Divine Funerals: The Temporal Self in Freud and Rousseau

by Annabel Smith

Mohandas K. Gandhi’s Hind Swaraj is an essential text of the Indian liberation and postcolonialism movements, providing a scathing critique of modernity and its impacts on the relationship of the individual to the world around them. In his text, Gandhi discusses at length the development of English colonialism in India, and the factors that contributed to its continued dominance. He characterizes the two nations as fundamentally different, portraying a moral, spiritual Indian civilization and an immoral, secular England. This difference stems from the emphasis that Indians collectively place on morality that is absent from the English nation. Gandhi argues not only that this leaves the English more susceptible to the evils of modernization, but also that the ways in which modern technology and institutions restructure people’s relationship to the world around them pose a threat to Indian civilization. Modern technology, in his view, breeds immorality by erasing the good work involved in the achievement of one’s goals, perpetuating the idea that the ends justify the means. It poses a threat to the future of civilization by leading the people subject to it to view further development as the only way forward. To Gandhi, it is the development of modern civilization itself that is the driving force behind the origins and continuation of colonial rule.

Gandhi’s relationship with modernity is a complicated and at times contradictory one. His writings present a rejection of technology that was not always reflected in his real-life use of modern inventions such as railways and medicine, arguing that these technologies breed immorality while using them himself. Various critics have differing perspectives on Gandhi’s view of modernization, depending on their reading of Hind Swaraj as a set of teachings that should be taken either literally or metaphorically. For Esha Shah, Hind Swaraj represents an ideologically pure “Gandhism,” with his sweeping anti-technology fundamentalism indicating an impossible ideal that must still be pursued. Shah’s critique focuses largely on the ways that these implements of modernity shift one’s way of thinking, causing people to become more immoral and accept constant development as the only possible future. Douglas Allen presents an alternative view in his work, reading Hind Swaraj much more metaphorically than Shah. He sees the text as largely abstract and decontextualized, critiquing what modernity represents rather than what it actually is. Theresa Lee, in her comparison of the philosophies of Gandhi and Sun Yat-sen, views the common interpretations of Gandhian philosophy in the modern day as problematic and dangerous. She identifies a tendency to erase his goals of realizing a true postcolonial society and his rejection of the English idea of modernity in favor of a watered-down, pacifist form of Gandhism. My analysis seeks to prove that Gandhi’s critique of modernity should be understood on both literal and figurative levels. He argues that technology is responsible for breeding immorality, while recognizing that a complete rejection of modernity is impossible when one exists as an active member of society.

To Gandhi, Indian and English civilization are fundamentally different because Indian civilization is built on a foundation of shared moral values, while the English are united as a political but not spiritual whole. This creates a dichotomy between the moral and the material civilization, where the oppressor nation strives for material gains and the subjugated nation seeks a higher, moral advancement. For Gandhi, spirituality and morality are deeply connected, with spirituality presenting a superior alternative to the materialism of modernity. Gandhi describes civilization as “that mode of conduct which points out to man the path of duty…If this definition be correct, then India, as so many writers have shown, has nothing to be learned from anybody else” (Gandhi, 67). In Gandhi’s view, Indian civilization is built on the pillars of self-knowledge and morality, which is how India manages to remain “sound at the foundation” (66) even as it has moved from the ancient to the modern world. Religion is also central to the nationalist argument, with nationalists using India’s rich history of spirituality in their advocacy for Home Rule. For Gandhi, this spirituality has a different significance, as his goal goes beyond driving the English out of India and amounts to the creation of a new kind of postcolonial society. The issue of secularization exemplifies his fears concerning the erosion of these Indian moral values, as he writes, “Religion is dear to me, and my first complaint is that India is becoming irreligious. Here I am thinking…of that religion which underlies all religions. We are turning away from God” (42). English civilization, conversely, is founded on immorality, as the “path of duty” their civilization directs them to leads the English to seek material, rather than moral, advancement. The English are completely disconnected from this “religion that underlies all religions,” as Gandhi claims that “money is their God” (41). The values of the English civilization, according to Gandhi, are not based on the practice of a moral way of life. The colonial presence of the English in India is motivated by their pervasive materialism, and the influence of materialism has proven to be a disruption to the fundamental morality of civilization in India.

It is important to acknowledge, however, that the idealized, moralistic India that Gandhi describes is one which has never really existed. This version of Indian civilization is not a historical one but Gandhi’s imagining of a future postcolonial India, built upon the country’s sound moral foundations that he has already identified. In Hind Swaraj, independence represents a way forward to a postcolonial future, rather than a way back to the way things were in India before English colonialism. Gandhi is aware of this contradiction, writing, “My patriotism does not teach me that I am to allow people to be crushed under the heel of Indian princes, if only the English retire. If I have the power, I should resist the tyranny of Indian princes just as much as that of the English” (Gandhi, 76). Subjugation under one’s own countrymen is still subjugation, as Gandhi points out here in his critique of past Indian princes. However, Gandhi speaks of India as made up of its people, rather than its institutions or its history. This is very significant to his argument, as he believes the present and future condition of Indian civilization is dependent on the beliefs and actions of its people rather than the moral values, or lack thereof, of its ruling powers. Of Gandhi’s postcolonial aims, Lee writes, “Independence is simply a precondition to building the kind of postcolonial society that Gandhi had envisioned for India, and arguably beyond” (Lee, 146). His goal is not limited to the expulsion of the English from India because a return to an oppressive power structure is antithetical to the message of swaraj, or self-rule. The concept of swaraj, as Gandhi defines it, does not simply refer to rule by one’s own countrymen rather than rule by outsiders. Self-rule in India can only be achieved when society is structured based on the moral values of Indian civilization. Gandhi’s ideal society is just as impossible under India’s pre-colonial regimes as it is under English rule.

