Review
Awe and wonder
Books
Culture
Poetry
6 min read

Charles Taylor on how poetry seeks cosmic connections

The philosopher yields an array of luminous insights.

Paul Weston is a Fellow at Ridley Hall, Cambridge.

At dusk, three people sit on a field edge and look at the stars emerging.
Rad Pozniakov on Unsplash.

Charles Taylor, Cosmic Connections: Poetry in the Age of Disenchantment

At just shy of 600 pages, philosopher Charles Taylor’s latest book is not for the faint-hearted. At the heart of the book are fascinating questions. What kind of language should we use when we encounter ‘beauty’, or experience ‘wonder’ which seems to take us into a new kind of space, or make time stand still? It could be the sight of a breathtaking landscape. It could be a piece of music. It’s that sense of ‘connection’ with something bigger than ourselves. What might it mean? More particularly, how do we express what we intuitively feel to be real and deeply significant about such things when our usual language fails to capture it?  

Taylor says that his latest book ‘is about (what I see as) the human need for cosmic connection . . . one shot through with joy, significance, inspiration’. And his hypothesis is that ‘the desire for this connection is a human constant, felt by (at least some) people in all ages and phases of human history’, even if ‘the forms this desire takes have been very different in the succeeding phases and stages of this history’. The book explores these questions by focusing on late-Romantic European poetry and traces its development through the work of later poets including Goethe, Rilke, Wordsworth, Hopkins, and T. S. Eliot. 

The background to Taylor’s explorations is the ongoing impact of the Enlightenment on our language and understanding about ‘truth’ and ‘meaning’. Those familiar with his 2007 book A Secular Age will find echoes of it here, particularly the way in which post-Enlightenment language tended to develop the language of control. This, he argues, became increasingly dominant in Western modernity ‘because it is linked to a practical stance which is basically instrumentalist; we seek out the efficient causal relations in our world with the aim of discovering handles which will enable us to realise our purposes’. In reaction to this narrowing of possibilities, the Romantic poets focused on ‘the experience of connection, and the empowerment this brings: not a power over things, but one of self-realization’. And a key element of the Romantic movement was the recognition that a poem (alongside the wider arts) uncovers deeper meanings: it ‘reveals to us, brings us into contact with, a deep reality which would otherwise remain beyond our ken’. 

‘Poetry goes beyond creating a mood, an atmosphere of feeling, and claims to give access to the inner force in a thing, not by describing it, but by making it palpable’ 

Charles Taylor

The book focuses on the variety of forms that this reaction took amongst Romantic poets. A unifying desire for ‘connection’ led to differing ideas about how poetic language makes this possible and what kinds of meaning are revealed. But the central belief remained constant: that poetic language was the key to addressing a prevailing cultural atmosphere of ‘disenchantment’, in which the desire for cosmic connection had been sidelined.  

On the English side of the channel, Taylor finds in Keats’ poetry, a new form of expression summed up in his statement ‘Beauty is Truth and Truth Beauty’. In Taylor’s words, ‘Art raises the object to a new unity and intensity, which constitutes Beauty. But this is not something which just exists in the mind of the artist (or reader); it has reality, and hence Truth, even though this reality is partly brought to fruition by artistic (re)creation’.  

Similarly, for Gerard Manley Hopkins, the form of poetic language itself can become a means of ‘connection’. As Taylor puts it, in Hopkins’ work, ‘Poetry goes beyond creating a mood, an atmosphere of feeling, and claims to give access to the inner force in a thing, not by describing it, but by making it palpable’. His poetry embodies this in that it ‘renders the rhythms of the being itself through the “sprung rhythm” of the verse’.  

The second half of the book looks to poets of the last 200 years who have navigated parallel pathways towards this ideal of experienced fullness – in the face of increasing industrialisation and disenchantment. Baudelaire longs for the experience of fullness, but finds it barred by a state of melancholy that he described as ‘Spleen’. It is a melancholy brought about by the endless repetitions of mundane and urbanised life. Baudelaire’s attempt to find release from our imprisonment in trapped time is to face Spleen head on and to transform it through poetic contemplation.  

