Posted on Jan 20, 2013
By Chris Hedges
The planet we have assaulted will convulse with fury. The senseless greed of limitless capitalist expansion will implode the global economy. The decimation of civil liberties, carried out in the name of fighting terror, will shackle us to an interconnected security and surveillance state that stretches from Moscow to Istanbul to New York. To endure what lies ahead we will have to harness the human imagination. It was the human imagination that permitted African-Americans during slavery and the Jim Crow era to transcend their physical condition. It was the human imagination that sustained Sitting Bull and Black Elk as their land was seized and their cultures were broken. And it was the human imagination that allowed the survivors in the Nazi death camps to retain the power of the sacred.
It is the imagination that makes possible transcendence. Chants, work songs, spirituals, the blues, poetry, dance and art converged under slavery to nourish and sustain this imagination. These were the forces that, as Ralph Ellison wrote, â€œwe had in place of freedom.â€ The oppressed would be the firstâ€”for they know their fateâ€”to admit that on a rational level such a notion is absurd, but they also know that it is only through the imagination that they survive. Jewish inmates in Auschwitz reportedly put God on trial for the Holocaust and then condemned God to death. A rabbi stood after the verdict to lead the evening prayers.
African-Americans and Native Americans, for centuries, had little control over their destinies. Forces of bigotry and violence kept them subjugated by whites. Suffering, for the oppressed, was tangible. Death was a constant companion. And it was only their imagination, as William Faulkner noted at the end of â€œThe Sound and the Fury,â€ that permitted themâ€”unlike the novelâ€™s white Compson familyâ€”to â€œendure.â€
The theologian James H. Cone captures this in his masterpiece â€œThe Cross and the Lynching Tree.â€ Cone says that for oppressed blacks the cross was a â€œparadoxical religious symbol because it inverts the worldâ€™s value system with the news that hope comes by way of defeat, that suffering and death do not have the last word, that the last shall be first and the first last.â€ Cone continues:
That God could â€œmake a way out of no wayâ€ in Jesusâ€™ cross was truly absurd to the intellect, yet profoundly real in the souls of black folk. Enslaved blacks who first heard the gospel message seized on the power of the cross. Christ crucified manifested Godâ€™s loving and liberating presence in the contradictions of black lifeâ€”that transcendent presence in the lives of black Christians that empowered them to believe that ultimately, in Godâ€™s eschatological future, they would not be defeated by the â€œtroubles of this world,â€ no matter how great and painful their suffering. Believing this paradox, this absurd claim of faith, was only possible in humility and repentance. There was no place for the proud and the mighty, for people who think that God called them to rule over others. The cross was Godâ€™s critique of powerâ€”white powerâ€”with powerless love, snatching victory out of defeat.
Reinhold Niebuhr, as Cone points out in his book, labeled this capacity to defy the forces of repression â€œa sublime madness in the soul.â€ Niebuhr wrote that â€œnothing but madness will do battle with malignant power and â€˜spiritual wickedness in high places.â€™ â€ This sublime madness, as Niebuhr understood, is dangerous, but it is vital. Without it, â€œtruth is obscured.â€ And Niebuhr also knew that traditional liberalism was a useless force in moments of extremity. Liberalism, Niebuhr said, â€œlacks the spirit of enthusiasm, not to say fanaticism, which is so necessary to move the world out of its beaten tracks. It is too intellectual and too little emotional to be an efficient force in history.â€
Niebuhrâ€™s â€œsublime madnessâ€ permits the rest of us to view the possibilities of a world otherwise seen only by the visionary, the artist and the madman. And it permits us to fight for these possibilities. The prophets in the Hebrew Bible had this sublime madness. The words of the Hebrew prophets, as Abraham Heschel wrote, were â€œa scream in the night. While the world is at ease and asleep, the prophet feels the blast from heaven.â€
Primo Levi in his memoir â€œSurvival in Auschwitzâ€ tells of teaching Italian to another inmate, Jean Samuel, in exchange for lessons in French. Levi recites to Samuel from memory Canto XXVI of Danteâ€™s â€œThe Inferno.â€ It is the story of Ulyssesâ€™ final voyage.
â€œHe has received the message,â€ Levi writes, â€œhe has felt that it has to do with him, that it has to do with all men who toil, and with us in particular.â€ Levi goes on. â€œIt is vitally necessary and urgent that he listen, that he understand â€¦ before it is too late; tomorrow he or I might be dead, or we might never see each other again.â€
The poet Leon Staff wrote from the Warsaw ghetto: â€œEven more than bread we now need poetry, in a time when it seems that it is not needed at all.â€
It is only those who can retreat into the imagination, and through their imagination can minister to the suffering of those around them, who uncover the physical and psychological strength to resist.
â€œ â€¦ [T]he people noticed that Crazy Horse was queerer than ever,â€ Black Elk said in remembering the final days of the wars against the Indians. He went on to say of the great Sioux warrior: â€œHe hardly ever stayed in the camp. People would find him out alone in the cold, and they would ask him to come home with them. He would not come, but sometimes he would tell the people what to do. People wondered if he ate anything at all. Once my father found him out alone like that, and he said to my father: â€˜Uncle, you have noticed me the way I act. But do not worry; there are caves and holes for me to live in, and out here the spirits may help me. I am making plans for the good of my people.â€™ â€
Homer, Dante, Beethoven, Melville, Dostoevsky, Proust, Joyce, W.H. Auden, Emily Dickinson and James Baldwin, along with artists such as the sculptor David Smith, the photographer Diane Arbus and the blues musician Charley Patton, all had it. It is the sublime madness that lets one sing, as bluesman Ishman Bracey did in Hinds County, Miss., â€œIâ€™ve been down so long, Lawd, down donâ€™t worry me.â€ And yet in the mists of the imagination also lies the certainty of divine justice:
I feel my hell a-risinâ€™, a-risinâ€™ every day;
I feel my hell a-risinâ€™, a-risinâ€™ every day;
Someday itâ€™ll burst this levee and wash the whole wide world away.
Shakespeareâ€™s greatest heroes and heroinesâ€”Prospero, Anthony, Juliet, Viola, Rosalind, Hamlet, Cordelia and Learâ€”all have this sublime madness. As Theseus says in â€œA Midsummer Nightâ€™s Dreamâ€:
Lovers and madmen have such seething brains,
Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend
More than cool reason ever comprehends.
The lunatic, the lover, and the poet
Are of imagination all compact.
â€œUltimately, the artist and the revolutionary function as they function, and pay whatever dues they must pay behind it because they are both possessed by a vision, and they do not so much follow this vision as find themselves driven by it,â€ wrote James Baldwin. â€œOtherwise, they could never endure, much less embrace, the lives they are compelled to lead.â€
Â Flickr/Humphrey King