Foucault's genealogical normative stance

Abstract

This article explores Michel Foucault's genealogical approach and its potential for grounding a normative stance. Criticisms and further developments on genealogy within critical theory denote that, despite counterarguments, Habermas's critique of Foucault's theory of power remains influential. By analyzing Foucault's conceptual choices —such as the dispositif (apparatus)— and his historical critiques, the article demonstrates how power and freedom are intertwined; it proposes an immanent, performative normativity, where freedom is both a precondition for power relations and a dynamic criterion for critique. The normativity emerges through critical engagement with historical contingencies. Foucault's works—from Madness and Civilization to The History of Sexuality—demonstrate this process, exposing how norms are historically constituted. Ultimately, Foucault's genealogy offers a normative stance grounded on freedom as power's counterpart and as a meta-normative standard.

Introduction

In contemporary socio-philosophical discourse, genealogy has emerged as a powerful tool for critically examining the foundations and development of concepts, values and social structures. One perennial challenge to genealogical work has become the positing of a normative standard. Habermas did not mince words in his critique of what he chose to call Michel Foucault's theory of power. ¹ The influence of his critique has been, and remains, profound, even though there are studies strenuously refuting his argument (Hoy, 2008; Oliveira, 2012; Owen, 2017). Honneth (2009) attempts to integrate genealogy within the project of critical theory but clearly states that genealogy lacks normative justification – an impediment to a possible project entailing autonomy or emancipation. That is the same problem that Amy Allen (2008) wrestles with in The Politics of Our Selves. The author, in this case, advocates for Foucault's critical potential. However, following the Fraser et al. (2017), Allen’s position was, at the time, a middle ground, integrating Habermasian concepts of autonomy and transformation, and Foucault's insights into subjectivation and power relations. Allen admits that to do so, it is necessary to contextualise Habermasian idealisations and recast some of Foucault's findings. Allen chose to supplant the normative expectation with Habermas’ antagonising views – an attempt that invited criticism from its followers (see Koopman, 2013). Later, Allen (2016), in The End of Progress, further developed her proposition, combining Foucault and Adorno, and tried to place much of the normative heft onto Adorno. This article focuses on the intricate relationship between Foucauldian genealogy and normativity through critical attempts to make a case for a normative-laden genealogy (Allen, 2008, 2016; Koopman, 2013; Rosa, 2012) and a systematic reconstruction of Foucault's analyses of power as a critique of experiences of freedom. Nevertheless, it should be clear that most of the literature on genealogy lacks a normative account and focuses solely on tracing the historical development and transformations of ideas, practices and institutions (Epstein, 2010; Evans, 2001; Hanemaayer, 2018; Saar, 2007; Sartori, 2020); these works do not necessarily contradict the position espoused here and perhaps even benefit implicitly.

The inevitable entanglements with Habermas’ criticism and Kantian and Hegelian influences will be dealt with to arrive at a specific parallel with immanent grounding. A particular understanding of Foucauldian genealogy will be argued to address the normative perspective of genealogical studies. The structure of this article ties itself with the argument for a normative understanding of genealogy; the previous largely known attempts to substantiate this argument resorted to outside normative sources and did not see the immanent potential of genealogy. The immanent argument posed here is grounded on Foucault's theoretical heritage, chosen conceptual stances and analyses of power. Foucault's evolving analysis of subjectivation and governance highlights how freedom is shaped by power structures, rendering it a central theme that resonates across his works. Ultimately, it becomes clear that one possible path for understanding Foucauldian genealogy as a normative endeavour is intrinsically linked to the flawed character of power relations. Koopman's attempt to face and evade the normative criticisms posed against genealogy is the first step to addressing the proposal of a genealogical normative perspective.

Neutrality, subversiveness and problematisation

Colin Koopman's (2013) book Genealogy as Critique raises a few considerations that could help us navigate some of the questions posed about genealogy. Koopman sets himself on a mission to explain genealogical methodology as it figures in, mainly, the works of Foucault. He proposes that, at its best, genealogy involves a practice of critique in the form of the historical problematisation of the present. His particular take has a few issues that need pointing out, yet his contribution to recast the debate around genealogy is worth mentioning at the onset. Koopman understands his commitment to genealogy primarily as a methodological toolkit. The distinction in question enables us to realise that genealogy as a method is not so much about discipline or biopolitics (in Foucault's case) as it is about a philosophic-historical inquiry into the conditions that make problems such as modern sexuality and modern punishment possible. Another distinction the author makes revolves around the place of Foucault's work among some post-structuralist authors. ² Koopman contests the placement of Foucault, as he views Foucault alongside other 20th-century philosophers who have sought to transform Kant's critical project, or, as Koopman puts it, ‘Foucault was not unlike Dewey or Habermas when he took up genealogy as a tool’ (2013: 11).

