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Said
Author(s): Edward W. Said
Source: boundary 2, Vol. 20, No. 1 (Spring, 1993), pp. 1-25
Published by: Duke University Press
Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/303174
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An Interview with Edward W. Said
b2: We'd like to ask you to talk about the general relation between this
new book, Cultureand Imperialism,and your previous work,especially the
major texts, such as Beginnings, Orientalism,and The World,the Text,
and the Critic. Could you take as a point of departure the way in which,
in Beginnings, you characterize the task of the criticalintellectualas "anti-
dynastic"?
Said: Well, the closest parallel, I think, is with Orientalism,because I had
actually thought of this book as a sequel to Orientalism.I started writing
it almost immediately after Orientalismwas published and after the initial
responses in the formof reviews, and so on, came in. At the time, Ithought
that what I wanted to do was to write something that would deal with some
of the problems in Orientalism. In fact, I did write an essay called "Ori-
entalism Reconsidered," which I had originallythought of publishing as a
kind of appendix to this book and which was in the nature of a response to
Edward W. Said granted this interview to Joseph A. Buttigieg and Paul A. Bove on Friday,
October 30,1992, at Columbia University in New YorkCity.The interview was occasioned
by the publication of Professor Said's recent book, Culture and Imperialism (New York:
Alfred A. Knopf, 1993).
idea of worldliness is to show that even writers like Jane Austen who are
known to be-well, if not other-worldly,then, sort of very fastidious-basi-
cally unpolitical,ifyou like, in the gross sense of the word-were very much
the opposite. Ifyou want to look for the public realm in their work, you can
find it. So, I talk about, in a sense, exposing a kindof publicside, a worldly
side of these canonical texts that is usually ignored-ignored, by the way,
not because it's easy to miss but because in some way to pay attention to
it could be like an inconvenience. I mean, why do we need to talk about
Indiawhen we talk about Thackeray,you could say. Or,others say, why do
we need to talk about the West Indies or about the Mediterraneanor even
about Indiawhen we talk about Jane Austen? Or, why do we need to talk
about India, or Egypt, or Australia if we want to talk about Dickens; they
seem like extraneous things. My argument is that these, firstof all, are the
works of very publicauthors; nobody could be more publicthan Dickens. In
the second place, obviously, all these authors-Jane Austen is the same-
want audiences and, therefore, solicit their attention by these references.
So that's what I have in mind.
There is one point I want to go back to, which I forgot to mention;
the idea of the anti-dynasticintellectualis very importantto me. To tell you
the honest truth,that's a very importantpoint for me, because ever since I
was a student, I was aware of the whole question of discipleship, which is
fascinating because being a student of somebody and then being a teacher
of somebody-that kind of relationship-is replicated not only in our lives
at the universitybut even before that when we're students. I have always
had a very complicated feeling about this, because Idon't liketo be thought
of as somebody else's person, in the first instance. And, in the second in-
stance, I don't want anybody to be my person. In other words, I stake a
great deal on the question of doing something for oneself. It's a form of
independence, I suppose, which (a) I cherish, and (b) I don'tthinkthe kinds
of works I write-like this book, or Orientalism,or any of the other things
that I've written-I don't think they derive from formulas or concepts that
can be handed on. They reallyderive frompersonal experience, and that's
something terriblyimportantto me.
Italked about this in a series of lectures Igave this last spring at Stan-
ford, the Camp Lectures, which are going to be published laterthis coming
year. The title of the lecture series I gave is "TheHistoricalStudy of Litera-
ture and the IntellectualVocation."In the first lecture, entitled "Historical
Experience," I argue that one of the things that happened to contemporary
criticism (with, obviously, some exceptions) has been a transformationof
AnInterview
withEdwardW.Said 5
have had, or any wish I might have had-in other words, to have territory
at a great distance. I think it's a very special kind of historicalexperience
and, as I've tried to argue in this book, quite unique to Britainand France
at a certain moment and by imitationand in competitionwith other empires
such as the Dutch, the Portuguese, the Spanish, and so forth.
