Musings on the Wisdom of Charles Ives

Originally published in December of 2008. Click here for a printer-friendly version of this blog post.

Charles Edward Ives (1874-1954) 

Musings on the Wisdom of Charles Ives

For those of you who do not know, my pre-Judaism life was centered around classical music. The composer who exerted the most influence over my musical development was a man by the name of Charles Ives (1874-1954). Ives - the man and his music - will always have a special place in my life.

Ives was not a philosopher by trade, but possessed a philosopher's insight, a poet's perceptiveness, and the gift of wit - much like Mark Twain. I was recently reading some of Ives's writings and came across several ideas I'd like to share with you. 

Before I do that, I highly encourage you to listen to these quick samples of Ives's music, since his music is the context for the ideas that I'm going to focus on in this post:

• Piano Study No.20: I chose this piece because it features a variety of Ives's musical hallmarks: dissonance, syncopation, complex counterpoint, quotations from American folk songs, ragtime, and more. It's not necessary to listen to the whole thing. In fact, if you can't tolerate the beginning, skip to 3:00.
• Holidays Symphony: Movement III - The Fourth of July: This clip is the last 100 seconds (4:08 - 5:48) of one of his early symphonies, written in 1912. In this movement he attempted "to exemplify the excitement a boy feels during the Fourth of July celebrations and the freedom felt on that special day."
• Concord Sonata: Movement III - The Alcotts: In my opinion, this piece is the exemplar of Ivesian beauty. The theme is a variant on the famous "fate knocking" theme of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony. This is the only Ives piece I ever learned how to play on piano. [1]

Ives was unique in many ways. Unlike most other famous composers, Ives did not make his living with his music. Once he came to terms with the fact that his music was decades ahead of its time, Ives ceased holding public performances and decided to go into the life insurance business, keeping his music entirely to himself and his family. He wasn't really "discovered" by the Classical Music World until he was already an old man.

Unlike other artists, Ives did not view his art to be the purpose of life, or larger than life. Rather, as he proclaimed in a letter to his wife, "Music is life," by which he meant, "It comes directly out of the heart of experience of life and thinking about life and living life" [2]. It is this view which makes it possible to view Ives's music as a sort of commentary on life, and his attitude towards music as his philosophy of living.

Here are three ideas from Ives's music/life that I came across and would like to share:

Ives on Musical Appreciation

Ives was always critical of people who have a narrow taste in music. Take, for instance, this excerpt from his memos:

I'd played over the Second Violin Sonata for him - that harmless piece. "After stuff like the that," he said, "if you consider that music, and like it, how can you like Brahms or any good music?" That is a very common attitude among almost all the well-known lilies. They take it for granted - a kind of self-evident axiom, a settled-for-life matter, ipso facto, admitting no argument. The classical is good for all time, the modern is bad for all time - so if you like one, you can't like the other. They don't always limit it to "good and bad." They, in a general way, throw (in their nice little minds) all that fits into their accustomed habits of sound, technique, etc., all together into a classical idiom, good or bad. [3]

What Ives says about music is also true of philosophy. Many people (myself included) have a tendency to accept or reject ideas, not based on their merit or veracity, but on whether they conform to accustomed or "accepted" lines of thought. 

This "evaluation" is made with little analysis or reflection, and is driven by the need to place the idea into a "classical idiom, good or bad." All people care about is, "Is this idea in line with my hashkafah (worldview) or not?" They ask themselves "Is this a good idea or a bad idea?" rather than "Is this a true idea or a false idea?" 

This approach is not the approach of chachamim (the wise), but of "philosophical lilies," as Ives would say - people whose "taste" in philosophy is so narrow and close-minded that they miss out on philosophical truth altogether.