These valuable distinctions provide insight into the spectrum of academic studies on Foucault and genealogy. Nevertheless, at least two crucial points leading to Koopman's proposition demand a careful look. The first one is the division of genealogy as problematising (Foucault's genealogy), vindicatory (Williams's genealogy) and subversive (Nietzsche's genealogy). The view of placing Bernard Williams’ inquiry as something akin to an affirmation of values lost, much like Rosa (2012) did in his division of genealogy as black and white, seems understandable. The white genealogy, which Rosa identifies in Charles Taylor's work, seeks to historically reconstruct the value scales and guiding concepts that are constitutive by and for us – taking our conceptions of what really matters and, subsequently, rescuing them and positioning them against an inadequate and insufficient social practice. It does not seem far-fetched to say that Williams and Taylor share this character of internal critique in their studies. According to Rosa (2012), with this vindicatory genealogy, it is possible to show how modern society is undermining and losing its moral foundations and aspirations; it creates crises of legitimacy – in the form of alienation of monumental proportions – and yet what still eludes this type of critique is the historical questionability and internal power relations within those aspirations. ³ This brings us to a different vein of genealogy, where one of the points of disagreement with Koopman lies: he understands that there is a division between what he calls subversive and problematising genealogy.

The core difference between these modes of critique is that, while the subversive version (Nietzsche) casts judgements on certain concepts (truthfulness and morality), the problematising one does not. Koopman goes on to say that Foucault departs from Nietzsche and Williams because of their ambition to use genealogy to obtain normative results. In this sense, Nietzsche and Williams diverge from Foucauldian genealogy in the same way as they both deploy genealogical histories to generate normative justifications. The author implies that Foucault deployed his genealogy to clarify and intensify problematisations. If the reader perceives a kind of neutrality behind this problematised version of genealogy, it is because there is a clear defence of it in the genealogy defended by Koopman. For Koopman, it is a mistake to suggest that genealogies cannot be put forward under a critical modality that aims to be neither for nor against. Koopman tries to elucidate his thoughts on the matter: the mode of neutrality is the mode of doubt, indeterminacy and vagueness. In this sense, genealogical problematisation is neutral – it leaves us in doubt, with questions and unprepared to pronounce a verdict (Koopman, 2013: 60).

A few things need to be said about this supposed neutrality of Foucault's work. Koopman conflates the stylistics of Foucault's writing with his well-known personal position of not trying to be the alter-ego of politicians and perceives his critique as somewhat neutral. ⁴ His take on neutral criticism or merely problematising seems naive in its assumption that Foucault himself did not have any normative expectations or justifications in mind. ⁵ In an interview, Foucault was once pressed on the subject of his work lacking a palpable political agenda, and he answered that the problems posed by his work could not easily be resolved: ‘Years, decades, of work and political imagination will be necessary, work at the grassroots, with the people directly affected, restoring their right to speak’ (2001: 288).

Genealogy provides, or at least aims for it, the means for people to introduce change themselves. Rosa's definition of Black genealogy is rooted in a Nietzschean/Foucauldian position. Rosa acknowledges the ‘goal-oriented’ nature of Black genealogy, highlighting that through historical deconstructions, one can realise that conceptions of values and constitutive norms of self-understanding are historically contingent. This implies a loss of their normalising and legitimising force, making their transgression and alternative conceptions possible. This neutrality argument for Foucault's genealogy is apparently aligned with the old indictment of cryptonormativism. To be clear, this is not simply a blunt statement but has everything to do with the second point of departure between Koopman's genealogy and the endeavour presented in this work. Koopman has a strong argument as to why one needs to avoid framing a Foucault versus Habermas debate. He deduces that it risks adjusting both contributions to a lowest common denominator or could even end up ‘reducing’ ⁶ critical theory to genealogical terms in contextualising the strong universalistic claims of Habermas. All the same, his project fails to perform against his argument: the genealogy that Koopman tries to set up, at first, pushes to bypass the Habermasian influence on the methodological scheme and, in the end, admittedly seeks to reconcile Habermasian critical theory with Foucauldian genealogy.

Koopman's approach to genealogy claims to seek the connections between what he chose to call ‘Foucault's Kantian project of problematisation on the one hand and the Kantian projects of reconstruction featured in the work of pragmatism and critical theory on the other’ (2013: 217). His project, in this sense, rewinds the debate around the deficits of genealogy instead of pushing it forward by inadvertently reigniting the discussion on normative critique. ⁷

Koopman goes back on his refusal of Habermasian influences. It is essential to notice that, at first, this refusal poses him as a differential; he criticises Allen (2008) for trying to integrate Foucault and Habermas, and, in the end, he tries to do the same. However, they are not quite the same, to be exact: Allen's take is a comprehensive goal-oriented proposal, while Koopman's methodological procedure is not quite ambitious and plays into Habermas’ normative criticism of genealogy. Koopman seeks to show that his Foucauldian proposal has merits by measuring against Benhabib's two-dimensional form of critical theory. ⁸ He suggests that his genealogical problematisation can supply the diagnosis-explanatory function proposed by Benhabib, while some pragmatic critical theoretic reconstruction can fill in the need for utopian anticipation. Not some version of pragmatic critical theoretic reconstruction, but a very specific one – Habermas’ version. Koopman falls short of The Politics of Our Selves (Allen, 2008), which is undoubtedly a step forward regarding the minutiae of both approaches (Habermas’ and Foucault's) as Allen endeavours to show that Foucault's historicising and contextualising of Kant's transcendental subject is worthy of a combination with a contextualised version of Habermas’ ambitions. However, Allen's subsequent work clarifies genealogy's potential beyond a vessel for the destranscendentalised subject.