But the thing about the willthat interests me in this context is that it's
an organized presence that a lot of people participatein, and it's just not a
matterof the conquistadors as it was in the case of the Spanish empires of
the sixteenth and seventeenth century. But here, what could develop was
a kindof consensus arounda willto dominate, in which the willto dominate
really, in a certain sense, disappeared from sight but was there nonethe-
less. So when the scholar I quote, D. C. Platt,talks about the "departmental
view"-that's what I am fascinated with, that there could come to exist a
departmental view that India "is ours," and it affected people on the Left,
or the Right, or the Center. I mean, John Stuart Millfelt it as much as John
Seeley-all the way fromthe explicitapologists for empire to the ones who
were what we would call liberalsand, in many ways, our heroes. So, in that
respect, the category of will is usually used by me in this book as a kind of
negative, let us say, an unsalubrious,devastating thing. I'mvery influenced
by the figure of Kurtzin Heartof Darkness, because that is what he is: He's
a creature of will. He seems to me still the most powerfulexample of that
extraordinaryand concentrated kindthat we can find in literature.Although,
there are also the images of what I call the great colonial personalities, such
as Lugard,Rhodes, Lyautey,and people of that sort. But, somehow, Kurtz,
because of Conrad's immense skill,has it in a concentrated form;his plans,
his projects, and so on are really what that story is about. And the failure
even of somebody like Marlowe afterwards (it's always retrospective) to
understand what it's all about is what fascinated me.
On the other hand, there is something that is new in this book with
regard to my earlier work, and that is, of course, the counter-will;that is to
say, the will of other people to resist imperialism'swill. I discovered this in
my own experience, amongst people in my own community (like the Pal-
estinian community) and elsewhere in the ThirdWorld,in Ireland,and so
on. Cultureand Imperialismis punctuated by a number of travels and ex-
periences that suggested to me, in a very immediate way, the existence of
a counter-willthat was in play all along; what I needed was a vehicle, or
method, for representing both of them, namely, dominationand resistance,
will and counter-will.The tragic part of it is that the contest, in general, did
not really provide for a resolutionof the problemof the will. Inother words,
withEdwardW.Said 7
AnInterview
and that's what I mean when I talk about geography-that's the geography
of that experience, that's the landscape.
Therefore, for me, the job of literaryanalysis is, first of all, to find
the signs of that geography, the references to it in the literarywork. I was
astonished, because it's very easily found. Nearly everywhere you look-
let's say in the novel, although it's also true in poetry, but let's just look
at the novel-geography, landscape, and setting are paramount.You can't
have a novel without a setting, and the setting is there; it's immediately
evident. The analysis of the literarywork, then, in the second sense, is to
elucidate the setting, which puts the workin touch withthis larger historical
experience of dominationand being dominated, which I was talkingabout.
Then it becomes a ratherinteresting and intricatething to try (I won't say
to synchronize the two with each other, but), somehow, to make them work
together contrapuntally.The discipline of literaryanalysis isn't, as in the
case of the New Critics,just to turnup wonderfulfigures for their own sake,
like metaphors and ironies, and so on, and so forth (although, certainly,
one should be aware of those aspects of a literarytext), but always to ob-
serve these things functioningin a setting and a locale that, so to speak, is
commanded at the top. So, I thinkthat's the value of that particularkindof
literaryanalysis.
Now a second point. The literaryanalysis about which you asked:
What I find interestingand invigoratingin Kiplingis that there are particular
kinds of pleasure available, even if one takes into account the rather un-
pleasant or, let's say, relativelyless pleasant, realityof the colonial relation-
ship. This is one of the reasons, I think, that, to this day, many colonials
would prefer to read Kiplingthan they would Forster.In my opinion, there's
a much more immediate politicalagenda in Passage to India than there
is in Kim,which is like an extended daydream. But the range of pleasures
offered by the imperialsetting is considerable, and I was interested in that
for its own sake.
b2: This question of geography is most intriguingif one looks at the way
in which the colonized are educated. That is to say, in reading your book, I
thought to myself, "Ifthis is as obvious as it's appearing while I read your
discussion of Dickens, let's say, then how come, as a student in a colony, I
never noticed it?" Perhaps this is the case because when I am in a class-
room in a colony learningEnglish literature(and here, I should mention that
your discussion of how Englishgets taught in Arabcountries and elsewhere
is trulyfascinating), I am being taught as if I already knew.
12 boundary2 / Spring1993
Said: Exactly...
b2: And, so, then the goal in the colonial classroom would be to master the
techniques of reading that would allow you to get to be one of the chosen
few to get the scholarship to go to Englandand be as good as the English. It
is as if geography is, sort of, collapsed-and you could be in Cairo,or Malta,
or wherever, but in fact you mightas well be in a classroom in England. You
could be in England and you'd be doing exactly the same thing.
