The Political and the Religious

Dr Philip Goodchild

Abstract
This paper undertakes a conceptual examination of the separation between religion and
politics that has become a defining feature of most contemporary nation-states.
Underlying this separation, and most definitions of the political and the religious that
are produced in modern thought, are a set of dichotomies between the natural and the
supernatural, the profane and the sacred, and the immanent and the transcendent, where
the religious is considered in contrast to the public, secular and mundane. This paper
proposes to call the distinction between the political and the religious into question,
since both consist in directing attention. Instead, it proposes that a more fundamental
dichotomy lies between intrinsic and extrinsic modes of evaluation: where religious life
responds to what is taken as intrinsically valuable, secular thought responds to
representations of what others take as valuable. The primary medium for the
representation of secular values in the modern world is money. Nevertheless, since
most money is created as debt, it functions in practice as an obligation, as if it
represented intrinsic values. The result is a direct conflict between religious and
economic values. The example of money, insofar as it results in the giving of attention,
illustrates how even the most secular phenomena may be at once political and religious.

The ‘return of the religious’ in recent European thought and the ‘turn to the political’ in
recent philosophy of religion have highlighted the intimate relation between the political and
the religious. 1 It is simple to observe an extrinsic relation between these two: religion has a
bearing upon politics and politics has a bearing upon religion, and often it seems as though
both political and religious life would prosper if they could be pursued in complete separation
from each other, without being distorted by each other’s objectives. It is less simple to
observe where they are entirely co-implicated and coextensive with each other. For modern
reason has been constructed upon its own public and secular foundations,2 in contradistinction
to the religious, and modern reason can only disclose a relation between the political and the
religious that is ostensibly extrinsic. Long gone is the era of Hobbes, Spinoza and even Locke
when political treatises required biblical criticism or theological pronouncements. During the
twentieth century, whether the focus of reason was on subjectivity and agency, cultural
meaning and interpretation, or symbolic structures, religion could be seen to have a direct
political impact, but could not itself be seen as an essentially political enterprise. Locke drew
a sharp distinction between a ‘commonwealth’, ‘a society of men constituted only for the
procuring, preserving and advancing of their civil interests’, such as life, liberty, health,
leisure, and possessions (Locke, 1977: 245), from the Church as a ‘voluntary society for the
public worship of God’(Locke, 1977: 248).
As a consequence, modern reason as such is structured by a series of dichotomies:
between the secular and the religious, the sacred and the profane, the natural and the
supernatural, and the immanent and the transcendent. These are incorporated as
presuppositions into the definitions of the ‘political’ and the ‘religious’. So when the
religious is defined in terms of the sacred, the supernatural or the transcendent, it is
understood as responding to something mysterious that contrasts with the more familiar,

Professor of Religious Studies, University of Nottingham, UK
12 / The Quarterly Journal of Philosophical Meditations \Vol. 1, No. 1, Spring 2009

