Allen Ginsberg And George Grant

The Six Gallery reading of 1955 was, therefore, a pivotal event in bringing together the ecological Beats of the West Coast and the Bop and Beat Tradition of the East Coast. Allen Ginsberg attended and participated in the Six Gallery reading, and, a year later, published Howl and Other Poems. The back cover of Howl, in the City Lights Books, reports that “Allen Ginsberg’s Howl and Other Poems was originally published by City Lights Books in the Fall of 1956. Subsequently seized by the U.S. Customs and the San Francisco police, it was the subject of a long court trial at which a series of poets and professors persuaded the courts that the book was not obscene. Over 30,000 copies have since been sold.” There is no doubt Howl created a commotion and stir in the San Francisco area at the time. It is 40 years this year since George Grant’s Lament for a Nation (1965) was published. Lament for a Nation, like Howl, created strong reactions. Many in the New Left and Counter Culture in Canada were drawn to Lament for a Nation. Many in the political centre and political right in Canada were offended by what Grant was saying in Lament. Grant was fully aware of what he was saying and doing at the time, and he knew that his criticisms of the American empire (and the Canadian colonial and comprador class) would not be taken well by the ruling establishment and high mucky-mucks at the time. Lament has been called “a masterpiece of political meditation,” and Darrol Bryant sees it as a tract for the times that stands within the Old Testament prophetic tradition of Lamentations. Kenneth Rexroth has argued, in defending Ginsberg, that his poetry stands “in the long Jewish Old Testament tradition of testimonial poetry.” It is significant to note that Grant in his 1970 Introduction to Lament for a Nation refers twice to the image and metaphor of Molech. Molech was seen by the Jewish people as a devouring god that consumed and destroyed the life of one and all. Molech is a central metaphor in Part II of Howl. Grant also refers to the Beats and the Counter Culture in Lament for a Nation. Ginsberg and Grant seem, at first glance, to be lamenting and howling against the same Molech. The American empire seemed to consume one and all. The best and the brightest did their best to oppose and resist such a monster and leviathan, but souls and bodies were required to feed the ravenous appetite of the beast. Was it possible to live a meaningful life without bowing and genuflecting to Molech? Howl and Lament for a Nation seem to be on the same page and fighting the same enemy and opponent. But are they? Ginsberg and Grant do agree on what they want to be free from. Do they agree on what they want to be free for? It is by understanding this difference that we will understand the different paths taken between American anarchism (and Canadian devotees of such a tradition) and Canadian High Tory nationalism. The different paths hiked do lead to quite distinctly different places on the political spectrum. Let us, all too briefly, light and linger at Howl and Lament for a Nation to see how and why American anarchism and Canadian nationalism, although seeming to have much in common at one level, have less and less in common at more substantive levels. It is significant to note, by way of beginning, to mention who Howl and Lament for a Nation are dedicated to. Ginsberg offers up Howl to Jack Kerouac, William Burroughs and Neal Cassady; all three were East Coast Bop and Beat poets and activists. Howl was written for Carl Solomon, and William Carlos Williams wrote the Introduction. Kerouac is very much in the lead in the dedication, and Ginsberg writes that “Several phrases and the title of Howl are taken from him.” We need to ask ourselves this simple question if we ever hope to get a fix and feel for Ginsberg’s drift and direction: what is the essence and core of the East Coast Bop and Beat ethos and how did Ginsberg, Kerouac, Burroughs, Cassady, Williams and Solomon embody such an ideology? There tends to be six distinct points to be noted here: I) individual feelings and emotions are paramount (reason and one-dimensional science are the problem); II) protest and rebellion against the American empire and Puritanism are dominant; III) uprootedness and unrootedness are welcomed—-being on the road becomes a new creed and dogma; IV) eclectic spirituality becomes the new sacrament--a rather raw sexuality and spirituality are fused; V) institutions (whether they are religious, political, cultural, economic) are seen as the problem; and VI) anarchism is seen as the liberating means of opposition to the authoritarian and repressive nature of all ideologies and institutions. Liberty tends to trump order, individuality repels the common good, equality of desires is held high, raw experience banishes the wisdom of tradition, and spirituality is freed from the bondage of shackles of religious dogmas and institutions. Needless to say, such a position becomes its own ideology, creed and institution that cannot be doubted and must be defended at all costs by its guardians and gatekeepers. There is no doubt that Kerouac, Burroughs and Cassady embodied