Bruce Springsteen and the Kingdom of Heaven

Examining Bruce Springsteen's artistic method of hope.

The call of the artist to the world, I believe, is to bring us hope. This isn't to say that the artist cannot or should not write or paint or sing stories of the pain of life. If anything, art should have that. It's not that we need "positive" art that refuses to acknowledge the existence of darkness, or tries to paint a veneer over it, pretending it's all going to be okay and terrible things do not happen. That has the opposite effect, actually, of bringing hope.

Rather, artists are called to inspire our imagination in a way that lets us see beyond the suffering and the darkness and the longing we all experience into the light; into hope; into the brightness coming, just beyond the horizon, if we would care to look.

In fact, the role of the artist is to give us eyes to see.

This is why I find Bruce Springsteen such an inspiring artist. Especially his 70s, 80s and 90s work, when he was mostly able to, somehow, do his art in a way where it existed above his politics. It was never a secret that Springsteen leaned left, but he did so in such a compelling way: singing songs of the everyday blue-collar worker and their complicated troubles, Vietnam vets, or appealing to the human experience. His songs surpassed politics and appealed to the universal longing of humanity, with the American Dream weaved in as a type of metaphor to explain our yearning for a brighter tomorrow. It seems as if it was fueled by a particular brand of humanism that I think comes out so beautifully in one my favorite Springsteen songs, Human Touch.

"You can wait on your blessings darling... I ain't looking for prayers or pity... I just want someone to talk to, and a little of that human touch."

And then, right before his guitar solo, Springsteen croons out:

"We're all riders on this train!"

The warm and inviting synths, reverb drums (but mixed with just a little less reverb than the 80s, to give it a more natural sound), telecaster guitar solo, and rock 'n roll gruff of Springsteen's voice, with these type of lyrics, all collide in what is a peak microcosm of the early 90s and its Western optimism.

Meeting the Kingdom of Heaven in the human touch

In many ways, this song of Springsteen’s serves as a picture of both what was right and what was wrong in the 90s—or what went wrong later that I think help explains our present world.

I have very comforting memories of this song. It came out in 1992, but I recall being a teenager in 1993 / 94 and watching the music video on afternoon TV after a day of high school. They would play it regularly, and I never thought much of the video but loved the song. It evoked feelings in me for love. I dreamed of the girl I would one day spend my life with, who would always be there, and I always for her, to give each other comfort in this confusing world. Then I would go and try and write my own music in my bedroom.

But looking back, I have to admit, I was exceptionally privileged to grow up in this time in South Africa. I was a teenager and pretty carefree, although I naturally had my own internal doubts and struggles and family issues. But the world was changing. The Berlin Wall had fallen just a few years prior (1989), the Soviet Union fell in 1991, and Apartheid was going to officially end in 1994. Political scientist, Francis Fukuyama famously declared it was “The End of History”. Liberal democracy was winning almost everywhere and it was only a matter of time before the whole world would be enveloped in it. I didn't know it at the time, of course, but investment into South Africa was going to be huge in the coming years. It was a time of tremendous optimism, at least it seemed that way. The New South Africa—the beautiful "Rainbow Nation"—was being birthed, a testament to the possibility of a one-day united humanity.

South Africa was the darling of the victory of 90s humanism encapsulated in liberal democracy. Springsteen's song says it so poignantly: that all we need is each other; just a little of that human touch. All we've got to do is believe in the dream and believe in each other—in the human spirit that is capable of overcoming our challenges. The video presents us with people of different ages wearing different garb from different cultures. By the time Springsteen gets to the line, "We're all riders on this train!" you want to say, "Yes! We just need to put our differences aside! We need to realize we all share the same space and we’re all human! All we need to do is work together!"

This is a massively compelling narrative that animated so much of the optimism of the 90s. It's full of a certain kind of spirit I can get behind—that human beings are special and inherently valuable, and we have more potential than we can ever imagine.

In many ways, this type of humanism is, I believe, an echo of the Kingdom of Heaven encapsulated in the gospel story: where God became a man and showed that the future is human. The book of Revelation brings the story to its climax. Here we see Jesus promising a better, brighter “end of history” where Babylon will finally fall and humanity will flourish beyond our dreams. Here we see all the things that have kept humanity chained and bound—whether it be our propensity to violence and sin, or even spiritual powers, however they may look—have been, and will be, destroyed. Death will meet its own death and be thrown into the Lake of Fire (Revelation 20:14).

I think the end of Apartheid and fall of the Berlin Wall are evidence that the Holy Spirit works in this world. The book of Revelation speaks of Beasts and anti-Christs being destroyed—oppressive political and religious systems—and it carries a message of hope that these things rise but will always fall, and that the future is on a trajectory toward their ultimate annihilation. The picture given in the Christian story has always been a hopeful one. It's the dream of every nation, tribe and tongue finding union with God and with each other. Who can not be filled with hope when looking at promise like this:

"The LORD of hosts will make for all peoples a feast of rich food, a feast of well-aged wines, of rich food filled with marrow, of well-aged wines strained clear.