public, and evident secular sphere. 3 Moreover, if the religious is conceived primarily in
terms of what is said,4 as a collection of confessions, doctrines, sacred texts, and speculative
systems, then the political can only ever be an object for religion. Religious teachings can be
about politics; the relation may be compared to the medieval European relation between
church and state. If the religious is conceived, by contrast, in terms of what is done,5 as a set
of ritual acts, moral obligations, or social or psychological functions, then the religious may
have political implications, through morality for example, or it may have political causes,
through ideology for example, but the relation remains ostensibly extrinsic. Yet if what is
said and what is done are public and secular concerns, are they capable of capturing the
essence of the religious, should there be such a thing? In contrast to such a secular reduction,
religion has historically been considered in terms of categories of divinity, of the holy, of the
sacred, or of extraordinary knowledge or insight – as an exception to the secular norm. The
truth of these matters is not available for public scrutiny. The secular scholar of religion
studies the public face of religion alone. Does such a representation of religion fully express
the essence of the religious? Rather than simply appealing to what is beyond secular
knowledge, let us consider the example of meditation, which is a suspension of what is said
and done. The meditator sits in stillness and silence. Of course, meditation can be analysed
in terms of speculative accounts of its purpose, or ritual bodily acts, but it is questionable
whether meditation is fully reducible to its speculative meanings, its ritual bodily acts, its
psychological functions, or even its moments of transcendent insight. For whether the focus
of attention is on breathing, on the rise and fall of thoughts, on a particular object, on
emptiness, on the perfections of the divinity, on a text, or on cultivating virtues such as
compassion, this very focussing of attention is something in excess of what is said and what is
done. This focussing of attention cannot be an object for public scrutiny, and so it exceeds
the bounds of modern reason.
Moreover, meditation is merely one example. All religious traditions prescribe how
attention should be given and how time and care should be distributed through ritual, prayer,
offerings, and giving to others. We may therefore have to entertain the possibility that giving
attention is an essential dimension of the religious, a dimension unavailable for public
scrutiny, and thus one that has escaped existing definitions of the religious.
Someone may offer an immediate objection: giving attention is a feature of human (and
animal) life as such; it is not the prerogative of religious traditions alone. Indeed, giving
attention is an essential feature of political life. Emphasising certain issues in public
consciousness while overlooking others is a key feature of political control. 6 Yet the
question then arises as to whether modern secular reason is able to fully grasp the political as
such, if it looks only at the public and outward signs of attention. The hypothesis we have to
consider is that the political and the religious may both concern the distribution of attention,
and so be directly complicated. If this is the case, then the modern attempt to separate the
political from the religious is at once a political and a religious act. As such, it would be a
decision which is not grounded in modern reason alone.
Of course, the political could be reduced to a set of views on politics or a set of social
actions, to what is said and done, and so be defined in a public and secular manner. For
example, the distinction between what is done and what is said may be incorporated into
modern conceptions of the political. Modern thought, with its Cartesian heritage, has
distinguished two kinds of power. There is the purely physical power deriving from gravity,
solar radiation, and chemical and atomic bonds. It is released through combustion and
muscular exertion; it is found in power stations and military hardware. There is also the
purely human power of the will. It is expressed in speech and in action; it is found in markets
and in nation-states. Modern conceptions of politics normally require both conceptions of
power: human will may act upon human will through the image or threat of physical power.
Let us take as an illustrative example Carl Schmitt’s definition of the political: the political is
 The Political and the Religious / 13

concerned with the specific distinction between friend and enemy. 7 For Schmitt, war is the
most extreme political means and, as such, it discloses the conceptual distinction which
underlies every political idea: the possibility of distinguishing between friend and enemy
(Schmitt, 1996, p. 35). Political concepts have a polemical character because they ultimately
refer to the real possibility of physical killing (Schmitt, 1996, p. 33). The decisive political
power is the authority to make war, and so to publicly dispose of the lives of people, whether
the lives of the enemy or of one’s own people in sacrifice (Schmitt, 1996, p. 46). The
authority of will over will, here, derives from no other foundation than the exercise of
physical power.
It will be necessary to complicate this duality with a third kind of power. War involves the
concentrated disposal of physical power; its outcome is generally determined by an accurate
distribution or restriction of such power. As General Rommel remarked in North Africa in
1942:
The first essential condition for an army to stand the strain of battle is an
adequate stock of weapons, petrol and ammunition. In fact, the battle is
fought and decided by the quartermasters before the shooting begins. The
bravest men can do nothing without guns, the guns nothing without plenty of
ammunition; and neither guns nor ammunition are of much use in mobile
warfare unless there are vehicles with sufficient petrol to haul them around
(quoted in Ferguson 2002, p. 41) .
War may be regarded as a particular case, then, of the power to distribute and exercise
physical force. Such a distribution is at once both physical and ideal: it concerns the location
and orientation of force. The political, more broadly, may take as its foundation the
determination of the use of resources. While war enables the possibility of an enemy, sharing
resources enables the possibility of a friend. While economics concerns the most profitable
distribution of scarce resources, political economy concerns just distribution. Politics, then,
as the exercise of human will upon human will, is grounded in the last resort upon political
economy through which the other is determined as a member of a class, or as a friend or an
enemy. Collective physical force depends upon a prior appeal to ‘right’ that unites friends
against enemies. Prior to the distinction between friend and enemy, political economy must
also appeal to principles through which distribution will be ordered and limited, perhaps
principles of ownership, right or justice, or even principles that distribute time, care, concern,
authority and significance. Here we exceed the realm of what is merely said or done.
Beneath the strength of physical force lie customs, traditions and markets that determine
concentrations of resources. Privileged distributions may occur through kinship, through
regions, through language groups, currency areas, or nation states, for example. The political,
as Schmitt concedes, can derive its energy from the most varied human endeavours, including
religious, economic and moral dimensions (Schmitt, 1996, p. 38). Here we have a third kind
of power, the intangible ‘energy’ of the political, irreducible to physical force. It is the
authority that guides and authorizes the action of will upon will. 8 It is here that the political
and the religious become co-extensive.
What the political and the religious share here is an act of evaluation: one that distributes
importance, including time, care and resources. If the political and the religious are
coextensive at this level, then the distinction between the secular and the religious is no longer
one between the natural and supernatural, or the immanent and transcendent, or the public and
the private, but one between intrinsic or extrinsic modes of evaluation. What is true wealth?
What is truly worthwhile? What bears true importance? What demands time, attention and
devotion? Religions attempt to name the intrinsically valuable, or that which makes its own
demand of time, attention and devotion. An extrinsic mode of evaluation, by contrast, finds
such a nomination too hasty or difficult: here we are concerned with a secular reason which
14 / The Quarterly Journal of Philosophical Meditations \Vol. 1, No. 1, Spring 2009

