Taylorout
Taylorout
Introduction
Over the past two decades, the demands of diverse cultural groups for political
recognition have become a pressing concern in liberal democratic societies.
What members of such groups often seek is affirmation and support for their
distinctive cultural identities. Such demands are not likely to diminish in the
foreseeable future and, because the injustices that motivate them are often
grave, they require a response; but, what kind of response should a liberal
democratic state make? And how should we understand or articulate the
reasons for responding to such claims for recognition? Charles Taylor’s work
has had an enormous impact on the way political theorists have addressed
these questions F even when they have disagreed with him. In this paper, I
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for all that they don’t refute each other’. What he objects to are views of the self
that ‘find their way through the dilemmas of modernity by invalidating some of
the crucial goods in contest’ (1989, 502, 503). In this concern to attend to what
our articulations of identity exclude, he affirms the value of the different
potentialities in the self that the constitution of an identity might block off.
If Taylor’s concern with the ‘differentiated’ and internally conflicted
character of modern identity signals a move away from any flattened
conception of authenticity, this move is even more strongly signaled in his
discussion of modernist art and literature. Here, he affirms what he calls the
‘decentered’ and ‘multilevelled’ character of modernist consciousness, which he
associates with a new and inestimably important moral source that we gain
access to through epiphanic experiences. Modernism, on his account, makes a
new kind of turn inward, one that seeks to overcome not only the mechanistic
conception of the self that is associated with disengaged reason, but also the
Romantic ideal of a perfect alignment of ‘inner nature and reason’ (1989, 462).
The modernists do not turn inward in search of ‘a self to be articulatedy On
the contrary, the turn inward may take us beyond the self as usually
understood, to a fragmentation of experience which calls our ordinary notions
of identity into questiony’ (1989, 462).
Modernist consciousness is decentered in the sense that it exists ‘on a duality
or plurality of levels’ (1989, 480). Modernist art and literature point to these
multiple dimensions of experience by producing a new kind of epiphanic
experience F a kind unlike that produced by Romantic art and literature.
While Romantic epiphanies sought directly to express a deeper meaning
inherent in nature, modernist epiphanies seek to bring ‘into our presence’
something that cannot be directly expressed or represented (1989, 475–482). In
this way, modernism acknowledges that ‘the epiphanic and the ordinary but
indispensable real can never be fully aligned’ (1989, 480), even though they are
connected. To deny the ‘irreducibly multilevelled’ character of human life
would be to court ‘disaster or impoverishment’, since Taylor thinks that
modernist epiphanies put us in touch with a moral source that ‘possibly
contains the key F or a key F to what it is to be human’ (1989, 480, 481).
The third way in which Taylor’s account of the self incorporates a stance of
receptivity to difference lies in its emphasis on the multivocal, or ‘dialogical’,
character of inner life. Inner life encompasses a conversation among different
voices and this conversation is what shapes one’s identity. He writes:
Taylor emphasizes that this inner dialogue is not simply our passive
internalization of others’ voices. While the conversation originates in the self’s
initial situation of passivity and dependence on others, ‘what gets internalized in
the mature subject is not the reaction of the other, but the whole conversation,
with the interanimation of its voices’ (Taylor, 1991, 314).3 This internalized
conversation provides the medium through which we find our own voices and
discover or ‘articulate’ ourselves (1991, 310–311). One’s identity, then, is tied to
the other voices that one contains; and being true to oneself entails being
attentive to these voices, even if and when we struggle against them.
In several ways, then, Taylor’s account of the self affirms internal
multiplicity. This affirmation is accompanied, however, by an emphasis on
the need for unity in the self. According to his theory of agency, the self’s
ability to make coherent choices presupposes the existence of an antecedent
framework or ‘horizon’ of meanings F meanings that constitute a conception
of the good. Articulating an identity necessarily involves orienting oneself in
relation to this backdrop conception of the good, since one’s choices constitute
movements toward or away from it (1989, 25–44). Moreover, because the
choices through which we realize an identity are undertaken over time,
adopting an orientation to the good ‘inescapably’ involves constructing a
narrative about the course of our life (1989, 51):
The issue of our condition can never be exhausted for us by what we are,
because we are always also changing and becomingy So the issue for us has
to be not only where we are, but where we’re goingy Since we cannot do
without an orientation to the good, and sincey our place relative to this
goody is something that must always change and become, the issue of the
direction of our lives must arise for us (1989, 46–47).