The moral principles that Gandhi sees as foundational to the Indian national identity are corrupted by the modernizing influence of the English. Gandhi views technology as a largely evil force that hinders us from the pursuit of self-knowledge that is so essential to swaraj. The ease with which modern technology allows people to perform various tasks is generally thought of as a positive feature of modernity, but Gandhi is more skeptical. In his view, hard work is integral to a moral way of life: “Nature has not provided any way whereby we may reach a desired goal all of a sudden. If, instead of welcoming machinery as a boon, we would look upon it as an evil, it would ultimately go” (Gandhi, 111). He extols the merits of hard work in the achievement of one’s goals, and the idea that technology can be used to erase this work is repugnant to his ideas of self-improvement and self-rule. A prominent example of this in Hind Swaraj is Gandhi’s critique of the railways:

Good travels at a snail’s pace – it can, therefore, have little to do with the railways. Those who want to do good are not selfish, they are not in a hurry, they know that to impregnate people with good requires a long time. But evil has wings. To build a house takes time. Its destruction takes none. (47)

To Gandhi, it is the speed and convenience of railways that makes them immoral. They spread evil more easily by transporting evil people at a greater speed. More significantly, however, we lose our penchant to do good when we travel on the railways, as we become accustomed to having the work of our lives done for us. This speaks to the European “[addiction] to the limitlessness of the future” (Lee, 149), as the European idea of modernization hinges on constant developments in technology that improve the ease of our lifestyle. However, Gandhi claims that we lose our virtues of discipline and self-knowledge in this quest of progress for the sake of progress.

Gandhi’s critiques of technology here present an ideological purity that even he himself could not live up to in his day-to-day life. Hind Swaraj condemns these technological developments across the board, even those that Gandhi himself was guilty of using (Allen, 111). Shah interprets Gandhi’s strict anti-technology views as an element of confusion in his relationship with modernity: “Gandhi does not oppose technology per se but its non-technological core and what it does to human experience or consciousness; he talks about what it means to be a human being shaped by such a technological mode of thinking” (Shah, 126). His critique of modernity is complex, per Shah, because it is not the developments in and of themselves that are immoral, but the ways in which we come to interact with the world because of those developments. In Shah’s view, the contradictions in the text are intentional, meant to demonstrate an aspirational level of moral purity. Critiques of elements of modernity such as medicine, law, or railways are meant to show what happens to a person going through the world in interaction with these institutions and colonial implements, not necessarily as criticism of the technology on its own. Conversely, Allen identifies this as indicative of Gandhi’s hypocrisy:

He may dogmatically dismiss modern hospitals and modern medicine as evil, but he goes to the modern hospital when faced with life-threatening appendicitis. He may dogmatically dismiss railways, but no one uses railways more than Gandhi to promote his values and energize the masses. (Allen, 111)

Allen views the actions advocated by the Editor as a hypocritical flaw in Gandhism, since Gandhi is guilty of taking advantage of the very technologies that he condemns. However, it seems that the large-scale condemnations of institutions from which Gandhi benefited that are present in Hind Swaraj are indicative of the realistic swaraj efforts that he describes. In the conclusion to Hind Swaraj, Gandhi presents a list of actions that people in different circumstances can take to promote self-rule (Gandhi 115). This call to action suggests different steps that can be taken by people with various resources or roles in society. In contrast with his total rejection of technology in earlier sections of the text, Gandhi suggests here that this immorality is something that should be held in mind and it is unreasonable to expect even the most morally pure of Indians to act with complete purity. He acknowledges that with different means, one must take different actions.

The crux of Gandhi’s criticism of technology and modernization in India is the ways in which modernity perpetuates the idea that the ends justify the means. For Gandhi, the ends and means are inseparable. This can be seen in his aforementioned condemnation of technology, where the hard work and good intentions involved in performing a task inform its moral purity, a purity that is erased when the ease of achieving something increases. Allen describes the dominant view of modernity in his writing on Gandhi: “As formulated by a wide variety of Western anti-modernists and post-modernists […] and as critiqued by existentialists and phenomenologists, this dominant modern approach embraces the view that the ends justify the means” (Allen 115). This is at the center of Gandhi’s moral opposition to the modern world in general and to modernity as exemplified by the English in particular. For Gandhi, being good comes from living and acting in a way that is good. Morality is not something that can be circumvented. Modern ideals, however, have made prevalent the idea that we can achieve noble aims without doing the necessary work, or through work that he considers to be improper and immoral. He condemns this idea, saying, “I am not likely to obtain the result flowing from the worship of God by laying myself prostrate before Satan. If, therefore, anyone were to say: ‘I want to worship God, it does not matter that I do so by means of Satan’ it would be set down as ignorant folly. We reap exactly as we sow” (Gandhi 81). This imagery comes from an argument regarding the use of brute force in the achievement of Home Rule in India, where he argues that freedom accomplished through the use of violence is not freedom, as the end result of an action is inseparable from the methods used to accomplish it. True peace can only be achieved by peaceful means.

Recognizing modernization as responsible for intensifying English immorality and eroding Indian morality, it follows that Gandhi views modernity itself as responsible for the evils of colonialism. Gandhi identifies a negative cycle in the spread of modern technology and institutions in India, where modern developments lead to a rise in immorality, which in turn causes further development. This occurs when the institutions and technologies that Gandhi classifies as immoral become largely accepted, which he argues is often influenced by the supposed perception of India by Western nations: “There is a charge against us that we are a lazy people, and that the Europeans are industrious and enterprising. We have accepted the charge and we, therefore, wish to change our condition” (42). The evaluation of Indian society by English standards that we see here causes an imbalance in the relationship between moral (Indian) and immoral (English) civilization. When immoral civilization is lauded as good and moral civilization is made to seem unfavorable in comparison, the society that is looked down upon will necessarily desire to advance. In this case, the consequence of this is India becoming more like England. Additionally, Gandhi argues that modernization creates artificial problems that it then claims to solve, writing, “An opium-eater may argue the advantage of opium-eating from the fact that he began to understand the evil of the opium habit after having eaten it” (49). In India, colonial powers have swooped in and created problems, then “solved” those problems with their modern methods. Here, Gandhi is speaking in reference to the supposed issue of divisions among India’s large population that the English, like the opium user who understands the problems with opium after using it, have attempted to solve through the introduction of railways and English law. For Gandhi, this is a way for colonizers to influence the colonized to accept their subjugation as a positive force.