T. S. Eliot’s poetry similarly aims to evoke the sources of a fuller life in a culture of decay by means of the ‘continual surrender’ of the poet to something more significant and valuable. In Eliot’s case this resolves in a more-or-less traditional sense of Christian order, but Taylor notes that his poetry doesn’t necessarily require this. Miłosz on the other hand, amidst the social and political upheavals in Poland, sought a higher form of poetry: a poetry that could rise above the discord of social turmoil in order to define a moment and clarify the path that needed to be taken.  

‘The work of art opens for us a new field of meaning, by giving shape to it’. 

Charles Taylor

At times, the weight and detail of Taylor’s exposition threatens to overwhelm the reader, but he offers an array of luminous insights along the way, and he is largely successful in keeping an eye on the broader questions and themes. Perhaps the most important here is his belief that the human desire for ‘cosmic connection’, with its yearning for joy, significance and inspiration is perennial. The book is in this sense an elaborate historical worked example of this desire, understood – perhaps imperceptibly – as a sense of ‘loss’ or ‘longing’. It is this ‘central aspiration of the Romantic period’, he concludes, that ‘remains powerful today’. 

My own experiences of talking with people today seems to amply confirm Taylor’s view. And the search for language to describe the desire for this sense of connection (or the longing for it) continues to thrive even within a so-called secularised culture (most likely because of it). It too seeks language for expression and sometimes struggles for some of the same reasons that the Romantics identified. Taylor’s phrase ‘the immanent frame’ (from his A Secular Age) powerfully evokes a sense of being held on a restricted rein, unable to name or explore the realms of ‘beauty’ or the ‘transcendent’ beyond perceived cultural boundaries. Connected to this is the still commonly held belief that any supposed knowledge derived through the arts doesn’t put us in touch with anything other than ourselves.  

Taylor convincingly transcends the supposed dichotomy between these so-called ‘subjective’ or on the other hand, ‘ontological’ possibilities. ‘The work of art’, he says, ‘opens for us a new field of meaning, by giving shape to it’. Moreover, it can ‘realize a powerful experience of fulfillment . . . of connection which empowers’. And Taylor backs his theory with autobiography. In Goethe’s ‘Wanderer Nachtlied’, he says, ‘There is a kind of rest/peace which I long for. I don’t fully understand it, but now I have some sense of it’. Or broadening the artistic field, he finds that listening to Chopin’s Fantasie-Impromptu in C sharp minor ‘opens me up to an unnameable longing’, or that when he listens to Mozart’s Jupiter Symphony, he feels ‘a striving upwards, an expression of praise and thanks, straining to reach some higher addressee (for me, this would be God), but I can imagine that someone else, feeling the ascending movement, would imagine another destination’).  

Here then is a book that shines a light on the possibilities of ‘cosmic connection’. Taylor affirms our desires, reassuring us that we should not feel strange to share the same longings for ‘fullness’, for ‘transcendence’, for ‘joy’ and for ‘connection’ as did the Romantic poets. Our recognition of these desires may well have been evoked by the kind of poetry or music that Taylor talks about here. But for all of us, it is good to be reminded that in a western world still heavily influenced by the climate of secularisation many today are still searching for the sense of cosmic connection that Taylor describes.   

 

Charles Taylor’s Cosmic Connections: Poetry in the Age of Disenchantment is published by Harvard University Press. 

Review
Culture
Film & TV
Monsters
8 min read

Here's why E.T. is in my list of top Halloween films

What Halloween films reveal about our fears, our families, and our fondness for the ridiculous
A child and E.T. ride a BMX bike across a moon lit sky.
Universal Pictures.

 

Halloween can be exhausting these days. As we continue to import and cement more and more of the American cultural experience, and as I age into maturity and (especially) fatherhood, I find myself spending All Hallow’s Eve in two ways (neither of which is prayer and meditation of the hallowed Saints of the Church, or the Faithful Departed Souls who now rest in Christ): I can take my daughter trick-or-treating, or I can stay home and desperately throw handfuls of sweets and the horde of children in fancy dress who arrive at my door. I always choose option A…I’m a priest…I have a ready-made costume. To aid in the convalescence necessary after such an exhausting evening, I have compiled by Top 5 Halloween Films. 

