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Review Article
A CLOSER WALK ON
THE WILD SIDE:
SOME COMMENTS ON
CHARLES TAYLOR’S A SECULAR AGE
John Milbank
Department of Theology and Religious Studies, University of Nottingham,
University Park, Nottingham NG7 2RD
john.milbank@nottingham.ac.uk
I
t is never easy to write interestingly about a book with which one is
mostly in profound agreement. A list of endorsements would be tedious,
yet I must begin by saying that I think this is a magnificent, epoch-
making work, the scope of whose significance has been badly grasped by
the reviews that I have so far seen. Perhaps the casual pace, almost slangy
tone and lush detail deceive the half-attentive reader, but what we have
here is nothing less than a new diagnosis of both Western triumphs and a
Western malaise. We are provided indeed with almost a full-scale political,
cultural, intellectual as well as religious history of modern times, replete
with extraordinarily balanced and yet acute judgments.
Most miraculously of all, Taylor contrives to remain serenely eirenic
while still putting forward a radical and even daring thesis. The confidingly
indulgent tone may for some disguise the steely conceptual substance –
yet the two features in the end belong conceptually together. For if the
thesis is that secularization is finally attributable to the self-undoing of
Latin Christendom through over-obsession with ‘reform’, then this is also
a thesis whose very succinctness paradoxically allows for no very clear
identification of heroes and villains. Reforming efforts that were in many
ways admirable and excellent have had dire unintended consequences;
this minimum basis, even if the fundamental lack of justice in this order
renders it more unstable than is usually imagined. However, what Taylor
does not specifically say is that this ascription of positivity is a back-handed
compliment, because the very logic of liberalism is bound to disguise this
positivity in claiming to base itself upon a natural, neutral foundation.
Once the positivity is acknowledged, within a secular perspective, then
one really has to go post-humanist – either liberal rights are a pure illusion
and an offence against life, or they are ‘absurd gestures’ in the face of the
void. And even Foucault and Derrida’s versions of the nihilist-existentialist
hybrid tend to claim dubious neo-Kantian universalist foundations. More
credible is Badiou’s version of this combination, in which it is conceded
that both affirmation of an underlying void and commitment to ideal
human projects rest on pure decision. Here one has something closer to
an insider admission of Taylor’s crucial point that atheist positions are not
usually entertained merely with sad resignation but positively embraced as
attractive and heroic life-stances.
In denying that secularization is a ‘subtraction’ Taylor extends much
further a view entertained already by other writers, such as myself or Pierre
Manent. However, there is perhaps a slight lack of clarity in his presentation.
And this focuses above all around the issue of ‘enchantment’. Right at the
outset of the book Taylor says that, despite his going against the subtraction
approach, one has to concede that there are three ways in which older
circumstances favouring religious belief were simply ‘removed’. In a way
these all involve ‘enchantment’, but more specifically they are: (1) popular
experience of meteorological and other natural variations as ‘acts of God’;
(2) the assumption that political and religious order were inseparable; and
(3) the belief that the world was full of spiritual and magical forces – the
enchanted universe, specifically.
Now Taylor rightly says that the rise of a scientific and historically critical
outlook undermined the credibility of these three beliefs. But beyond that
point he is perhaps unclear in three specific ways. First of all, if this was
only a shift in popular experience as a result of élite imposition, then we
are referred back to what is here the more crucial higher level of shifts in
learned outlook. Yet at this level it is by no means clear that Taylor places
‘disenchantment’ within subtraction. In fact, by the end of the book this
would appear to be not the case at all. He cites Rémi Brague, and Brague
indeed does, very disappointingly, argue that disenchantment followed
inevitably from the collapse of the Medieval World picture – a view which
totally ignores Renaissance and Baroque attempts from Cusa through to
Bérulle to re-enchant a heliocentric and infinite universe. Yet Taylor does
at one point acknowledge this, and furthermore is highly alert to the fact
that disenchantment perhaps primarily came about because a certain style
of theology favoured this – a style wishing to monopolize all mystery in the
one God, somewhat in the way that the modern State now monopolized all
coercive power at the sovereign centre. One could add here that the triumph
of mechanical philosophy in both Catholic and Protestant countries seems
to have been more to do with a wish to eradicate any supposed ‘neo-pagan’
sense of vital forces in the cosmos than with the objective natural evidence.