When a society accepts these modern influences as necessary for its advancement, that society is led to believe that that version of modernity is the only future possible. In her critique of Hind Swaraj, Shah describes Gandhi’s condemnation of technology as a negative enframing of consciousness, wherein the problem is not with technology itself but the way it structures our thinking and interactions with the world. Gandhi illustrates this enframing of consciousness in his discussion of the practice of medicine:

I over-eat, I have indigestion, I go to a doctor, he gives me medicine, I am cured, I over-eat again, and I take his pills again. Had I not taken the pills in the first instance, I would have suffered the punishment deserved by me, and I would not have over-eaten again. (63)

Modern medicine is a problem for Gandhi because it reconstructs our relationship with our body and the world around us. Rather than pursuing the self-knowledge that he sees as essential, when we act in error we are encouraged to continue to do so because there is an easy cure, eliminating the work involved. In Shah’s words, “Technology alters our experience of the world and, in doing so, mutates, downplays and even undermines or makes it impossible to experience this world differently. Technology operating like a rationalising force makes any alternative imaginations impossible” (Shah 130). According to Shah, Hind Swaraj teaches that becoming dependent on technology instead of learning from our interactions with our bodies and the world around us makes a way forward without continued technological advancement seem increasingly impossible. A literal interpretation of these teachings, as Shah advocates for, implies that present-day society, over a century after the writing of this text, is effectively doomed, with further technological developments that have led to further disconnects between mind and body. However, as Gandhi describes individual self-rule as a process that anyone can undergo, it is clear that he sees this dependence as something we are able to control to some extent. The process of swaraj is one that frees people from the rule of ideas and developments as well as the rule of human oppressors.

The cognitive restructuring that comes with the conveniences of modernity is proven to exist by Gandhi’s own historical recasting. As a radical advocate of postcolonialism and critic of modernization in life, Gandhi’s posthumous portrayal as a pacifist with widely palatable views demonstrates the cognitive dissonance that comes with modernity. We are not doing the true work of swaraj when we reject colonial rule while accepting its legacy, meaning we must make Gandhian philosophy acceptable to the colonial legacy as well. The embrace of this conception of modernity as the only way forward conflicts with Gandhi’s (questionable) status as something of a modern saint, since the views he expresses in his writings condemn the very things that make this progressive view possible: “By recasting Gandhi as a harmless Luddite with a contemporary moral sensitivity which is fit for progressive global causes, the global community has conveniently tamed an otherwise relentless critic of modernity as setting the definitive standard of life” (Lee, 149). Lee identifies the contradiction here between Gandhi’s portrayal and his actual views and actions as emerging from a sort of widespread cognitive dissonance, wherein the hero-worship of Gandhi as an advocate of peace and nonviolence is impossible when we ascribe fully to the necessity of constant development. Erasing the complexities of Gandhi’s view of modernity in Hind Swaraj allows readers to embrace ideas such as passive resistance while rejecting his criticism of technology . Allen embraces a more nuanced view of Gandhian philosophy, writing, “Yes, Gandhi is opposed to the key terms as defined by modern civilization in the above modern formulation of the either-or dichotomy. However, he is in favor of real progress, real development, appropriate technology, and raising the standard of living of all” (Allen, 122). As Allen points out, Gandhi’s purported desire to eliminate machinery, as seen in Hind Swaraj, is not one that comes at the cost of the well-being of the average Indian citizen. However, Allen’s more abstract view of Hind Swaraj ignores the real issues that Gandhi has with technology and the immoral relationship between the individual and the world that it cultivates. Stating simply that Gandhi is in favor of raising the standard of living without acknowledging what constitutes a better standard of living for Gandhi is antithetical to the substance of Gandhi’s critiques of modernity. The list of actions Gandhi advocates for in the conclusion to the text, as previously mentioned (Gandhi, 115), show a nuance to his views that is often overlooked, as he writes that different people in different circumstances cannot have the same contributions to a nationalist movement and cannot achieve individual swaraj in the same way.

Gandhi’s critiques of modern civilization and the enframing of consciousness that comes with it implies an impending struggle for dominance between what he sees as “true” and “false” civilization, exemplified in Hind Swaraj by the relationship between India and England. The relationship of the Indian and English people to their respective states is a complicated one. Gandhi sees this relationship as largely informed by the morality of India and the materialism of England. The English are united as a political body, with a shared national commitment to material and colonial gains: “As are the people, so is their Parliament. They have certainly one quality very strongly developed. They will never allow their country to be lost” (Gandhi, 33). For the English, country takes precedence over individual self-knowledge, where government rule transcends self-rule in significance. While the English are united in their materialism, the Indians are united in morality. Gandhi writes, “[W]here this cursed modern civilization has not reached, India remains as it was before…The English do not rule over them, nor do you ever rule over them” (Gandhi, 70). The Indian people’s refusal to accept the moral changes that come along with the supposed advances of modernity gives colonial rule no real power in these places in India. It is not tangible political power that Gandhi is concerned with here, but the power over a people, the ability to shape a culture as one sees fit, and this kind of dominance will never be achieved by the English once modernization is rejected.