such a vision. Carolyn Cassaday dared to expose and question such an ideology in Off the Road: My Years with Cassady, Kerouac and Ginsberg (1990). Even Kerouac was beginning to ask substantive questions about the Beats and distance himself from them in the early 1960s. He makes this quite clear in Lonesome Traveler (1960) when he said, “Am actually not ‘Beat’ but strange solitary crazy Catholic mystic,” and with the publication of Vanity of Duluoz (1968), Kerouac made it clear that much of the Bop and Beat tradition was much more about a rather inflated vanity and egoistic and indulgent individualism than anything else. But Kerouac still remained the liberty-loving and solitary Catholic mystic. The American DNA and genetic code of individualism was still his master and guru. Grant dedicated Lament for a Nation “To Derek Bedson and Judith Robinson: Two Lovers Of Their Country: One Living and One Dead.” Who were Derek Bedson and Judith Robinson, and how, as Canadian lovers of their country, were they different from Kerouac, Burroughs and Cassady? Derek Bedson, unlike many of the Beats, had a strong commitment to the Anglican High Tory tradition both in politics and religion. He was active in the Anglican Church of Canada (ever the gadfly to its emerging liberalism) and he worked in the area of both federal and provincial politics. Bedson, unlike the Beats, realized that both political and religious institutions (although always imperfect) were important means to work within for the common good of the nation and the people. Society and the State (both have their distortions and demons) when understood aright should and can work together, in an organic, just and ordered way, for the commonweal. The philosophic tradition of liberalism, in either its American imperial form or its Beat reactionary form, was about individuals using their liberty in a unilateral way to undermine and deconstruct those things that, as people, we share in common. Grant turned to Bedson as a true teacher and mentor who loved his country. Judith Robinson was a feisty and fiery Red Tory who, as an animated journalist, challenged both liberalism and the Liberal party in Canada. In fact, her relentless assaults on the Liberal party lead to the Royal Canadian Military Police (RCMP) bloodhounds being turned on her in the 1950s. Robinson thought the liberals were selling out Canada to the USA, and she would have none of it. The Liberal party of St. Laurent and King were an anathema to her. The American way (both in principle and fact) were something she had little or no patience for. George Grant, therefore, when he dedicated Lament for a Nation to Derek Bedson and Judith Robinson, knew what he was doing and saying. Many Canadians have, I suspect, heard of Ginsberg, Kerouac, Cassady, Williams and Burroughs. I question whether many have heard of Judith Robinson or Derek Bedson. What does this tell us about our Canadian soul and how it has been colonized by the American matrix? There is little doubt that Bedson, Robinson and Grant stood in a very different place on the political and personal spectrum than Kerouac, Burroughs, Cassady and Ginsberg. Both clans could agree that American imperialism, corporate capitalism, comsumerism, liberal bourgeois thought and puritanism needed to be exposed and undressed. There was no depth to them. They embodied Nietzche’s “Last Man” or Miller’s “Wrong Dream.” Surely there was more to the good life than defining and defending personal peace and happiness. In short, Canadian High Tories and American Anarchist Beats do agree on the fact that the patient is ill and ailing. They have much in common in their diagnosis. But they have quite a different way of healing the failing and faltering patient. The prognosis takes Grant and Ginsberg down different paths and to different places. What then is this different prognosis? Let us turn to Howl and Lament for a Nation to see what is seen. It is in this different seeing that we will come to understand some important differences at a root, core and genetic, philosophic, and practical level between Americans and Canadians. It is 50 years since Howl was published. It is 40 years since Lament for a Nation was published. It is at such remembering points we are offered the opportunity to see again what animates and tends to define the True North from the empire to the south. Howl is divided into three sections and a “Footnote to Howl.” Section I opens with the memorable lines than none forget once heard and read: “I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness.” The rest of the section is a prose-poem that describes how these best minds were destroyed, and, equally so, how the artistic and visionary nature of such minds were bent and broken on the anvil of the modern world. Section I is both tragic and sad, and the ruined and wrecked lives are amply laid out for all to see in the most graphic and poignant of ways. We might ask, as we read Section I, whether these are the best minds (given their end points), but Ginsberg has told us these are the best and the brightest, so we heed and hear. Section II turns, in a penetrating manner, to the place that has savaged such minds, and the potent