How (Not) to Be Secular: Reading Charles Taylor

by James K.A. Smith

But he receives this as a challenge to find the words to, if not make sense of, at least be articulate about le réveil mortel — a veritable gauntlet that death throws down at the writer’s feet. At one point he castigates himself for failing in the face of this challenge: Only a couple of nights ago, there came again that alarmed and alarming moment, of being pitch-forked back into consciousness, awake, alone, utterly alone, beating pillow with fist shouting “oh no Oh No OH NO” in an endless wail, the horror of the moment — the minutes — overwhelming what might, to an objective witness, appear a shocking display of self-exhibitionist pity. An inarticulate one, too: for what sometimes shames me is the extraordinary lack of descriptive, or responsive, words that come out of my mouth. For God’s sake, you’re a writer, I say to myself. You do words. Can’t you improve on that? Can’t you face down death — well, you won’t ever face it down, but can’t you at least protest against it — more interestingly than this? (p. 126)