Ives on Musical Beauty

People have a hard time seeing the beauty in Ives's music. According to Ives, this is due to an incorrect notion of beauty:

Beauty in music is too often confused with something that lets the ears lie back in an easy chair. Many sounds that we are used to do not bother us, and for that reason we are inclined to call them beautiful. Frequently, when a new or unfamiliar work is accepted as beautiful on its first hearing, its fundamental quality is one that tends to put the mind to sleep. [4] 

Likewise, I would say: "Truth in ideas is too often confused with something that lets the mind lie back in an easy chair. Many ideas that we are used to do not bother us, and for that reason we are inclined to call them true. Frequently, when a new or unfamiliar idea is accepted as true on its first hearing, its fundamental quality is one that tends to put the mind to sleep."

I also didn't see Ives's music as beautiful at first. But after a lot of hard work and "stretching my ears," as Ives would say, I was finally able to appreciate its beauty, which was unlike anything else I had ever heard. 

This metaphor, I believe, can be extended to the pleasure of learning. Some people are naturally drawn to truth and thinking. They find learning inherently pleasurable from the get-go. I did not. I didn't experience the so-called "joy of learning" until, after years of frustration in yeshiva, I was finally able to begin to experience the beauty of ideas on my own.

Ives on Musical Independence

Ives recognized that his conception of beauty differed greatly from that of his contemporaries. Nevertheless, Ives believed, a man should not be deterred from sticking to his own conception of beauty just because it is not widely held:

A man's life should be a stately march to a sweet but unheard music, and when to his fellows it shall seem irregular and inharmonious, he will only be stepping to a livelier measure, or his nicer ear hurry him into a thousand symphonies and concordant variations. There will be no halt ever, but at most a marching on his post, on such a pause as is richer than any sound, when the melody runs into such depth and wildness as to be no longer heard, but implicitly consented to with the whole life and being. [5] 

This brings to mind the parting words of Socrates to Crito:

But why, my dear Crito, should we care about the opinion of the many? ... We must not regard what the many say of us: but what he, the one man who has understanding of just and unjust, will say, and what the truth will say. And therefore you begin in error when you advise that we should regard the opinion of the many about just and unjust, good and evil, honorable and dishonorable. [6]

What makes Ives's artistic independence unique is that he didn't flaunt it, like so many musical pioneers before him. He knew that the public of the late 19th century was not ready for music this radical, and that he would only cause himself frustration by forcing his music upon them. This is reminiscent of the Rambam's [7] description of those who have grasped certain fundamental truths:

It is right that a man should belong to that class of men who have a conception of truth and understand it, though they do not speak of it. Thus the pious are advised and addressed, "Commune with your own mind upon your bed and be still, Selah!" (Tehilim 4:5).

And when people finally did recognize his music by rewarding him the Pulitzer Prize in 1946 - when he was already 72 years old - Ives didn't haughtily pat himself on the back and indulge in egotistical pleasure. Instead, he gave away half of the prize money and said:

"Prizes are for boys, and I'm all grown up!" [7]

Often when I "succeed" in convincing a person of a certain idea, I often feel a certain illicit sense of pride and achievement. Whenever this happens, I must remember to take a lesson from Ives. Instead of patting myself on the back, I should just be happy that another mind can share in the truth.

In conclusion, I am not trying to elevate Charles Ives to the status of a true philosopher. However, my approach in life is to try to recognize true ideas wherever I see them. If I can associate good music with good ideas, all the better.

[1] At around the same time that this blog post was originally published, I wrote the following comment about my relationship to this piece in an online Charles Ives fan group:

When I was in 11th grade, my family and I moved to a new city and started a new life. That was probably the loneliest, most difficult year of my young life. 

During that time, I learned to play "The Alcotts." I channeled all of my turmoil, loneliness, and longing into that piece. It became my emotional anchor. Whenever I felt myself on the verge of being pulled into the undercurrent of despair, that piece refocused me and helped me to retain a sense of identity. The pain and passion of that piece, climaxing in its glorious conclusion, never fails to give me goosebumps. "The Alcotts" will always hold a special place in my life.