Problematisation, enlightenment and freedom

Habermas mentions his surprise when Foucault, in his lecture on the Enlightenment, adds himself to the tradition that goes back to Hegel, Nietzsche, Weber and up to Horkheimer and Adorno: ‘How can Foucault's self-understanding as a thinker in the tradition of the Enlightenment be compatible with his unmistakable criticism of this very form of knowledge of modernity?’ (Habermas, 1994: 152). How can Foucault claim and deconstruct modernity all at once? Habermas sees a deep-seated contradiction in Foucault's thinking. One possible path to understanding how Foucault can be placed in the Enlightenment tradition emerged recently with Allen's position on Foucault's work in The End of Progress (Allen, 2016). Allen pairs Adorno and Foucault to demonstrate how closely they are aligned

theoretically and methodologically. The author puts forth a strong proposition that has been vastly underrated, as she considers Foucault part of the Enlightenment tradition and perceives a normative commitment to freedom in his work – a critical insight to the present proposal. One of the reasons that could explain why said proposition did not have a noticeable impact is that it does not have much room to grow – it remains in the background of the forward-looking conception of progress.

Allen's main focus resides on mobilising Adorno's and Foucault's insights to construct an alternative to the Hegelian and Kantian accounts of the relationship between normativity and history. She also tries to suggest how this alternative can be used in the project of decolonising critical theory, which, in her mind, is stuck in its attempt to ground normativity in either a deflationary, pragmatic and contingent (yet still Hegelian) account of historical progress or a neo-Kantian conception of practical reason.

Allen concludes that Adorno's negativistically framed, forward-looking conception of progress does not rest on an abstract negation of reason, even when considering reason's entanglement with domination, but rather on a reflexive realisation. Allen reiterates Adorno's belief that progress as a moral-political imperative can only be achieved through a rational reflection on reason's limits and blind spots. Regarding Foucault, Allen sees his work, specifically in Madness and Civilization, as an attempt to de-dialectise Hegel. Allen perceives the attempt to historicise Hegel's philosophy of history with a genealogy of the Hegelian notion of history as even more important than Foucault's refusal to assume that history should be understood under the idea of progress towards some endpoint.

Allen also understands that Foucault's historical/philosophical approach attempts to move beyond dialectical history and romanticism by refusing the supra-historical point of view and nostalgia. She realises that the critique of reason elaborated in Madness and Civilization does not reject reason or demand an embrace of either madness or unreason as the true space of freedom. Rather, Allen concludes that Foucault implicitly relies on the conception of critique where reason is understood as ambivalently entangled with power relations and where freedom opens up a space between ourselves and our historical a priori. This conception comes close to what I proposed in this work.

Allen ventures an alternative approach to history and its relationship to normativity, tying together the common threads she found in the discussion of Adorno and Foucault. As she points out, the proposal is more of a sketch and yet holds for her the key to a fuller realisation of the normative inheritance of modernity. Genealogy thus appears for the author as problematisation due to this sketch. ⁹ Her take on problematisation attempts to circumvent the neutrality argument, even though it utilises the three distinct modes of genealogical inquiry outlined by Koopman: subversive, vindicatory and problematising. For Allen, genealogy as problematisation combines both subversive and vindicatory features insofar as it aims to reveal at once the dangers and the promise contained in the contingent history it traces. Still, its aim is neither simply subversive nor vindicatory. Allen argues that in ‘What is Enlightenment?’, Foucault (1997) places his critical method within the philosophical ethos of the normative inheritance of the Enlightenment. However, that does not necessarily demand fidelity to its doctrinal elements but rather to its critical attitude. His work would be part of an inheritance that involves reaffirming the legacy of the Enlightenment in and through its radical transformation. Allen (2016) understands that Adorno's philosophy aims to chart the historical emergence of the ideals of Enlightenment, which is consistent with a mixture of domination and promise, a unity of discontinuity and continuity, that particularly fits her method of problematising genealogy. Koopman's genealogy was tailor-made to measure up against Benhabib's dual-dimensioned standard for critical social theory. However, it is unclear if Allen's genealogy also tries to fit within this same standard, which would be incongruous considering that Benhabib dismisses much of the critical potential of Adorno's project. ¹⁰ Still, whether or not it satisfies (or attempts to satisfy) Benhabib’s standard remains unanswered.