The temporal condition of existence entails that no choice or action can make
sense if it is abstracted from the broader sequence of events to whose flow or
direction it contributes: we must be able to tell a story about where a particular
action comes from, and what it is leading to.
The temporal character of life not only requires us to fit our actions into an
ongoing narrative, it calls each person to tell a comprehensive story about her
life as a whole. Taylor is emphatic about this. He insists that ‘there is something
like an a priori unity of a human life through its whole extent’ (Taylor, 1989, 51;
1997, 179–183). So we are called to construct narratives that encompass the
entire course of our lives, from their earliest to their last moments:
We want our lives to have meaning, or weight, or substance, or to grow
towards some fulness [sic]y But this means our whole lives. If necessary, we
want the future to ‘redeem’ the past, to make it part of a life story which has
sense or purpose, to take it up in a meaningful unity (1989, 50–51).
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Such encompassing unity gives ‘fullness’ and ‘sense’ to a life; it makes the
future redeem the past. To strive for such unity, then, is to strive for the richest,
fullest, or most meaningful possible mode of experience (1989, 42–43).
However, the emphasis that Taylor’s account of identity places on the need
for unity over the course of a life is too strong. As Peter Digeser (1995, 85)
points out, while our actions may rely for their intelligibility on ‘a sense of either
what went before or what will come after’, it is only necessary for us to build
‘minimal’ narratives in order to satisfy this requirement. Digeser writes that:
ya minimal level of narrativityy could be satisfied by telling very specific
stories within a very narrow time horizony A minimal narrative could be as
simple as saying that ‘I get up every morning at this time,’ or it could be as
entailed and complex as an epic poem (1995, 85).
of the modern self includes no account of how one can distance oneself,
provisionally or episodically, from the very identity that one fashions out of the
many ‘sources’ furnished by one’s culture. He pays no attention, for example,
to the role of irony in the constitution of modern identity. Since irony has
played such a prominent role in the history of modern culture F as other
critics have shown (Trilling, 1972; Larmore, 1996) F this oversight is telling.
It is because he does not recognize the need to keep the self’s pursuit of
narrative identity from becoming dogmatic that Taylor’s emphasis on an all-
encompassing unity threatens to restrict the very multiplicity and fluidity that he
wishes to affirm. In the development of any narrative, there is arguably a tension
between ‘synchronic multiplicity’ and the drive toward ‘diachronic unity’, a
unity that is realized in the construction of a satisfying resolution.4 With respect
to written narratives, the greater the complexity of detail about character and
setting that an author incorporates in constructing her narrative, the harder it
will be for her to tie everything together in a satisfying resolution. Taylor clearly
wants to affirm both synchronic multiplicity and diachronic unity in the self; but
because of this tension, his failure to address the need to keep diachronic unity
from becoming a rigidly pursued or single-minded goal effectively privileges it
over synchronic multiplicity. What this account of personal identity as an all-
encompassing narrative does not allow is that the ambiguous complexity of the
self’s experience at any given moment might carry independent, if fragmentary,
significance. As he does not find ways to encourage openness within the self to
those aspects of experience that cannot be integrated into a particular narrative,
his account of narrative identity effectively blocks out the perspective on one’s
identity that can be gained from those fragmentary experiences. It deprives the
self of a set of resources for understanding the limits and exclusions that are
built into identity and, hence, for offsetting the costs that identity can incur for it
and for its relations to others.
In sum, then, Taylor’s insistence on a robust conception of narrative unity
does not, in itself, negate his affirmation of plurality or of that which is elusive
and fluid in the self. However, in not addressing the need to keep the self’s
adherence to this unity from becoming rigid or dogmatic, he does leave inner
plurality vulnerable to suppression in the self’s quest for narrative identity.