[2] quoted in Charles Ives: A Man and His Music (1968), by Henry and Sidney Cowell

[3] Charles Ives, Memos 121-122

[4] Charles Ives, Essays Before a Sonata

[5] Charles Ives, Thoreau Journal, vol.1, 156

[6] Plato, Crito 47c-d

[7] Rabbeinu Moshe ben Maimon (Rambam / Maimonides), Moreh ha'Nevuchim 1:50

[8] This anecdote is widely quoted, but I don't know the original source.

18 Insights from My Laptop Yissurin

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18 Insights from My Laptop Yissurin

My original plan was to write a blog post on Tehilim 92 as a follow-up to yesterday's How to Learn Tehilim post. As you can see, this didn't happen. 

Why not? Because I am a dumb-dumb.

This morning I sat at my laptop with my large mug of bullet-proof coffee - like I do every morning - and I began my daily summer blog routine. First I checked the blog itself to make sure that the scheduled post on Tehilim had gone up without any complications. Next I shared the post on Facebook - on my own pages, and in a large Torah discussion group. I was just about to start writing Tuesday's post when something unexpected happened. 

You know how every once in a while you take a gulp of some beverage and it goes down the wrong pipe and you choke? And you know how if it was a REALLY big gulp, then sometimes your tracheal reflex will cause you to "do a spit take" and and spray the liquid like the Dilophosaurus in Jurassic Park (1993)? 

Well, that's what happened to me and my coffee ... and my keyboard. 

The coffee went all over the left side of my laptop keyboard. I immediately got paper towels and mopped up the liquid on the surface. Next, I popped off the affected keys and soaked them in soapy water while cleaning the keyless keyboard with Q-tips and rubbing alcohol. Then I cut small pieces of paper into strips and shoved them under the key mechanisms to soak up as much liquid as a I could. Finally, I turned the laptop upside down (in a swift motion) and left it upside down to see if I could get the liquid to dry up. 

The good news is that it wasn't enough liquid to short out the circuit board. The bad news is that several of the keys malfunctioned. Whenever I pressed "1" or "q," it would type the character and then immediately backspace or page-down. When I pressed "a" it would type "a" and then act as though I right-clicked. My left Shift key acted like a Tab key and my right Shift key would type the letter "z" and my Windows key would type the letter "q" and the letter "z" does random things.

For the next hour I frantically and neurotically tried other methods of drying out any remaining liquid on the keyboard, which I could still see under the inaccessible parts of the plastic key mechanisms. Then I had to drive to work. 

As soon as I began my drive to work I recalled Chazal's statement in Berachos 5a: 

If a person sees that yissurin (afflictions) befall him, he should examine his actions, as it is stated: "Let us examine and analyze our ways, and we will return to Hashem" (Eichah 3:40).

I then recalled another statement from Chazal in Arachin 16b, in which they define what is considered "yissurim": 

Up to what point is something still considered "yissurin"? R' Elazar said: If a man had a garment tailored for him to wear and it doesn't fit him. Rebbi Zeira - and some say Rebbi Shmuel bar Nachmeini - objected to this, saying: "More than this has been said. Even if he was to be served hot and it was served cold, or cold and it was served hot! And you require so much?!" Mar bar Ravina said: "Even if his shirt got turned inside out." Rava - and some say Rav Chisda, and some say Rebbi Yitzchak, and some say it was taught in a braisa - "Even if he put his hand into his pocket to take out three [coins] and he only grabbed two."

From this second Chazal we see that even petty annoyances and inconveniences qualify as yissurin. From the first Chazal we see that the proper response to yissurin is to examine your actions.

I realized that although the topic of "yissurin" is broad, deep, and fraught with machlokess, I think it's pretty safe to assume that my laptop malfunctioning would qualify as yissurin, and that this was an opportunity to analyze my actions. In fact, I realized that I had already started analyzing this morning's yissurin soon after it happened, before I even thought about Chazal's injunction to do so.

