The Deep Desolate Pit
Change, more than political or social stability, is far
more congenial to the flowering of human intellect and imagination. The
post-French Revolution world believed so, at the very least. Within human
instinct itself lurks a beastly yearning—for a safe and permanent shelter. Any
system of society finds its most “stable” era cherished as the most secure by
its people. The bourgeois mentality of the medieval world can be read in
precisely this way, and even today, in our middle-class life, the same tendency
is starkly visible. Narrow in outlook, simplistic in faith, prone to
regression, bound by superstition, naturally unlettered, half-cultured,
suspicious of complexity—these epithets, once long ago bestowed upon the
bourgeoisie, still remain apt. In truth, each of these traits serves the cause
of stability. Apparent signs of development are loudly showcased, because such
visible progress is needed to mask what stagnates beneath.
The cycle of society, if divided, may be seen in five movements:
Protest,
Post-protest society,
Stability,
Dictatorship that follows stability,
Exploitation and oppression.
And thus the cycle spins, with oppression and tyranny once again breeding revolt.
We observe that, immediately after protest, there arises a newborn society inspired by the ideals of that uprising. Yet before long, one sees how every dream and aspiration of the rebellion goes astray. Then arrives the long phase of stability. A little later, and quite logically, dictatorship insinuates itself into that settled life. Then comes exploitation, tyranny—and once again rebellion. In this way the social wheel turns, each successor inheriting the legacy of the predecessor.
For the middle class, the happiest span is the time of stability. Their security is undisturbed, their lives follow the comforts of self-chosen rhythm, where individual interest is the final word. But for the poor, this very period of stability is the most dreadful. For them, the most joyous and meaningful hour is the hour of protest, when their existence itself shakes society to its roots. In truth, it is in their name that every revolution or rebellion is born. And yet, cruel irony—it is the middle class who benefit most from the society that follows the upheaval.
“All that was neglected through the centuries of the Middle Ages—art, literature, discovery, invention, reason, learning—suddenly sprang alive under the touch of the Renaissance.” So wrote J. A. Symonds. The Middle Ages—mankind’s grandest stability. The Renaissance—mankind’s grandest upheaval. The lesson, wherever we look across the world, remains unchanging: during times of change, artists, poets, scientists, philosophers, men of genius spring forth in crowds; in times of stability, all development of the mind stands still.
The chronicles of history show us that the world’s greatest spirits were never born in stagnant eras. The long medieval calm is remembered as the “Dark Ages.” The greatest men of human civilization—nearly all were born in the wake of the Renaissance. India is no exception. The only true upheaval in our soil came in the late 18th century, under British rule, through the flood of English education. Vidyasagar, Rammohan, Ramakrishna, Vivekananda, Rabindranath, Bankimchandra—their lives and works, the very Renaissance of India, were born of that upheaval, largely Bengal’s gift. Similarly, the world too, if one looks closely, bore its finest men in that golden bracket—from the French Revolution down to the aftermath of the Second World War.
That was mankind’s golden age. Civilization flowered in countless ways. But then—what followed?
In the world after the Second War, whom did we find? By what strange unwritten decree did a great stillness descend upon earth—political, social, economic? For half a century after the war, the world drifted into a singular silence. No great movements of industry or art, no thunderous talents, no extraordinary individuals towering over their age. Creativity seemed flung into the abyss of a deep, blind darkness.
And man, drugged by stability, would not leave the narcotic comfort of apparent security. He did not wish to emerge, as once he had in the tumult of revolt. Instead, another truth became clear—the old image of “oppression” itself was changed. Kings were gone, monarchies abolished. Everywhere there was democracy—elections, contests, ballots, and the chosen rulers. Some inherited privilege by birth, some by genius. Beside them—the merchants, the most powerful of all, whose power stretches for generations. Below them—the faceless multitude, the poor, the unlettered, the marginal, the forgotten.
Direct oppression, naked tyranny no longer exists. Instead, in the name of democracy, the will of the powerful three is imposed upon the rest under the authority of law. And yet the rhetoric remains: equal rights for all! But everywhere in the world, who decides the price of rice? Not those who need it to survive, but these same few. Thus, within man’s so-called liberty, the bondage of monarchy persists—democracy itself becomes a system of servitude. Foreign perfumes or cheap soaps alike gleam in shop windows. All are free to buy them—but only if they can pay the price. The freedom to earn that price exists—but the path to it is neither equal, nor simple, nor free. The struggle is tortuous, uneven, reserved for the privileged. In truth, today’s democracy is tilted entirely toward the wealthy and the powerful.
