracy is managed differently in different contexts due to the hybrid forms of state recognition of the population.

This chapter makes an attempt to provide an outline of the contributions of the Indian democratic socialist tradition to the expansion and radicalization of the canvas of democratic theory and practice in India. While doing so, it also briefly discusses and highlights the historical and cultural context of the emergence of democratic imagination in India.11The democratic socialist tradition in India owes its origin during the Nationalist Movement by way of the establishment of the Congress Socialist Party (CSP). The CSP was a left-wing group, within the Indian National Congress, established to intensify the nationalist movement by turning it unequivocally, anticolonial and anti-imperialist. It also intended to radicalise the agenda of the nationalist struggle by incorporating into it aspirations of a socio-economic transformation of Indian society. After independence, the CSP severed its relation with the Congress and ramified into a number of splintered groups and parties over a period. See, John Patrick Haithcox, Nationalism and Communalism in India (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1968). In addition, the chapter also tries to grapple with certain central issues of democracy and civil society in contemporary India and shows how socialist input into Indian democracy could help in overcoming some of its predicaments. This analysis is done in three sections. The first section discusses the historical and cultural context of the emergence of democracy in India in terms of the nationalist movement and the framing of the Indian Constitution. The second section identifies the central issues that Indian democracy confronts today. Finally, the third section highlights the significance of the Indian democratic socialist discourse both in identifying the problems of Indian democracy as well as in providing amicable solutions to them.

The religious tradition of male circumcision has come increasingly under attack across a number of European states. While critics of the practice argue that the problem is about children’s rights and the proper relationship between secular and religious traditions, Jews tend to see these attacks within the longer history of attempts to assimilate and remake them according to the norms of the majority. Using the 2012 German legal controversy concerning the issue as my vantage point, I explore how contemporary criticism of male circumcision remains entangled with ambivalence toward Judaism and the Jews as the “other.” Through a close reading of the arguments, I show how opponents use the seemingly neutral language of universal human rights to (re)make Jewish difference according to the norms of the majority. I conclude by arguing that such an approach to this issue runs the risk of turning Jews once again into strangers at a time when cultural anxieties are troubling European societies.

In order to mark the beginning of the fifteenth century, a group of prominent Muslim theologians and jurists assembled to draft a document that systematically laid out the rights and duties of all human beings according to the dictates of Islam. The year of Christ was 1981, and the occasion was formally the International Islamic Conference, held that year in Paris. The document that these jurist produced seems at first an odd one, titled The Universal Islamic Declaration of Human Rights (Universal Islamic Declaration, 1988). Odd as the document so pointedly invokes the famed 1948 United Nations Universal Declaration of Human Rights (Universal Declaration, 1999). But perhaps such an invocation is not odd at all, for the document is first of all a symptom of and a response to two massive contemporary facts. The first is the ubiquity of human rights talk. It is certainly proof of the success of this discourse as a normative and normalizing force that no-one can speak of universality or ethics or even the most drab topic in international relations without paying homage, only sometimes qualified, to the idea that all humans have rights. The second fact to which the Islamic declaration responds is the suspicion if not outright insistence that the religion of Islam in unsuited to this new order of civilization. Amongst the jurists themselves there is a sense that clarification is needed of the relation of Islam to the global (to say nothing of globalizing) discourse of human rights. This much is readily conceded by the drafters, who felt impelled by the forces of the contemporary world scene to formulate the Islamic position in relation to human rights (Weeramantry, 1988, p. 122).Not surprisingly, such a position involves dethroning the sovereign subject (entirely different from its deconstruction) and proclaiming victory once again for God and his absolute sovereignty, even as it involves extending a governmental interest in the life of the individual, from the conditions of his cultural life (article 14) to the legislation of his leisure time (article17). However, in contrast to the Universal Declaration that never once mentions God or Creator, the Islamic Declaration insists that only God to be “the creator the sustainer, the sovereign the sole guide of mankind and the Source of all Law” (Universal Islamic Declaration, 1988, p. 176). A hasty reading would take this as a response not just to the Universal Declaration, which here is named and renamed, but the entire western tradition of rights and secular power after the death of God. This, however, would be a mistake, for it would overlook both the distinctly modern project of power that the Islamic Declaration articulates, and the peculiar construction of the U.N Declaration itself, the way it refers to and refracts the idiom of the famous eighteenth century revolutionary documents – the American Declaration of Independence and the French Declaration of the Rights of Man and Citizen. Thus in the Universal Declaration the repetition of the American phrase, “endowed by their creator,” becomes simply “endowed with reason and conscience,” with no one doing the endowing. In short, the omission of God from the Universal Declaration is an over determined decision and not one of a casual or inevitable secularism.

In this chapter I argue that intimate massacre and home-grown jihadi terrorism can be explained similarly through the concept of the Doomed Antihero. In both forms of public mass killing the perpetrator has subjectively experienced a long period of humiliation; he has slowly converted humiliation into rage; he has adopted an antiheroic style from a culturally available catalog to channel his rage; he has identified a symbol of his humiliation for attack; he has become determined to permanently destroy the symbol by killing people inhabiting it; and he sees “his” attack as a final act that will erase his past and reify his future.