The last part of Allen's sketch of genealogy as a problematisation is perhaps the most important. Allen's main argument here is that the choice for problematisation should not be understood as a rejection of the normative inheritance of modernity but rather as a fuller realisation of its core value: freedom. Regarding Adorno, his account of second nature illustrates the connection between his philosophy of history and the possibility of freedom. Revealing the contingency of this second nature is a crucial task for Adorno's critical theory because, argues Allen, the unmasking of the congealed history intends to break history's illusory and ideological spell, considering that Adorno perceives freedom, at least in its positive sense, in an intricate relation with the possibility of breaking or escaping the spell. This process of demonstrating the contingent, and therefore changeable, traits of history is vital to Adorno. Allen understands that ‘breaking or escaping the spell, freeing thought up from what it silently thinks in order to enable it to think differently—these are both ways of realising freedom’ (2016: 196).

In Allen's view, Adorno's process is akin to Foucault's characterisation of genealogy as an attempt to seek the singularity of events we tend to feel are without history. Allen underlines, summarising lines from ‘What is Enlightenment’ (Foucault, 1997), that genealogy as a process of critique should be understood as a historical investigation into the events that contributed in some way to the constitution of the self and the recognition of self as a subject. This critical inquiry aims to give new impetus to the undefined work of freedom. With this proposition, Allen seems to have reached the inflection point for her approach to problematisation; she establishes her argument and, perhaps, imbues her vision of forward-looking progress with some heft. From this point forward, Allen strives to substantiate the inclusion of the term ‘justice to the Other’ into the undefined work of freedom – it seems that Adorno does most of the heavy lifting here. To uphold the ideal of ‘justice to the Other’, Allen relies on the final lecture of Problems of Moral Philosophy (Adorno, 2000), putting her approach and normative commitment in a tough spot.

Adorno writes that

we find ourselves really and truly in a contradictory situation. We need to hold fast to moral norms, to self-criticism, to the question of right and wrong, and at the same time, to a sense of the fallibility of the authority that has the confidence to undertake such self-criticism. (2000: 169)

The emphasis turns to the belief that self-reflection has become the true heir of moral categories and that we can learn to do justice to those different from us by reflecting on our limitations. That is why modesty, for Adorno, is the only possible item in a hypothetical list of cardinal virtues. The modest stance becomes the centre of a moral requirement, an assumption and a goal of Allen's critique process; the apparent normative heft of freedom implied earlier in the text takes a backseat. The ‘justice to the Other’ moral imperative invites criticism for being, at least apparently, an excessively Kantian reading of Adorno. The moral requirement understanding of Adorno's modesty could be charged with actually not being modest at all and of containing ‘the same positing of self, the same self-assertion as positivity, which really just camouflages the principle of self-preservation, while simultaneously pretending to be moral’ (Adorno, 2000: 170). Allen imprints a strong emancipatory-utopian trait onto Adorno's text, specifically in the 17th lecture on Problems of Moral Philosophy. The Foucauldian part of her process stands by itself with insight relating to freedom and normativity – it remains profoundly untapped and not quite developed in her text. The next goal of this article is to show a specific understanding of Foucault and his work and thread together some of the issues left untapped by Allen's genealogy as problematisation.

Immanent groundings of a normative stance

Failing to perceive that there is an opening for a normative stance in Foucault's work presents a critical challenge, as it obscures the philosophical motivations underlying his analyses of power, knowledge and subjectivity. Foucault's works are often read as strictly descriptive accounts of social systems, leading some scholars to label him as either a moral relativist or an uncommitted observer of oppression. These positions overlook the implicit critiques embedded in his genealogical method, which, while not overtly prescriptive, reveals the ways power shapes normative structures. Allen's approach gets caught up with the possibility of forward-looking progress, which, as mentioned earlier, relies heavily on a particular reading of Adorno that could be viewed as moralistic, in some respects, if not neo-Kantian. Allen's forward-looking complementation is very much in line with Koopman's conclusion. One could argue that problematisation requires something more, such as being paired with Benhabib's dual-dimensioned form of critique. Despite the differences in characterising Foucault's process, one argues neutrality of genealogy (Koopman), and the other defends the idea that genealogy must be both subversive and affirmative to be problematising (Allen); both end up reaching for some normative support outside the critical process itself. The following paragraphs will attempt to weed out the implicit normative grounding from Foucault's conceptual choices and clear stances and attempt to demonstrate one possible normative perspective for genealogical studies. To accomplish this task, it is essential to underline how insightful Allen's position is in arguing for a deeper connection between Hegel and Foucault. Looking closely at Foucault's approach, there are at least two critical revelatory moments of a Hegelian lens in his studies, which by no means refutes or diminishes his well-known disagreements with a more traditional stance on Hegel.