image that speaks of such an alluring and tempting place: Molech, Molech and Molech becomes the destructive and dominant metaphor. The metaphor of Molech is unpacked and unraveled in a variety of ways, but there is no doubt that the best minds are defeated victims of Molech, and Molech will devour one and all. Who is Molech? Ginsberg makes this most clear. It is all forms of tyranny and authority that brutalize and are callous to the best minds. The USA is very much in the foreground, though. Section III presses home the point in a more urgent and not to be forgotten manner. Section III is directed to Carl Solomon in Rockland. The political left is held high and idealized, and the USA is seen as the place of repression and destruction. The language is raw and graphic in Howl, and social reality is neatly and crisply divided into a rather simplistic either-or way of looking at things. “Footnote to Howl” walks the extra mile to shout from the rooftops the Holy, Holy, Holy theme. All is holy and needs to be seen as such. Ginsberg in this section is doing his best to fuse spirituality and sexuality, street life with city life. Nothing should be seen as unholy. All has goodness in and to it, and when this is seen, eternity is in our midst. There are other poems in the Howl collection, also. “A Supermarket in California” doffs the cap to Walt Whitman, and “Transcription of Organ Music” takes the reader through and beyond the purpose of organ music. The transcription and the organ are meant to walk the attentive and alert to higher and deeper spiritual states. This poem points the way to what such a fusion of spirituality and sensuality might look like. “Sunflower Sutra” tells the tale of Ginsberg and Kerouac as they see, through Blake’s sunflower, a sutra of insight in hard places. “America” is a longer poem, and, true to form, turns on the USA. “In the Baggage Room at Greyhound,” like other poems in the collection, takes the reader into the underground and underbelly of America. “An Asphodel,” “Song,” “Wild Orphan,” and “in back of the real” close off this final section in Howl and Other Poems. It must be remembered that these poems were published in 1956. The USA was in the thick of the Cold War, and anyone with the mildest sympathies with the left was seen as communist. The raw sexual and sensual language that permeates and pervades most of Howl and Other Poems is a frontal assault and attack on both middle class bourgeois America and the puritan ethos the shaped such an ideology. Ginsberg, in short, was pulling no punches. He thought the best minds in America had been driven mad by a combination of the military industrial complex, anti-communist thinking, and puritan and bourgeois ethics. He howled against such a repressive way of being, and the state and police turned on him for doing so. Howl (1956) and On the Road (1957) became sacred texts and Bibles for the Beat generation, and Ginsberg became a high priest to such a generation with his fusion of sensuality/spirituality, anarchist/protest politics, and a raw and in-your-face assault on middle class values. Howl became a lightning rod missive for those who felt ill at ease with expectations laid on them they had no interest in. Ginsberg’s Howl spoke what many felt but had not yet put to words. What are the points of concord and convergence between Grant’s Lament for a Nation and Ginsberg’s Howl; and, equally important, what are the points of discord and divergence? The 1965 edition of Lament for a Nation is divided into seven chapters. In some ways it is a prose/poem that deals with major political themes in Canada, and between Canada and the USA. George Grant added an ‘Introduction’ in 1970, and Sheila Grant (George’s wife) added an ‘Afterword’ in 1997. I will stick with the 1965 edition of Lament for a Nation. I mentioned above that the very language of lament conjures up for the reader the tradition of Jewish political thought. The Jewish prophet Jeremiah wrote Lamentations. The fact that Lament for a Nation is divided into seven chapters reminds the reader of the seven days of creation in the Jewish tradition. The fact the seventh chapter is theological means that the political reflections have a deeper source than merely politics. Chapter I in Lament deals with Diefenbaker’s defeat by Pearson in the 1963 election. Grant saw this as a source of much concern, since Pearson was pro-American and Diefenbaker was a thorn in Kennedy’s side. And, more worrisome for Grant, most Canadians were overjoyed to have Pearson as the new Prime Minister of Canada. What did this say about Canadian nationalism? Chapter II and III ponder both the follies and foolishness of Diefenbaker and his nobility and heroism. Grant was no uncritical fan of Diefenbaker, but he did think that Diefenbaker stood on principles, and that his nationalist political principles brought about his demise. Chapter IV touches on both liberalism and the Liberal party in Canada, and why such a party has tended to dominate much of Canadian political life (and its consequences for Canadian nationalism). Chapters V and VI, consciously so, walk the reader into the realms of political theory and political philosophy, and