Today is the 41st anniversary of the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., on April 4, 1968 in Memphis, Tennessee. April 4th is associated with two of King's most memorable speeches. One of them was actually given on April 3rd--the night before he was assassinated, in which he seemingly foresaw his death. The other was given on April 4, 1967, in which he spoke out forcefully against the Vietnam War, against American imperialism, and against war in general. I want to remember both those speeches today, beginning with his last speech.
There is, inevitably, with King, an extreme tendency to simplify him, to make him fit into some preconstructed framework. Some are laughably silly. Some are much more sophisticated. But we need to remember that what made him great was the fact that he, as an American, faced one of our greatest historical challenges, and he did not turn away. The greatness came from both the challenge, and from himself. And it consisted in breaking free of the constraints of the past. So any effort to make sense of that greatness must always be cognizant of the fact that it is by necessity partial, and that the very essence of what King was about was drawing on the widest range of resources, to unite the widest range of human aspirations, to create the widest range of future possibilities.
Here, for example, is a clip combining two passages from the speech (along with some film-editors license)--the well-known final passage with its prophetic ring along with another passage, different in tone, that also characteristic of one of his most repeated themes, of how the struggle for freedom, human dignity and justice was inscribed at the core of the American creed, and that those who struggled for their freedom, dignity and justice did so in the name of America, whoever might stand, and whatever might be said against them.
The combination of these two passages creates a diptych which is greater than either of them alone. And these are only two passages from this great speech, which itself framed in the conceit of God giving King the choice of any place and time in which to live, and King choosing exactly his own place and time in history. And this is only one speech.
I want to focus on the beginning of this speech, how it is framed, and two aspects of the significance of this framing. After a brief bit of self-depricating banter, the speech begins in earnest:
Something is happening in Memphis; something is happening in our world. And you know, if I were standing at the beginning of time, with the possibility of taking a kind of general and panoramic view of the whole of human history up to now, and the Almighty said to me, "Martin Luther King, which age would you like to live in?" I would take my mental flight by Egypt and I would watch God's children in their magnificent trek from the dark dungeons of Egypt through, or rather across the Red Sea, through the wilderness on toward the promised land. And in spite of its magnificence, I wouldn't stop there.
I would move on by Greece and take my mind to Mount Olympus. And I would see Plato, Aristotle, Socrates, Euripides and Aristophanes assembled around the Parthenon. And I would watch them around the Parthenon as they discussed the great and eternal issues of reality. But I wouldn't stop there.
I would go on, even to the great heyday of the Roman Empire. And I would see developments around there, through various emperors and leaders. But I wouldn't stop there.
I would even come up to the day of the Renaissance, and get a quick picture of all that the Renaissance did for the cultural and aesthetic life of man. But I wouldn't stop there.
I would even go by the way that the man for whom I am named had his habitat. And I would watch Martin Luther as he tacked his ninety-five theses on the door at the church of Wittenberg. But I wouldn't stop there.
I would come on up even to 1863, and watch a vacillating President by the name of Abraham Lincoln finally come to the conclusion that he had to sign the Emancipation Proclamation. But I wouldn't stop there.
I would even come up to the early thirties, and see a man grappling with the problems of the bankruptcy of his nation. And come with an eloquent cry that we have nothing to fear but "fear itself." But I wouldn't stop there.
Strangely enough, I would turn to the Almighty, and say, "If you allow me to live just a few years in the second half of the 20th century, I will be happy."
Now that's a strange statement to make, because the world is all messed up. The nation is sick. Trouble is in the land; confusion all around. That's a strange statement.
But I know, somehow, that only when it is dark enough can you see the stars. And I see God working in this period of the twentieth century in a way that men, in some strange way, are responding.
What I want to take note of here, first of all, is that King is using a trope most commonly used by conservatives: that one is always better off simply chosing whatever is one's lot in life. Rebellion is bad: acceptance is good. Indeed, King can even be seen as consciously echoing Hegel (whose works he had studied as a young man) in his world-historical sweep. It's also, of course, theologically conservative trope as well.
But King takes that trope, and shows that it doesn't have to be conservative at all. Indeed, the reason he choses his own time is not because it is the most illustrious, majestic time in history, but because it is a time of struggle, "because the world is all messed up. The nation is sick. Trouble is in the land; confusion all around" because "only when it is dark enough can you see the stars."
And here's the second point I wanted to make--that in doing so King echoed the thoughts of Tom Paine, "If there be trouble let it be in my time so that my children may know peace." This sentiment then comes to fruition in the final passage of the speech, when King says:
Well, I don't know what will happen now. We've got some difficult days ahead. But it really doesn't matter with me now, because I've been to the mountaintop.
And I don't mind. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will. And He's allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I've looked over. And I've seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land!
And so I'm happy, tonight.
I'm not worried about anything.
I'm not fearing any man!
Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord!!
And this, then, is most important message of this speech for me: that whatever struggles, whatever hardships we face we should willingly embrace as an opportunity to make it possible for our children and our children's children to live in the Promised Land.
Which is why I don't believe in sugar-coating anything. We do not root out evil by ignoring it, by pretending it isn't there. We only leave it to grow to trouble future generations. I don't play that. That's not how Martin Luther King lived. And it's not how he died. And that's a good enough reason for me to do the same.
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