Power, Resistance, and the Limits of Critique: Engaging Cronin on Foucault and Bourdieu
Introduction: The Stakes of the Debate
Few debates in modern social theory are as rich and consequential as the discussion surrounding power, agency, and resistance. Theories of power not only shape how we understand domination but also influence how we imagine resistance, emancipation, and the possibilities of political transformation. Two of the most influential thinkers on this subject, Michel Foucault and Pierre Bourdieu, have offered distinct yet overlapping accounts of power, both of which continue to shape academic and political discourse.
Foucault’s work, particularly in Discipline and Punish and The History of Sexuality, revolutionized our understanding of power by moving away from the traditional juridical model, which views power as something wielded by individuals or institutions, toward a relational and decentralized conception of power. For Foucault, modern power does not simply operate through law or coercion but is embedded in social practices, disciplinary institutions, and discourses that shape the very way people think, behave, and experience themselves. Bourdieu, by contrast, develops a theory of symbolic power that is grounded in his broader sociological framework of social fields and habitus. While he, like Foucault, moves away from a purely top-down model of power, he emphasizes the role of social structures, institutions, and class hierarchies in reproducing domination.
Ciaran Cronin, in his article, “Bourdieu and Foucault on Power and Modernity,” argues that Bourdieu’s framework offers a more empirically grounded and politically actionable account of power than Foucault’s. He critiques Foucault’s notion of power as overly diffuse and totalizing, suggesting that it leaves little room for agency or resistance. Conversely, he finds Bourdieu’s theory to be more concrete, particularly in how it links power to class structures, social institutions, and the state. Cronin’s argument is not without merit; however, his critique is ultimately too narrow and prescriptive, as it imposes a normative framework on these theories that neither thinker claims to provide. Moreover, his reading of both Foucault and Bourdieu oversimplifies their theories, reducing Foucault’s work to an all-encompassing model of domination and Bourdieu’s theory to a purely strategic struggle for power.
In this post, I argue that while Cronin raises important concerns about the political implications of both thinkers’ work, his critique fails to fully engage with the nuances of their theories. Instead of setting up an opposition between Foucault and Bourdieu, we should consider how their insights can be productively combined to develop a more dynamic understanding of modern power structures.
The Demand for a Normative Framework: Is It Justified?
One of Cronin’s central criticisms is that both Foucault and Bourdieu fail to provide a normative foundation for resistance. Without a clear ethical or political framework, he argues, their theories leave us without the tools to distinguish between just and unjust uses of power or to develop an effective emancipatory politics. At first glance, this concern seems reasonable. If power is everywhere, as Foucault argues, or if domination is deeply internalized through habitus, as Bourdieu suggests, how do we locate meaningful resistance? How do we determine which struggles are legitimate or which forms of power are unjust?
The problem with this critique is that it assumes that a normative framework is necessary for effective resistance, when in fact both Foucault and Bourdieu offer powerful insights into domination without relying on universal moral principles. Foucault’s entire intellectual project is, in part, a rejection of normative foundations, particularly those that claim to be universal. He sees such frameworks as historically contingent constructions that are themselves products of power. Concepts like justice, freedom, and human rights, which are often assumed to be neutral and universal, have historically been used as mechanisms of exclusion and domination. For example, the discourse of human rights has been mobilized to justify colonial interventions, neoliberal governance, and carceral expansion—all in the name of protecting human dignity. Foucault’s point is not that justice or resistance are meaningless but that we must be critical of the historical conditions that produce our moral categories rather than assume them to be self-evident truths.
Similarly, Bourdieu is skeptical of normative claims because they are often deeply tied to existing social structures. His work shows how dominant social groups define what counts as legitimate knowledge, morality, and aesthetics in ways that reinforce their own position of power. In this sense, calls for justice and emancipation, if not critically examined, can become tools of domination themselves. For instance, elite educational institutions claim to reward merit, yet their very structure systematically favors those with inherited cultural and social capital. Bourdieu does not reject the possibility of social transformation but insists that it must begin with an understanding of how symbolic power operates rather than with an abstract normative framework.
By insisting that Foucault and Bourdieu should provide a moral blueprint for emancipation, Cronin risks misrepresenting the purpose of their theories. Instead of demanding a universal standard of justice, we might ask: How can Foucault’s analysis of power help us identify new sites of resistance? How can Bourdieu’s concept of symbolic power illuminate the hidden mechanisms that sustain domination? These questions allow for a more dynamic and historically grounded approach to resistance, rather than imposing an external ethical framework onto theories that do not claim to offer one.
Misreading Foucault on Agency and Resistance
Another key component of Cronin’s critique is his claim that Foucault’s concept of power is so pervasive that it leaves little room for agency or resistance. According to Cronin, if power is everywhere and operates through discourse, disciplinary institutions, and self-regulation, then where can resistance take place? This critique echoes earlier criticisms of Foucault, particularly from theorists like Jürgen Habermas, who argued that Foucault’s work ultimately leads to a kind of nihilism—a vision of social life in which power is all-encompassing and resistance is impossible.
However, this critique fundamentally misreads Foucault’s position. Foucault explicitly states that power always produces resistance. In The History of Sexuality, he argues that wherever there is power, there is also the possibility of subversion, rupture, and transformation. The fact that power operates through disciplinary mechanisms and social norms does not mean that individuals are wholly determined by them. Rather, power is a field of struggle, where new forms of subjectivity, counter-discourses, and oppositional practices constantly emerge.
Resistance, for Foucault, does not necessarily take the form of large-scale revolutionary movements but can emerge in subtle, everyday acts of refusal and transgression. This might include queer activists challenging normative conceptions of gender and sexuality, prison abolitionists contesting carceral logics, or grassroots movements creating alternative knowledge systems outside state and corporate institutions. Foucault’s late work on ethics and governmentality further refines this perspective by exploring how individuals can reshape their own subjectivity through practices of self-care, critique, and alternative ways of living.
Cronin’s portrayal of Foucault as deterministic and totalizing is thus deeply misleading. Rather than foreclosing the possibility of resistance, Foucault’s work reorients our understanding of what resistance can look like—not as an external force that stands outside power, but as something that arises from within power relations themselves.
Conclusion: Moving Beyond a False Opposition
Cronin’s critique ultimately falls into a binary opposition—privileging Bourdieu’s structured model of power over Foucault’s decentralized one. However, instead of choosing one over the other, we should recognize that both thinkers offer valuable tools for understanding and resisting domination. Foucault’s work helps us analyze how power operates at the micro-level of discourse, subjectivity, and disciplinary institutions, while Bourdieu provides insight into how class structures, symbolic power, and state institutions reproduce social hierarchies. Rather than setting them against each other, we should explore how their insights can be used together to develop a more nuanced and comprehensive theory of power.