This struggle between the moral and material civilizations is, in Gandhi’s view, inseparably tied to the principle of swaraj, pointing out a path to the future where the colonized India will prevail and the colonizing English are doomed. Swaraj, or self-rule, is described in the text as a process involving great discipline and becoming well-acquainted with oneself, a process which is possible for anyone but, due to India’s foundations as a largely moral civilization, this process is much more ingrained in their culture than it is in that of the English. Gandhi describes the necessity of this process of self-rule for his anti-colonialist goals, writing, “[S]uch Swaraj has to be experienced by each one for himself. One drowning man will never save another…If the English become Indianised, we can accommodate them” (Gandhi, 73). In the case of the English, Gandhi provides an avenue for the development of individual self-knowledge for them, if they are able to undergo the transformative process of self-rule. Again, moral gains trump political and material ones, as even a colonized India remains superior to England in its foundational qualities. The process of swaraj is not merely a spiritual act, however, as Shah points out: “Swa [meaning self] therefore emerges from the political necessity to challenge the English rule and awaken India’s self that was forgotten during the sway of English dominance” (Shah, 135). As she implies here, the advancement of the individual is a deeply political act in Hind Swaraj. The formation of an Indian identity, on a national as well as an individual level, is a more powerful tool in the independence movement than military mobilization and violence could ever be.

In his evaluation of English dominance over India, Gandhi identifies an unbalanced relationship between what he deems as true and false civilization. True civilization, which he associates with India, is moral and immaterial. The Enprimewglish, however, are both perpetrators and victims of the idolatry of false “modern” civilization. Colonialism as it is characterized in Hind Swaraj amounts to an attempt to spread the ideals of false civilization, and specifically to force Indians to give up their morals. At the root of this condemnation of modernity is the way that the technologies and institutions imposed by the English cause a restructuring of consciousness, as Shah argues. Allen furthers this argument by suggesting that Gandhi’s sweeping views on modern technology are largely metaphorical, and his real issue is with the way these technologies fuel the view that the ends justify the means. It is clear from Gandhi’s text that he sees these developments as immoral in and of themselves, but his central concern is the way that the Indian and English populations relate to the world around them. His arguments on modernity as the root of colonial rule reframe the struggle between the English and the Indians as two systems of morality grappling with each other, rather than the material domination of one state over another. This issue of the spread of modern civilization is at the heart of what is at stake for Gandhi: from his perspective, only time will tell if true or false civilization will win out in the end.

Works Cited

Allen, Douglas. “Is Gandhi’s Approach to Technology Irrelevant in the Modern Age of Technology?” Gandhi after 9/11: Creative Nonviolence and Sustainability, Oxford Academic Books, 2019, pp. 99-137. https://doi.org/10.1093/oso/9780199491490.003.0006

Gandhi, Mohandas. ‘Hind Swaraj’ and Other Writings, edited by Anthony Parel, Cambridge University Press, 1997.

Lee, Theresa M. L. “Modernity and postcolonial nationhood: Revisiting Mahatma Gandhi and Sun Yat-sen a century later,” Philosophy & Social Criticism 41(2), 2015. https://doi.org/10.1177/0191453714554025

Shah, Esha. “Ethics of Technological Modernity: Reading Hind Swaraj towards Critiquing Craig Venter’s Synthetic Biology.” Re-reading Hind Swaraj: Modernity and Subalterns, edited by Ghanshyam Shah, Routledge India, 2013, pp. 123-141. https://doi.org/10.4324/9780367818548

by Anna Wu

The Oxford Dictionary defines fundamentalism as a “strict maintenance of ancient…doctrines of any religion or ideology, notably Islam.” This religiously loaded word can be interpreted many different ways, usually within political or cultural contexts. Interestingly, Mohsin Hamid does not utilise this word within either of these expected contexts in his novel, The Reluctant Fundamentalist; rather, as he narrates from the perspective of a Lahore native named Changez who had spent years residing in New York, the meaning and symbolism of fundamentalism becomes apparent as the reader is introduced to Changez’s evolution from a New Yorker clinging to his social status in the corporate world, to a Pakistani embracing his cultural identity back home after renouncing his previous love for America. Hamid brings a new light to the meaning of the word as he defines it within the context of the morals of Changez’s highly demanding finance company, which emphasises fundamentalism in the sense of corporate efficiency, material success, and lack of empathy in favour of professionalism. The book centres around the protagonist’s journey from actively competing for a position at the company, to diligently performing his best to keep said position, to then utterly rejecting his highly sought-after position and ultimately leaving the company. Numerous changing factors occur in Changez’s personal life as well as the world around him for him to arrive at such a decision; the reader is led through his initial excitement as a young New Yorker, his increasing awareness of the world’s political state and his resulting internal turmoil, as well as his eventual shedding of his American identity and the fundamentalism he once welcomed.

Changez’s initial love for New York and America plays a crucial role in his determination to identify with their culture. His exciting integration into being a New Yorker was at first “wrapped up in [his] excitement about Underwood Samson,” (33) a prestigious company of great reputation. The company holds a powerful name and status, which naturally leads to it being associated with feelings of immense pride and achievement when one is a part of it. Changez recalls this initiation feeling in child-like wonder, saying, “I remember my sense of wonder on the day I reported for duty. Their offices were perched on the forty-first and forty-second floors of a building in midtown— higher than any two structures here in Lahore would be if they were stacked one atop the other… nothing had prepared me for the drama, the power of the view from their lobby” (33-34). This movie-like romanticism of the corporate world echoes the magic of the American dream, wherein Changez is bathed in the delight of emerging victorious in a competitive society; he marvels at the grandeur of it all, especially in contrast to his native birthplace. Interestingly, at the same time Changez’s love for New York and the corporate world grows, his slight judgement and disdain for Pakistan peeks through. Not only does he observe that Underwood Samson’s building is taller than any building from his hometown, he notes that this “was another world from Pakistan; supporting my feet were the achievements of the most technologically advanced civilization our species had ever known” (34). His praises and extreme categorization of New York as not just advanced but “the most” advanced civilization indicates a border-line idolisation he holds for the majesty of the city; simultaneously, the clear contrast with his home country hints at a possible dismay at his native culture. Moreover, Changez proceeds to remark that “America had universities with individual endowments greater than our national budget for education. To be reminded of this vast disparity was, for me, to be ashamed” (34). Not only is America’s abundance of financial resources outstandingly different from Pakistan’s lack of resources, but the fact that Changez admits to being ashamed of it is what calls attention to his growing discomfort in being Pakistani and preference for identifying as a New Yorker instead. This sentiment is evident as Changez concludes, “On that day, I did not think of myself as a Pakistani, but as an Underwood Samson trainee, and my firm’s impressive offices made me proud” (34). Evidently, an important moment occurs here in which Changez sheds whatever way he used to identify himself and, fueled by the pride and impressiveness of the corporate world, gladly adopts the persona of his company and inherently, its city, instead of his native birthplace. Such pride and high self-esteem is displayed on his first business flight: “We had flown first-class, and I will never forget the feeling of reclining in my seat, clad in my suit, as I was served by an attractive and— yes, I was indeed so brazen as to allow myself to believe— flirtatious flight attendant” (63). An air of superiority and vanity pervades this scene, as well as a kind of innocent enjoyment of his new status as a respected figure in society. Changez whole-heartedly enjoys the privileges of being important and highly-regarded, paying no heed to the possible consequences of the kind of ignorance that can result from being a part of the elitist class. Therefore, Changez’s eagerness to detach from his cultural identity and instead embrace the identity of his workplace and a city he just moved to signifies the power and pull of corporate New York, as well as his initial excitement in belonging to it.

