sarah masen

The Dark Corner

Artists and Lawmakers

Sarah was asked to speak to a group of lawmakers on Capitol Hill who meet regularly as a reading group in the cafeteria of the US Senate. Here's what she prepared for the meeting: "The grandest of these ideals is an unfolding American promise that everyone belongs, that everyone deserves a chance, that no insignificant person was ever born. Americans are called upon to enact this promise in our lives and in our laws; and though our nation has sometimes halted, and sometimes delayed, we must follow no other course." -- President George W. Bush's Inaugural Address

"We're anything brighter than even the sun (we're everything greater than books might mean) we're everyanything more than believe (with a spin leap alive we're alive) we're wonderful one time one" -- e.e. cummings
I'd like to begin by observing how devastatingly humbled I feel to have been deemed interesting enough to meet with you today. Here's an attempt at something timely, relevant, inspiring and (the hard part) practical. As my husband and I looked over President Bush's inaugural address, we were struck by how so much of the thing could have been written by Bruce Cockburn. Various phrases brought to mind the sentiments of a Springsteen or Lauryn Hill's proclamation that it's "time to change the focus from the richest to the brokest" or Noam Chomsky's constant call to put people over profits. This leads me to conclude that there are principles or "best convictions" that we're all holding in the back of our minds somewhere and which transcend the heat and spirit of party affiliations. There are slogans, of course, but the words work because they're referring to something real, something upon which all appeals to conscience will depend. And when a word like 'compassion,' for instance, is only viewed, by any of us, for what it might win in the way of endorsements, contributions, or polls, need we be any more thoroughly damned? But whatever use we put the word to, the word lives and indeed outweighs our schemes and best intentions. This is where e.e. cummings comes in. He's reminding us that one human being is always infinitely more than whatever it is we think we know. When one person dies, as Laurie Anderson points out, it's as if an entire library has burned down. We don't know how to measure these things. And we're especially bad at it when we think we do. We're especially destructive. This is what any artist worth her skin, record deal, NEA grant, contract, or price of admission will expend her life reminding us. This is my job description, certainly, but probably best described as an ambition. Just as Christians probably do best by following their teacher and leaving it to others to decide whether or not they're best described by the adjective 'Christian,' the folks who get called 'artists' should probably let somebody else decide that art is what they're doing. Beware the prophet who calls himself one. Walker Percy describes the artist as "the canary in a coal mine." Miners would carry the little birdy down into the depths in a little metal cage, and occasionally, after hearing a squawk, someone would look over and notice that the canary had died. Time to get out of there. The air's bad. Things are dangerous. This environment can no longer sustain life. Somebody has the burden of saying so. Somebody gets to bear witness. Here's a mostly random list (not about quality, mind you, but witness-bearing): Vaclav Havel Alexander Solzhenitzen, Jeremiah and Isaiah, Mary, Kurt Cobain, Bob Dylan, William Blake, Albert Camus, Radiohead, Dorothy Day. The artist helps us imagine what work needs to be done for the good of the culture, where the powers of darkness are oppressing, and where the peace of God is breaking in. We're engaged concerning the meaning our actions and decisions, confronted with the consequences, and made to ask ourselves if our work is consistent with a worldview that insists upon the dignity of the human and its status as the image-bearer of the divine. In acknowledgement of the Lenten calendar, let me extend this subject of witness-bearing a little further. Might we keep before us the notion that Christianity holds as its historical climax the moment when every power-holder in first century Palestine participated in the lynching of a revolutionary Jewish peasant? What was Jesus bearing witness of exactly that met such lethal resistance? What did the act mean? What acts of moral imagination (and action) did the hearers of Jesus' words know they were being called to? Do we digest his proclamations any more easily? William Wilberforce was able to separate Christ's teachings from the cultural assumptions of his day and imagine further. While the crucifixion did not end all suffering, it would, historically speaking, extend to all human suffering a new meaning. Wiberforce saw the meaning and, in resistance to the cultural mainstream of his day, would come to view the African slave as his brother. What parallel leaps are we called to today? What is the artist telling us that the culture doesn't yet know? Are we listening? Do we even want to? If loving your enemy is a political act (and I don't see how it could be anything but), maybe we could call it an artistic decision as well. And perhaps it's also appropriate to view law-making, especially laws which are specifically designed to assist citizens in the difficult business of valuing one another properly, as a kind of artistry over time. President Bush has issued a call for people of faith to work with the government in turning ideas into realities. My understanding of idolatry, nationalism (from the Old Testament to Constantine), and the principalities and powers leaves no hope for a government that is capable of perfectly supporting or sustaining shalom among its subjects. But the example of Wilberforce and other voices ('political' and 'artistic') serves as an everpresent hope and challenge. May our words put on flesh and may our hearts and minds be perpetually open to transformation and new life. Thank you for your time.

© 2001 David Dark