Nature for itself

The story commonly told about the rise of modernity hinges on the rising interest in nature in se, apart from any embedding in a divinely-ordered cosmos. The gradual turn toward the natural must inevitably end with the death of an unnecessary God. Charles Taylor disputes this straight reading of history, which he calls the “subtraction” story. Rather, he argues, the early modern interest in nature-for-itself was inextricably linked with nature’s reference to God. The theological environment in the late middle ages was fertile ground for the new interest in an ordered universe; the supposition that “things have a stable nature doesn’t prevent them from still being signs pointing us to God” (A Secular Age, 93). A new value in the ordinary, perhaps coming from a Franciscan model of spirituality, was theological in outlook. Secularity did not originate as a challenge to the transcendent, properly speaking; it was, in part, a “mutation” from within the religious framework (95).

The turn to nature-for-itself predates the Reformation, but the Reform impulse both continues the trend and also sets in motion new and complex developments. Along with the new scientific inquiries, the move to Reform emphasized the need to bring about order in society and economic administration. In the 16th century, Taylor argues, it is impossible to isolate the religious reform from the civic. There was a “single programme of reform” (104). The Protestant “drive to piety,” to restore true religion, went hand-in-hand with the need for social civility (105). The ideal society was within reach. The Calvinist wing, in particular, countered the late medieval “spirituality of death,” in which true piety called for privation and a certain abstention from the world. This impulse created a complex set of consequences, manifested both in the widespread poor laws in Protestant countries, and later in an increasingly negative attitude toward those who remain in poverty – ostensibly, because the poor must be those who refuse to participate in the rules of civility and enjoy the profits of a well-ordered society (108ff).

In addition, Taylor connects the idea of the “unlimited sovereignty of God” with the notion of nature-as-mechanism, “from which all hint of intrinsic teleology has been expelled” (113). At this point, it may be more difficult for Taylor to find his theological connection – at least within Calvinism. For even the Calvinists most interested in the relationship between sovereignty and causality – e.g. Jonathan Edwards – do not go so far as to deny any intrinsic teleology. (Sang Hyun Lee even argues that Edwards restores this very relationship, over against 17th century mechanistic philosophy, The Philosophical Theology of Jonathan Edwards, 104-106.)

In the context of reform, the growth of secularity was connected with an increase of personal faith. A world in which less and less reflects directly upon God resulted in Christians clinging more tightly to personal spirituality. The older order, with its different “speeds” of monastic and lay spirituality, had allowed for a more segregated relationship between ordinary life and worship. But late medieval reforms, and Protestantism even more so, led to a deeper integration of the sacred with the “profane.” Now “everyday existence, in work and family life” had a spiritual reality. Taylor illustrates this point with Northern Renaissance realism in art. The appearance of still life painting was not an abandonment of transcendence, but an affirmation of it. “Transcendence and immanence are together” at this moment, although the tension is present in seed form.

In rejecting the subtraction story, Taylor indicts the modern assumption that our current “social imaginary,” which depends on a foundational individualism, stands on its own. Rather, he argues, the modern approach to self-understanding is “deeply embedded in society” (157). The re-conception of our prime identity as “free individuals” created a “revolution” with profound moral consequences. The revolution “disembeds us from the social sacred,” giving us a new relation to God. In this sense, it may be seen both as a consequence and a corruption of Christian theologies of “the world” (158). The newly emerging secularity can be contrasted not just with the “divinely-established church, or Great Chains,” but also with the notion that our society is constituted by any sort of extrinsic or transcendent law (192). Rather, “the public sphere is an association.” This presents the modern society with a particular problem: How would such a group of people find commonality (194)? Taylor posits that by the 18th century, the public sphere can be imagined “without an action-transcendent constitution,” but rather with “an agency grounded purely in its own common actions.” Popular sovereignty could therefore serve as a foundation of the new order, one in which the individual would increasingly identify with expansive and more impersonal entities, such as the state or humanity in general (211).