Sacrum & the choice of a supreme end

INTERNALIZATION OF THE SACRED

With the rise of civilization, with the beginning of the division of labor, still more with the rise of the city and the state, festivals lose importance. They symbolize less and less the magnitude and total character that made the ancient efferves­ cences a complete suspension of institutional interaction and a basic challenge to the universal order. A more complex so­ ciety does not tolerate such a break in the continuity of its functioning. It insists upon the gradual abandonment of the alternation between phases of debility and paroxysm, of dis­persion and concentration, of regulated and unrestrained ac­tivity, which is the rhythm of development at a time when collective life is less differentiated. Individual labor can be interrupted, but public services must not be stopped. General disorder is no longer admissible. At best, only a facsmile is tolerated.

Social life in its entirety tends toward uniformity. More and more, flood and draught are channelized into a regular and even flow. The multiple needs of profane life tolerate less and less the simultaneous reservation of the same time for the sacred by everyone. Also, the sacred becomes fragmented, be­comes the specialty of a sect that leads a semi-clandestine exist­ence, or in the majority of cases, becomes the concern of a specialized group that celebrates its rites in a remote place and remains in office for a long time. Sooner or later, its divorce from the state is consecrated by the separation of the spiritual from the temporal. Then the church no longer coincides with the city, and religious and national boundaries no longer are the same.

Religion soon becomes dependent upon man, no longer upon the collectivity. It becomes universalistic, but also, in correlative fashion, personalistic. It tends to isolate the indi­vidual by confronting him with a God that he then knows less through rites than through a diffusion of personalized inti­macy. The sacred becomes internalized and no longer attracts only the mind. The importance of the mystical increases and that of the cult diminishes. Any external criterion seems in­adequate, from the moment that the sacred becomes less an objective manifestation than a pure attitude of mind, less a ceremony than a profound sensation. It is with reason under these conditions that the word "sacred’' is used outside the properly religious domain to designate that to which each de­votes the better part of himself, that which is of utmost value and is venerated, that for which he sacrificed his life.

Such is, in fact, the decisive touchstone that permits the unbeliever to distinguish between the sacred and the profane.

That being, object, or idea is sacred for which man departs from routine, that he does not allow to be discussed, scoffed at, or joked about, that which he would not deny or surrender at any price. For the lover, it is the woman he loves; for the artist or scholar, the work that he pursues; for the miser, the gold that he amasses; for the patriot, the welfare of the state, the security of the nation, and the defense of its territory; and for the revolutionist, the revolution.

It is absolutely impossible to distinguish these attitudes from those of the believer, except in the way they are applied. They demand the same self-denial, and they presuppose the same unconditional personal involvement, a similar asceticism and spirit of sacrifice. Without doubt, it is convenient to at­tribute different values to them, but that is an entirely separate problem. It is sufficient to note that they imply the recognition of a sacred element surrounded by fervor and devotion, of which one must avoid speaking, and which one must try to conceal, for fear of exposing it to some sacrilege (insult, ridi­cule, or merely a critical attitude) on the part of the indiffer­ent, or one’s enemies, who would not respect it.

The presence of such an element entails a certain number of sacrifices in the ordinary course of life, and, in the event of a crisis, the sacrifice of life itself is agreed to in advance. Every­ thing else is considered profane, is used without excessive scruples, is evaluated, judged, doubted, and treated not as an end but as a means. Some subordinate everything to the pres­ervation of life and property, and thus seem to regard every­ thing as profane, taking the greatest liberties they can with them. Of course, self-interest or the pleasure of the moment governs them. For them alone, it is clear that the sacred exists in no other form.

THE CHOICE OF A SUPREME END

On the contrary, those who rule their conduct by com­plete devotion to some principle tend to re-establish about them a kind of sacred environment, which excites violent emotions of a special kind that are capable of assuming a char­acteristically religious, ecstatic, fanatical, or mystical quality. On the social level, these emotions give rise directly or indi­rectly to dogmas and ritual, to mythology and worship. If con­temporary examples must be cited, it would be sufficient to point out as a type of secular liturgy, the ceremony of the eter­nal light at the tomb of the Unknown Soldier under the Arc de Triomphe, and as a model of secular mysticism, the char­acteristic attitudes of party militants, which demand unquali­fied obedience of their members.