Indeed, in the later seventeenth century, it was largely the evidence itself
which forced a new recognition of occult physical forces and biological
vitalism against the mechanical purity of the physics of Mersenne, Gassendi
and Descartes.
One could certainly concede here that certain fixed ‘codes’ of medieval
enchantment could not have really survived scientific discovery. Even
though we still cover meat with spicy sauces, we can no longer honestly
consider that this is out of a need to balance the ‘wetness’ of meat with
the ‘fireiness’ of the spice in order to encourage a balance of our humours
and so of our mental state, as did the Middle Ages. Yet it does not at all
follow from this that we are obliged to abandon all notions of esoteric links
between physical states and mental ones – indeed if one believes that the
latter truly exist and yet are not dualistically separated from the body one
actually requires some subtle mode of the pathetic fallacy: a point which
the romantics often realized. Taylor also at the end of his book implies
that the medial status of the body between subjectivity and objectivity (as
already recognized by Maine de Biran) opens towards some kind of more
subtle, fluid, undogmatic re-enchantment of the cosmos. And in Christian
terms this new subtler mode could be readily seen as a gain: the Church
Fathers were against fixed superstitions but still thought that the world
was a cosmic temple. These two things came together in remarks spattered
throughout the Greek Fathers about how there is an apophatic mystery of
the creation as well as of the creator.
My point here is that in the bulk of the book Taylor seems to radicalize
even his own initial position – implying that there may not be these three
exceptions to ‘anti-subtraction’ after all. And one could further specify:
the Middle Ages did know of speculation regarding immanent secondary
causes even of exceptional natural events, while the further establishment
of these in early modernity of course does not deny final divine causality
except within those modes of semi-occasionalism which Amos Funkenstein
has shown often accompanied the scientific revolution. Again the Middle
Ages often, as with Aquinas, did realize that political authority was
artificially constructed and yet it still assumed that it could not attract any
legitimacy save by referral to God and by acknowledging participation in
divine providential governance. Inversely, Carl Schmitt plausibly argued
that outside this reference political legitimacy becomes problematic in
any era. Finally, the surprising evidence suggests that where modern
pressures are weak or called into question again, belief in fairies, demons,
ghosts and magical sympathy remains today very strong even in areas of
Western Europe. Indeed Taylor omits to mention how important an aspect
of ‘New Age’ sensibility this is. Thus disenchantment is no more natural
and inevitable than the decline of religion – and essentially Taylor himself
affirms this.
In the second place, however, Taylor sometimes seems over-anxious
to insist that disappearance of enchantment does not equate with decline
of religion. Of course this is correct, because one has phenomena like
Calvinism, Bible Belt fundamentalists who live in a secularized space and
time far more extreme than anything found in Europe, and Wahabism that
has removed all sacramental and imagistic elements from Islamic practice.
