The Genius Of “The Crucible”

The Crucible Poster

On the 22nd of January 1954, Arthur Miller‘s play “The Crucible” premiered at the Martin Beck theatre in New York City. Ostensibly, the piece was a dramatisation of the infamous Salem Witch Trials, and uses the names of actual people from historical records. It’s a rip-roaring work, filled with intense human drama; unrequited love, adultery, religious fervour and blatant, brutal injustice, all set against the haunting backdrop of 17th-century Massachusetts.

However, the piece also served as a brilliant, abstract condemnation of the paranoia of the McCarthy-era US. Miller himself was brought before the House Committee on Un-American Activities, the Joseph McCarthy-led group which investigated alleged ties to the Communist party. The US’ fear of “Reds Under The Bed” had generated the preposterous idea that Communism could somehow attack and assimilate the culture from within. The retaliatory actions that this generated seemed to exclude few. Luminaries such as Charlie Chaplin, Burgess Meredith and Orson Welles were investigated and encouraged to give up any contemporaries with alleged Commie leanings.

As the McCarthy Committee turned into little more than a witchhunt, Miller decided to write a play that would demonstrate the futility and injustice of such investigations – a play about the most famous Witchhunt ever, the Salem Trials.

In the play, the instigator of the trouble is Abigail Williams. A young teenager, she is infatuated with her married neighbour, John Proctor. Though they have had an affair in the past, Proctor

Joseph McCarthy

has realised the error of his ways and now wants nothing to do with the petulant girl. When Abigail and her friends are seen taking part in strange activities in the woods near the village, fears of witchcraft spread through the village. Abigail and her friends soon discover, however, that they can avoid repercussions by claiming they have been misled, and now want Jesus back in their hearts. They also discover that they can accuse others of consorting with the devil, destroying their lives and reputations without the need for any physical evidence whatsoever. The story concludes with a series of hangings, as the town becomes lost utterly to hysteria.

Though the story was written over a century ago, and created as a reaction to a contemporary event, it still resonates today. Miller’s genius was to create a work that was hugely critical of the injustices he saw around him, but also cut to the core of why those injustices become manifest at all in human nature. Abigail is a truly frightening creation; her adolescent fears and selfishness are loosed on society, respected because they are dressed up in the vernacular of piety. Her adept use of religious language allows her to abdicate responsibility for her childish actions; “I am but God’s finger, John”.

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Abigail’s actions don’t even represent some form of anarchic assault on democracy; rather, they are founded completely in her own vindictive nature. She’s the ultimate spoilt brat, a Jerry Springer horror who gets her way no matter what. With this character, Miller exposes the true nature of so much religious fervour and moral hyperbole – it’s almost all a scam, driven by fear and personal desires. Abigail’s youthful vacillations are even more destructive than those of the murderous children in Golding’s “Lord Of The Flies“, because she has managed to infect elders and social pillars with her vitriol. Trial By Jury, Habeus Corpus, all standard democratic legal procedure goes out the window because of  a horny teenager.

The story also illuminates beautifully the worldview of people in the 17th Century. In those days, there was little difference between the real world and that of the supernatural. Indeed, the veil between the two could fall away regularly. Demons like those of Hieronymus Bosch stalked the Earth, seeking souls to steal away. We seem to have come a long way since then; and yet, if you take a look at modern trends, such as that of self-help books like “The Secret“, we see ideas such as “The Law Of Attraction” – which is arguably just as real as any demons or angels. And yet, the fact remains that these avatars, these demons and intangible powers have yet consistent real-world effects in terms of how they are used and interpreted by people. Abigail uses imaginary demons to get John Proctor. Joseph McCarthy used them to attack a supposed Communist plot. Hunter S. Thompson used imaginary demons (chasing him across the Nevada desert) to illustrate his own nihilistic American Dream. The Bush Administration used imaginary demons (in the form of Weapons of Mass Destruction) to justify a war that continues today.

Miller seems to be asking us: In three centuries, have we really come that far?

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In this scene from the excellent 1996 film version, John Proctor, played by Daniel Day-Lewis, must decide whether or not to sign his name to a confession of witchcraft:

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This video of  the always-brilliant Stephen Colbert shows the reality behind many people’s religious bluster and their insistence on keeping religion a part of business, law and education:

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Why Constraint Is Good

The amount of information available to us on the Internet is limitless,but how often do we actually take a look at a totally random site? When do we ever go on a trawl through hundreds of disparate pages, unless it’s for the purposes of research? On the other hand, sites like StumbleUpon and Digg are hugely popular, and becoming moreso.

Why are these filtration sites so popular? Don’t they somehow fly in the face of the random beauty of the Internet? Well, maybe from a technological perspective. But true chaos is not generally desirable to the human experience. We enjoy being held back, and it works in our favour.