goes beyond a concern for the public and evident alone, and disputes religious authority. The
theological inquiry into the value of values may be evaded if one saves time by counting as
valuable that which is counted by others as valuable. A secular evaluation appeals to the
substitutability of perspectives, the public sphere, where public evaluations are determined in
the manner of a market value or price by a series of exchanges. And, in the contemporary
global economy, there is no higher instantiation of such political authority or energy than
money itself. Money manifests the authority of the political as credit.
Even here we find that the evasion of religious evaluation by determining values
extrinsically does not proceed without the evocation of a residually religious perspective.
Extrinsic evaluation requires some medium of comparison and exchange, a unit of evaluation,
such as money. Money will then stand for the authority of such evaluations. Let us consider
the use of money as the indispensable instrument of market evaluation. The use of money
evokes a metaphysics. For one who seeks to spend or acquire money, all things are passive
objects of exchange, capable of becoming goods and services. All persons are sovereign
subjects, capable of entering into contracts at will. All knowledge is science, the capacity to
effectively realize projects in the world. Similarly, the use of money evokes a politics. A
sovereign state is required to ensure that contracts are honoured by means of the use of force;
there can be no private property and thus no money without public sovereignty. Moreover,
any social formations that challenge the absolute right of individual sovereignty over property
are enemies of freedom, democracy and justice: the sovereign state that supports market
relations of contract claims the right to make war upon other social formations insofar as they
threaten property and contracts. The use of money also evokes an ethics. For money may
only be spent, invested, or given. In regard to spending, money evokes the question, ‘what do
I desire?’ In regard to investment, money evokes the question, ‘how can I ensure ongoing
growth and security?’ In regard to giving, money evokes the question, ‘where are my
sympathies?’ An ethics of pleasures, anxieties and sympathies is evoked. The use of money
even evokes a theology: the market rewards the prudent, the self-disciplined, the honest, and
the keepers of contracts, whereas it punishes the foolish, the profligate, the idle, the dishonest
and the disloyal. The ‘invisible hand’ of the market fosters the flourishing of virtue at the
expense of vice. 9
In the case of money, such an evocation of a metaphysics, a politics, an ethics and a
theology goes beyond the formation of a perspective reinforced by daily practice. These
evoked potentials do not simply emerge as the religion of the merchant or capitalist. For
insofar as money is created as debt, and all persons, businesses and governments are enslaved
to an increasing spiral of debt – or are dependent upon others who are so enslaved – then all
are under an obligation to seek profits in order to repay debts. 10 All are under an obligation
to spend or acquire money, and view the world from the perspective of one who seeks to
spend or acquire money. All political demands must be subordinated to the obligation to
preserve the stability of a fragile financial system. The evoked potential is underwritten by
the demand for money itself. It is this demand for money that is the true ‘invisible hand’ or
authority of the market. It is this demand that is the manifestation of the political theology of
money. It is here that the energy of the political becomes coextensive with the essence of the
religious as the distribution of time, attention and devotion.
Money is the underlying principle that supports a system of extrinsic or public evaluation
that is essential for a secular or democratic state. Yet money institutes a system of ordering
attention through accountancy, as well as a political imperative for the pursuit of public
wealth, and it facilitates the treatment of such evaluations as though they were absolute and
intrinsic. In other words, it seems to trespass on the terrain of religion, often demanding
priority when there is a conflict of interest. Money is therefore inherently religious because it
is a source of the value of values – it creates prosperity and freedom. Money has its own
implicit theology: it is the promise of value upon which actual value may be advanced; money
 The Political and the Religious / 15