"And he will destroy on this mountain the shroud that is cast over all peoples, the sheet that is spread over all nations; he will swallow up death forever." (Isaiah 25:6.)

It is, in fact, the humanist dream. The early 90s was, I think, a special time in the progression toward this dream. We were seeing nations open their borders and work towards a future of peace for all mankind. And people honestly believed we could achieve it. So did Springsteen. And the way he presents it in his songcraft, through acknowledging the pain we all feel, the longings we all experience, and yet giving us just a glimpse of hope that this isn’t the end of the story, is a fantastic masterclass in what artists are called to do.

Image © AP. Bruce Springsteen’s American Dream - a yearning for a brighter tomorrow.

The let down

But hidden in Springsteen's optimistic and hopeful longing is the sting. He says in the song he doesn't want miracles and he doesn't want prayer. He just wants that "human touch". He presses it further in the third verse:

Ain't no mercy on the streets of this town

Ain't no bread from heavenly skies

Ain't nobody drawin' wine from this blood

It's just you and me tonight

It’s not just humanism that’s being sung about here, it’s secular humanism. His faith is not placed in God to bring the dream of a flourishing, united humanity to pass. We can’t wait for miracles—for manna from heaven or miracles that will change human blood. We don’t need a divine touch, but a human one. Faith is placed in humanity itself. The video showcasing people from different cultures, some perhaps in religious garb, echoes the secular humanist dream: you can believe in whatever god you want, and worship however you feel. It is all the same god anyway (if God even exists). But we can agree that behind it all—behind our worship—is the human spirit that can rise up and overcome. If we unite, that spirit will take us to Eden.

But yet history shows us, and we are living in this reality today, that that same human spirit needs something more than just a dream to defeat its repeated propensity toward violence and hate and division. Perhaps it’s no coincidence that the 90s was also a time of great renewal in the Church. The Holy Spirit was being ‘rediscovered’. The charismatic renewal movement was coming of age. In the halls of churches and seminaries, a fresh new understanding of the Bible was being presented, one that emphasized the Holy Spirit and his dynamic work in the world. Outside of theology, the renewal movement's effect was seen by a change in how churches worshipped, incorporating freer worship styles, becoming less liturgical and traditional. Perhaps it was because the Boomers were now the leaders of the churches and they incorporated their hippie sensibilities in everything. (See “Jesus Revolution.”) Whatever the multiple reasons for it all, the point is it, too, was laced with a sense of optimism and revival. The missing ingredient for humanism’s dream to come to fulfillment is to acknowledge that our weaknesses need to be overcome by the Holy Spirit filling the human spirit.

The dream of the Christian worldview unpacked in the Bible is that humanity is so special that God, our creator, even longs to dwell with us and has put a plan into action through His Son, a human being, that will bring us into unity with Him—the Triune God who Himself lives in a community of perfect love and then will form us into a people, into a race, of perfect love. But to get there we have to do something that human beings struggle to do: give up our gods and turn our backs on them, and die with Jesus at the cross spiritually in order to live in a new, resurrected life that will bring renewal to the world.

Bruce Springsteen | Far Out Magazine

Springsteen’s method

Springsteen's songcraft goes tremendously far in unpacking a method of art that I believe is absolutely brilliant and essential, and one I think Christian songwriters and writers of literature in particular can emulate. He tells stories of a desperate lover turning to gambling to provide for his girl, and then turning to crime to pay the debts ("Atlantic City"). He embodies patriotism and the American Dream and uses that to criticize the government and notes its severe limits ("Born in the USA"). He reflects on the longings of youth in poverty and the desperation we all feel to become more than who we are today ("Dancing in the Dark"). He pens a risqué and unusual number that describes the deep human need for erotic love ("I'm on Fire"). Yet through all these songs there is always the faint glimmer of hope—a hope animated by his belief in humanity and a brighter future to come one day, which he somehow brings to the fore on almost every album.

That method of the uncovering hope even in the midst of pain speaks to the role the artist plays. The artists gives us eyes to glimpse, even for a moment, beyond the veil.

The only thing I find deficient is that Springsteen's imagination doesn't stretch far enough. We need to believe in humanity's potential, in its future, and the power of unity. But that belief only gets us so far. We need to also believe that God Himself wants to take us beyond into a Kingdom that he promises is the fulfillment of all our dreams, and that he has promised to not leave us as orphans but to fill us indeed even with himself. We'll actually never achieve the unity we so long for unless we leave our old gods behind. For, after all, those gods are also our captors who continue to keep us chained to the worst of our sinful inclinations.

This however requires bravery and a renewed take of what the future can look like. Artists can help us imagine it. This is when artists go further than activism ever could and function above the politics of the day.