However, nothing lasts forever in the shallow glamour of the corporate world, and neither does the cloak of New Yorker identity Changez desperately tries to put on himself. As Changez begins work, he establishes himself as a good performer and well-liked employee, thus further securing his New Yorker identity. He follows the company’s fundamentalism, which “mandated a single-minded attention to financial details,” (98-99) and “valued above all else maximum productivity” (116). Nonetheless, despite his efficiency as a worker and his successful assimilation into the New York society as well as the adoption of his American persona, cracks start to appear in Changez’s facade as an unusual moment occurs wherein “[He] was riding with [his] colleagues in a limousine… [He] glanced out the window to see, only a few feet away, the driver of a jeepney returning [his] gaze” (66). This occurrence was striking because “there was an undisguised hostility in his expression; I had no idea why… But his dislike was so obvious, so intimate, that it got under my skin” (67). It seems that although Changez had been upholding his New York persona extremely well, somehow the stranger saw through it, making him feel exposed and uncomfortable. The stranger’s hostility is also more understood when one compares the two’s social position side-by-side — one the driver of a public transport vehicle, the other a suit-clad businessman sitting in a limousine. However, what makes this interaction significant for Changez is the fact that he “looked at [his colleague] — at his fair hair and light eyes and, most of all, his oblivious immersion in the minutiae of our work — and thought, you are so foreign” (67). The crucial point in this line is that for the first time, Changez steps outside of his New York insider identity and perceives his co-worker as different from him, hence marking himself as an outsider. This thought is amplified as he concludes, “I felt in that moment much closer to the Filipino driver than to him; I felt I was play-acting when in reality I ought to be making my way home, like the people on the street outside” (67). What could be perceived here as imposter syndrome from the protagonist can also be seen as a moment of uncomfortable reflection, wherein Changez realises he still innately sees himself as an inferior foreigner, and for the first time, is being made aware of such a peculiar feeling within himself.

The turning point of the novel and the beginning of Changez’s deconstruction process is the attack on the twin towers on September 11th. After that, Changez’s identity as a Pakistani in America becomes increasingly exposed, despite his attempt to stay purely a New Yorker. As stated by Toosi in their article “Contingency of Empathy and Mohsin Hamid’s The Reluctant Fundamentalist,” “Before its collapse, his world gives him the illusion that he lives in a post-racist world. His Princeton degree and his high-income career provide him with an assured sense of membership in transnational capitalism” (259). Hence, Changez’s world before 9/11 offered him a great sense of safety and security, as he was able to live confidently over the backdrop of his acclaimed credentials and status. The reality of a post-9/11 world is shown in Changez’s flight back to the city he loves, which is glaringly different from his first flight as an Underwood Samson employee, as this time around “[His] entrance elicited looks of concern from many of [his] fellow passengers. [He] flew to New York uncomfortable in my [his] face: [He] was aware of being under suspicion” (74). The stark contrast that is laid between this anxious scene versus Changez’s first flight, wherein he is filled with relaxed confidence, highlights a significant disparity in the attitude of his “fellow” New Yorkers, which in turn completely shifts his own perception of himself and possibly makes him question his identity as well. This sharp change of atmosphere for Changez and New York in general is only the beginning of a series of continuous shifts in atmosphere as the country deals with the aftermath of 9/11. Thus, the reader is able to witness the slow deterioration of Changez’s carefully constructed, but always fragile, American identity, as he admits, “I prevented myself as much as was possible from making the obvious connection between the crumbling of the world around me and the impending destruction of my personal American dream” (93). The foreshadowing here that is acknowledged even by Changez himself speaks volumes as the reality of whether Changez ever fully belonged in America comes into question. The identity that he had worked hard for and previously found much comfort in had suddenly become threatened, because the country he had called home was now in mourning and sees him as part of the problem. Changez makes an effort to not let his inner turmoil affect his work, but professes that, “I found it difficult to concentrate on the pursuit — at which I was normally so capable — of fundamentals” (100). His persistence in attempting to be an efficient employee comes not only from a desire to satisfy his employer, but from a personal desperation to cling on to his New York, American identity and to distance himself from the political reality around him. Therefore, in light of the gradual rejection from his changing world, Changez unsuccessfully tries to continue to do what his identity was once rooted in— focusing on the fundamentals.