why, at root and ground level, Canadian conservatism (in its English and French forms) is, almost, the opposite of American republican conservatism. The fact that American liberalism (in its democratic and republican forms) seeks to dominate the world raises for Grant a worrisome question. Is there any way to oppose or resist this Molech? Is this, as Canadians, our fate and necessity? What can we do given this stubborn fact? Chapter VII opens up a dialogue about the difference between fate/necessity and the good. How, as Canadians, can we live from something higher than what seems to be our dominate fate? Is it possible to get out of the matrix of American liberalism? Lament for a Nation has been called a masterpiece, and it is, for a variety of reasons. The tract for the times moves from the facts of Canadian/American political history, to Canadian/American political philosophy, to theology. It is poignant and pungent prose writing in the best tradition of political pamphlets. How, though, is Lament for a Nation similar and different from Howl, and what can these points of concord and discord tell us about the differences between Canadian and American thought and culture? There are five points of convergence, and five of divergence. First, both Lament and Howl raise serious and substantive objections about the American military industrial complex, the power elite in the USA and the damage done by such an elite in various parts of the world. Second, both write in an intense, committed and accessible manner. Ginsberg can be raw, crude and excessively graphic. Grant was much more polished, incisive and delicately evocative. Grant and Ginsberg do communicate through plain and direct speech, though, as participants in the tough issues of the time rather than as detached and cool-headed observers. Both are on the ice. Neither is in the balcony or bleachers. Third, both men were critical of the liberal bourgeois tradition and a form of American puritanism that justified such a smug view. Ginsberg rebelled against this by indulging all sorts of desires and interests, whereas Grant rebelled against the liberal bourgeois tradition by deepening and ordering his interests and desires towards the highest and noblest things. Both could agree that Locke’s ‘life, liberty and estates’ and Nietzsche’s ‘last man’ was something they did not want to be. They disagreed on the best path to hike when the puritan-bourgeois last man was left behind. Plato is quite different from Whitman, Coleridge from Blake. Grant was for the former, Ginsberg the latter. Allen Ginsberg sent me a couple of letters in the late 1980s (Jan/1/89 & Feb/6/89). The first discussed the Beats, his involvement with Naropa Institute/Buddhism/Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche and his rather negative and reactionary view of the Jewish God. The second letter was a copy of his small book on Blake (Your Reason and Blake’s System). Both the long letter and the missive speak much about Ginsberg’s commitments, and some of the distortions and caricatures he had of other traditions because of such commitments. Both Grant and Ginsberg rebelled against the American empire, puritanism, and the bourgeois tradition, but they turned to different wells to slake the thirst of their deeper longings and questions. Fourth, both men are distinctively and consciously thinking from a religious and theological vision in more than merely a moral sense. Ginsberg begins Howl by saying ‘All these books are published in Heaven,’ and Grant begins Lament by reference to Anglican parish life and ends with a sustained theological reflection on the difference between necessity/fate and the good. Fifth, neither Grant nor Ginsberg offer much of a way out of the problem. Ginsberg can howl and Grant can lament. This might be a good place to start, but it is hardly a positive, creative and constructive way to end. What lies on the far end and other side of howling and lamenting? There are, sadly so, many who begin and end in such a place. If Grant and Ginsberg can meet and greet at this intersection place, where do they part paths and why? It is one thing to agree on what we oppose and desire to say a firm NO to. It is quite another thing to state what we wish to affirm and say YES to. There are many who often agree on what is not wanted, but such people often part paths when a serious discussion (at both a philosophical and practical level) begins on what is desired and wanted. This is where Ginsberg and Grant go in different directions. What are their points of discord and divergence, then? First, Grant was Canadian, and he had a concern and commitment to Canadians and the way Canada is being colonized by the USA. Ginsberg was American, and he had little or no interest in the Canadian political tradition. Lament for a Nation deals with Canadian-American relations in a way Howl does not. When, as Canadians, we know more about Ginsberg than Grant, it speaks much about a way of being colonized. Second, there is no doubt that both Grant and Ginsberg had deep commitments to a moral and mystical religious vision, but Grant, unlike Ginsberg, would have argued that it is important to hold together spirituality