Illustrations are readily evident in the creative arts. For example, the first Matrix film was a hugely ambitious project that drew in discrete elements of Manga, existentialist philosophy, martial arts, technology etc. It should have been a total mess. It wasn’t. The second and third Matrix films, however, used the exact same elements – and were total messes ( Come on, what the hell what going on in the third one?). The difference? Personally, I think it may have been the lack of constraints on the directors (the Wachowski brothers) after the monumental success of the first film. With their debut, they were taking a huge gamble and absolutely had to at least make it a little audience-friendly to guarantee box office returns. After that, Warner Bros said, “Hey guys, do whatever you want.” And the Wachowskis indulged, throwing everything and the kitchen sink into the sequels. Filmmaking with no restraints resulted in films that made no sense.

“Donnie Darko” is one of the most beautiful, rich films I’ve seen. The director, Richard Kelly was given a much bigger canvas and budget to make his second film, based on Donnie’s success. The result was “Southland Tales“, a free-jazz-on-film film that makes very little sense and, to my mind at least, is intensely boring.

Indeed, constraint is a wonderful thing when applied properly. It gives you something to prove, something to rail against.

Every self-help book worth its salt tells the reader that they absolutely must set out their goals. This may be via a process of writing them down, of intensive visualization, of telling your friends and family of your deadlines so that you will adhere to them. The common element with every goal that is set is that is immediately enforces a set of constraints. It focuses the mind like a laser, pushing out other, irrelevant thoughts. If you have one thing to do, and one thing only, the chances are that you will do it.

Constraint often equates with brevity, which can be a wonderful tool for effectively conveying information. Dan Brown’s “The Da Vinci Code“, which was an international publishing phenomenon, was notable for its concise chapters. Readers loved that; it made for a fast-paced read, which, though it heavy with religious and historical symbolism, was sectioned into easily-digested portions. One of my favourite books, The Lucifer Principle, does the same with an elaborate theory on the relationship between science and religion.

I think that’s why someone like Kurt Cobain or Bob Dylan will always be more appealing to the masses than guitar virtuosos like Steve Vai or Joe Satriani. Cobain and Dylan were and are much more restrained in terms of their musical ability, and that can be a good thing. There’s a scene in the Nirvana film “Live, Tonight, Sold Out!” where a music journalist described Nirvana’s music as being like nursery rhymes that you can’t get out of your head. I always thought that was very insightful; for example, “Come As You Are” is based on a slow riff that consists of 5 notes. Vai or Satriani, on the other hand, could easily play 10 notes per second on one of their tracks. Which is a fantastic ability, but complexity doesn’t necessarily mean quality. And it’s those nursery-rhyme, 5-note melodies that invariably seep into public consciousness and convey their message most effectively. I guess that’s why it’s ‘popular’ music.

I suppose the ideal is to have all of these creative tools at one’s disposal, but to still be able to maintain that popular sensibility when you want to use it. A great example of one such musician is Jeff Buckley; his technical abilities were second to none, but he was consistently able to distill them down to something subtle, refined and accessible.

And that’s a difficult thing to do, because having too many options can be crippling. It goes against the classical idea that more choice equates to more freedom, which equates to more happiness – but there it is. In his book “The Paradox Of Choice“, author Barry Schwartz argues ‘why the abundance of choice in modern society is actually making us miserable’. He says that it actually creates a state of paralysis; that having too many things to choose from makes it very difficult to actually make a choice. Not only that, but even if you do make a choice, and a good one at that, but the idea that you could have made a better decision in the first place can make you regretful.

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Here is Schwartz’ short lecture from the famous TedTalks series:

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Schwartz makes the example of clothing; when he was younger, buying a pair of jeans was simple. You went into the store and you bought the one type of jeans that was on the rack. And you were happy with them, because there was no other choice to make. Today, you go to buy a pair of jeans and are confronted with hundreds of varieties; faded, stone-washed, designer, boot cut, torn, brand-label etc etc. So while you may find a pair that fits and looks pretty good, the unrealised potentiality of choice still hangs over you. And if you do happen to find something – anything – wrong with those jeans, it can only be your fault. Why? Because the choice was all yours.

This may seem trivial, but if you expand that phenomenon across millions of different products, combined with the incessant psychic pummeling of advertising (which tells us explicitly that we will be unhappy if we make the wrong choice), we can imagine the rate of misery generated growing exponentially. We are told that we need the products to be content; then the range of choice makes contentment, even with the product, impossible anyway.

Henry Ford said about his cars, “You can have it in any colour, as long as it’s black”. And that was coming from one of the most successful industrialists of the twentieth century. That’s not to say that “the good old days” of one choice only were perfect. But having one choice certainly makes things a lot simpler, and seems to promote contentment. Even if that one choice is far from ideal, it still gives the chooser something to complain about and fight against; a goal of sorts. But limitless choice means that the burden of responsibility is totally on the shoulders of the chooser. There is no constraint, the individual becomes a veritable island of personal responsibility – and that can lead to a great deal of misery.