Additionally, an evident shift in Changez’s internal attitude occurs during his visit back to Lahore; a deeply-embedded and internalised racism is displayed as Changez unwillingly finds himself in a state of disdain as he looks at his family home and the place where he grew up:

I recall the Americanness of my own gaze when I returned to Lahore that winter when war was in the offing. I was struck at first by how shabby our house appeared, with cracks running through its ceilings and dry bubbles of paint flaking off where dampness had entered its walls. (124)

Ironically, Changez is made aware of a condescending feeling within himself that he had identified against his whole life — a superiority complex against developing countries and non-Western cultures. Instead of looking in from the point of view as a Pakistani, Changez looks down at his own home through the eyes of a foreigner, a Western person, an American. However, the significance of this visit is not simply just his observation of the house, but what he proceeds to reflect on after noticing it within himself. As Changez acknowledges that he felt “shamed. This was where I came from, this was my provenance, and it smacked of lowliness,” (124) he reaches the realisation that “[he] had changed; I was looking about me with the eyes of… that particular type of entitled and unsympathetic American who so annoyed me when I encountered him in classrooms and workplaces of your country’s elite” (124). With this acknowledgement, Changez sees his own hypocrisy as he realises that he had become the very type of person he used to detest. Immediately, he “resolved to exorcise the unwelcome sensibility by which [he] had become possessed” (124). By actively trying to rid himself of this new American trait, Changez demonstrates a clear intention of wanting to return to his roots and de-fundamentalise at least this aspect of his American identity. His efforts prove successful as after a hard look at himself in the mirror, Changez “saw [his] house properly again, appreciating its enduring grandeur, its unmistakable personality and idiosyncratic charm” (125). This significant shift in attitude, from first indulging in the American superiority complex, to recognizing it, and then actively fixing it, is an essential process in Changez’s “de-fundamentalism.”

After this meaningful visit back to Lahore, Changez’s response to the hostility around him changes from passive defeat to active resistance. This new attitude is best represented in the symbolism of his beard, wherein “despite my mother’s request, and my knowledge of the difficulties it could well present me at immigration, I had not shaved my two-week-old beard. It was, perhaps, a form of protest on my part, a symbol of my identity” (130). Having always been previously clean-shaven since his Princeton days, Changez’s deliberate change in appearance, especially considering the fact that he knows the microaggressions that are bound to ensue, signifies a crucial shift in how he sees himself. His own acknowledgement of his beard as a “symbol of [his] identity” also directly marks a change in his perception of himself from New Yorker, to Pakistani. Furthermore, Changez’s reasoning for his beard provides additional insight into this change in identity: “I did not wish to blend in with the army of clean-shaven youngsters who were my coworkers, and that inside me, for multiple reasons, I was deeply angry” (130). Changez’s letting go of the need to belong in America is significant in the way he describes his coworkers; instead of seeing them as familiar fellow colleagues, Changez’s description of them as an “army of clean-shaven youngsters” exhibit a sense of distinct alienation that makes clear he does not approve of nor identify with them anymore. By referring to them as an “army,” Changez’s use of military vocabulary also hints at a sense of forced participation and lack of uniqueness that comes from being in the corporate world. Additionally, his confession to being “deeply angry” can be explained in his reflection on “how it was that America was able to wreak such havoc in the world— orchestrating an entire war in Afghanistan, say…with so few apparent consequences at home” (131). This contemplation from Changez is at the core of his “de-fundamentalism” and return to his cultural identity, as he comes to the realisation that the country he once idolised was never on his side after all. Specifically, as Mleitat, Hamamra, and Qabaha point out in their article, “Navigating Economic Inclusion and Psychological Exclusion: Immigration in Hamid’s The Reluctant Fundamentalist,” “Pakistan’s fragile economy is inextricably linked to America’s neo-imperialism…through military and financial aid, America manipulates and corrupts Pakistan’s political and economic institutions and brings them under the yoke of enslaving policies” (292). Understandably, Changez’s realisation that the country he works for, contributes to, and identities with in fact has been and continues to harm his native birthplace is what leads to such a substantial change in attitude, which is evident in his last business flight:

We again flew in the relative comfort of first class, but I was no longer excited by the luxuries of our cabin… I turned down our flight attendant’s many offers of champagne. For all the hours that we were airborne, I neither ate nor slept; my thoughts were caught up in the affairs of continents other than the one below us, and more than once I regretted coming at all. (140)

Once more, a direct contrast is established between his first business flight, wherein he indulged in the lavishness of status and acclamation, fully enjoying the materialism and validation of the corporate world, and this scene, wherein the glamour of New York and America has faded, and Changez is no longer is entranced by it. Instead, he has become very much aware of the political state of the world, which Samson Underwood’s fundamentalist motto had prevented him from doing: “Now I saw that in this constant striving to realise a financial structure, no thought was given to the critical personal and political issues that affect one’s emotional present” (145). Changez’s journey of continual de-fundamentalism eventually leads him to this conclusion, that the maxim he had modelled his life behind, one that emphasised material success and willful ignorance of reality, was in fact harmful to his personal wellbeing and prevented him from seeing the political actuality around him. This reflection comes to a climax when Changez “[tells] the vice president [he] refused to work any further,” (152-153) and despite being unsure of the future, was sure that “[his] days of focusing on fundamentals were done” (153-154). By quitting his role midway through a work trip knowing he was going to be fired, lose his visa, and have to leave New York, Changez completely renounces and undoes everything he had worked hard for in his life to achieve. However, his corporate downfall is his personal success, as he finally liberates himself from being blinded by Underwood Samson’s, New York’s, and America’s fundamentalism. He becomes free of his American identity and starts a new life back in Lahore, where he is able to fully embrace his cultural identity instead.

To conclude, Mohsin Hamid brings new meaning to the word fundamentalism in his novel, The Reluctant Fundamentalist. Throughout the story, Changez evolves from a naive and excited New Yorker, to a desperate and scrutinised “American,” and eventually to a liberated and proud Pakistani. His personal development can be seen as a process of “de-fundamentalising,” wherein he progresses from a firm believer in his company’s motto on corporate success and a willful blindness to politics, to an unbeliever in this motto and quits the company, thereby completely restarting his life in Pakistan. Through the story of Changez, Hamid challenges one to rethink what the American dream and identity can offer to a foreigner, and whether that is something one should be chasing after at all.