Said: Well, I don't thinkit's as collapsed as that. I thinkone becomes aware
of it only when (a) one begins to move, and when (b) the British finally
leave-or the French, for that matter,in the case of Algeria. I mean, at the
time of colonialism, that setting, that geographical locale that we're talking
about, is naturalized;you accept it. I try to say this over and over again:
that you really believe because they want you to believe, that it is the des-
tiny of these inferiorpeople to be held by the British,for example, or by
the French. That's part of the education of a particularclass to which, for
example, I belong. You know, Hodgkincalls them collaborators;they're the
people who interpose themselves for reasons of class between themselves
and the rest of the population.They'rethe closest to the British.Imperialism
always did that, in the French colonies as well. Look at the life of Senghor:
He was educated as a Frenchman,then he was sent to Paris, and it was
only when he got to Paris that he realized his skin was black, right,and so
he was a Frenchman with a black face. But he didn'tthink of himself as a
Senegalese untillater. Now, it's always differentin the various colonies, but
I would say that we accept it as naturalbecause it is "natural"geography
under those circumstances. By natural, I mean because they're there. In
our generation, we didn'tsee them coming; they were already there. They
were there when we were born. So, they're partof the landscape. And you
thinkthe world is ordered by the British,or the white man, or the West; you
thinkthat, and it isn't untilyou move and travel,untilthere is decolonization,
untilthere's nationalism (all of which somebody of my generation actually
lived through), that you begin to see it.
Then, of course, I think the main influence on me in all of this is
Gramsci. I mean, I was fantasticallystruck-I say this is the single most
importantthing that Itook fromGramsci-not by the idea of hegemony and
the idea of organic intellectualsand all that but by the idea that everything,
includingcivil society to begin with, but reallythe whole world, is organized
according to geography. He thought in geographical terms, and the Prison
Notebooks are a kindof map of modernity.They'renot a historyof moder-
AnInterview
withEdwardW.Said 13
is exactly the same. So, in that respect, if one could put it in all of its drama
and detail before the reader, then perhaps it might be a way of stimulating
some kindof awareness on the partof people who are the general readers
that I address-to realize that our culture as Americans is in many ways
similar to the culture of nineteenth-centuryBritainand nineteenth-century
France. In that sense, deterrent; I mean, preventingyou from feeling that
our imperialismis different.There's no use going down that path, because
it's already been traveled, and if you're going to do it, at least then try per-
haps for some cynicism so that you'redoing it witha full understandingthat
you are doing it. I preferthat to the naive approach most Americans adopt.
But, now, the second pointaboutthis is that Ithinkof this book also as
highlightingthe distinctionbetween independence, nationalism,autonomy,
et cetera, on the one hand, and liberation,on the other. That's the motif,
obviously, of the final partof the thirdchapter.That is to say, just to become
free of the imperialexperience, one usually ends up by repeating it in one
way or another. In other words, this is the politics of replication-I mean,
the mimic gestures, as Naipaulvery cleverly talks about it. It seems to me
that that's always there, but what strikes me as very much missing in most
of these accounts (partlybecause of the dominationof the discourse or lan-
guage of politics by the disenchanted politicalscientists, the politicians,and
so forth) is vision-the absence of vision. Liberation,in the end, is neither
a state nor is it a bureaucracy.It'san energy of the sort that, for example,
you find when C. L. R. James takes Cesaire and T. S. Eliot and somehow
makes them worktogether. That is what I am reallytalkingabout, although
you have to wade througha lot to get to it, because it is, after all, a historical
thing. It's not a utopian gesture, but it comes out of an immersion in a par-
ticularhistoricalexperience of a very powerfulkind.So, I think,liberationis
reallywhat I am tryingto talkabout, and freeing oneself fromthe need to re-
peat the past. We're back to the Eighteenth Brumaire.You know, we're not
always necessarily condemned to repeat the past. I'mtrying, here, some-
thing I explored in a lecture I gave at Oxfordin February;I'mtrying, here,
to move toward some notion of a universalism, that is to say, that it has
to be universally accepted that certain democratic freedoms, certain free-
doms from domination of one kindor another, freedom from various kinds
of exploitations, and so on, are the rights of every human being-which is
not the frameworkof the imperialworldin which we live. I'mtryingto move
toward that in this book and in the works I'vedone since I finished this.
