Varieties of Religion Today was compiled by Charles Taylor from a series of lectures he delivered at the Institute for Human Sciences in Vienna in 2000, and briskly presents several of his core ideas, like the history of secularism, the ethics of authenticity, and the hermeneutics of selfhood and subjectivity, detailed in his other books. Most basically, Taylor is interested in the role of religion in individual and collective life in a secular, North Atlantic context, and he uses William James’s Varieties of Religious Experience as a launch-pad to explore this theme. His aim is to learn what Varieties “has to say to us at the turn of a new century” (3).
In the first chapter, Taylor underscores two aspects of James’s theory of religion. First, he notes that James understands religion in primarily individualistic terms: for James, “the real locus of religion is in individual experience, and not in corporate life” (7). Yet he also observes that James centers experience in his definition of religion, as opposed to the doctrinal formulations by which people express, justify, and rationalize their faith commitments. For James, religion is (and should be) a matter of inward devotion rather than outward conformity with the heteronomous norms of orthodoxy. He therefore views “churches” with relative disdain, as they tend to dilute the vitality of first-order religious experience felt by the individual in their vain efforts to translate these experiences into propositional doctrinal content. As Taylor succinctly puts it, James “sides with the religion of the heart over that of the head” (18).
Taylor observes that James’s theory of religion “is very much at home in modern culture” and “can seem entirely understandable, even axiomatic, to lots of people” (9, 13). As a hermeneutical thinker, Taylor therefore strives to show how James’s widely shared notion of individual, private religion can be understood as the product of historical and social forces as well as philosophical developments that date back to medieval Christendom. He claims that “the Western march toward secularity . . . has been interwoven from the start with this drive toward personal religion,” and cites the Lateran Council of 1215, the Reformation, the Counter-Reformation, Jesuit spirituality, the Methodist revival, American republicanism, and nineteenth-century Romanticism as key moments in the evolution of private religion. With this historical perspective in hand, Taylor contends that James’s conception of religion nevertheless misses, and potentially distorts, other important aspects of religion, and religious experience in particular. First, James overlooks how the connection between the believer and the divine may be mediated by collective ecclesial life. Second, his theory of religion cannot make sense of sacramental practice, most notably prevalent in Roman Catholic, Orthodox, and certain forms of Protestant Christianity, which necessarily presupposes a collective connection and by which the divine life interpenetrates the communal life of believers. Finally, James underestimates the centrality of formulated doctrine to religious experience: it is not just that “the very idea of an experience that is no way formulated is impossible,” but also that doctrines inevitably shape the kinds of religious experiences we have—they provide us with a vocabulary, handed down to us by our communities (religious or otherwise), without which religious experiences would be impossible (26-8). Thus, while James’s theory of religion resonates deeply with our unreflective modern conception of religious life, it cannot account for crucial religious phenomena.
Still, Taylor insists, James’s narrow focus on individual religious experience helpfully discloses two other phenomena that are especially salient in our contemporary context. The first is the idea of the twice-born or sick soul and its hardship, contrasted with the once-born or healthy soul. Whereas the once-born “have the sense that all is well with the world,” the twice-born cannot help but see the pain and misery in the world (33). Only after an experience of conversion or deliverance, equivalent to a kind of second birth, can these sick souls feel that all will be well or that goodness will ultimately triumph (36-7). Taylor is especially interested in three experiences of the twice-born identified by James: melancholy, evil, and a sense of personal sin. In an earlier era, Taylor explains, melancholy was experienced as a kind of self-exclusion from a realm of meaning that was beyond doubt: God was there, or good and evil defined, but the melancholic could not feel these realities. In the modern context, Taylor claims, meaning has simply disappeared, and the melancholic faces “the intimation of what may be a definitive emptiness” (40). Next, James characterizes the fear of evil as another kind of melancholy that centers the horrors of the world; here, too, the context has shifted, since in the face of ultimate meaninglessness, the sense of evil “faces no obvious defenses. It cannot but deeply disturb us,” and indeed we sometimes flee into the meaninglessness of the universe to avoid a direct encounter with the evil before us (42). Finally, James examines the personal sense of sin from which the twice-born hope to be delivered. Prima facie, this phenomenon seems least at home in the modern context, yet Taylor notes how the rapid spread of evangelical Christianity, not only in the United States but also in Latin America, Africa, and certain parts of Asia, means that “the experience of personal evil and deliverance . . . is alive and in full expansion in our day” (38).