The question stands: will man ever again forsake this security, however illusory, and rise to rebel? Will he once more declare jihad against stability, and summon a new revolution? The temperament of this modern age is not so inclined. A great coldness circles us on all sides. Like a slumbering volcano, human genius in the early years of the 21st century lies dormant in a heavy sleep.
What shall awaken it? Do we await again some great soul, a giant among men, to rouse us? Until such a one appears, is human civilization destined to lie in this deep desolate pit?
The cycle of society, if divided, may be seen in five movements:
Protest,
Post-protest society,
Stability,
Dictatorship that follows stability,
Exploitation and oppression.
And thus the cycle spins, with oppression and tyranny once again breeding revolt.
We observe that, immediately after protest, there arises a newborn society inspired by the ideals of that uprising. Yet before long, one sees how every dream and aspiration of the rebellion goes astray. Then arrives the long phase of stability. A little later, and quite logically, dictatorship insinuates itself into that settled life. Then comes exploitation, tyranny—and once again rebellion. In this way the social wheel turns, each successor inheriting the legacy of the predecessor.
For the middle class, the happiest span is the time of stability. Their security is undisturbed, their lives follow the comforts of self-chosen rhythm, where individual interest is the final word. But for the poor, this very period of stability is the most dreadful. For them, the most joyous and meaningful hour is the hour of protest, when their existence itself shakes society to its roots. In truth, it is in their name that every revolution or rebellion is born. And yet, cruel irony—it is the middle class who benefit most from the society that follows the upheaval.
“All that was neglected through the centuries of the Middle Ages—art, literature, discovery, invention, reason, learning—suddenly sprang alive under the touch of the Renaissance.” So wrote J. A. Symonds. The Middle Ages—mankind’s grandest stability. The Renaissance—mankind’s grandest upheaval. The lesson, wherever we look across the world, remains unchanging: during times of change, artists, poets, scientists, philosophers, men of genius spring forth in crowds; in times of stability, all development of the mind stands still.
The chronicles of history show us that the world’s greatest spirits were never born in stagnant eras. The long medieval calm is remembered as the “Dark Ages.” The greatest men of human civilization—nearly all were born in the wake of the Renaissance. India is no exception. The only true upheaval in our soil came in the late 18th century, under British rule, through the flood of English education. Vidyasagar, Rammohan, Ramakrishna, Vivekananda, Rabindranath, Bankimchandra—their lives and works, the very Renaissance of India, were born of that upheaval, largely Bengal’s gift. Similarly, the world too, if one looks closely, bore its finest men in that golden bracket—from the French Revolution down to the aftermath of the Second World War.
That was mankind’s golden age. Civilization flowered in countless ways. But then—what followed?
In the world after the Second War, whom did we find? By what strange unwritten decree did a great stillness descend upon earth—political, social, economic? For half a century after the war, the world drifted into a singular silence. No great movements of industry or art, no thunderous talents, no extraordinary individuals towering over their age. Creativity seemed flung into the abyss of a deep, blind darkness.
And man, drugged by stability, would not leave the narcotic comfort of apparent security. He did not wish to emerge, as once he had in the tumult of revolt. Instead, another truth became clear—the old image of “oppression” itself was changed. Kings were gone, monarchies abolished. Everywhere there was democracy—elections, contests, ballots, and the chosen rulers. Some inherited privilege by birth, some by genius. Beside them—the merchants, the most powerful of all, whose power stretches for generations. Below them—the faceless multitude, the poor, the unlettered, the marginal, the forgotten.
Direct oppression, naked tyranny no longer exists. Instead, in the name of democracy, the will of the powerful three is imposed upon the rest under the authority of law. And yet the rhetoric remains: equal rights for all! But everywhere in the world, who decides the price of rice? Not those who need it to survive, but these same few. Thus, within man’s so-called liberty, the bondage of monarchy persists—democracy itself becomes a system of servitude. Foreign perfumes or cheap soaps alike gleam in shop windows. All are free to buy them—but only if they can pay the price. The freedom to earn that price exists—but the path to it is neither equal, nor simple, nor free. The struggle is tortuous, uneven, reserved for the privileged. In truth, today’s democracy is tilted entirely toward the wealthy and the powerful.
The question stands: will man ever again forsake this security, however illusory, and rise to rebel? Will he once more declare jihad against stability, and summon a new revolution? The temperament of this modern age is not so inclined. A great coldness circles us on all sides. Like a slumbering volcano, human genius in the early years of the 21st century lies dormant in a heavy sleep.
What shall awaken it? Do we await again some great soul, a giant among men, to rouse us? Until such a one appears, is human civilization destined to lie in this deep desolate pit?
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