By Josh Noem
As many of you know, the Killers are coming to town Sept. 24. I won't be going, but I've come to a new appreciation of the band.
When I heard the lyrics to "Human" a few months ago, the words stuck in my craw, so to speak, as good lyrics are meant to do. Chew on this for a while:
Pay my respects to grace and virtue?
Send my condolences to good?
Give my regards to soul and romance,?
They always did the best they could?
And so long to devotion?
You taught me everything I know?
Wave goodbye?
Wish me well...?
You've gotta let me go
I've spent the better part of my adult academic career studying grace and virtue and trying to discover and follow the good. Who does this clown think he is to say he doesn't need them?
The refrain asked me to pause and think a moment before discarding the catchy tune as a post-modern, nihilistic "eat, drink and be merry" rave hook:
Are we human
Or are we dancer?
My sign is vital
My hands are cold
And I'm on my knees
Looking for the answer
Are we human
Or are we dancer?
Okay, so he's saying that we're either human or "dancer." I'll grant him some poetic license because he says he's earnestly looking for an answer. Because I can't say that I'm not human (an obvious contradiction, even for a nihilist). I guess I'll have say that I'm not "dancer," according to his logic. Fine, but where does that leave me?
I'm not dancer, so the question asks me if I truly am something more - if I'm fully human. And, to lead singer Brandon Flowers' argument in this song, that apparently means that I've moved beyond grace, virtue, good, soul, romance and devotion.
I'm thinking, "Honey, if that ain't enough, I don't want to be human." (For full effect, you have to imagine the Queen Latifah side of me saying that.)
What is there beyond these values, these conventions? Is there something "more" to reality than these worn-out social norms, these dusty words?
In my experience, there is. I've had transcendent experiences that have put me in touch with a deeper reality than my normal, daily, dusty experience. For one, this summer I sat beside a clear South Dakota mountain lake under a clear South Dakota night sky and counted satellites and traced the Milky Way. There is no way someone sitting next to me could fail to experience transcendence. I don't care if he is Fred Nietzsche.
I felt connected, part of a whole. I felt small, to be sure, but not insignificant. I felt like everything was as it is supposed to be. I felt like I was swimming in reality, like it was thick around me, heavy and dark and inescapable and wise.
I know that I am at my best when I am in touch with the transcendent, when I am able to take a dip into that deeper reality on a regular basis. It keeps me grounded and connected to myself and others; it gives me perspective and patience. In moments like these, I feel fully human.
Flowers would agree, I think. I read that he took the "dancer" line from a quote by Hunter S. Thompson, the hyperbolic, antagonistic journalist. Thompson said (and I'm quoting from a ringtones Web page, so don't hold me to it), "America is raising a generation of dancers."
In Thompson's view, American youth are soft-minded conformists, willing to go through whatever steps that go with the music of the day. I've had that experience, too - when weeks go by without an original thought, when nights pass with an unending reel of Hollywood new releases. In moments like these, I feel like a marionette, thoughtlessly dancing around in an amusing but lifeless charade of distraction, entertainment and consumerist desire.
So, it is a fair question: Are we human, or are we dancer? It makes you think, right? My question for Flowers would be: How can we remain human? If we all have moments of insight into a deeper, transcendent reality from time to time, how can we stay in touch with that reality?
In my experience, without a discipline of some sort, I'm resigned to dancing through life until a transcendent moment falls in my lap. Then I say, "Aha! That's right - this is how it is supposed to be!" After a day or two, that insight wears off and I'm dancing around again.
What is required is some kind of spiritual discipline. After all, we are talking about the realm of the transcendent, of the spirit - it is certainly not the realm of the human. And if it is the realm of the spirit, I would argue that it is the realm of the divine. If you would say that you don't believe in God because it is childish to think there is a very large old man with a very large beard sitting on top of a cloud watching every move you make, I would agree with you. I don't believe in that fairytale, either.
I do believe in a God that is transcendence and spirit, that grounds reality. I believe that the part of the world that seems deepest and real is God. I believe this because I can find no other explanation for my experience of the transcendent and because billions before me, through thousands of generations, have staked their lives on the same conviction and have found happiness. Even amid pain and suffering.
So, how do we stay connected to this transcendent spirit, to God? Let's go back to those dusty old conventions and social norms: grace, virtue, good, soul, romance and devotion. In and of themselves, these values are limited and tired and small. They are like an oasis in the desert. We are traveling through, in a quest for the transcendent and these values support our journey.
If we set up permanent camp at these watering holes, we'll run out of water. And who wants to live in the desert - I want to live in Istanbul, man! Baklava! Belly dancers!
(I plead total ignorance, having never been to Istanbul - or Constantinople, if you prefer - and have no idea if they have baklava or belly dancers. When I think of crossing a desert, though, I think of ending up there for some reason. And I would expect to be served baklava by belly dancers after making such an arduous journey. But that's just me.)
We seek these values out like an oasis and we take a dip in their waters - they keep us in touch with the real. So, I disagree with you, Mr. Flowers. I can say goodbye to grace and virtue, but only insofar as they are not final destinations.
I continue to seek the spiritual disciplines that keep me grounded in that deepest part of reality, the transcendent God in whom we are swimming.
Josh Noem works in the Office of Campus Ministry.
