And, Love One Another
Whereas the first two songs on Reflektor that engage ethics dealt with issues of social alienation, the final two tackle objectification. The shortest song on the album and, aside from “Supersymmetry” the most musically divergent, “Flashbulb Eyes,” pursues one, simple question, “What if the camera really do take your soul?” The song, of course, plays on the classic primitive fear that since cameras imprint the human image they must steal the subject’s soul. On the surface we laugh at the possibility, but given the pervasiveness of cameras today and the way some of these photos (and the taking of them) have destroyed people, maybe it isn’t too far fetched. The metaphor of “flashbulb eyes” indicates how far the singer believes the phenomenon has gone. The camera, in essence, has moved from an object we use and become a part of us. As we experience life in an increasingly social media culture, millions armed with cameras see the world through the next selfie or pic they can share with their followers and friends. In a sense, we have all become paprazzi and the entire world is filled with celebrities waiting to be captured in a way that nurtures our own sense of celebrity. The posture of the subject in the song; however, seems to be one of resignation:
“You know I’ve got nothing to hide
You know I got nothing
No I got, nothing”
Notice how the subject dissolves as the verse continues. At first s/he has nothing to hide, but soon s/he has nothing at all and may have dissolved into nothing. Is this where we find ourselves in a reflective age? So easily accepting of our own social objectification? If this is the case, who are we? If we with our “flashbulb eyes” seek to objectify others to construct an identity, where is the essential self? Does identity become self-creation through using others? If so, have we then become “nothing?” The positive ethical witness of “flashbulb eyes” is to beware how we see one another. When we encounter another person, do we frame them in a way that makes them serve our ends? Or, do we receive them as our “neighbor” so that we might “love one another”?
The theme of objectification continues in “Porno.” In the song we find ourselves in the midst of a lover’s squabble. As often happens in relationships, the images that the singer and his lover have created of one another have been shattered (“I thought I knew you, You thought you knew me”) because of something said or done. The relationship is genuinely threatened (“Before the break up comes the silence”) and the two stand before one another with their masks removed; hers by removing her makeup and his in his shattered image. Will they find a way through their impasse?
The singer commits himself to remaining with his shattered lover in the song (“You can cry. I won’t go. You can scream. I won’t go.”). His objectification of her has been shattered, the singer experiences her in her brokenness and subjectivity, and he commits himself to her even in his equally shattered state. He will not objectify her as other “little boys” have done and would do in the situation. He will not run like “every man that you know.” The singer acknowleges that the root of objectification comes from a need to protect ourselves psychologically. Sometimes we deal with the past by projecting an alternate way of being in the world that protects us from past pain. We’ve all seen this play itself out psychologically. It is the person who was sexually abused by a parent and now finds validation in relationships through promiscuity. It is the person who experienced rejection as a child and later in life projects an image of confidence and success while inside they have no real sense of their personal value.
The singer wants to break through these supposedly safe forms of objectification. He says, “I’ve got to find you before the line is lost.” There is a confession here that each has lied to the other in the relationship by projecting a vision of one another that they loved because of the fear of truly knowing one another. The singer remains committed to seeing through the pain caused by the shattering of these false images of one another (“You say, I’m over it, But I know”). He desires to finally be known and to know the genuine otherness of the person he loves (“If I don’t know what I know, It can be so little that we know.”), eventually affirming, “I’m not over it.”
But at the end of the song we are faced with the possibility that the entire scene of reconciliation in the song is also an objectification. The signer projects a penitent image and demonstrates commitment in words, but is he genuine? Is his appeal at the end of the day any better than the “little boys with their porno” who objectify women into an image that satisfies their own immediate desires? Are his words in the song anything more than a selfish projection of himself as enduringly faithful when he may not have been that, in turn, objectifies her into the one who doesn’t truly value herself, feels pity for him and receives him back? Thus, the song ends, “Wait,” and it could have an exclamation point. In a pronouncement of her value as a person and as a refusal to remain his object, she turns and walks away. This final word stands in judgment on the many ways in our relationships that we do not appreciate the otherness of people, but rather create images of them that suit our desires. Idolatry of this sort is powerful, which is why I believe Scripture warns against it so strongly. For both God and people can become idols, and in either case it throws the cosmos out of balance.
Pornography (“Porno”) is the most basic and relatable medium for the objectification of persons. Whether it is a video or steamy romance novel, each is a tool that reduces the beauty of another person, in all of his or her mystery and complexity, into an image that suits our desires. Arcade Fire uses the base example of pornography to show that in a reflective age we objectify everyone as a means to fulfill our desire for celebrity, success, excess or myriad other ends. What’s ironic is that in the process we objectify ourselves because are projecting an alternate self-identity that fits the object we create in the other. To use the example of pornography, when we make someone an object of our sexual desire, we immediately and necessarily narrow ourselves into a sexual object.
Something is wrong with us (“Makes me feel like something’s wrong with me”). We continually trade love for something far less (“on and on and on we go”) particularly in the context of male-female relationships. Our selfishness (“And the boys learn some selfish s*** until the girl won’t put up with it”) distorts the possibility for genuine love, and what we call “love” actually destroys those whom we claim to love to the point that they say, “love is real, like a disease.” The implicit call in “Porno” is to combat the tendency in a reflective age to perpetuate these harmful relational structures. The change begins with having the courage to recognize the way people are devalued, distorted and ultimately destroyed in a climate where individuality is not prized. The call is to be willing to assert your subjectivity and otherness in a culture of “normals.” This, of course, brings us back to Kierkegaard’s existentialism manifest in the “Knight of Faith” who, like Abraham in the story of Isaac, trusts God as the ground and source of his identity to the degree that he nearly sacrifices his son. The individual who acts in accord with faith overcomes the Reflektor culture and brings creativity, uniqueness, and genuine humanity to the forefront and both overcomes and revolutionizes the world.