Taylor reminds his readers that James very much identifies with the sick souls he describes, and in fact much of his characterization of the fear of evil probably derives from his personal experience. James’s fascination and sympathy with the twice-born, Taylor claims, is part and parcel of his broader defense of the admissibility of belief, which is the second phenomenon Taylor calls attention to in the second chapter. Taylor here draws heavily from James’s “The Will to Believe,” where James confronts William Clifford’s ethics of belief, which states that one should never turn one’s hypotheses into accepted theories until the evidence is sufficient. Clifford’s basic presupposition is that many of our cherished hypotheses serve to console or comfort us, and hence we are tempted to believe them even when they are not borne out by the evidence. We should, therefore, meticulously submit our beliefs to skeptical inquiry to suss out which of them are justified. James finds Clifford’s position unpersuasive on several fronts. For starters, he asserts that there are some truths which will be hidden to us unless we first open ourselves to the possibility of their truthfulness before we have much evidence. For example, I will never know whether you love me if I adopt a stance “of maximum distance and suspicion.” The same may be said about whether God exists: “I forfeit the chance of a positive answer” if I approach this question with the scientific skepticism espoused by Clifford (46). James observes that Clifford presents his ethics of belief as if reason demands his skeptical approach, when in fact Clifford simply thinks that it is better to risk loss of truth than to be mistaken in one’s beliefs. Yet this is a passional conclusion, James insists, not an indubitable rational principle, and indeed the religious hypothesis presents us with a passional decision about whether it is best to submit to our fear that our belief in God is mistaken or to submit to our hope that our faith is true.
Taylor clearly finds this analysis persuasive and adds that, in our contemporary context, both positions speak to us, even if we ultimately must decide in favor of one over the other. On the one hand, believers must not only confront the fact that many smart and respectable people are atheists, but also the fact that they can see themselves as their atheist peers see them—i.e. as duped by a belief that functions to console rather than reflect the nature of reality. On the other hand, non-believers feel the call to faith “as an understood temptation” that attracts others, equally smart and respectable. Without this temptation, Clifford’s ethics of belief “would be incomprehensible” (57). In the end, Taylor commends James as “a philosopher of the cusp” who tells us what it feels like to sit on the precipice of decision and feel the pull of one side, then another. James, he writes, “describes a crucial site of modernity and articulates the decisive drama enacted there” (59).
In the book’s third chapter, James is mostly absent. Here Taylor offers his own account of the contemporary religious situation with an emphasis on the secularization of the public sphere and the individualization of religion. In typical Taylorian fashion, he describes how we arrived at this unique historical moment in which religion is so heavily privatized and subject to individual choice. To describe this process, he delineates three idealized religious “dispensations”: first, the “paleo-Durkheimian” dispensation, prevalent in baroque Catholic societies of the early modern period, which “corresponds to a situation in which a sense of the ontic dependence of the state on God . . . is still alive,” even if it “may be weakened by disenchantment and an instrumental spirit” (76). Throne and altar are closely united in this dispensation and religion is imposed on the monarch’s subjects from above. Consequently, one’s connection to the sacred is mediated by a church that is more or less coextensive with society. The second is the “neo-Durkheimian” dispensation, which characterizes societies in which God is present as a providential force that binds a religiously plural society “under God.” In this dispensation, one can enter the religious denomination of one’s choice, which in turn connects one to “a broader, more elusive ‘church,’ and, more important, to a political entity with a providential role to play” (93). The neo-Durkheimian dispensation aptly captures the religious situation in the United States until the post-war period.
Finally, there is the “post-Durkheimian” dispensation associated with our contemporary era, characterized by an expressivist individualism coupled with an ethics of authenticity, which states that each person can only realize their humanity in their own way, and that one should strive to be true to oneself rather than conform with moral, religious, and political values imposed from outside (83). This soft moral relativism, of course, presupposes the moral importance of mutual respect and toleration: “one shouldn’t criticize others’ values, because they have a right to live their own life as you do” (89). Religion, if it appears at all, is not just a matter of my choice, “but must speak to me; it must make sense in terms of my spiritual development as I understand this,” and thus “my place in the broader ‘church’ may not be that relevant for me,” nor my sense of connection with other citizens “under God” (94-5). In short, one’s connection to the sacred in the post-Durkheimian dispensation need not be wedded to a broader framework, be it church or state. With this last dispensation, religion has been effectively shunned from the public sphere as a private affair, and while there are forces in post-Durkheimian societies that actively resist this secularization and privatization (Taylor cites the Christian right), “the very embattled nature of these attempts shows how we have slid out of the old dispensation” (98).
James, Taylor notes, anticipated the post-Durkheimian dispensation with his focus on the individualistic and experiential nature of religion in Varieties. Yet while “James is very close to the spirit of contemporary society,” he nevertheless overlooks three “key phenomena” Taylor briefly canvasses in the final chapter of the book. First, even in a post-Durkheimian world, “many people will find their spiritual home in churches,” even if their access to the sacred is not mediated by “a sacralized society (paleo style) or some national identity (neo style)” (112). Consequently, we cannot, like James, dismiss the collective dimension of religious experience. Second, Taylor insists that neo-Durkheimian identities continue to persist, not just in the United States (where the Christian right operates within a neo-Durkheimian dispensation), but also in countries whose national identities have been suppressed or threatened, like Poland and Ireland. In these nations, collective identity is indexed to a specific religious marker (in both cases Roman Catholicism), and an individualist theory of religion cannot make sense of this phenomenon. Finally, James’s emphasis on experience overlooks the way in which religious experience often motivates believers to adopt spiritual disciplines like meditation or prayer. “Many people are not satisfied with a momentary sense of wow,” Taylor writes, and so we need a theory of religion that appreciates its embodied, ritualistic character, even in our post-Durkheimian era (116).