Slaying Gods

Last night I had the pleasure of meeting a man I've respected for many years, a man whom I've often thought of as a literary hero, as someone who has become greater than I might ever be. And yet, the moment he walked out on stage to greet the raptured and boisterous audience to discuss his epic work American Gods,* Neil Gaiman set up the downfall of his own godhood.

That sounds rather bizarre, I know, but give me a moment to explain.**

At one point during the evening, Neil told the story of how he'd created a goddess. She'd been lifted from the pages of his work and given life in the real world. While similar to two goddesses from Russian mythology, he'd added a third to American Gods because the story needed another. Since that time, many in the world have come to accept and verify this goddess, as if Neil had just referenced a deity from traditional stories. Wikipedia now cites this goddess as real, without mention of American Gods or Neil, her creator. In essence, he created a god.

We've done the same thing, but with real people, turning them into the gods of our own imagining. We have created our own mythology of fame, and we don't even realize what we've done.

We live in a world filled with movie stars and singers, writers and athletes. It is a world in which the internet facilitates our hero-worship. We are sometimes able to touch these Gods Among Men, even if only for a brief second. And so we've created the cult of celebrity, and we have a gigantic pantheon of gods we worship.

I've often derided this worldly religion of celebrity worship while secretly participating in it like everyone else. But as I experience more in life, as I meet these otherworldly creatures I admire to the point of adoration, I'm realizing they are not gods. They are men who may be great, but they are still very much human.

So last night as I sat in the audience, a man I've practically hero-worshipped for years walked onto the stage. Someone at the top of the literary world, a person who befriends others in the Olympus of celebrity and so doesn't need to fraternize with the unclean masses. Intellectually I knew different, but I still believed it.

Then two years and a half years ago, still very new to Twitter, I stumbled upon @neilhimself's feed. I eagerly followed and sent him an @reply expressing my delight. To my shock, a few minutes later I got an email saying that I was now being followed by none other than Neil Gaiman.

I can't remember exactly how I reacted, though skipping giddily around the room wouldn't be too far from how I felt. I knew that I was near to greatness, yet I feared saying or doing anything to alert Neil to the fact that he was probably following me by accident. Still, that little insignificant thing made me feel validated, like it had given me worth I wouldn't otherwise have. It was unconscious, yes, but it was there, and it influenced my interactions with him and others in this cult of celebrity.

Over the years I only sent him DMs on a few occasions, still fearful that I wasn't part of the celebrity club to which he belonged. Those times I did centered on a little bookstore I'd opened and which was in dire need of help. With 1.5 million followers, a simple RT from him could do more to bring needed attention to my little shop around the corner than anything I could do on my own.

And so the god reached down and helped me, even though it probably didn't mean much to him at the time. He was passing on a message, donating a signed book to an auction to help a bookstore, but the impact of those small actions made it possible for the store to struggle on a bit longer,*** and it gave me the chance to add more godliness to his character, at least in my eyes.

Then came last night, and he unknowingly slew the god in himself. I call it that, because for so long I've thought him more than a simple man. To see a man—albeit a humorous and charismatic one—joke around, discuss a book, talk about mistakes and challenges he's gone through . . . well, I realized that while he is great, he is not better than me. Not in the basic sense that I am human, that we both are.

I write this partly to explain to myself what I've been doing all these years, not just with him, but with so many other celebrities and geniuses who've become gods in my mind. While it may not seem bad to do so—we almost all do it—I never realized the inherent problem with such thoughts. When we turn men into gods, we are in danger of diminishing ourselves.

You see, humanity is flawed. We can be brilliant at times and downright stupid at others, but none of us possess the perfection required for godhood. To give that power of deity to a man implies that we are less than him, we are not worth as much as he is. And so we make ourselves mere humans, unworthy to touch their snot-riddled tissues. (Gross analogy, I know, but true.)

What I realized in that moment was that, though I am flawed in so many ways, so is he. He has more experience and has achieved a level of success I will most likely never know, but he is an equal in that he is human and I am human, as were the rest of the individuals in the building that night. Instead of being a subordinate, I'd become a peer.

And so I enjoyed the show, laughing at his and Patton Oswalt's rather hilarious jokes, smiling at the stories he shared, and generally having a good time. My hero had become human, and it made the experience all the more fun. You can't have a casual conversation with a god, can't laugh with them or joke about mistakes you've both made. But you can with another man. 

One great thing about social networking is the ability we have to slay these gods of our invention. We can see that these celebrities are just like us, with different lives but still very much human. We can interact with them and treat them like they are a friend. I've noticed a good share of comments from people on Twitter who noticed that I got a response from Neil or some other literary celeb. Much of the time, when an average someone gets a response or is retweeted by one of the celeb gods, you can see the flurry of "He actually responded to you! That's so cool!" comments flittering about the Twitterverse. At first it made me laugh, but thinking on it now, I can see just how much we've made these people into more than us. It makes me sad.

While he may no longer be a god, Neil Gaiman is still a man I respect and admire, and someone whose help I deeply appreciate. Last night I was able to give him a token of my thanks, though it had lost the edge of an offering it might have had earlier that day.

It's an advance reader copy of The Graveyard Book, which I've had for three years now and couldn't decide what to do with it. It is fairly worn from numerous readings by myself and others. It is one of my favorite books and as such had a special value to me. (I'm thinking this just added to the hero-worship that later developed.) Because of that I couldn't throw it away, nor was it in good enough condition that it would be valuable as a collectible. 

Then I realized I could turn it into a piece of altered book art. I've been long been fascinated with the concept, and so I finally had the impetus to try it out. I really like how it turned out, so I was happy that I could give it to Neil in person and thank him for those bits of help he gave me and my bookstore. I'm happy I was able to do that, because I'm a big believer in thanking men and women who offer me help, even if it seems small to them.****

And so I close this much-too-long post by saying I'm glad I went last night, not only for the entertainment or the chance to see someone I admire, but for the thought that struck me as Neil discussed the gods he'd created in American Gods: I much prefer respecting men to worshipping gods. That way, I retain my value while admiring theirs. I'm finally able to lay to rest the idea that I am inferior to anyone, whether a man or a god of my own creating.

*Disclaimer: I haven't yet had the pleasure to read American Gods, though it's something I will be fixing quite soon. So these thoughts are based on last night's discussion of the book and my thoughts in general.
**Erm, sorry. That was quite a few moments. I really need to work on brevity.
***The store has been gone for six months now.
****On that note, thanks, Cat, for helping me out last night. I'm glad you believed the Not-A-Pizza was also Not-A-Bomb.
General note: I use the masculine "man" as a gender neutral term. Don't hate me; it's the way our language works.