is the supreme value against which all other values may be measured; money is a speculative
value whose intrinsic worth awaits demonstration; and money is a social obligation
demanding that social interaction is ordered in accordance with profit and the repayment of
debt. 11
The question remains as to whether the essence of the political can be fully explained by
money. Medieval sovereignty emerged not from social contract but from war. War can be
considered in physical terms of force and violence; war can also be considered in legal terms
as the declaration of a suspension of peace due to the presence of a named and identified
enemy. Yet war can also be considered in theological terms: for what cause is it worth
pledging one’s own flesh and blood? In medieval Europe, one fought and died for ‘king and
country’. This pledge of ultimate commitment to a cause that exceeds life and death in
significance may be considered the defining gesture of the religious. For here one stands on
ground that is beyond the merely moral, beyond all substitution and reciprocity. Here we
encounter intrinsic values that exceed the demands of all other perspectives. In the act of self-
sacrifice one gives more than one receives. All equity, reciprocity, or justice is excluded. We
can, in this way, understand sovereignty as an essentially theological concept. Where
fundamental political divisions derive from the real possibility of actually killing (Schmitt,
1996, p. 33), fundamental theological commitments are expressed in the real possibility of
actually dying. Sovereign power is created by the sacrifice of time, attention and devotion.
The sovereign, of course, is charged with executing law and justice. If the sovereign’s
word is law, this is not merely because it is enforced by the threat of violence,12 nor because
the sovereign may risk his life in the prosecution of war for the sake of the people. It is
because the soldiers and servants of the monarch are willing to risk their lives to preserve and
enhance the authority of the monarchy. Such authority consists in the flesh and blood that
may be given for it. The energy of the political is a sacred, indeed, sacrificial energy.
Yet it is the same with the power of money. Money, created as debt, may be analysed
into three separable components: an asset, a liability, and a reserve (Goodchild, 2007, p. 121).
An asset is a promise of value, a liability is an obligation to offer value, and a reserve is a
security that guarantees value. This is well illustrated by Shakespeare’s play The Merchant of
Venice. The story runs as follows: Bassanio has run up numerous debts through living
beyond his means. He conceives a speculative venture to clear his debts: to marry the fair and
wealthy heiress Portia. Yet he needs to borrow even more to give himself the appearance of
wealth so as to be in a position to press his suit. He turns to his chief creditor, Antonio, for a
further loan that, if his suit is successful, may lead to the repayment of all his debts.
Obligated by debt, one suspects that nothing is sincere about Bassanio’s loves, whether for
Portia or Antonio. Surprisingly, Antonio places his purse, person and ‘extremest means’ at
Bassanio’s service. Antonio’s means are temporarily tied up in seafaring ventures. Yet he,
unlike Bassanio, has good credit. He will stand surety for a loan from some other source.
Shylock will lend the money, but only at interest. Yet Shylock hates Antonio for regularly
lending money without interest, so bringing down the rate of interest in Venice. Antonio, in
turn, despises Shylock for his practice of usury. Given such a dispute over usury, the bond
agreed is one between enemies: the forfeit of a pound of flesh, to be taken from the heart.
Bassanio hesitates but Antonio willingly agrees. Shylock’s ducats are derived from usury.
For Antonio, they already contain the price of blood. Indeed, whenever money is lent or
created on credit there is always a Bassanio, who seeks an asset to be spent, an Antonio, who
undertakes an obligation and offers his substance as a bond (in this case a pound of his flesh),
and a Shylock, who makes a loan from reserves. So what Bassanio spends is that very bond
of Antonio’s heart. It is the same the world over: whenever money is created as debt, such
money is the pledge of someone’s life and liberty, someone’s property or labour. If debt
money is frozen desire (Buchan 1998) and coined liberty,13 it is also contracted servitude.
Hobbes’ analogy of money as the blood of the body politic was perhaps more apt than he
16 / The Quarterly Journal of Philosophical Meditations \Vol. 1, No. 1, Spring 2009