However, it is central to Taylor’s most crucial thesis that such phenomena in
the end encourage secularization. Monotheism that allows no sacramental
mediation, that renders the divine will remote and inscrutable, that
sharply divides nature from supernature, itself engenders an impermeable,
drained, meaningless immanence that can readily be cut off from any
transcendent relation whatsoever. And again and again Taylor rightly says
that the over-concentration of Latin Christendom on behavioural reform
tended to dampen down a popularly festive and ecstatic spirit, intimately
linked to enchantment. So can he have it both ways? Is disenchantment
closely linked to secularization or not? Fundamentally he argues that it
is. With the liberal secularization of politics, first the Baroque version of
Christendom and then what Taylor calls the ‘neo-Durkheimian’ linking of
religion to nation and restricted social movements decline, to leave behind
the religion of ‘authenticity’ that is to do with inner depth and personal
quest for unique expression. However, this also involves a direct, non-
socially mediated relationship to the cosmos, and that, as I have already
said, is generally linked to re-enchantment. Moreover, Taylor himself
points out that practices of pilgrimage and devotion to miracle-working
saints returned by popular demand in the nineteenth century. Today they
are reviving again, and often a new religious individualism gets combined
with private visits to cathedrals to light candles by people who are by no
means church-attending Christians.
So one could argue that the details of Taylor’s book show that he does
not really believe that the fate of enchantment and the fate of religion
are independent of each other. Rather, he thinks that a certain mode of
monotheism has tended to disenchant and that this is, in the long term,
fatal for religiosity. And as I have just argued, newer, post-secular modes of
religion tend to re-enchant.
The third point regarding enchantment relates to the long-term effect
of the axial religions, which Taylor frequently invokes during the course
of his book. If, as I have argued, and as he concurs, the main thesis of his
book is that reform engendered secularization in the Latin West – what he
calls the ‘Reform Master Narrative’ (RMN) – then behind this lurks in the
shadows a larger thesis about religion as such, which is indeed profound
and attractive, and one which I find rather convincing.
What is intuitively attractive about it is that it appeals to every
contemporary person’s vague notion of a religious person. This is of
someone who curiously ‘walks on the wild side’ in terms of her beliefs,
experiences and practices, is generally a bit odd and extreme, and yet who
is also in daily life moral and disciplined, pursuing a ‘closer walk’ with God,
through the example of Christ or holy people who went about doing good.
Now it seems to me that the whole of A Secular Age addresses this bizarre
combination: religion draws on wild Dionysiac energies, it goes ecstatically
beyond the constituted norms and therefore is often linked with sex and
violence. And yet it is also most often regarded as the unique and final
source of social and moral order. Here the exception does not merely prove
the rule; it alone makes it – as, for example, with exceptional practices of
bloody sacrifice or ritual sex.
One sees this clearly with pre-axial religion, but the strange combination
remains, one could argue, in all religion. Ethical practice can remain
immanent, even if it does so at the contradictory price of grounding the
ethical in the pre-ethical – ‘natural’ happiness, freedom and sympathy.
But where the ethical is grounded in the ethical, then one has some sort of
transcendent goodness which belongs to an entire ontological reality that
necessarily possesses other attributes – unity, beauty, truth, differentiation,
individuation, relationality and so forth. One’s ‘ecstatic’ relationship to this
reality grounds the ethical and yet exceeds the ethical. It may even be that
the ultimate circumstances of one’s relationship to this reality contradict
the practices enjoined upon one in everyday human reality. One can cite
the phenomenon of human sacrifice. And for Kierkegaard, the sacrifice of
Isaac suggested that death in relation to God the source of all life does not
mean what death means between fragile human beings. There is always
a religious beyond the ethical which nonetheless grounds every ethic not
reducible to the naturalistically pre-ethical.
To be horrendously summary, one could say that ethics, like politics for
Péguy, begins in the mystical and is exceeded by that which must nonetheless
engender some sort of ethical practice in order to be authentic.
Throughout the book, Taylor repeatedly suggests that religion will collapse
into the merely ethical when it ignores this mystical, ecstatic Dionysiac root
– however much monotheism must qualify a pre-axial sacralization of sex
and violence. And once one has the merely ethical, one has the instability
(as he does not sufficiently say) of trying to ground ‘mutual benefit’ upon
basically individualistic presuppositions which can always disturb this
order through a resurgence of supposedly (and so really projected) ‘natural’
egoistic violence or else the latent anarchy of sovereign political power and
and Judaism encourage this phenomenon. But Brague misreads Philo here
and ignores in a very old-fashioned, strangely Germanic, way the Hebrew
Bible’s interest in a sacral cosmos.