NOTE: This list is in no particular order, and the entries are not all horror films. In an effort to be ecumenical, and to bring solace to those of all temperaments and dispositions, I’ve taken my criteria as films set on, or around, Halloween. I hope there is at least one offering here that might intrigue and delight you. 

5. The Crow 

A supernatural superhero flick which has gained cult status, this film kicks off the list in style. What style, you ask? The inimitable style of the 90s. Eric Draven and his fiancée are murdered on ‘Devil Night’ (also known as ‘Mischief Night’), on the eve of their Halloween wedding, leaving a distraught Sarah – the young girl they care for. One year later, Eric is resurrected by the spirit of the Crow, who shepherds souls to the afterlife, and resurrects those who die by evil and violence as undead warriors with a mission to find revenge and, perhaps…peace? Certainly not to begin with!  

This film is perfect Halloween fare for those who want the grit and vibe of the holiday without actually having to engage with real fear. The 90s was a decade of looking and sounding edgy without any commitment: the decade of bark, not bite. Brandon Lee (who died during filming in a prop accident – a star in the making, taken too soon) looks terrific as Eric Draven/The Crow, covered in black leather and face paint, excelling at fight and stunt choreography, and towing the line of camp perfectly. The setting is moody darkness and rain and neon, and gothic gargoyles! The music underpins the atmosphere superbly…I mean…the title track is by The Cure! It goes hell for leather in a deliciously pantomimesque fashion and is well worth a watch for spooky fun without the fear. 

4. Halloween II 

The unwanted sibling. The sequel that was never meant to happen. It is unclear to me quite what it was that forced John Carpenter and Debra Hill back to the writing room (perhaps the threat that this sequel would happen with or without them), but it certainly wasn’t passion for the project! Carpenter has described the writing process as one where he essentially had to be drunk to get through it. I must say, if this is the case, it doesn’t show! Halloween II picks up right where the original ends, Laurie Strode (Jamie Lee Curtis) is catatonic after surviving the Haddonfield Halloween night massacre and is immediately transported to hospital. The murderous Michael Myers has disappeared after being shot by his psychiatrist, Dr Loomis (Donald Pleasance returning with the most delightfully hammy performance…in fact with the whole back half of the pig), and now Loomis is back on the hunt. It is all leading to a blood-soaked showdown in Haddonfield Memorial Hospital, and the most contrived plot-twist in horror history; necessary, Carpenter says, for any of this forced sequel (to a perfectly conceived standalone film) to make sense. It isn’t a patch on its progenitor, but it is far better than it deserves to be, allows you to spend some more time with beloved characters, cranks everything up to 11, and is a guilty pleasure of mine – me, a man of taste and refinement, a connoisseur of the creepy, a gentleman in the gathering of the ghoulish. 

3. E.T. 

One for the kids now, especially for those children who find Halloween a bit too much. This is the film that proved Steven Spielberg isn’t just a good filmmaker – he is one of the finest ever to pick up a camera, able to master any story in any genre. E.T. is a small alien who is separated from his group on a routine mission to collect plant samples from Earth. He is taken in by a young boy, Elliot, and protected from the government agents trying to capture him. Over the coming days the two bond, developing an odd empathic link that gives Elliot confidence in school, and gives the two much joy and laughter at home. Soon it is time for E.T. to ‘phone home’ and return to his own planet. Naturally this escape attempt takes place on Halloween, so that the little gremlin-like creature can wear a bedsheet without attracting unwanted attention. After several near escapes form the law, E.T. and Elliot have a goodbye so emotional and poignant that I dare you to watch this with your little ones and not cry…go on…I DARE YOU! E.T. is everything a children’s story should be, and has everything it should have: aliens, coming-of-age shenanigans, clueless parents, a chase with levitating bicycles. It is perfect, and perfectly gentle for a Halloween wind down as a family.  