The first is using the word dispositif, or apparatus, in English. Giorgio Agamben (2009), in What Is an Apparatus?, proposed a genealogy of the term that Foucault uses quite often (especially from the mid-1970s onwards) when he began to concern himself with what he calls governmentality. Even though Foucault never offers a complete definition, Agamben posits that he comes very close to doing so in a 1977 interview (Foucault,1980). Agamben summarises three points made by Foucault in his interview that characterise the apparatus: firstly, defining it as a heterogeneous set that includes virtually anything linguistic and non-linguistic: discourses, institutions, buildings, laws, philosophical propositions and so on. In the end, the network that is established between these elements is the apparatus. Secondly, the apparatus has a concrete strategic function within a power relation. Moreover, finally, it presents itself at the intersection of power relations and relations of knowledge. By tracing the origin of the term, Agamben realises that, at the end of the 1960s, around the time that Foucault was writing The Archaeology of Knowledge, he used the term positivité, or positivity, to define the object of his research (without offering a clear-cut definition); at this point, he does not yet use the term ‘apparatus’. It is clear that positivity is an etymological neighbour of the dispositif. Agamben wrestles with the question of the choice of positivity and its apparent undisclosed origin.

Agamben found his answer by revisiting a book by Jean Hyppolite entitled Introduction à la philosophie de l'histoire de Hegel. Hyppolite was a significant influence on Foucault's academic career. ¹¹ Agamben focuses on the third part of Hyppolite's book, Reason and History: The Ideas of Positivity and Destiny. In this section, Hyppolite analyses two works from Hegel's years in Bern and Frankfurt (1795–1796): The Spirit of Christianity and Its Destiny and The Positivity of the Christian Religion. Hyppolite works with destiny and positivity – key concepts in Hegel's thought. Hyppolite finds the term ‘positivity’ in Hegel's work to be set in the opposition between natural religion and positive religion. Natural religion is concerned with matters of the immediate and general relation of human reason with the divine, but positive or historical religion also comprehends the beliefs, rules and rites that in a particular society and at a specific historical moment are externally imposed on individuals (Agamben, 2009: 4–5).

If, according to Hyppolite, ‘positivity’ is the term that the young Hegel gives to the historical element – loaded with rules, rites and institutions – then Foucault, by using the term, takes a decisive stance concerning his thinking of the relation between individuals as living beings and the historical element. Agamben plays up the idea that, in a Foucauldian sense, the historical element means the set of institutions, processes of subjectification and rules in which power relations become concrete. One thing that Agamben pre-emptively dismisses is that ‘Foucault's ultimate aim is not, then, as in Hegel, the reconciliation of the two elements; it is not even to emphasise their conflict’ (2009: 6).

Agamben dismisses the reconciliation argument, apparently, for the wrong reasons. The reconciliation of reason with history (freedom with power) is tied to the systematicity thesis that was proposed later in Hegel's life. This leads to another point of contact between Hegel and Foucault worthy of a closer investigation: the intricate relationship between power and freedom. To understand how this aspect of Foucault's work shares insights with Hegel, it is essential to comprehend the systematicity of Hegel's normativity gauge. Kevin Thompson's (2019) Hegel's Theory of Normativity demonstrates the potency of the system posed by Hegel. In this book, Thompson explains that Hegel's work in the Elements of the Philosophy of Right seeks to elucidate the central problem of representational forms of knowledge (rationalism and empiricism, more specifically). Hegel attempts to justify the authoritativeness of right with a systematic type of argumentation, not beholden to representation but abjured from all presuppositions. Thompson argues that the crucial thesis is that the justification of the concept of right consists in it being shown to be the immanent and necessary ground of the more basic, and thus less determinate, concept of freedom. The entire normative character of the argument of the Philosophy of Right hinges on this idea. Right would be the condition of the possibility of freedom: ‘the normativity that is right thus flows from its being what ultimately constitutes freedom itself, or what we shall call, following Hegel, the objectivity of freedom: “the system of right is the realm of actualized freedom” (GPR §4)’ (Thompson, 2019: 36).

Retrogressive grounding underlines the intricate connections between right and freedom posed by Hegel's systematic position and the normativity explored by the premise that right is an expression of freedom actualised. Of course, in Hegel's case, the retrogressive grounding falls back into a dense metaphysical set of interrelations in the Science of Logic. Nevertheless, one can glean a particular retrogressive grounding proposal in Foucault's relation between freedom and power. When dealing with power, Foucault generally seeks to demonstrate how power relations do not necessarily imply bad relations. This insight is sometimes overlooked, considering that he dedicated most of his life to addressing the history of problematic power relations. In The Subject and Power, Foucault (2001) explains that exercising power should be considered a question of government – not a particular confrontation between opponents or their mutual engagement. Government is meant here in the broadest sense of the word, not referring to political structures or management of the state. It is closer to the meaning it had in the 16th century: how the conduct of individuals or groups might be directed: ‘the government of children, of souls, of communities, of families, of the sick’ (Foucault, 2001: 341). To govern, in this sense, means more than political or economic subjection; it means structuring the possible field of action of others. Foucault points out that if one considers government as the exercise of power as a mode of action upon the actions of others (in the broad sense of the word), one must include the element of freedom. For Foucault, ‘power is exercised only over free subjects and only insofar as they are “free.” Where the determining factors are exhaustive, there is no relationship of power’ (342). This suggests that power and freedom are not mutually exclusive but also that an interplay between them carries more than it initially appears:

[F]reedom may well appear as the condition for the exercise of power (at the same time, its precondition, since freedom must exist for power to be exerted, and also its permanent support, since without the possibility of recalcitrance power would be equivalent to a physical determination). (342)

The interlocking manner of describing the relationship between power and freedom is reminiscent of Hegel's position on freedom and right. In Hegel, the normativity of the right (Recht) flows from it being what ultimately constitutes freedom itself. Would it be possible to argue the same about power as it relates to freedom? Power relations, as the contours of a field of possibilities of action, hold a normative ground while holding a more or less determinate and concentrated position. If we abide by the Hegelian premise that normativity can be explored within the understanding that right (Recht), to some extent, is an expression of freedom – freedom actualised – then it stands to reason that power enacted could be similarly characterised (in a non-teleological detranscendentalised manner, of course). Hegel sees the right (Recht) as a case of success in the history of actualisations of freedom. In contrast, Foucault takes an opposite stance, looking at instances of power to demonstrate their fallible expressions of freedom.

At this point, rethreading the Foucault versus Habermas debate, reinvigorated by Kenneth Baynes’ defence of the Habermasian criticism, is indispensable to address the normative question directly. For Baynes (2016), the interest in the debate rests on distinguishing between objectionable and unobjectionable power relations. Baynes underscores that Habermas’ charge concerning cryptonormativism was not originally meant to defend an ultimate grounding to secure human freedom. Nevertheless, it implied a clear-cut or relatively clear indication of how the distinction between unobjectionable and objectionable forms of power might be drawn; Foucault's analysis of power does not seem to be able or intended to do that. The argument for a genealogical analysis is that there is no way to draw an a priori distinction between what forms of power are objectionable and unobjectionable. Objectionable characteristics are always present in any power relation. In other words, there is no actualised manifestation of human practice without flaws or beyond criticism. This aligns with the theoretical argument sustained by Buttler's first response to Benhabib's postmodernist accusation. Fraser et al. (2017) argues that establishing a set of norms beyond power is itself a forceful conceptual practice that intends to extend its power through recourse to tropes of normative universality. This conclusion does not entail abandoning foundational concepts (such as autonomy or reason). The critic's task is constantly to interrogate what these foundations authorise and what precisely they exclude or foreclose.

The perspective advocated here for a normative stance of genealogical inquiry is fundamentally intertwined with the imperfect and pervasive nature of power relations. Does this mean that we should hope or strive for perfect power relations (perfect manifestations of human practice)? Not really; precisely because power relations are expressions of freedom, they are determined to always fall short, and, for the same reason, the critic should always remain focused on the constant work to push forward through the de-essentialisation of flawed expressions of freedom.

Freedom, constructionist-performative normativity and its iterations

To demonstrate the perspective proposed here and to fully commit to recuperating the immanent potency of this argument, one has to answer at least two questions: if every power relation is an expression of freedom, what is the normative standard to evaluate its failings, and what particular conceptualisation of freedom are we talking about? The normative standard emerges from the analyses itself, as immanent criticism genealogy utilises its material (human practice) to extract and, at the same time, constitute the normative standard. The normative standards cannot be fixed or absolute because they arise within the context of the social practices they critique. The standards are context-sensitive and processual: they develop as part of the critique rather than being applied externally. Normativity here becomes performative and constructivist, built through engaging with the specific conditions of the critique rather than imposing an external, fixed moral standard.

The approach can be considered simultaneously dissociative and associative. The dissociative aspect challenges the legitimacy of prevailing discourses and practices by showing their dependence on specific historical contexts and power structures rather than any intrinsic necessity or universal rationality. However, this critical stance is also inherently associative because it establishes a normative foundation through its relationship to the phenomena it critiques. This critical engagement mediates justification and generates a common basis for potential transformation. ¹²

By acknowledging the contingent nature of these power relations – that is, understanding them as historical constructs rather than absolute, unchanging truths – one can see that they could have been, and could still be, otherwise. In other words, they are open to reinterpretation, challenge and transformation. Identifying these contingent aspects means entering a normative shared space where alternative ways of being, acting and relating to one another can be imagined and pursued. This shared space is normative because it guides our understanding of what actions and structures might be less desirable or aligned with a broader conception of freedom. It is shared because it arises from within collective human practices.

In this sense, freedom is seen within a social process of negotiating and reshaping possibilities rather than just an individual reflexive endeavour. Freedom, therefore, considering the nature of relations power as the contours and structures of the possible field of action, is not a predetermined goal, but, instead, the insight mediated by experiences – in other words, as the conditions of the performance of our practice. ¹³ Allen's approach is close to this interpretation.

