On Essential Statelessness
A Muslim’s Interpretation of the Aristotelian Notion.
Questions concerning ideas of citizenship and statelessness have perennially troubled us and are likely to continue to do so. The heated political discourse on this matter that we find today, therefore, is fuelled by something far deeper than just some accidental aspects of contemporary politics. Such hostile discourse is rooted fundamentally in a kind of primordial awe and fear of the ‘stateless wandering stranger.’ The following story[2] may instruct us on the dual nature of this archetype:
Walking into a village, exhausted from the long journey, a man watched intently as his green-cloaked companion fixed his gaze upon a child playing among his friends. The cloaked figure approached the child and with one fluid motion of his dagger slit the child’s throat. He had promised not to question the green man, and yet, as the blood dripping from the dagger stained the earth red, questions swirled within him like violent desert winds. He could not contain himself any longer. His promise shattered like pottery against stone as words erupted: “Have you killed an innocent who harmed no one?” The green-cloaked figure turned and said, “Did I not tell you that you could not bear with me?” Days passed in strained silence. When finally, they prepared to part ways, the stranger, with saintly certitude, spoke of things hidden beyond the veil of appearance: “The boy’s parents were believers. He would have grown to overwhelm them with darkness. God will give them another child—one of mercy and light.”
The man then chanced upon a wild man, trudging through the hot desert sand, mumbling to himself “When will he return? When will he return?” Concerned, the man asked if he was well and offered him some water. “That cannot quench me!” shrieked the mad wanderer as he held the man with his glittering eyes and related the tale of a day when, through the narrow streets of a city, a procession moved toward the execution grounds. A craftsman stood in his doorway, watching the condemned man stagger beneath a wooden beam. When the condemned one leaned against his wall seeking momentary rest, the craftsman fiendishly shoved him away and said, “Move on! You delay your fate and disrupt my trade.” The beaten man looked up with unsettling clarity. “I go now,” he said softly, “but you shall wander until I return.”
Such archetypal antinomianism of the ‘stateless wandering stranger’ found in this story is what fuels our primordial fears and engenders the ugly political discourses that we find rampant today. And yet, it is safe to say that the stateless strangers of the story are qualitatively different than the immigrants we find amidst us. Aristotle captures this difference well through his distinction between essential and accidental statelessness:
“It is evident that the state is a creation of nature, and that man is by nature a political animal. And he who by nature and not by accident is without a state, is either a bad man or above humanity.”[2]
The central question this passage provokes is: how can an essentially political animal be essentially stateless? Being a political animal, surely, essentially entails participation in a just state; or, in any state to the degree it is just. As such, a bad man, an essentially state-less man who cannot participate in a state even to the degree it is just, can be a man only in semblance: a man no longer human. Such a man is essentially rogue, or, dare we say, demonically possessed. If this were true, someone “above humanity,” by contrast, may refer to a saintly individual of an angelic disposition.
The sceptic will surely be displeased by this distinctly moral and Abrahamic reading of this passage. For the sake of such a sceptic, let us assume to the contrary that a Bad Man is still essentially human, despite the contradiction such a view may imply. If it were so, then why is a Bad Man being juxtaposed against someone who is “above humanity” and hence essentially non-human. Aristotle surely knows his rhetoric and his metaphysics. Why would he draw an essential parallel between two things that are not of the same kind relative to the subject being discussed? There can only be two hermeneutical possibilities here. Either Aristotle blatantly contradicted himself, or indeed an essential difference here is truly meant. The latter is clearly more plausible.
However, even this argument may ring hollow to the sceptic. The passage, as we have quoted it above, certainly does not necessitate the moral reading we proposed. As an alternative reading, the sceptic may say that a bad man may refer to ‘sub-human’, while someone above humanity may refer to a ‘super-human’ entity like a god. This reading, at least prima facie, interprets away the apparent contradiction and tension between the notions of essential politicality and essential statelessness by positing that, while no humans participate in essential statelessness, two kinds of non-human entities, the sub-human and the super-human, participate in it. This reading seems to make more sense in Aristotle’s cultural milieu than the Abrahamic reading we stated. Furthermore, it also scrupulously avoids any moral scruples which may make the sceptic uncomfortable.
