The Heavenly Council, Part IV

(Orwell was next to take the floor.)

Orwell

Thank you, my friends. I have heard some great things here today, ideas that I will be mulling over for many months, I’m sure. But let me continue with the thread of socio-political change, because I personally believe that that is where it’s at. One phrase of mine that gets quoted a lot is “Our enemy is the gramophone mind.” Groupthink is the curse of humanity, in other words, whether it is the groupthink of capitalism, or communism, or any other ism that infects the planet at this time. Have any of you ever tried having a dialogue with a Zionist, or a feminist, or a techno-worshipper, or even a vegetarian? In my experience, it’s pretty pointless, because there is no separation between their selves and their belief systems. In 1985, Doris Lessing posed the question of why we can’t seem to move from self-destruction to self-repair, but in fact she had answered that question in her famous novel of 1962, The Golden Notebook. Her argument was similar to Eric Hoffer’s thesis in The True Believer: Intense belief in something, anything, keeps us from falling apart. It’s the thumb that we suck, the teddy bear that we hug to get us through the night. Observing communists in the thirties, Doris was led to say that their real slogan was not “Workers of the world unite,” but rather I AM MAKING THE REVOLUTION AND THEREFORE I AM. The truth is that human beings are fragile creatures, and they don’t hold their thumbs, or their isms, lightly.

So then on to Lenin’s question: What is to be done? You all probably know my history: fighting in Catalonia, living in Wigan Pier, and so on. I fought the good fight, and I also fought against the gramophone mind. I died seventy-five years ago, only forty-six years old. And now, looking down at the world from “on high,” what do I see? Things are worse now than they were in 1950; much worse. Groupthink is more intense now than it was when I quit the scene. I might as well not have lived, if we are to be honest about it. If I had spent those forty-six years fishing off the coast of Scotland, things would have turned out exactly the same. I’m not trying to depress you all; I’m just telling it like it is. There is no false modesty here; the bare fact is that I have nothing to offer you. I wish I did, but I don’t.

Which leads me to reflect on what I’ve heard so far today. And what I’ve concluded is that Wystan is right: large-scale historical change of the kind we are discussing happens by force, which is to say, by a kind of Hegelian movement. Wystan referred to tectonic shifts, and this is what we find ourselves in the midst of. Andrei is also right: we need to remain open to alternatives, and encourage this as a way of life. And Federico too might be right, that failure can hit the wall and dialectically give way to success. Perhaps a long shot, but not impossible. But I do believe this: for better or worse, change is inevitable, and it is coming down upon us as we speak. Beyond that, there is nothing else I can say.

(This was met with a hearty round of applause. Lermontov was up next.)

Lermontov

Like George, or perhaps I should say Eric, I am moved by much of what I have heard today. But what I have to offer is a very different approach, endemic to a number of Russian writers besides myself, and which can be captured in the popular French slogan, reculer pour mieux sauter—jump back in order to go forward. As is well known, the Renaissance—to take the most famous example—was heavily dependent on the revival of the ancient classics. This revival of classical learning is known as humanism, and it affected art, architecture, literature, political thought, and even scientific inquiry. In the case of my countrymen, the past they sought was actually a living past, namely, the nonrational roots of Russian life. What I am referring to is the folkloric tradition, which is based on a peasant-shamanic heritage, a tradition that runs very deep in Russian history. It is suffused with magic, alternative realities, and primal energy—a powerful undercurrent. Millions of Russians regard it as the “true” Russia, her very soul. As Napoleon once remarked, “Scratch a Russian and you will find a Tatar.” Consciously or not, our friend Andrei drew on this tradition for Solaris [at this point Tarkovsky shouted “consciously!”, and everyone laughed], as did so many of the Russian greats, such as Bulgakov in The Master and Margarita—a novel filled with miracles, madness, and magic. What these writers and artists are telling us is that rational understanding is “stalked” by the nonrational; that, as Andrei has argued, reality is labile, not a fixed entity. Let’s face it: our given reality today is about as exciting as day-old oatmeal, or even a day-old corpse. What the Russian shamanic tradition offers instead is vibrancy, and it may be the case that it is only through vibrancy that we can create a better life for ourselves.

(At this point Lermontov received a standing ovation, with cries of “Bravo!”)

Thank you, my friends. I need to conclude by saying that I don’t know how we can inject vibrancy into a corpse, but that would seem to be the task confronting us, and which I’m hoping we can discuss in this forum.

(Next in line was André Breton.)

Breton

OK, mes amis; this is where I come in. All of you here are familiar with the Surrealist movement of a hundred years ago. I’m quite sure I don’t have to elaborate on the poetry of Paul Éluard, or Louis Aragón, or the paintings of René Magritte, or Salvador Dalí, or on Meret Oppenheim’s fur-lined teacup. Surrealism was nothing if not vibrant, and it revitalized art, literature, fashion, film, music, and more. Its influence on the twentieth century was enormous; of that, there can be no doubt. That said, politically speaking, it changed nothing. When the dust settled, the Western world was still living in day-old oatmeal, and as Mikhail correctly asserted, we are still there today. As a result, despite my great respect for Antonio, dramatic changes in the superstructure don’t really alter the political landscape, as far as I can see. Like all of you, I was moved by what Mikhail had to say, but as he himself admitted, it’s not clear how to inject vibrancy into a corpse. We Surrealists tried, and we failed.