I decided that since this is something that has been on my mind all day, I figured I'd write up the fruits of my analysis as today's blog post. Some of these insights relate to ideas; others are more personal and particular. These thoughts are written in no particular order, since I can't recall the order in which they came to me.

Thought #1: My coffee-spitting started as Category #1 Ra but was ultimately a Category #2 Ra. Someday I need to write a full blog post on this, but here's the short version. The Rambam writes that there are three categories of ra (harm/evil/badness/loss/corruption/destruction) in the world: 

1. ra that is caused by the nature of the physical world
2. ra that is inflicted by one person on another, and 
3. ra that a person inflicts on himself, due to ignorance or foolishness

My choking on the coffee was a Category #1 ra, and there was nothing I could have done to prevent it. But two seconds before I sprayed the coffee, I sensed that this might happen and could have turned away from my computer screen, but I made a split-second decision not to, and as a result, I sprayed coffee on my keyboard. The situation I found myself in may not have been my fault, but it was my own overconfidence in my ability to swallow my coffee - in conscious defiance of my cough reflex - which led me to spray my keyboard.

Thought #2: Yay - I learned from last time! Unfortunately, this isn't the second time that a laptop of mine has been ruined by coffee. Three years ago I actually spilled coffee on my keyboard (due to actual negligence) and TOTALLY wrecked the entire laptop. As soon as I got a new one, I made a rule for myself to always rest the laptop on top of a book instead of keeping it directly on the table or desk. That way, if I ever spilled anything, it would damage the book and not the laptop. This morning, as I mopped up my coffee spray, I found myself reflecting on how happy I was that I implemented that precaution, since it saved my laptop from spill-induced destruction on two or three occasions during its lifetime. Did I screw up this time? Yes - but it was a different screw-up than last time, and I did learn from last time. And as long as I can still learn from my mistakes, then there is hope for the future.

Thought #3: I can't rush evaporation. There are two possibilities as to what has happened to my keyboard: either the malfunction is the result of actual damage, which means that this keyboard is toast, or the malfunction is the result of the effects of the current level of moisture, which would mean that there's hope that functionality will return when the moisture dries. This morning I found myself anxiously waiting for the moisture to dry, and I've been checking the laptop every 30 minutes or so since then. A great amount of the stress I feel stems from my lack of control over the evaporation of the moisture. I realize that deep down - or NOT so deep down! - I want to be able to control the speed of the evaporation. Obviously this is absurd, but stating the absurdity shows how childish my psyche can be.

Thought #4: Thank God for my hands and everything which makes them work. Even though my keyboard was messed up, I could still type - albeit slowly (since I needed to manually click with my mouse every time I typed an "a" or a "q," and I needed to use Caps Lock instead of shift). I take pride in my usual typing speed (99-101 words per minute last time I checked), and my pride changed to gratitude when I was forced to type slowly. I was reminded of the commentary of the Sefer ha'Menuchah on the berachah (blessing) of ha'meichin mitzadei gaver ("Blessed are You, Hashem, our God, King of the Universe, Who readies the footsteps of man"). He explained that this berachah is an acknowledgement of the chochmas Hashem (God's wisdom) that is manifest in the design of the human foot: it's soft enough to be able to feel what you're stepping on, yet hard enough to endure walking, while having a structure that enables us to balance, and enough "podexterity" (read: dexterity of the foot) to be able to manipulate objects with one's toes, etc. The same is true for the hands, even though there is no berachah on them. I realized how much I take it for granted that I'm able to just THINK a sentence and suddenly see it typed on the screen - an activity which utilizes my brain, the rest of my nervous system, and my musculoskeletal system, all of which reflects tremendous chochmas Hashem. I just didn't really think about it until I was impeded in my normal activity. Sometimes you only appreciate what you have when you no longer have it. (Full disclosure: I did NOT lose my hands - just my ability to use them to type quickly.)