knew (Hobbes, 1996, pp. 174-5). The circulation of such a currency in flesh and blood –
whether as love or money – is expressed no more poignantly than in Bassanio’s insight into
the true significance of the letter announcing the wreck of all Antonio’s ships:
Here is a letter, lady,
The paper as the body of my friend,
And every word in it a gaping wound,
Issuing lifeblood. 14
Once the ‘veil of money’ is removed, there stands neither mere imitation nor barter exchange
nor private property, but a sacrament of flesh and blood. Credit, contract, law, sacrifice and
love are theological matters. Each note of paper money, each electronic bank record,
distributes the sacrificial power of the pledged flesh and blood upon which it is written.
It is therefore important to regard sovereignty as an institutional form that resolves a range
of fundamental problems. There is the theological problem: what is worth the pledging of
one’s own flesh and blood? There is the political problem: how is conflict – the real
possibility of violence that is made all the more dangerous by the pledging of flesh and blood
– to be mediated to become cooperation? In what ways may potential opponents be
incorporated into the same body? There is also an economic problem: how is wealth, the
benefits accrued through cooperation achieved through the pledging of flesh and blood, to be
distributed? What is worthy of credit and investment, in other words, the pledging of time,
attention and devotion, or flesh and blood? Here the economic problem fuses with the
theological problem, for money simply distributes such sovereign power. To spend money is
to exercise the supreme political force, to command agreement and cooperation, to enforce an
order on human relations. Life may be valued only through a pledge of life; all such pledges
are ultimately a pledge to the death. If such questions are not addressed, then the whole of
economic and political conflict, whether historical or contemporary, becomes
incomprehensible. Moreover, if such questions are not addressed, then the whole of religious
life, historical and contemporary, becomes incomprehensible. Any attempt to comprehend
human life in terms drawn purely from within the public sphere of evidence and autonomy,
whether one explores the rational calculus of ends or the raging of the passions, whether
production and exchange or the conflict of interests, whether biological conditions or the
development of cultures, is doomed to failure. For homo religiosus will sacrifice reason and
passion, wealth and politics, nature and culture for the sake of what stands in place of the
divine. This quasi-divine energy and authority, manifest in our era in the form of money,
demonstrates the unity of the religious and the political.

Conclusion
Modern secular thought, through its attempts to become objective, has limited its attention to
that which can be observed and values by others. It deals with representations rather than
realities. As a result, it is secular in two senses: it deals with matters that do not seem to
pertain to the religious, but it also prioritizes such matters over the religious, resulting in the
marginalisation of the religious, or even active attempts to eliminate religion from human life.
What it cannot address directly is the distribution of attention, even though it imposes an
ordered distribution of attention through modern institutions. Yet the distribution of attention,
and with it time, devotion, care and resources, is a dual phenomenon: it affects the material
and interpersonal orders of this world, as well as calling upon or responding to what is
ultimately valuable. While sacrifice of life itself may be the most obvious form of a response
to that which exceeds life and death in significance, daily practices of spending time also have
the effect of acting out such obligations. This response arises from an awareness of
obligation, an intrinsic mode of evaluation that does not admit of representation or public
 The Political and the Religious / 17

scrutiny. In this respect, religion could be defined as ‘attention to a potency of awareness in