In a general way, the different values that elicit total dedication and that are basic to every issue have their partisans and martyrs, who serve as models for the believers. Real or legendary, most often drawn from history and exemplifying rather than engendering a mystical theme, they furnish precept and example. Stories of their lives and deaths inspire everyone and impel one to identify with them privately and, if need arises, to imitate them.

It is impossible either to trace the major trends in the history of the sacred or to analyze the forms that it assumes in contemporary civilization. At best, it can be noted that it seems to become abstract, internalized, and subjective, attached less to beings than to concepts, less to acts than to intentions, and less to external manifestations than to spiritual tendencies. This evolution is manifestly tied to the most important phe­nomena in the history of humanity—such as the emancipation of the individual, the development of his intellectual and moral autonomy, and the final triumph of the scientific ideal.

The latter is an attitude hostile to mystery, demanding sys­tematic skepticism, a deliberate lack of respect. In considering everything as an object of knowledge or a matter of experience, it leads to everything being regarded as profane, and conse­quently viewed as knowable, with the possible exception of the passion for knowledge itself. In addition, it is certain that these new conditions of the sacred have led to its assuming new forms. Thus, it invades ethics and transforms such concepts as honesty, fidelity, jus­tice, and respect for truth and promises, into absolutes. Bas­ically, everything happens as if it sufficed to make an object, being, or cause sacred, that it be dedicated and consecrated to a supreme end. One’ s time, energy, interests, and ambitions are devoted and sacrificed to its demands. One publicly attrib­utes great prestige to it and shows that he renounces the most commonly esteemed goods in its favor, those most greedily pursued and conserved. In this situation, the dichotomy of sacred and profane no longer seems bound to the concept of the order of the universe, to the rhythm of its aging and regeneration, and to the opposition between neutral or inert objects, energies that animate or destroy them, that inherently attract or repel.

It has not been able to resist the transformation of social life that has brought about the increasing independence of the individual, freeing him from every psychic constraint and protecting him from others. Moreover, the sacred persists to the degree that this liberation is incomplete, that is to say, whenever a value is imposed as a reason for being upon a com­munity and even an individual. The sacred is now revealed as a source of power and contagion.

The sacred remains whatever stimulates respect, fear, and trust. It is imbued with power yet involves existence. It always appears as that which separates man from his fellow-men, re­ moves him from vulgar preoccupations, makes him win out over the obstacles and dangers that most beset him. It intro­ duces him into a harsh world. His instinct is to flee the sacred, even while attracted to it. In that world, the rule is no longer to preserve achieved status or to keep any status permanent. Stability is no longer regarded as the highest good, nor are moderation, prudence, or conformity to established usage re­garded as among the highest virtues. Security, comfort, a good reputation, and honor are no longer deemed as most desirable advantages.

In fact, the profane attitude always implies a kind of ab­dication. It restrains man from the wanton gratification of his desires. It diverts him from using his mind wastefully, and places him on guard against perilous and ruinous instincts that incite him to countless expenditures. At the same time, it surrounds such insatiable heroes as Faust or Don Juan— who dared to assume these decisive risks, braving the infernal powers, or entering into a pact with them—with a halo of prestige.

These mythical figures, exemplars of destiny, live in the imagination as concrete symbols of the kind of grandeur and perdition reserved for those who violate taboos and are im­ moderate in feeling, intelligence, and desire. These damned ones have been lost by their very intrepidity. Theirs is the glory of not having accepted any divine or human limitation when it was a question of satisfying one of the unquenchable appetites of feeling, knowing, and dominating. These were condemned by Saint Paul, who referred to them as libido sentiendi, libido sciendi, and libido dominandi.

To these three lusts, there are no comparably opposing taboos. The latter are only an obstacle, a kind of challenge that exists only as a function of the courage that sets it off. What makes these ambitions their true and worthy counter­part are the inverted ambitions, such as the renunciation of sanctity, the joyous acceptance of chastity, ignorance, and obe­dience, the desire to feel nothing, to have nothing, to acquire nothing, even to desire nothing, and the taste for giving in place of the taste for taking. Thus, everywhere in the profane environment of conservation and economy, outside of every rite and every external manifestation, the fundamental am­biguity of the sacred is rediscovered. The dreaded world of sacrilegious conquests and the blessed world of sanctifying abandon are both consecrated by an equal disdain for the common condition, by a similar basic dissatisfaction, to which beatitude or damnation alone can put an end.