This unfortunate tendency not to make full use of the resources that his
account of the self affords for recognizing and affirming difference reappears
with a vengeance in his account of a politics of recognition.
religions so that as adults they can decide for themselves whether to adhere to
their inherited faith; but such schools may not promote a skeptical or critical
perspective on religion.
However, this distinction between inculcating autonomy and merely making
it an option underplays the indirect and non-deliberate way in which liberal
institutions promote this individualist good. Liberal institutions do more than
simply enable individuals who already desire to break free from their culture to
do so. By embodying a non-negotiable commitment to the facilitation of
autonomy, such institutions have an indirect ‘educative’ effect: they teach
citizens that the ability to question and revise one’s life projects is an extremely
important thing. Liberal institutions encourage a heightened awareness among
citizens that their lives are their own to shape and, thus, they indirectly elicit a
mindset that leaves citizens less inclined to defer automatically to others when
making important decisions in their lives.7 In this way, such institutions do
disfavor groups whose survival and flourishing rely on their members’
deference to tradition or to authorities within the group.
Taylor is right, then, to reject the idea that liberalism can be neutral with
respect to basic values that are, in some degree, culturally inflected. However,
he takes a further and more troubling political step. He also relinquishes the
idea that a liberal state should be neutral with respect to cultural ‘symbols’
(e.g. languages, festivals, or holidays), embracing instead a more permissive
liberalism that accommodates the shared good of ‘cultural survival’. Under
this revised liberalism, the state may directly promote cultural survival by
bestowing affirmation on citizens’ distinctive cultural practices and by
adopting policies that distribute powers and resources on the basis of cultural
differences (Taylor, 1994, 61). Quebec’s controversial language laws
exemplify this kind of policy. These laws require the use of French on
commercial signs and they require francophone and immigrant parents to
send their children to French-speaking schools. In addition to such laws,
Taylor supports self-government for Canada’s First Nations people, and
nothing in his theory precludes the use of racially exclusive measures to
secure such autonomy (Taylor, 1994, 39–40; 1998–1999). In practicing the
politics of recognition, a state might sometimes even try to accommodate
a minority group’s drive for cultural recognition at an international level.8
In short, this revised liberalism permits F and thereby in effect encourages
F large cultural groups to use government institutions to preserve their
collective identities and to secure affirmation for that which distinguishes
them from the wider society.
Taylor’s willingness to accommodate the good of cultural survival stems
from his view that it is a crucial condition of the pursuit of authenticity.
Proceduralism, in ignoring the pressure that minority cultures feel to
‘surrender’ their identities and to conform to a dominant culture, fails to
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less revocable and open-ended entity than it would otherwise be and, thus, it
betrays the inner fluidity that Taylor himself prizes.
Not only does a politics of recognition inadvertently minimize the
multiplicity of the self’s ‘external’ sources and render its identity more rigid
or fixed, it can also discourage the self from exploring its internal complexity
and multiplicity. By rewarding individuals for identifying with a large-scale
group identity, thus tightening their attachment to a particular culture’s script,
this form of politics can unintentionally circumscribe the attentiveness of
individuals to idiosyncratic aspects of their own subjectivity. It can encourage
individuals to suppress those aspects of subjectivity that diverge from the
culture’s particular norms and narrative self-understandings. For example, if a
culture’s distinctive norms and practices incorporate gendered ideals, which
function to govern the behavior and social roles of men and women, a politics
of recognition could make it costlier for individual members to attend to
aspects of their inward experiences that transgress these ideals, even when their
fundamental rights are not being violated. Moreover, by privileging a
single axis of differentiation as the source of identity most worthy
of affirmation F even in advance of an individual’s own efforts to articulate
her identity F Taylor’s preferred politics encourages members of ‘recognized’
groups to experience identity as something standardized F as something
akin to a ‘prepackaged deal’. In these ways, a politics of recognition
inadvertently betrays the inner plurality that his theory of the self so insistently
affirms.12
It can reinforce any internal pressure that an individual already feels to take
account of the opinions of others in fashioning her life’s script and identity.