Works Cited

Hamid, Mohsin. The Reluctant Fundamentalist. Anchor, 2008.

Mleitat, Ayman, et al. “Navigating Economic Inclusion and Psychological Exclusion: Immigration in Hamid’s The Reluctant Fundamentalist.” Arab Studies Quarterly, vol. 45, no. 4, 2023, pp. 288–301. JSTOR, https://www.jstor.org/stable/48750181. Accessed 16 Apr. 2024.

Toossi, Zarei K. (2021). “Contingency of empathy and Mohsin Hamid’s The Reluctant Fundamentalist.” International Journal of Arabic-English Studies, vol. 21, no. 2, pp. 253–272. https://doi.org/10.33806/ijaes2000.21.2.14

by Mehul Bhagat

It is no secret that we inherit the attributes of those we look up to: our mothers, fathers, siblings, relatives, and even friends. We inherit all that they are and all that they leave for us, though as much as these inheritances can be blessings, often there is little distinguishing them from burdens. Margaret Laurence’s A Bird in the House is a series of connected stories that centre on how a person’s self can be influenced by this weight of inheritance, along with the relationships they have with whom they inherit from. This theme surrounds the narrating protagonist of Vanessa, and how her life and sense of self are shaped by her connections to those around her. More prominent than all connections, however, is her difficult and complex relationship with her maternal grandfather, the stubborn and prideful character of Timothy Connors. Within Margaret Laurence’s A Bird in the House, Vanessa’s independent sense of self is shown to be inherited from her controlling grandfather, which ironically explains the resentment she holds towards him. This can be derived by seeing how the desire for control that permeated within her grandfather is also shown in Vanessa, how themes of captivity are intrinsically tied to him, and how, due to these points, the complex emotions that Vanessa holds towards her grandfather are on account of the captivity she believes him to represent.

Vanessa’s grandfather Timothy Connor, simply called ‘Grandfather Connor’ by her, is the most influential character to Vanessa throughout the collection of short stories. The book itself begins and ends with a focus on the man. It opens with Vanessa mentioning how “when [her] grandfather built [the Brick House] … it was the first of its kind”, and ends with Vanessa paying respects to her now deceased grandfather via this house, what she considers as “his monument” (1, 193). Through this undeniable precedence that he takes throughout the stories, his most defining quality is easily the desire he has to be in control. He takes pride in the patriarchal command he has over his family, and exists purely as a voice of rude or even rage-filled disdain when anything goes remotely against his wishes. A vivid example of this is when, upon the death of Vanessa’s father, Grandfather Connor is too prideful to have another family’s heirlooms within his home. He states to Vanessa’s mother, “I don’t know why you’re unpacking all that stuff, Beth … it’ll just have to go in the back in again” (164). His control is further shown by how he does not face any resistance. Vanessa’s mother states, following this demand by her father, how resistance against him is “like batting your head against a brick wall … [he gets] his way in the end … he always does” (165). Grandfather Connor acts this way and faces the same lack of resistance throughout the entire book, such as his interactions with his wife, Vanessa’s cousin Chris, and many of Edna’s boyfriends, but to describe these instances in detail would require an essay in and of itself. Most important, however, is how Vanessa is acutely aware of this control he has. She states that she is constantly “holding back with a terrible strained force of fear of letting go and speaking [against her grandfather] and having the known world unimaginably fall to pieces” (123). By stating that an act on him as equivalent to an act against the world, she insinuates him to be the basis upon which her world rests, showing the immense amount of influence that Vanessa believes him to have. This, combined with the precedence Vanessa’s grandfather has throughout the stories, makes it clear why his desire for control would be impactful to Vanessa’s life.

The effect of this impact is shown through how Vanessa manifests similar traits throughout the stories. Not only does Vanessa’s family remark about the connections between her and her grandfather, but his traits are vividly seen in certain ways that Vanessa acts and thinks. An example of this is how, after he insinuates that Vanessa’s boyfriend could be married, she “shouted at him, as though if I sounded all my trumpets loudly enough, his walls would quake and crumble”, then proceeded to run “upstairs to [her] room and lock the door” (187). While the rage that Vanessa has here can be connected to the rage prevalent to her grandfather, what is striking is her reaction when she loses control. The act of her running upstairs is similar to how, when faced with a situation he fears to be out of his control, her grandfather would “descend the basement steps to the rocking chair” (57). As an example, this habit of his often occurs when the women of the house try to do anything with their boyfriends, such as when Edna’s past boyfriend Wes asks her to “like to go to Winnipeg” for a day, or even when Vanessa was “doing the dishes” with her boyfriend (170, 185). In all of these instances, Vanessa’s grandfather goes to the chair to regain some sense of control when he believes he has lost it. The desire for control that her grandfather has is inherited by Vanessa, proven by how such a unique attribute is displayed by her.

Another aspect of this inheritance can be seen in how Vanessa’s grandfather’s desire for control is what causes her to strive for freedom and independence. As shown in the previous example, Vanessa is somebody who values the ability to have control over her surroundings, and further, she values the ability to not be burdened by being controlled. A powerful example of this through one of the main ways that Vanessa chooses to express herself, her stories. All of them involve a sense of ‘freedom’ to some extent, and reflect these desires that exist within her character. For example, her first story mentioned in the book, “Pillars of the Nation”, is described by Vanessa to be “about pioneers”, a group of people practically synonymous with the idea of having no geographical constraints (20). A similar thing can be found within a story she titles “The Silver Sphinx”, and how it centres on a heroine “very [much] like the [queen] in The Song of Solomon”, and someone madly in love (62, 59). Unlike the pioneer story, this story additionally focuses on the freedom of being able to be in love, something that, as described, is a freedom she constantly sees being oppressed by her grandfather. Even outside of her stories, the desire for freedom is prevalent. In conversation with her cousin Chris, Vanessa states that “it would be keen [to be a traveller]”, and that “that’s what [she is] going to do someday” (129). The reason she wants to be a traveller is for the same reasons as shown in her stories, she desires the ability to control that which she is unable to. Vanessa constantly sees how her grandfather desires and can do as he pleases without any repercussions, and she inherits these attributes in her desire for independence.
With the understanding of how the attributes of her grandfather shape Vanessa’s self, the reasons for her dislike of him, and why she often “hated [her] grandfather” are made clear (189). Overall, the idea of captivity is prevalent within Vanessa’s family, such as how her father Ewen has familial obligations to be a doctor, and how Chris is forced to work on his family farms despite his dreams of being a civil engineer. Within Vanessa’s grandfather, this theme could not be felt any deeper. As stated, he takes pride in his ability to have control over his family, and it is made quite clear how this makes them feel quite captive to him. This is seen vividly through his children, Vanessa’s Aunt Edna and her mother, Beth. In a conversation in which Beth is trying to get Edna to go out with Wes, her past boyfriend, Vanessa overhears:

“Oh [Edna], I didn’t mean it to sound [propagandizing]. Honestly, I didn’t. It’s just that you’ve been keeping house for Father all this time, and you’ve had so little life of your own. It’s just that it would be wonderful if you could get out” “What about you?” Aunt Edna said. “How are you going to get out?” it’s different for me,” [Beth] replied in a low voice. “I’ve had those years with Ewen. I have Vanessa and Roddie. Maybe I can’t get out. But they will.” (174)

This example demonstrates how Vanessa sees the people she cares about as not able to have freedom, all because of her grandfather. Although his captivity of Edna is more apparent in this quotation, it still exists with Beth. If the situation were somewhere where she had freedom, she would not equate leaving Grandfather Connor as being able to “get out” while wishing deeply for her kids’ escape as well.

It makes more than enough sense for Vanessa then, as someone who desires freedom, to see how her grandfather prevents the freedom of others and harbour a deep hatred for him. What is interestingly ironic about this hatred however, is how it is fuelled by Vanessa’s inheritance of his attributes. This polarizing emotion that Vanessa holds is especially apparent within the closing moments of the last story, “Jericho’s Brick Battlements”. Here, Vanessa returns to Manawaka as an adult, but after paying respects to her mother’s grave, she refuses to do so with her grandfather. Instead, she decides to go to The Brick House, what she considers to be “his monument” (194). She states:

I parked the car beside the Brick House. The caragana hedge was unruly. No one had trimmed it properly that summer. The house had been lived in by strangers for a long time. I had not thought it would hurt me to see it in other hands, but it did. I wanted to tell them to trim the hedges, to repaint the windowframes, to pay heed to repairs. I had feared the old man, yet he proclaimed himself in my views. But it was their house now, whoever they were, not ours, not mine. (194)

As one of the most striking moments within the book, it is apparent here how Vanessa has gained freedom because of her grandfather while still having complex resentments regarding him. The freedom comes with how, to the relief of Vanessa’s mother, she manages to escape the Brick House. She is no longer tied to the building, and as a result, she is physically free from her controlling grandfather. Despite this, the way that she describes how “[she] had feared the old man, yet he proclaimed himself in [her] veins”, implies that his presence within him, the same reason that she still cares for the Brick House’s quality, is something that she is resentful towards. Vanessa’s grandfather technically provided her freedom, he even paid for her university by “selling some bonds which [he had] been hanging onto”, yet Vanessa cannot bring herself to respect his blood within her veins (190). This is due, in line with the reasons mentioned prior, to how similar she is to him.
Lastly, the few moments where Vanessa doesn’t hold a hatred towards her grandfather push the same arguments that her freedom is shaped by him. During her time when she would hide and write in her grandfather’s loft, coincidentally exercising the same ‘self-isolation’ which was described previously, she describes how she “remembered something [she] didn’t know [she] knew … riding in the MacLaughlin Buick with my grandfather” (167). During this memory, she describes how he was “gazing with love and glory at my giant grandfather as he drove his valiant chariot through all the streets of this world” (167). The significance and fondness of this moment is due to how this is one of the first instances where she sees her grandfather not being controlling. Instead, she sees him allowing himself to have a sense of pure freedom and, due to this, sees her freedom-desiring self within him. A similar thing occurs during her grandfather’s funeral. Earlier in the book, whenever Vanessa’s grandfather tries to tell her about his time as a pioneer, she states, “To me there was nothing at all remarkable in the fact that he had come out west by stern wheeling and had walked the hundred-odd miles from Winnipeg to Manawaka” (7). During the funeral service, however, Vanessa states that the “minister’s recounting of these familiar facts struck [her] as though [she] had never heard any of it before” (191). She then follows this moment by stating that “[she] wondered what the car might have meant to him, to the boy who walked the hundred miles from Winnipeg to Manawaka with hardly a cent in his pockets” (191, 192-193). Just like within her story: Pillars of the Nation, Vanessa sees and admires the freedom that her grandfather must have felt as a pioneer. In this moment, she doesn’t see and hate the controlling man he was to her and her family, but as a person like her who revels in their ability to be in control of their life.

Margaret Laurence’s A Bird in the House is a brilliant collection of stories about a normal girl living in an uneventful town, and the role that inheritance has in shaping who she becomes. It is endearing to see how her independent and freedom-seeking self is inherited from her controlling grandfather, and how their relationship with each other is defined by the subtle similarities which they hold. It manages to tell a beautiful message about how we are shaped by those we look up to, regardless of the feelings we may have towards them. Despite the simplicity of each story’s overall plot and setting within A Bird in the House, the intricacy of the characters and their relationships with one another create an unforgettable overarching story about the humanity that arises within the character of Vanessa. It beautifully speaks on the impact that inheritance has in making someone their own, brilliant self.

Works Cited

Laurence, Margaret. A Bird in the House. Penguin Modern Canadian Classics, Toronto, Canada, 2017.