I rarely use quotes from great minds in my writing. I do not feel the need for external references to justify my arguments. This is because whatever I write or debate stems directly from my lived experiences and long-term reflection. It is the product of my own thought. However, I will use a few prominent names in this piece. There is a class of people who do not value an opinion unless it is backed by an illustrious name. This exception is solely in the hope of making the essay meaningful to them.
We are living in times when maintaining a balanced perspective on the place of religion in public life is exceptionally difficult. It feels like standing in a vacuum. People from both ends of the political spectrum will view you with suspicion. Today, ideological extremism is widely applauded. In such times, choosing moderation is an act of stubbornness, and that is precisely what I have chosen.
My position is very clear:
- Advocating for secular politics while supporting religious belief and the right to express it.
- Opposing superstition and theological authoritarianism while defending the dignity of believers.
- Supporting reform, yet resisting any attempt at total erasure.
This stance comes at a cost. Frankly, it is a highly precarious position. Antonio Gramsci called it the “terrain of hegemony”. Standing on such a field and constantly balancing culture, ideology, and power is a difficult and exhausting battle.
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The Comfort of Binaries
This position is so difficult because it challenges the familiar and comfortable binary way of thinking. The devout often view it as a betrayal, while secularists dismiss it as complicity. The former accuse me of heresy; the latter consider me a harborer of reactionary sentiment. In reality, both sides react to the internal ambiguity and psychological discomfort of this posture, not to my actual arguments.
But let me be clear: my defense of secularism is not an opposition to religion. It is simply a political necessity for maintaining institutional neutrality in a diverse and pluralistic society. Explaining secularism, Charles Taylor stated that in a modern democratic state, no individual should be excluded from political life due to their religious beliefs or lack thereof. I would add to this: a state can be neutral, but a society can never be entirely value-free. And whether those values are good or bad, much of them are shaped by the cultural framework of religious traditions.
At the same time, I must insist that the right to believe must also include the right not to believe. Agnostics, atheists, and freethinkers must be granted equal legal protection, social legitimacy, and dignity. In the eyes of the law and public morality, belief and non-belief must be held on an equal footing. This is not merely liberal tolerance; it is democratic integrity.
The Political Economy of Faith
However, there is another layer that complicates the matter further: the “political economy” of religious practice. In a society like ours, marked by uneven modernisation, economic insecurity, and fragile civic institutions, religion is not just a matter of theory or doctrine. It is also a vital sanctuary for social mobility, psychological comfort, and collective belonging.
Émile Durkheim noted that religion does not merely express belief in the divine, but also functions to sustain social cohesion. His insight is particularly relevant here. For many, entering a religious culture is not an act of piety. Rather, it is a gateway to gaining recognition for their existence in society. In a highly stratified society like ours, this recognition is incredibly rare.
Take the case of a day labourer. Deep down, he may hold a strong belief in God, but he has no time to practice religious rituals. When his economic condition improves and his daily survival is no longer haunted by the fear of hunger, he begins to seek more than just food. He seeks meaning, social status, and solidarity.
Religion then steps in—not merely as a theology, but as a culture, a rhythm, and a language of belonging. It offers what Pierre Bourdieu called “symbolic capital”: respect, purpose, and identity. Here, religion does not just reflect faith; it creates a habitus—a distinctive way of being in the world.
The Secular Void and Elitist Fantasies
Can secular culture offer an equivalent alternative? Of course it can. But our country lacks strong civic institutions or a robust artistic infrastructure. Consequently, religious culture fills the void left behind by the state and civil society. To ask someone to abandon this without providing an alternative is, frankly, nothing but an elitist fantasy.
Progressive critics often argue that prevailing religious culture can fuel insularity, moral superiority, or intolerance. These concerns are not entirely groundless. However, I would urge my progressive friends to ask this question: is this pathology inherent to religion itself? Or is it the result of religion becoming the only accessible “moral language” for socially mobile individuals?
Raymond Williams reminds us that culture is never static; it is constantly changing and emergent. If we fail to deliver other inclusive, imaginative, and meaningful cultural resources to the people, we leave the field wide open to those who wish to weaponise religion for narrow, exclusionary ends.
This is precisely why I fiercely oppose the mindset that scorns the religious expressions of ordinary people—even when it offends elite aesthetic sensibilities. The disdain some show towards the expressions of ordinary believers—their songs, rituals, and gatherings—is both politically self-defeating and ethically suspect. To use Gayatri Spivak’s phrasing, it is a refusal to “listen to the subaltern”—a refusal to hear the cultural grammar through which they articulate their dignity.
Let us be honest with ourselves. Our revered, so-called “high” culture takes many forms, such as classical music, high literature, or philosophy. Not everyone has the time, leisure, or formal education to engage with these. The path to these spaces is structurally barred to them. When we blame the poor for failing to appreciate a culture we ourselves spent decades learning institutionally, we forget our own cultural arrogance. And when we mock their folk religiosity or moral emotionalism as “low taste”, we mirror the exact snobbery we claim to fight on the political battlefield. But what sincere efforts have we made to open these doors?
The Responsibility of the Progressive
What, then, is the political responsibility of a progressive? Surely it is not to condemn or mock, but to engage. It is not to erase culture, but to delve deeper into it. Instead of ridiculing existing language, we must pave the way for a richer vocabulary and deeper thought. We must remember that the evolution of taste, much like the evolution of consciousness, cannot be dictated by decree. It happens through dialogue, exposure, and immense patience.
As someone who constantly navigates the blurred lines between belief and doubt, culture and politics, I strive to remain true to this commitment. I aim to:
- Defend the rights of believers without endorsing bigotry.
- Challenge religious authority without humiliating the faithful.
- Build a pluralistic society not by flattening diversity, but by constructing bridges over it.
At times, this is a deeply lonely position. Yet, perhaps it is within these borderlands—between faith and scepticism, tradition and change—that the most honest and effective political work can be accomplished. This cannot be done by shouting at each other from opposite sides of the divide, but by dwelling right in the middle of the conflict.
A Few Vital Words Before I Conclude
Do not judge my entire worldview based on a single piece of writing or a lone comment. Depending on the time, place, and audience, I am often forced to step down from my usual intellectual tier to make a point. Temporarily, such comments might seem to conflict with my broader philosophy, but in reality, they do not. The demands of the situation dictate that specific language or stance.
On the Dhaka University Qawwali Controversy
For instance, I criticised an event at Dhaka University where right-wing youths performed Qawwali under the guise of protest. Many mistook this for cultural elitism. They assumed I meant they lacked the right to sing Qawwali. That was not the case at all. I was not criticising their social class. Rather, I insisted on showing respect to the true form of the art.
Qawwali is a highly sophisticated genre of performance. They should practice what they are genuinely good at within their own culture. If they truly wish to perform Qawwali, they should learn it properly from an authentic source first, and then perform it. Preventing the distortion of art was my primary objective.
On Urdu and Persian Literature
Similarly, many are confused by my engagement with Urdu and Persian language or literature. Just because I study Urdu and Persian does not mean I suffer from a “Pakistan Syndrome”. I do not view Urdu as the language of Pakistan. It is a non-communal language birthed in undivided India. Pakistanis have no greater claim over this language than I do.
The progressive stream of Urdu literature that I love and practice is, in fact, entirely antithetical to the Pakistan Syndrome. Therefore, it would be a mistake to judge my literary pursuits through a lens of narrow political prejudice.
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