Now, literary analysis is interesting to me because, unlike some
people in my field, I actually likethe books, poems, and writersthat I read. I
AnInterview
withEdwardW.Said 15
just that. It was the only talk I gave while there. Basically, it was a discus-
sion, and it was done in Arabic.First,I summarizedthis book, because they
said, "Say something about what you've recently been workingon"; so, I
summarized Cultureand Imperialismin ten or fifteen minutes in English,
and then I said, "Let'shave a discussion." And we switched to Arabic.The
place was full,you know,and itwas mostly politicalquestions. They wanted
to know about the peace process, and what I thought about the war in Iraq,
and about America, and so on, and so forth.This going back and forthwas
passionately interesting to me. The only moment I felt I lost my cool and
my temper was when some man got up and started talkingabout the West
and "the rest of us." In other words, "that's all Western . . . and Islam and
us, we're different,"and all that. And I said, "Look,I don'twant to hear that.
I didn't come here to listen to speeches of that kind. I don't believe that
anybody can cut himself off from his own past and one's own experience,
because one's own experience is necessarily heterogeneous. There's no
such thing as a monolithicexperience. And to thinkthat you're going to try
to recover some primitive,unalloyed pure essence of something that has
been corrupted and polluted, as it were, by the West, or by empire, or by
Zionism-then you're wasting your time. So, it's much better to accept it
and work with that mixturethan to try to start to separate it." I feel very
strongly about that.
b2: I think there are several things that I would like to say about that, but
I'lljust mention a couple, and you can ignore whichever ones seem to you
not worth following up. I think one thing people would say in response to
your question about why the academy has become auto-tinkeringis that
this happened because, at least in the United States part of the English-
speaking world, literaturesimply does not have a place or anything like the
culturalvalue...
Said: You know, I'mnot sure that that's true ...
b2: Well, I say people would say this ...
Said: Oh, you say people would say so, but also you say it...
b2: I don't say it always, I say it sometimes ...
Said: But, I mean, there are still people out there who read books, don't
you think?
b2: I think it's probablytruerthat inside the academy people don't read.
AnInterview
withEdwardW.Said 17
b2: So, nevertheless, there are cases in the profession where the exclusion
of literatureis almost programmatic.The perverse logic of the so-called
canon debate has reached the point now that if, for example, I were to go
to a graduate course with your book (which I probablywill next year), one
of the firstquestions I expect a student willput to me is, "Whydo you think
of this book as an oppositional text? It starts with T. S. Eliot."I have prob-
lems persuading some of my fellow faculty members that it is importantto
continue teaching criticismcourses with Plato, Aristotle,Dryden, and Kant,
which for them seems a waste of time. They would say, "Whydon't we start
with something more urgent, like Derrida?"It'snot that I disagree with you
about the importanceof literature,farfromit. But I see a ratherbizarresitua-
tion: Yourbook demonstrates the very rich potentialitiesof literaryreading,
but, at the same time, it is going to be read by oppositionalcritics,who might
be generally sympathetic with your position politicallybut who are caught
in a web of logic that does not allow them to confer upon certain texts the
value that you do. At the risk of exaggeration, I would say that there are
people in the profession who are not even trainedto read the texts you read
in the way you read them.
Said: I would take a more generous view than that, or at least not as jaun-
diced as yours. But maybe you're right;I don't know. It seems to me that,
given a chance, you can pullpeople away (a) fromthe canon debate and the
falloutfromthat, which Ithinkon the whole is reallyvery stupidand negative,
uninteresting;and (b) from the theoretical urgency or, rather,the urgency
18 boundary2 / Spring1993
b2: Just one other thing about the literaturequestion. I am thinkingof the
pointthat you made a minuteago and I would like to tryto bringthese three
things together-literature, vision, and the universal-because I think the
long meditation on study and interiorizationof literatureprovides you with
the occasion for vision.
Said: Absolutely.
AnInterview
withEdwardW.Said 19
the last chapter of the book. I mean, there's the whole problem of north
and south now. There's the whole problemof the environment.There's the
whole question of the fractiousqualityof identitypolitics.Allof these things
require new ways of thinkingthat can't be served and can't be advanced
by the polemical and oppositional models of the past. That's what I was
interested in very much. So, reconciliation.Inother words, modes of recon-
ciliation where you can reconcile (withoutreducing) histories. That's why,
for example, the contrapuntalapproach is very interesting:You can recon-
cile the history of the colonized and the historyof the colonizer without an
attempt to "be impartial,"because there's always the question of justice.