Thought #5: Mishlei helps SOOO much! Shlomo ha'Melech writes about Mishlei: "When wisdom enters your heart and knowledge become pleasant to your soul, [a wise] design will watch over you [and] understanding will safeguard you" (Mishlei 2:10-11). If I recall correctly from the last time I learned this, the idea is that the more you learn and internalize the Mishleic way of thinking, the more you'll find that there are "automated Mishleic benefits" which accrue to you without any effort on your part. I found myself comparing this laptop disaster to my previous one three years ago. That time I got upset and angry at myself and found myself with a need to complain about it. This time, I was annoyed and a bit stressed out, but I was also much more level-headed and stoic (or Stoic) about my situation - and I wasn't angry. This difference in my reaction is difficult to precisely capture in words. Suffice it to say, I noticed that even a couple of years of learning Mishlei can go a long way in changing one's response to yissurin. 

Thought #6: Yay - my priorities are in order! As soon as I realized that my laptop use was compromised, the first thing I thought about was, "Oh no - how am I going to write tomorrow's blog post in time?" My next thought was, "Oh no - my grades are due, and I need time to write end-of-the-year comments on students' report cards. How am I going to do this if I'm not able to type? If I write shorter comments, my students will get less feedback, and that isn't right!" It wasn't until a full 30 minutes later that I thought to myself, "Oh no - is this going to jeopardize the ways I use my laptop for entertainment purposes?" And then I rejoiced over the fact that I didn't even think about using my laptop for entertainment until LONG after I thought about how I needed it for more substantial reasons. I was happy that I had my priorities straight. 

Thought #7: Tefilah works. I've made it a point to add a bakashah (request) about my laptop in my tefilos today. As I've written about in the past, the process of formulating a bakashah activates and actualizes many of the objectives of tefilah. Doing so this morning helped me to recognize my place in the universe - that I am a physical being with physical possessions in a world fraught with physical imperfections, reliant upon the beneficence of the One non-physical Creator. It helped me to come to terms with the fact that there are things which are in my control which I can change, and things that are beyond my control which I cannot change. It helped me to be thankful for all of the good I have received, and to recognize that this good far outweighs this exceedingly minor inconvenience. All of this made me thankful for the mitzvah of tefilah, without which I would not have arrived at many of the thoughts in this post.

Thought #8: Thank God my yissurin wasn't something worse. We're talking about a couple of malfunctioning keys on a laptop, which is NOTHING compared to other yissurin that could have happened. Although I've had struggles, obstacles, and tragedies in my life - along with "days of darkness [which] are many" (Koheles 11:8) - my life is GOOD, on the whole. I'm healthy and happy; I have my dream job during the year (teaching) and my dream hobby during the summer (writing); I have so many amazing friends, teachers, colleagues, students, and family members with whom I get to interact with on a regular basis; I have Judaism, Torah, and learning; and I live at a time and in a place in which many of the raos in category #1 and 2 have been greatly diminished. The incident this morning? It was nothing - NOTHING! - relative to the amount of goodness I have received. It's not like I got diagnosed with an illness, or got into a car accident, or lost a loved one. In the grand scheme of things, this is absolutely nothing. As we say in Birkas ha'Gomel: "Blessed are You, Hashem, our God, King of the universe, Who bestows good to those who are liable [for punishment], Who has bestowed me with all good."

Thought #9: Thank God I can afford another laptop. Would another laptop be expensive? Yes. Do I make a ton of money? No. Would this unplanned expense deplete funds which I had planned on saving? Yes. But here's the thing: I CAN afford another laptop. This will not jeopardize my ability to pay rent, buy gas, or have food to eat. The realization that some people in my situation would NOT be able to afford another laptop made me thankful for what I have. There are many others who, upon breaking their laptop, simply wouldn't be able to buy a replacement.

Thought #10: Thank God I was able to own a laptop in the first place. This is similar to the previous one, but stands as its own hodaah (thanksgiving). There are many people who aren't even fortunate enough to have a laptop to break! 