Taylor here overlooks the cautionary insight in Rousseau’s account of how
modern social conditions transform self-regard into an alienating form of
vanity. Rousseau’s insight is that a world built on an inflamed need for
recognition from others is not likely to be one in which the individual can
recognize herself. Taylor gives us no assurance that his politics of recognition
will avoid inflaming our perceived need for recognition, thereby promoting
excessive deference and conformity to the opinions of others (cf. Reisert, 2000,
326–330).
The disposition to defer to others and the feeling that one lives ‘by
permission’ are inimical to the ideal of authenticity. Both attitudes under-
mine the elements of spontaneity and inwardness that are central to the
pursuit of this good.13 By promoting such a mindset, a politics of recogni-
tion can diminish the self’s attentiveness to its own deepest feelings,
aspirations, and needs. By contrast, liberal institutions that refrain from
shaping citizens’ cultural identifications indirectly encourage a sense of
independence and a degree of reflection in citizens. Hence, they facilitate an
openness to change and perhaps even to experimentation. Such attitudes are
more compatible with the goal of authentic self-realization in a pluralistic
modern context.
The harm of misrecognition is not only inflicted on individuals by their
fellow citizens. In arguing that proceduralist liberalism homogenizes difference,
requiring minorities to surrender their identities, Taylor implies that the
proceduralist state itself practises a form of misrecognition. It is true that a
liberal state that strives for neutrality with respect to cultural symbols does
promote the value of autonomy in an indirect way (as I conceded above); and
in doing so, it can be said to exert indirect pressure on members of minority
cultures to conform to certain aspects of a dominant, culturally inflected ideal.
However, Taylor expresses agreement with Quebec nationalists who believe
that: ‘a society can be organized around a definition of the good life, without
this being seen as a depreciation of those who do not personally share this
definition’ (Taylor, 1994, 59) F as long as this society respects the
fundamental rights of minorities. Consistency, here, requires him to acknowl-
edge that a form of liberalism whose fundamental good is individual autonomy
does not denigrate or misrecognize those who are fiercely attached to cultural
identities that do not incorporate this value.
It is impossible for any set of institutions to be perfectly neutral, as Taylor
himself emphasizes. The important question, then, is: which form of liberal
politics is more capacious with respect to the kinds of identity that its citizens
can readily pursue? Which liberalism leaves open as much space as possible for
difference and does as little as possible to hamper citizens’ attentiveness to the
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focus only on the bright side of cultural attachment and to say little or nothing
about its darker possibilities F especially since there is much in the history and
psychology of cultural affiliation that underscores these negative possibilities.14
Yet, Taylor does not address these negative possibilities in any sustained or
systematic way, even though he signals his awareness of them. In an essay on
nationalism (Taylor, 1997a), for example, he briefly refers to pernicious
instances of nationalist sentiment and he suggests that they differ from benign
instances in kind rather than simply in the degree of fervor that animates them.
However, he does not then give sustained attention to the nature, origins, or
dynamics of pernicious forms of nationalism. As a result of such omissions, he
fails to establish that the admirable goal of understanding ‘the human’ through
open-ended forms of crosscultural contact is more likely to be furthered by a
politics of recognition than it is to be undercut by such a politics.
The troubling dimensions of group identification are present at both the level
of the self and the level of politics. As I noted above, the encouragement and
intensification of group affiliation discourages the self’s exploration of internal
differences. Discouraging the self’s responsiveness to inner plurality can
undermine the basis of sympathy within the self for those who are different. If
adopting an attentive stance toward the differences that one contains is part of
what makes one able to claim kinship with others F and to extend
understanding and sympathy across external differences F then the freezing
of identity, by inhibiting such attentiveness to internal differentiation, is likely
to undercut the vision that Taylor optimistically associates with a politics of
recognition. Indeed, undermining the basis of sympathy for otherness within
the self clears the ground for the kind of problems that group identification can
give rise to in politics F problems which in turn undermine the kind of
receptive intercultural conversation that Taylor intimates.
The problems that a politics of recognition could engender are those that
critics of identity politics more generally have described (Gitlin, 1993;
Whitaker, 1997; also Miller, 2000, 75). Politicizing the significance of cultural
attachment could lead to fragmentation and insularity among certain groups
and ultimately could generate resentment, tension and hostility among them.