It'ssimply unjust-I certainlydon'twant to lose the force of that-it's simply
unjustfor the colonizers to have done what they did. But,on the other hand,
that doesn't mean, then, that that entitles the colonized to wreak a whole
system of injustices on a new set of victims. I thinkabout it, for example, in
the case of the Arabworld. I didn'tknow it at the time, but now I know that
nothing could have been more stupid and less farsightedthan that, afterthe
foundation of Israel in 1948, many Arab countries, like Iraqand Yemen-
partly at the instigation of the Israelis; we know this now for a fact, but
leaving even their provocationsaside-and after '56, Egypt,threw out their
Jews. Of course, the Israelis talk about it as an exchange of population:
"Wedrove the Palestinians out, and they drove the Jews out."But it wasn't
the wise thing to do. Itwasn't at all a wise or humane thingto do. Of course,
the Israelis went and agitated in Iraq,and they providedor threw bombs in
synagogues in order to give a sense that the Jews were threatened, and
so on, and so forth, and then, of course, anti-Jewish feeling began to pre-
vail. It's an unpleasant mix, let's put it this way. But the point I'mtrying to
make is that the politicsof retaliation-the rhetoricof blame, I call it-is not
attractive.There just is a limitto it.
b2: Could we ask a general question?
Said: Of course.
b2: What have we not asked you nor given you a chance to say something
about, which at this point you mightwant to address?
Said: Well, the only thing I wouldwant to say is that there's a certain kindof
intellectual energy in this book that one would like to be able to communi-
cate to readers, that it is interestingin itself to discover, to excavate, to raid
the archives without reference to a big project. I thinkthat's what I find the
biggest challenge now, for example, in my teaching. It isn't reallyjust what
22 boundary2 / Spring1993
b2: Well, Ithinkthere is a curious and strange tension in the text and in what
you're now saying. Itseems to me-and perhaps it remindsme of Gramsci,
too-it seems that there is a very profoundpessimism as a result of the
analysis of the situation:the state of primaryand secondary education, the
productionof a shallow criticalconsciousness by means of the media....
All of which would lead us to conclude that, inevitably,almost everyone,
includingintellectuals, willbe untutoredand indeed, perhaps, untutorable.
Said: "Untutorable"you understandas "unteachable,""untaught"?
b2: Well, they're very taught but they may be "unteachable,"in the sense of
acquiringeither criticalawareness or an abilityto reflectand meditate upon
the realityof historicalexperience, and so there's a paucity in thinking,or a
shallowness. And your use of the wordhope, which is compelling and con-
nected to the idea I mentioned earlier-the idea that the book is a deterrent,
illustrativein many separate fields-the wordhope also equally undergirds
the text. Withinthe horizontalityof empireand withinthe moralimperativeof
reconciliation,you insist on the category of hope. But, at least when you're
talkingabout the UnitedStates-and this may be where finallywe disagree
about the profession-it seems to me almost impossible to have reason for
this hope, and your own analysis supplies more than sufficient reason for
pessimism.
Said: Well, I certainly don't think that hope is connected to actualities. In
fact, one thing I really should have stressed earlier (and a very important
organizing principleof all of this) is the notion of discrepancies, or irrecon-
cilability.You mightcall it tragic in a certain sense. Take again the example
I gave earlier of the discrepancies between, on the one hand, the power of
Napoleon, and on the other,this beset, Egyptiancleric, al-Jabarti.There's a
hopeless discrepancy between their views of what's taking place. So that's
there, right? But, if you expect that the views of one are going to be recon-
ciled withthe views of the other, it's hopeless. The hope that Italkabout and
the reconciliation and all these other positive things are really not based
upon reasonable expectations but on ...
b2: Vision?
Said: Well, or whatever. No, "vision"suggests something vaguely religious;
instead, I would say "effort."There's something salubrious about making
the effort retrospectively.You'renot ever really defeated. I think that's the
whole point.
AnInterview
withEdwardW.Said 25
b2: At the end again, in the same context, you twice use the phrase-which
I may not have exactly right, but we can check it-"Patient, meticulous,
detailed work."
Said: Right. Ithinkso. I thinkthere's something to be said for that. Quite on
its own. I mean, it's like a relativelyuntutoredvirtue,if you like, for me. And
it's also relativelyfree, in my opinion, of ideological pollutionof one sort or
another. Because it'sjust itself. So I like that.
b2: It'svery materialistic.
Said: It'salso very materialistic,yes. Inan elevating, ratherthan degrading,
sense: Lucretius,Ibn-Khaldun,Vico.