As to Gauchet’s claim, this is surely exactly the kind of intellectual
whiggery that Taylor is supposed to be contesting. When one looks at the
axial faiths then they all have ‘enchanted’ and ‘disenchanted’ variants:
one has Mahayana and Theravada, Shi’ism and Sunnism, Rabbinism and
Kabbalism, Catholicism and Protestantism. (This division is grotesque
caricature of course, but serves to make a point.) The idea that the
‘enchanted’ versions less grasp the axial essence, are less radical or more
contaminated with the pre-axial, is simply not defensible. If they do indeed
incorporate pre-axial dimensions then this is still for integrally post-
axial reasons. ‘Magical’ powers may be now less automatic in character,
less linked to notions of an inexorable fate, yet in a cosmos created by, or
somehow related to, a personal or personally concerned power, there may
be all kinds of spiritual realities. Moreover, if ‘magic’ becomes flexible and
less ‘according to rule’ it is no less magic, because Mauss long ago destroyed
the ‘magic is automatic process’ mistake.
Gauchet’s thesis is in short questionable because, in the case of the
monotheistic faiths, the idea of a personal god at the top may tend to
depersonalize all within the creation – as, arguably, in the Koran, for
which human beings are not said to be in the image of God (but this is
massively qualified within Shi’ism and Sufism) – or, equally, it may tend to
a semi-vitalistic near-personifying of all that a personal god has created, or
encourage belief in thousands of hidden angelic and spiritual forces. (And
all of Islam allows the latter.)
Moreover, if anything, it is the ‘enchanted’ version which seems truer to
the logic of monotheism, and it is for this reason that monotheistic ‘mystics’
very often subscribe to an enchanted cosmos and to ‘quasi-magical’ notions
such as the Jesus Prayer within Eastern Orthodoxy. Their correlation
here with popular piety is not a lack of sophistication but the result of a
sophistication greater than that of positivisitic dogmaticians.
Two points are relevant here. First, God is One in a sense beyond the
one and the many – he is not in the category ‘individual’ any more than
he is in the category ‘general’, as Aquinas puts it. Hence the absolute
transcendent is in no sort of rivalry with other lesser spiritual powers. By
contrast, the ‘disenchanting’ version tends to reduce God to an ontic idol
who is a supreme individual and thus tends to come into competition with
his subordinates. This ‘monopolization of mystery’ does not really redound
to God’s glory, because, as Aquinas also says, that is more evidenced in the
degree that God can communicate his own power. The ‘monopolizing’ God
is likely to be conceived as a tyrant who usurps our proper powers because
he operates on the same univocal plane of being as ourselves. Hence, as
Now, the point is that whereas the other axial religions accentuate the
‘mythical’ notion that local personal powers are subordinate to impersonal
fate, Platonism and Judaism do something much more surprising. They
go beyond the local only by inventing the universal itself as a ‘supreme
locality’. This is why their account of the absolute is more personal – the
Bible more so than Plato of course. But in this way they do not abandon
the personal and direct aspect of the primitive – including its oral and gift-
exchangist, pre-contractual and pre-legal character – so much as generalize
and universalize it. And the New Testament, by subordinating the law to
the inter-personal, in a sense ‘re-primitivizes’ all the more. As Ivan Illich
pointed out, the New Testament does not say ‘love strangers’ but ‘render
all as kin’.