2. Batman Forever 

Now, I was thirteen when Batman Begins was released; a man of grey-hair and wrinkled visage by the standards of comic books. As a result, Christian Bale is not my Batman – the raspy voice just grates on me! Michael Keaton is my Batman, and is, to this day, the best Batman. However, none of the Keaton films have a Halloween setting as far as I’m aware, so I’m going to recommend the Val Kilmer take on the caped cruder. Kilmer is the billionaire bad-boy Bruce Wayne, a mask he wears to hide his true identity as the crime fighter Batman. Tommy Lee Jones is the once upstanding prosecutor Harvey Dent, who went mad after having acid thrown in his face, and has become the supervillain Two-Face. Jim Carrey plays Edward Nygma, a scientific genius who is researching a technology to send TV signals directly to the brain – research that Bruce Wayne shuts down due to its potential for mind control. Nygma takes on the guise of The Riddler, and he and Two-Face begin to commit a series of robberies to fund the research and, eventually, take down Batman. Their plan culminates on Halloween night, which might explain why no one questions maniacs in ridiculous costume running around Gotham City.  

If you think The Crow is camp (which it is) you haven’t seen anything yet. The gothic is more gothicky, the leather is more leathery, the neon will burn the eyes right out of your skull, and I’m not sure if you can get more 90s than a gurning Jim Carrey menacing Nicole Kidman while Val Kilmer smoulders in anger. If you can keep a secret…I know this film is rubbish, but it was the ‘latest’ Batman film as I was growing up, and I actually really like it, and it brings back so many memories of my childhood, excitedly sitting in front of the telly to watch the action for the fiftieth time. Highly recommended, for the sheer operatic silliness of the film alone – and what is Halloween for if not operatic silliness? 

1. Halloween 

Of course this was going to be on the list. This is THE Halloween film. This is so much a part of the cultural memory that I’m not sure I even need to give a plot synopsis or explain my recommendation. Instead, I could just list the people involved and leave it at that. John Carpenter writing (with Debra Hill), directing, doing the music, probably making the cast’s lunch and everything else! Jamie Lee Curtis in the lead, essentially creating the ‘final-girl’ trope of the slasher flick, and doing it so brilliantly that it has only ever been imitated but never topped. Donald Pleasance…is also there. I can’t quite describe his performance: is it a genius deconstruction of trope and cliché in a valiant attempt to understand the warring forces of light and darkness in the human heart, or is it the work of a man who missed the lunch Carpenter prepared and so has decided to devour the scenery instead? He is bonkers – and I’m here for it! 

Curtis is Laurie Strode, an innocent and virginal (vitally important in the mythos of what becomes the ‘final girl’) high schooler, who will be spending Halloween night babysitting Tommy Doyle while her friends do – ahem – what teenagers do. Honestly, they couldn’t have picked a worse time or place to engage in underaged drinking and pre-marital sex. Haddonfield on Halloween night in 1978 is essentially an abattoir for the morally flexible teen. Because…Michael Myers is on the prowl. Introduced at the start of the film (in a POV shot that has stood the test of time for its chill and shock factor!) as a six-year-old boy who inexplicably stabs his sister to death on Halloween. He is committed to an asylum under the care of Pleasance’s Dr Loomis. On Halloween night, 15 years later, he escapes. Loomis, who’s time with Michael has turned him into a different type of madman, is horrified and starts hunting Michael, accosting innocent children, and all the while screaming about ‘THE EVIL HAS ESCAPED’…he also wonders why the police don’t take him seriously. 

Michael stalks Laurie and her friends, picking them off one-by-one, until only Laurie is left to fight and survive. The film is perfectly taught and lean and coiled: the tension ratchets and ratchets and ratchets until you don’t think you can take anymore. What makes this one of the finest horror films, and my favourite one to watch on Halloween night itself, is its simplicity. Michael Myers has no explanation. Why he killed his sister, why he hunts Laurie, how he is so strong and fast and seemingly invulnerable. He simply is. He happens. He is a force of nature that has no discernible cause or motive. Sometimes evil is like this, and I find my annual viewing of Halloween a tremendous restorative – a reminder of an age when the horror movies didn’t spoon-feed you backstory and explanations…they just gave you damn-good scares! 

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