experience which exceeds all possible objects of thought. ’ (Goodchild, 2002, 227). Modern
critical reason, by contrast, consists in the public scrutiny of claims to religious authority. It
does not deal with awareness of obligation as such, but with representations of value. In order
to pass the test of public scrutiny, such representations have to meet with the approval of
others. In an age of religious conflict, such approval is given if it is perceived that others may
also approve. The secular order concerns itself with institutions for improving health, wealth,
education, science, law, politics and international relations. While these are ostensibly secular
concerns insofar as they are pursued for the end of human flourishing without reference to
religion, they nevertheless remain religious concerns. For religious life is concerned with the
direction of attention to all aspects of human life, and not simply to religious institutions,
texts, histories and practices. Religion concerns politics and politics is the outworking of
religion.

Notes
1
These widespread intellectual trends beginning from around 1990 with the work of Jacques Derrida are
epitomised by Hent de Vries (1999, 2006).
2
This was achieved in the seventeenth century by Francis Bacon, René Descartes, Thomas Hobbes,
Benedict de Spinoza and John Locke.
3
Charles Taylor, in his book A Secular Age (2007), inverts the familiar perspective: instead of regarding
religion as abnormal behaviour that requires some explanation, the evidence from history is that it is
secularity that is abnormal and needs to be explained. A distinctive merit to Taylor’s approach to this
task is that he does not explain the great invention of the West, ‘that of an immanent order in Nature,
whose working could be systematically understood and explained on its own terms’ (p. 15) in purely
theoretical terms. For secularity is also a condition of practical life, ‘one in which the eclipse of all other
goals beyond human flourishing becomes conceivable’ (p. 19). Taylor explores the emergence of
secularity in terms of the ‘active capacity to shape and fashion our world, natural and social’ (p. 27). For
Taylor, God did not simply have a theoretical relevance as source of the cosmos, but also practical
relevance as source of moral and spiritual fulfilment, and even a social relevance as the authority that
binds people together: ‘we are linked in society, therefore God is’ (p. 42). The emergence of secularity
therefore has to be explained in terms of the background beliefs (Taylor borrows the notion from Michael
Polanyi) that shape the understanding of the moral and social order. For example, background beliefs
about modern Western political society might include: that its principal function is to achieve security and
prosperity, and that its starting point is in individual rights and freedom (p. 170). This contrasts sharply
with an earlier time when the common good was bound up in collective rites, devotions and allegiances,
and ‘it couldn’t be seen as just an individual’s own business that he break ranks, even less that he
blaspheme or try to desecrate the rite’ (p. 42).
4
For example, Lorne L. Dawson: ‘religious activities. . . are distinguished on the whole from other kinds
of activities by a specific language usage, namely by conceptual reference, explicitly or implicitly, to a
dimension of reality that is beyond and different from that of our ordinary, daily existence. ’ (Dawson
1987:228)
5
For example, Melford Spiro’s anthropological definition that has enjoyed a widespread currency: ‘an
institution consisting of culturally patterned interaction with culturally postulated superhuman beings’.
(Spiro, 1966, p. 98)
6
See Herman & Chomsky, 1994.
7
Carl Schmitt was philosopher of law in early twentieth century Germany. His view that political
concepts are really secularized theological concepts has made him a pivotal figure in the foundation of a
contemporary ‘political theology’ which is a key feature of the ‘return of the religious’ discussed above.
18 / The Quarterly Journal of Philosophical Meditations \Vol. 1, No. 1, Spring 2009

8
See the distinction between auctoritas and potestas in Agamben, 2005, pp. 74-88.
9
Recent events have shown how the market may not necessarily punish those who take excessive risks,
but may punish others in their place: workers who have become unemployed as a result of the global
‘credit crunch’ are not responsible for the risks taken by bankers, speculators, and credit-rating agencies.
The ‘invisible hand’ of the market is incompetent in its moral judgements.
10
See Hutchinson, Mellor, and Olsen, 2002.
11
For a full study of this theological dimension of money, see Goodchild, 2007.
12
See Walter Benjamin, 1996.
13
The phrase is Fyodor Dostoyevsky’s. See Jackson, 1996, p. 23.
14
William Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice, Act 3, Scene 2, lines 262-5.

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