and religion rather than fragmenting them. There is a tendency in Ginsberg to fly off into the mystical, visionary and contemplative ether, and, in the process, such things as dogma and institutions are seen as the problem. Needless to say, such a position becomes its own dogma and institution. Ginsberg’s models and teachers were those like Whitman and Blake, whereas for Grant thinkers such as Plato, Augustine, Hooker, Swift, Johnson and Coleridge were his teachers and guides. We can see, therefore, the anti-institutional mindset in Ginsberg, whereas, for Grant, institutions are important even though a critical attitude must always be held towards them. The ideas that underwrite this difference are important to note. Ginsberg’s sense of liberty and individualism dominates the day (all so American) whereas for Grant order and institutions are equally important. Third, although both Ginsberg and Grant howled at and lamented the state of things in the 1950s and 1960s, Grant attempted, through the Progressive Conservative party, to challenge the American empire. Ginsberg never rose much beyond anarchism, protest politics and moral outrage. Grant pointed out, in Lament, how such an approach is both allowed and easily co-opted by the power elites. Those who step out of the formal political process merely facilitate, by their absence, the very thing they protest against. What might seem the moral high ground can be, in fact, a form of grave digging. Fourth, Grant argued that, with the coming to be of liberalism, we faced an ominous challenge. Those like Daniel Bell had argued (and Grant noticed this) that we had come to the end of ideology with liberalism. Francis Fukuyama argued, in the 1990s, updating Bell’s argument, that we had come to the end of history with the end of the Cold War and the victory of liberalism. There is no doubt that both Ginsberg and Grant opposed the unilateralism of American military and corporate power. The aggressive notion of liberty and rugged individualism that underwrote and justified such a stance was abhorrent to both Grant and Ginsberg. But--and this is the catch--Ginsberg used the same Americam notions of liberty and individualism in his anarchist and protest approach as did the power elites. He applied such principles in more of an anti-establishment and, of course, anti-authoritarian way, but the notions of liberty, choice, individualism, protest, and dissent were all there. Grant saw through this charade. Ginsberg was just the other other side of the corporate elite. They just used their liberty and freedom in different ways, but neither disagreed about the priority of the American vision and dream: life, liberty, choice and individualism. Grant dared to question the very philosophic principles of American liberalism, and, as such, hiked a different path than Ginsberg and the Beats. Canadian notions such as law, order and good government take the curious and thoughtful to different places than life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Grant realized that when Canadians uncritically genuflected to the American Beats, they were welcoming the American Trojan Horse into Canada in a more subtle way. There are more ways to be colonized than by mere military and economic pressures. The literary and cultural traditions of the USA (the Beats) have done much to colonize many Canadians, and there have been many Canadian cultural and literary compradors that have facilitated such a process. Grant would have said NO to Ginsberg for the simple reason that Ginsberg was as much a devout and committed American, like a Noam Chomsky, as the very Americans he howled against and opposed. Fifth, Grant was a much more sophisticated thinker than Ginsberg, and there is no doubt that Lament for a Nation is a more substantive work than Howl. The level of political and philosophical depth in Lament opens up vistas of thought that are just not there in Ginsberg and Howl. Howl never rises much beyond rant and reaction, and, sadly so, Ginsberg’s intellectual world tends to polarize between the evil, nasty power elite and the good, pure and loveable anarchist, beat and protest type. It is a simplistic interpretation of reality that Grant was much too wise to bow his uncritical head to. He saw too much, and saw too far, to worship at such a shrine and to such reactionary priests; and he urged Canadians not to turn to such a comic-book view of the world. In sum, Ginsberg and Grant, at first glance, seem to have much in common, but, on deeper and further inspection, have little in common. Both protest against many of the same things. Both agree on many of the things that must be opposed. But, by day’s end, the American Beat anarchism of Ginsberg is quite different from the Canadian High Tory vision of George Grant. It is by understanding such differences that we can see why and how the American and Canadian traditions create and make for different national outlooks. It is somewhat sad and tragic when Canadians know more about American models (and take their leads from such fashions) than they do from their own kith and kind. RD [Proofreader's note: this article was edited for spelling and typos on March 27, 2005]