Such a reading, however, is mistaken. In original Greek, the words used for bad man and someone ‘above humanity’ are phaulos (φαῦλος) and kreisson (κρεῖσσον) respectively. While the connotations associated with phaulos include worthlessness, baseness, and wickedness; kreisson is related with ideas of might, strength, and excellence. Clearly, these connotations imply a moral reading and the juxtaposition between kreisson and phaulos is a juxtaposition between good and evil. But are good and evil not anthropocentric notions? Do they not essentially relate to humanity?
Thus, we find ourselves in a bit of a pickle: any reasonable interpretation of the above passage should not only maintain a difference between the essentially political man and someone who is essentially stateless, but also simultaneously carry moral connotations which seem to imply anthropocentricity and hence a kind of similarity. How can we maintain this essential difference while also retaining such seminal similarity?
It is here that the idea of transubstantiation can serve as a powerful means of interpretation. Transubstantiation refers to the process of essential change of an object while its accidental attributes, and hence its appearance, remain unchanged. In the Christian context of eucharist, it refers to the essential change of bread and wine into the flesh and blood of Christ. This notion, although perhaps aesthetically unpleasant to the Muslim, may nevertheless serve as an interesting means of interpreting the essentially stateless man of Aristotle as being almost no longer human: a human only in semblance.
“Verily, Satan flows through the human being like the flowing of blood”[3]
In light of these words of the Chosen One ﷺ, can we not think of complete demonic possession, a phenomenon no confessional Muslim will have trouble affirming the existence of, as a substantial change in the human being in such wise that he is reduced to being a mere vehicle of something else? And yet, do such possessed individuals not retain all the accidents of a human being? By contrast, does a true saint not possess a radical qualitative difference than non-saints? This difference is certainly clear in the case of the prophets (a.s.) with their miracles bending the “laws” of space and time under Divine command. But the awliyah of Allah too have their karāmāt. Shaykh Abdal Hakim Murad subtly referring to this qualitative difference writes:
“Ijazah is transfusion”[4]
Interpreting this way, we may think of phaulos as a man who has undergone a kind of twisted transubstantiation and become a demon, and of kreisson as a man who has undergone a kind of sublime transubstantiation and become a saint. The symbolism of blood, found in the prophetic hadith and Shaykh Abdal Hakim Murad’s contention quoted above, only serves to strengthen this interpretation. Furthermore, does Khizr, as he slits the child’s throat, like a kreisson not transcend the statutory laws and normative convention? And are demonically evil individuals not dispensed with (slain or banished) in traditional polities? Interpreting essential statelessness in this way, it seems to us, will enable a better understanding of where the mass-hysteria surrounding citizenship rights and statelessness comes from. Such hysteria is rooted in the primordial awe for saints and primordial fear of the possessed.
[1] Safia Latif’s art website: https://www.safialatif.com/product/the-judgment-original-oil-painting
[2] A creative intertwined rendition of the stories of Moses’ encounter with Al-Khizr (a.s.) and the story of The Wandering Jew.
[3] From Book 1 of Aristotle’s Politics
[4] Source: Ṣaḥīḥ Muslim 2174
[5] Shaykh Abdal Hakim Murad’s Contentions 3:26
First of all, it’s great to have a philosophically minded muslim on here! The presence of people like you is severely lacking in English-language discourse online. Looking foward to seeing more!
My reading of Aristotle’s words agrees with yours in that he implies something anthropocentric, but I would argue that the man who is by nature without a state/city is not (necessarily) someone who has undergone a transformation, but rather one whose nature is an altered version of human nature, but doesn’t participate in human nature proper. It’s important to situate his claim in the broader argument for man being a political animal, which he essentially argues for from the fact that humans aren’t self-sufficient. I would argue that the “higher man” he refers to is a man who does not need a city, not because of a difference in material or spiritual needs, but because he can satisfy those needs by himself. His conception of the lower man is a man who is not able to satisfy those needs, but has needs similar to those of an animal, and thus does not need a city either. In my opinion, the two types of man are examples used to show that man is by nature an animal in need of a state. I don’t believe he claims that these two types of man exist, certainly not the “higher man”. Their very non-existence proves his argument, that man needs a state/city.