Taylor’s failure to give sustained attention to these problems or to explain how
a politics of recognition would handle them is surprising in light of how large
these problems loom on the political horizon, even in the case that is closest to
home for him. He supports the idea that Canada’s federal arrangements
should be revised to reflect the ‘deep diversity’ of Canada’s cultural groups
(Taylor, 1993, 183). He is sympathetic to the quebecois demand for autonomy
in Quebec; and he supports, as well, the rights of aboriginal peoples to self-
government. However, these two sets of identity claims are directly in tension
with each other. In the past, Quebec’s separatist party has rejected the
possibility of dividing the province’s territory, should secession occur. Nor has
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it been willing to say that it would share sovereignty with the aboriginal peoples
who live within this territory. Unsurprisingly, then, Quebec’s northern First
Nations people have been overwhelmingly opposed to the province’s
independence.15 Such conflicts between identity claims are often less amenable
to resolution through negotiation, compromise, and trade-off than are conflicts
between competing material interests, in which the parties to the conflict need
not see its stakes as involving their core being (Hardin, 1995; Kukathas, 1998,
692–693). The democratic institutions associated with proceduralist liberalism
typically focus on accommodating diverse interests rather than diverse identities,
and they do so through a combined process of bargaining, deliberation,
negotiation and compromise. While such institutions also form the basic
framework for Taylor’s politics of recognition, he does not establish that they
are well-suited to handling deep-seated conflicts between identity claims. His
failure to address how a politics of recognition would handle such conflicts is
symptomatic of the determined optimism of his account of group identification.
Granting concessions to a group on the basis of its collective identity can
engender resentment and tension between groups as they come to see
themselves as competitors for a society’s limited public resources. One
instructive example here is the case of so-called ‘coloreds’ in post-Apartheid
South Africa.16 In the new South Africa, ‘coloreds’ feel some pressure because
of strong Africanist forces within the governing ANC party. There is a
perception among individuals of mixed racial origins that affirmative action
policies in both the private sector and some public institutions give black South
Africans favored status not only over whites but also over them. Such practices
are justified partly because of relative disadvantage among the groups.
However, a prominent debate in political circles about the need to ‘Africanize’
political and social institutions by making them more ‘authentically’
representative of indigenous African culture is perceived to be a factor in the
country’s affirmative action policies.17 This is a case in which one group’s talk
about authenticity in politics has produced a fear of marginalization in another
group. This fear has in turn fueled friction between the groups, which has even
contributed in the past to hostility and violence (Hess, 1997). This case
illustrates how resentment and group-based competition can reinforce group
affiliations in a way that undermines the basis of respect for non-members. We
see this not only in instances of hostility and violence, but in the racially
divisive, antiblack rhetoric to which certain so-called ‘colored’ leaders have at
times resorted (Brummer, 1995; Johnson, 1997). Since Taylor’s work gives little
attention to such troubling cases, it provides inadequate assurance that
encouraging ethnic affiliation among citizens in a liberal democratic state will
lead to the kind of vivid and harmonious conversation among cultures that he
envisions, rather than to relations marked by competition, resentment, and
hostility.
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Conclusion
In rejecting the ‘politics of recognition’, I mean neither to deny that
misrecognition can constitute a serious injury nor to dissuade liberals from
addressing claims about this form of injury. Indeed, I think liberals must
respond to such claims. As I have shown, however, Taylor’s response has costly
consequences. A politics of recognition threatens the multiplicity and fluidity of
the self that Taylor himself is so concerned to affirm. In defending such a
politics, he fails to take up an important insight from his own account of
modern identity: pluralistic modern selves are necessarily somewhat alienated
from all of their social identities. A form of politics that facilitates authentic self-
realization would honor rather than overlook the residual distance between
such a self and its linguistically mediated, socially recognized identities. As it
tends to rigidify identity, and because it can encourage the development of a
deferential mindset among citizens, a politics of recognition fails to honor this
distance. Owing to this failure, it undermines the conditions of authentic self-
realization and also risks depleting the resources within the self for embracing
diversity. If ‘fairness’ and ‘autonomy’ are casualties of a politics of recognition,
as many critics have suggested, they are not the only ones: individual
authenticity and attentiveness to difference are also endangered.