TIME AND DESTINY

Without doubt, it is out of place to outline the meta­physics of the sacred in ending this work, but at least, it can be indicated at what point the antagonism of the sacred and the profane is identified with the cosmic interaction that, in order to form future or past, to give life to being, comprises stability and variation, inertia and movement, mass and force, matter and energy. The nature of these oppositions involves more than their content. The relationships of solidarity and collaboration that they establish between the terms they simul­taneously dissociate and associate are more significant than the way in which they are or are not conceived. Through the diversity of appearances, the continuity of the universe seems to result from the combination of the poles of obstacle and ef­fort that can never be perfectly isolated. It is impossible to last without wear and tear or loss, and impossible to become motionless. To be so, it would be necessary not to live but to be as the “sleepers” in stories, deep in a magic sleep during which others grow old and are transformed, but from which they awaken, identically as they were, to a world they no longer recognize. They are no longer part of a world of meta­morphosis, simple expenditures, and total activity. This can not occur without lassitude, scars, or nostalgia for annihila­tion, this taste of fatigue and death that victory and the exalta­tion of triumph convey.

It would not be difficult to find, in the organic, and even the inorganic world, this solidarity of death and life, of the resistance seeking to paralyze all effort and the effort seeking to annihilate all resistance. However, it becomes exhausted by its very success, by the fact that in evolving action it also develops a force that checks it. The laws of biology, chemistry, and physics offer as many examples as desired of this mech­anism on all levels of existence. Under these conditions, it is remarkable that it can be utilized as a key for the comprehen­sion of the principal problems concerning the statics and dy­namics of the sacred that have been formulated and examined in the course of this work.

The profane must be defined as the constant search for a balanced or just environment that permits living in fear and moderation without exceeding the limits of the allowable. One is content with a gilded mediocrity, which manifests the precarious collaboration of the two antithetical forces that as­ sure the perpetuation of the universe through reciprocally neutralizing each other. The departure from this tranquillity, from this place of relative calm in which stability and security are greater than elsewhere, is equivalent to the entrance of the sacred into the world. Then man is abandoned to the pursuit of the only tyrannical component that in all life calls for concerted action. That is to say, he has now already con­ sented to its loss as he takes the divine path of renunciation to the magical path of conquest, as he wishes to be saint or sor­cerer, and as he unreservedly devotes himself to these activities.

In seeking for the principles of life, the energies of the sacred, which sustains and interferes with him, the being (ob­ ject, organism, mind, or society) approaches it yet remains at a distance. The pages in which Saint Theresa of Avila de­scribes her ecstasy must be read, in this regard. If one is care­ful to ignore the expressions that are too parochially Christian, it will be seen how the confidences of the saint illustrate this paradox, how contact with the sacred inaugurates a sorrowful conflict between the intoxicating hope of definitely falling into a deep abyss and the kind of sluggishness with which the pro­fane weighs down every movement toward the sacred. Saint Theresa herself attributes this to the instinct for self-preserva­tion. Returning the being that dies to life, so that it should not die, this sluggishness seems like the exact counterpart of the ascendancy exercised by the sacred upon the profane. It always tries, for its part, to renounce time in favor of a leap to ephemeral and extravagant glory.

The sacred is what gives life and takes it away, it is the source from which it flows, and the estuary in which it is lost. But the sacred is also that which one would not know how to possess simultaneously with life. Life is wear and tear, and waste. It vainly strives to persevere and to refuse every ex­penditure so as to be preserved. Death lies in wait for it.

There is no artifice that is as good. Everything living be­ing knows or senses it. It knows the choice remaining to it. It dreads giving of itself, sacrificing itself, and is aware of thus wasting its very being. But to retain its gifts, energies, and re­sources, to use them prudently for all practical and selfish goals—as a consequence, profane—saves no one in the final analysis from decrepitude and the tomb. Everything that is not consumed rots away. Furthermore, the abiding truth of the sacred resides simultaneously in the fascination of flame and the horror of putrefaction.

From the book Man and the Sacred by Roger Caillois