So the very personalism of Christianity, on which Taylor frequently
insists, also exhibits a special mode of continuity with the pre-axial that
the oriental axial religions do not have. Of course there is also a huge shift:
primitive persons were in ‘masked’ roles as Mauss taught, but once the
inter-personal has become universal it is relatively freed from local fetishes,
even if these can act as local conduits for general spiritual power. Yet all the
same, Ivan Illich’s crucial insight, invoked by Taylor towards the end of his
book, that Christian agape operates through a network of direct relations
and not through conceptual or legal imposition, is precisely equivalent to
the idea that the Church, instead of founding universality on abstract right
and contract, tries to found it on a kind of ‘universalizing’ of pre-legal tacit
bonds of trust and gift-exchange. But remarkably, Seneca in his De Beneficiis
already conceived the ‘cosmopolis’ on this model – for while one exchanges
gifts with friends and makes contracts with everyday strangers, with even
more remote strangers who share no common currency or cultural idiom,
one must once more exchange gifts. And the Pauline epistles show how
Paul actually tries to put this sort of ‘personalist’ international network into
practice.
So this comparativist perspective once more only reinforces Taylor’s
claims. Christianity uniquely mediates a personal – or rather interpersonal
God – through interpersonal practice and not through the law.
The bulk of Taylor’s book turns out retrospectively to have been about
how this gets perverted through the institutionalization of charity. At the
end of the book he generously acknowledges that there is a symmetry
between this thesis and that of several theologians, including myself,
according to which we can blame atheism and immanentism in the end on
a justified reaction against bad theology. Taylor suggests that the most far-
reaching version of this thesis may be that of ‘Radical Orthodoxy’ (RO) who
trace this ‘bad theology’ back to Scotus and his inauguration of a univocal
ontology – combined, I should add, with an already ‘epistemological’ theory
of knowledge as representation. Now part of the point here is that it is the
and body and mind and body, ‘sexual intercourse’ is impossible. With total
Cartesian rigour he reasons: if knowledge is not metaphorical sexuality,
then there can be no knowledge in actual sexuality. One suspects that Taylor
would add that surely Lacan preferred it that way – it is not that in the face
of loss of enchantment we must accept loss of even human relationship; it
is rather that we prefer the citadel of the solipsistic and secure self against
the disturbances of both alien hatred and alien love.
The second rider is much more important. It is actually not the case
that RMN concerns popular processes while ID concerns élite ones. RMN
concerns indeed much more mass processes, but these processes were all
imposed from above by élites – on Taylor’s own account. So one could argue
that a still more adequate account of secularization would have to bring
together RMN and ID in terms of exactly how scholastic theology related to
disciplinary, pastoral and legal practice. And perhaps rather uncomfortable
questions might have to be asked here about the contrast between different
procedures in different aspects and movements of the Church. Is it, for
example, an accident that it was the Dominican Eckhart who tried to offer
to the laity not clerical behaviour but rather mystical participation in
Christ as something they could know without any ‘way’ in the midst of
their secular practice? Is it an accident that it was the layperson Dante who
tried to impart doctrine in the lay poetic vernacular? By contrast, for all the
glory of St Francis, is there not something ambivalent about an attempt to
be a too literal alter Christus? Is this connected with the representational
realism of Franciscan-inspired painting like that of Giotto, whereas the
Dominican or Dominican-influenced painters (Fra Angelico, etc.) tended to
use perspective rather to reinforce the traditionally iconic as a participating
passage between our world and the beyond? Is there, as David Aers has
argued in writing about Piers Plowman, a danger recognized in that text of
a Franciscan focus on the discipline of poverty rather than the fulfilment of
agape? And doesn’t that line up with the way in which Franciscan writers
tended, as Pierre Rousselot long ago showed, to stress love as a one-way
disinterested ecstasy where Aquinas rather saw it as reciprocal friendship?
And that in turn connects with a Franciscan tendency to separate will from
intellect – rendering the former more force than bond and the latter more
a conceptuality taken apart from true desiring. This circumstance is then
finally linked to a tendency only to accept the univocally graspable or the
representable.
This is not supposed to demonize a whole religious order. There were
counter-currents and lots of other positive aspects to Franciscan tradition –
while many ‘culprits’ operated elsewhere and included many Dominicans.