However, Foucault's statement that freedom becomes a prerequisite for relations of power implies more than that. Ultimately, freedom operates not only as a dynamic criterion that enables critical insight into power relations across different historical contexts, but also as a meta-normative standard regarding how they emerge and evolve, where the perennial evaluating guide is whether we are closing or opening experiences of freedom, which can be seen as a space for insight and for shaping one's form of life. Freedom functions as a meta-normative standard precisely because it cannot be isolated from the nature of genealogy's immanent criticism. That is because the question of closing or opening experiences always demands contextual nuance, which means there is never an easy or a clear answer. The meta-normative perspective serves as a lens through which power relations can be examined without prescribing a fixed, idealised form of freedom. Only during criticism do the situated, practical realities within which individuals act and respond within power structures reveal how the possibilities for resistance and agency are constructed and altered historically.

Throughout Foucault's work, we can perceive the normativity being performatively constructed during criticism. He explores how societies regulate individual and collective behaviour through different apparatuses (or dispositifs), which are, as mentioned in the previous topic, strategies, practices and institutional arrangements designed to shape and govern human behaviour. In this sense, one could say that critical theory's process of criticism is not far from this. However, unlike critical theory, Foucault's normative position is not given from the outset or theoretically constructed via settled historicity; ¹⁴ it is constructed during criticism through the empirical traces of the apparatuses, as underlined above. Having in mind the dual character of freedom implied above, we can perceive that most of Foucault's work is attentive to ground the normative critique and is always aware of a larger scope of deteriorating spaces of freedom. In the following paragraphs, a specific focus will be given to the power spectrum of Foucault's critiques ¹⁵ as they afford the clearest parallel to underline the normative perspective delineated so far. Madness and Civilization gives the early charter of how one performs such normative criticism, and the following works expand the analysis.

In Madness and Civilization, Foucault (1973) examines how madness was transformed from an ambiguous, usual part of existence to a condition requiring control and, eventually, moral treatment. From the literature of tales and moral fables to the ‘follies’ until the Great Confinement, madness plays its role (Foucault, 1973: 13–37). The establishment of the Hôpital général in 1656 is a seminal point of entry to understanding how madness was framed as a type of disorderly conduct that demanded suppression or correction (39, 116). This process of suppression and correction goes through a period of search for an etiology and cure for the madness; madness turns into something inscribed in the subject's body. The medical reports and dictionaries of medicine of the 18th century give the full picture of this search for an explanation and treatment of it (123). However, in the latter half of the 18th century, a profound shift occurred in how madness was understood and treated. This transformation reduced the classical experience of madness to a primarily moral interpretation. ¹⁶ This moralistic view became the core around which the scientific and empirical concepts of mental illness in the 19th century were built. Nevertheless, they were later framed as objective and scientific advancements (196–197). The critical process described above reflects the attempt to construct a normative stance that threads into sociality definitions of what is considered normal or deviant, shaping the individuals’ subjectivities. The confinement and correction of madness reveal how institutional power operates through these norms. The moral interpretation of madness underscores how, ultimately, the experience of freedom is constrained by normative frameworks that dictate acceptable ways of being. The Birth of the Clinic (Foucault, 2003a) traces the emergence of modern medical practices and institutions, focusing on the development of the clinical gaze. Developing further into the doctor–patient relationship, Foucault traces the change towards an approach that allowed for knowledge of individuals that transcended purely historical or aesthetic considerations. The difficulty of defining individuality was no longer seen as a limitation but as an opportunity to extend inquiry infinitely by embracing these challenges. This shift transformed the gaze from something reductive to a tool that recognised and established the individuality of its subject. Consequently, a systematic, rational discourse about individuals became possible (Foucault, 2003a: xiv). This change marked a profound reorganisation of thought rather than a simple rejection of past theories, ultimately enabling clinical science to emerge. The transformation was reflected in the reorganisation of hospitals, such as Hôtel-Dieu, into spaces for systematic observation and classification of patients (61).

The institutionalisation of medical authority transforms the doctor–patient relationship and embeds a specific power relation in the act of observation and diagnosis. The focus on the subject enables various fields – such as clinical science – to develop their own systems of discourse. Thus, the dispersion of discourses arises from this fundamental reorganisation of thought, where the subject itself serves as the nexus for an infinite array of analytic possibilities. From this insight, it becomes clear how the work on Discipline and Punish (Foucault, 1995) continues the task to reveal – similar to how physical madness became a moral sickness – how punishment moved from a visceral, public affair, targeting the body through torture or execution, to address the ‘soul’, the individual's inner life: their thoughts, will and inclinations (16). This transformation reveals a deeper, more pervasive reach of modern systems of control. By focusing on the inner workings of the individual, these systems extend their power into the most personal aspects of life, transforming punishment into a mechanism of normalisation and surveillance. The ultimate instrument to achieve this form of punishment is the Panopticon. The Panopticon, conceived by Jeremy Bentham, is more than an architectural design; it is a profound metaphor for power and control in modern society. The Panopticon's achievement lies in its ability to instil a state of constant self-surveillance. The inmates, aware that they could be watched at any moment, begin to regulate their own behaviour as if they are always under scrutiny. This makes the physical presence of the observer increasingly unnecessary; the architecture itself enforces discipline (Foucault, 1995: 200–205). Panopticon becomes, after all, a lens to understand modern society, where surveillance is not limited to prisons but permeates schools, workplaces, hospitals and more. It represents a shift in how power operates, not through overt force but through subtle psychological mechanisms that encourage individuals to conform. This system, designed to ‘see without being seen’, illustrates how modern institutions shape behaviour, producing docile, compliant individuals.