Notes
1 For helpful comments and discussions, I would like to thank Farid Abdel-Nour, Jonathan
Allen, Mark Button, George Kateb, Jeff Spinner-Halev, Alan Ryan, Cindy Stark, and two
anonymous reviewers.
2 For an excellent account of Taylor’s critique of the unitary self, and of his views about unity in
the self more generally, see Digeser (1995, 61–95).
3 Although Taylor cryptically distances himself from Mead, an earlier articulation of this idea of
the dialogical self is provided in Mead’s (1934) Mind, Self, and Society.
4 Digeser (1995, 88) also employs these terms. For an alternative formulation of this point, see
Frank Kermode (1967).
5 See Larry Siedentop’s account (1989) of how liberalism’s core values grew out of a Christian
world-view.
6 Barry (2001, 119–121.) Indeed, Barry (2001, 121ff.) thinks that liberal institutions can be
justified without any recourse to the value of autonomy. However, pointing to the existence of
independent reasons to support liberal institutions does not negate the importance of this
central value or change the fact that such institutions do in effect protect autonomy, by
preserving the conditions under which it might flourish even at the expense of hostile goods.
7 Many commentators have explored the indirect but powerful effect that liberal democratic
institutions and practices have in shaping the attitudes and dispositions of citizens.
Communitarians, like Mary Ann Glendon (1991), have looked with disapproval on these effects,
while liberals like George Kateb (1992, 2003) and Stephen Macedo (1991) have celebrated them.
8 Although he does not explicitly argue that a cultural group’s aspiration to be recognized
internationally should in some circumstances be accommodated, Taylor (1993, 52–53) seems to
express deep sympathy for this aspiration and nothing in his revised liberalism precludes its
accommodation.
9 In her feminist critique of cultural rights, Susan Okin (1999) emphasizes the dangers of ignoring
the power group leaders exercise over vulnerable group members. From two different
perspectives, see Barry (2001, 125) and Kukathas (1992, 113–115).
10 Two thinkers who question this assumption are Lionel Trilling (1972) and George Kateb (1994).
11 Cf. Todd Gitlin’s (1993, 172) discussion of the ‘thickening’ trend in identity politics.
12 Mark Redhead’s (2003) ‘rooted cosmopolitan’ adaptation of Taylor’s politics of recognition
would allow the state to ‘promote’ cultures through the provision of subsidies but not to
‘preserve’ cultures. Redhead argues that his variation on a politics of recognition would avoid
undermining autonomy and reifying cultural identities. However, he ignores the fact that
providing subsidies to promote cultural distinctiveness creates powerful incentives for the
reification of cultural groups by political entrepreneurs within them.
13 See Taylor’s (1991a, 25ff. 47–38; 1992) own discussion of the importance of inwardness to
authenticity.
14 Russell Hardin’s (1995, especially 72–106 and 142–182) analysis of the logic of group
identification sheds light on this darker dimension of cultural affiliation.
15 The Inuit and the James Bay Cree of Quebec’s northern regions voted approximately 95%
against Quebec’s separating from Canada in referenda that they held immediately prior to
Quebec’s 1995 vote on separation (Aubry, 1995).
16 ‘Colored’ was the term used by the Apartheid regime to designate individuals of mixed racial
origins. Despite misgivings I will, for lack of a more acceptable term, continue to use this one.
17 ANC publications on the government’s affirmative action policy deny that it sanctions any
distinctions between non-white groups. A 1998 ‘Parliamentary Bulletin’ on the Employment
Equity Bill (www.anc.org.zalancdocs/pubs/whip/whip32.html) states that the Bill ‘defines black
as meaning Africans, Coloreds and Indians’. This Bulletin stands in contrast however to a 1996
‘Parliamentary Bulletin’, (www.anc.org.zalancdocs/pubs/whip/whip07.html) which claims that
‘affirmative action policies are ensuring that black job applicants get a better chance of
competing against white and colored applicants for the work that is available’.
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