I am not even at all sure how far one can take some of the above paragraph.
But what I want to venture is a sketch of how one might begin to link up
theological belief with disciplinary and pastoral procedure – and so ID
with RMN. (Actually Taylor does this more with philosophy beginning in
the seventeenth century than he does with earlier theology.)
But this would only be to take further an enterprise which Charles
Taylor has inaugurated. It must be said that Taylor has, with this book,
consummated his invention of a new intellectual genre – a kind of historicized
existentialism, in which the philosopher seeks to disinter the assumed
‘mood’ or Wittgensteinian ‘picture’ that causes people often unconsciously
to take up the positions which they do, far more fundamentally than any
mere conceptual reasoning. Thereby, he engages in a kind of historical meta-
philosophy, somewhat reminiscent of Collingwood. But he does not stop at
any mere historicism: rather he seeks to adjudicate between our inherited
options by pointing out the observed or likely practical consequences of
different positions – as, for example, with his handling of the implications
of religious and non-religious attitudes to violence, as described above. This
is a subtle sort of apologetic – again exampled when he argues that only a
religious outlook can hope for an unlimited human and cosmic reciprocity
and that such a hope is likely to achieve at least some real extension of
reciprocity, as opposed to the cultivation of lone absurdist gestures towards
a social good that we know can never arrive – à la Derrida.
But to be able to espouse such an outlook requires, as Taylor says, a leap
of faith – even if humanisms and nihilisms involve also their own leaps.
And so finally he offers us a reading of Latin Christian history in terms of
this faith – a theological reading, as I said at the beginning.
According to this reading, with which I largely concur, the Church has
failed in practice to be orthodox enough because it has failed to be really true
to the incarnation – and in the end has perversely produced excarnation
and an impersonal order where we can negotiate ‘safely’ (for a while) with
strangers and we all face a sovereign centre in a fantasized simultaneous
space rather than seeking to relate to each other. Almost from the outset
Christianity has excarnated by failing (with insufficient fidelity to Jewish
roots) to allow that the way of marriage is of at least equal dignity with that
of celibacy and by failing to integrate sexual joy into the path of deification.
This failure has often connected with a belief in eternal damnation – refusing
the (perfectly orthodox) universalist option of Origen, Gregory of Nyssa,
and (arguably) St Paul. The later course of history saw in the late Middle
Ages a newly accentuated focus on sexual and bodily sins at the expense
of interpersonal ones (as John Bossy has shown) and this again went along
with accentuated attention to the horrors of death in fearful anticipation of
the perils of hell.
Without question this doctrine allows us once again to link up RMN
with ID, because the idea that God has arbitrarily predestined some to
damnation (found sadly even in Aquinas) undoubtedly encouraged the
gradual obsession with God’s reserved ‘absolute power’ and the slide
re-imagining itself newly stresses the imagination, and for two reasons.
First of all, we now see that even Patristic and Medieval thought was over-
rational. The end of the line of trying to rely on reason alone is nominalism,
which makes us see clearly how the theological participatory cosmos is
not in any way ‘obvious’. Hence we now return reflexively to the older
tradition, knowing indeed that we must re-invent it with ‘subtler languages’
(to use Taylor’s term) and that the deeper, more erotic power of reason is
itself a creative power which continues the blind creative thrust of nature
herself, already intimated in the Augustinian doctrine of seminal reasons.
Hence, as Taylor says, it is literary geniuses like Péguy who have virtually
re-invented a vibrant Christian belief and practice in modern times.
But the second and deeper reason is that we now see, with Kierkegaard,
that we can only respond to the ungraspable mystery of incarnation
‘indirectly’ – through our own bodily, imagined performances which
seek, however faintly, non-identically to repeat this mystery. These new
imaginings have to be interpersonal and political as well as artistic.
Charles Taylor has massively helped and encouraged us in bringing
these to birth.