In Abnormal, Foucault (2003b) intricately weaves themes from Madness and Civilization, Discipline and Punish and The History of Sexuality, Volume 1. Abnormal explores how disciplinary mechanisms produce ‘abnormal’ subjects through practices of surveillance and confession that move towards public health and moralisation. However, it is only in The History of Sexuality, Volume 1 (Foucault, 1978) that sexuality is demonstrated to be central to modern systems of power, situated at the intersection of two axes: the discipline of individual bodies and the regulation of populations. Sexuality becomes a means to manage life itself – at the level of both individuals and society as a whole – making it a key element in the political technology of life, a tool for governance (Foucault, 1978: 145). Sexuality was scrutinised, tied to moral, medical and psychological discourses, through four major historical strategies in this deployment from the late 18th century: the ‘hysterisation’ of women, which framed women’s bodies inherently saturated with sexuality and yet biologically predisposed to pathology (instability); the ‘sexualisation’ of children, which portrayed childhood sexuality as a matter of concern, seen as both natural and dangerous, requiring constant surveillance; the socialisation of procreative behaviour, where reproductive practices became the focus of imposed incentives and restrictions to regulate fertility, aligning individual reproductive decisions with societal needs; and the psychiatrisation of perverse pleasure, which identified sexuality as a distinct biological and psychological instinct, with deviations or ‘perversions’ categorised and analysed clinically, the ‘anomalies’ becoming the subject of normalisation or correction through medical and psychological interventions (Foucault, 1978: 104–105). The governance through the apparatus of sexuality produced an intricate system of ‘micro-power’ through surveillance and control of individual bodies and a broader regulatory mechanism aimed at shaping society. These dynamics transformed sexuality into a personal identifier and a measure of societal strength linked to health, reproduction, morality and the vitality of the species.

The constitution of sexuality as an apparatus of governance sets the stage for Foucault's subsequent explorations in Society Must Be Defended (Foucault, 2003c), Security, Territory, Population (Foucault, 2007) and The Birth of Biopolitics (Foucault, 2008). In these works, he broadens his focus to other mechanisms of power that govern populations, encapsulating themes such as security, governance, sovereignty and biopolitics. Sexuality became a microcosm for these processes, illustrating how power shifts from direct control over individuals to more diffuse techniques of managing life, health and reproduction on a societal scale. There 's no doubt that Foucault's work can be interpreted as a myriad of different analyses, somehow contingent or semi-disconnected, and some will argue that such a position is an asset. However, the interpretation of his work as a continuous reconstruction of failed experiences of freedom within the overarching space of ‘modernity’ as modulating and governing strategies shaping freedom experiences fits not only with the reconstruction of genealogy as immanent criticism proposed here but also with Foucault's own understanding of his work as a task to understand different facets of human experience (Foucault, 1994).

Foucault's analyses show that freedom is not an individualistic ideal or predetermined goal but a shared, socially mediated experiential process. His critiques create a shared space for reimagining alternative ways of being and relating by exposing norms’ contingent and historical nature. This conclusion aligns with the argument that his normative commitment to freedom emerges from a performative and context-sensitive normative standard through critical engagement with the conditions of power and highlights the meta-normative argument of freedom as an overarching guide that can only be reconstructed contextually.

Concluding thoughts

Koopman's renewed attempt to reconcile Foucault's genealogy with Habermasian critical theory inadvertently reignites the debates on normative critique and falls into the same pitfalls it aims to overcome. Allen's position in The End of Progress aligns Foucault with Adorno, suggesting shared theoretical and methodological similarities and advancing the debate normative debate. Allen proposes that Foucault's work reflects a normative commitment to freedom and aligns with the Enlightenment's critical ethos. Her analysis of freedom and normativity through a Foucauldian lens is insightful but underdeveloped. This work sought to demonstrate that Foucault's genealogy clearly allows for a normative stance that is performative constructionist, forged through critical engagement with what is criticised. The normative dimension of Foucauldian genealogy is deeply connected to the provisional nature of power relations. The failures and inconsistencies within these relations provide the very grounds for genealogical inquiry, revealing the fractures and points of resistance that can be leveraged for critique. Foucault's iterative critique of power, his genealogical endeavour under the premises proposed here, shows how freedom evolves within and against the constraints of historical and social practices and remains an overarching meta-normative guide. The conceptualisation of freedom, as articulated previously, operates as a fluid, dynamic and context-sensitive mediation that provides critical insight into power relations. The meta-normative aspect of freedom aligns closely with the trajectory of Michel Foucault's work, considering his articulations on methodology, the reconstruction of Foucauldian genealogy as immanent criticism proposed, and the subject of critique of closure of human experiences that constantly reappears in his works.