Thought #11: Thank God I live in a place and at a time when I can get a new laptop within hours. I can literally order a laptop online or drive to an electronics store and get a new laptop with virtually no wait. This actually occurred to me when I thought about the possibility that I might have to send in my laptop to get fixed. Once I thought of that, I said, "No way! If I had to give up my laptop for even a week, I'd just buy a new one." This made me realize how spoiled I am by living in this first world country. I don't EVEN have to suffer through the yissurin of impatience.

Thought #12: Thank God I have friends who know their way around computers. One of my friends - who also happens to be a colleague at work - is a computer guy, and offered to surgically open up my laptop to see whether the damage I did was permanent or temporary. 

Thought #13: Thank God I was able to borrow a laptop from my school! The aforementioned friend of mine suggested that I get permission from The Keeper of Laptops at my school to borrow a laptop until I resolve my issues. Once I got that permission, I breathed a sigh of relief. At LEAST I'll be able to keep up my blogging schedule, even if the damage I did was permanent. (That's how I was able to write this blog post, in case you're wondering.) Thank God she gave me permission - and that we have spare laptops to be borrowed by teachers who need them!

Thought #14: Apparently, I punish my inanimate objects. I noticed something when I went to get a drink (away from my laptop) just now: I didn't put water and soap in my coffee mug after breakfast this morning. I must emphasize how unusual this is. Every morning when I'm done with my coffee I either fill my mug with soap and hot water, or I wash it completely. I just noticed - now, in the afternoon - that I just left my mug in the sink this morning without any soap or water. My guess is that this is my psyche's attempt to "punish" my cup for this morning's incident. This just shows how far my unconscious will go to deflect the blame from my own stupidity.

Thought #15: Things don't have to go my way. For the rest of the day I was HYPER-aware of all the things that might not go as I planned. Was I going to spill something else on my coffee? Was I going to drop my phone? Was I going to cut my finger when preparing dinner? Was I going to get into a car accident? Somehow, my little mishap in the morning made me realize how much I take it for granted when planning to do an action, that the intended outcome will actually occur. "Many are the thoughts of man, but the counsel of Hashem will prevail" (Mishlei 19:21). 

Thought #16: "Teshuvah thoughts." When Chazal said that a person who suffered yissurin should "analyze his actions," they were referring primarily to a teshuvah-centered analysis. Although most of the thoughts listed here aren't specifically teshuvah based, I did have my share of teshuvah thoughts. I don't really feel comfortable spelling them out here. I just wanted to acknowledge their existence.

Thought #17: Thank God for Judaism! ALL of these thoughts and insights were only made possible because of the framework of Torah in which I have lived since I became a Jew nearly 18 years ago. Had my life taken a different path, I still might have sprayed coffee on my laptop, but everything about my reaction would have been different. I certainly wouldn't have associated to the two statements of Chazal which prompted me to analyze my actions, and I wouldn't have had all of these thoughts, or had such an equanimous response.

Thought #18: My yissurin made me happy! At some point in the (probably) distant future, I'll write up a series of blog posts about Iyov - including "The Answer" to the question of tzadik v'ra lo and rasha v'tov lo. I'm not going to even allude to what the answer is here. I will, however, say that the Rambam writes about this answer:

If man knows this, all yissurin will be borne lightly by him, and misfortunes will not add to his doubts regarding Hashem and whether He does or does not know and whether He exercises hashgachah (providence) or manifests neglect. To the contrary, they (i.e. the yissurin) will increase his love [of Hashem], as is said in the conclusion of the prophetic revelation in this book: "therefore I abhor [my former thoughts], and I regret dust and ashes" (Iyov 42:6). As the Sages of blessed memory have spoken about: "those who do out of love and are joyful in yissurin" (Talmud Bavli 88b).

Let me be clear: I am NOT, in any way, equating my laptop malfunction with Iyov losing his property, his children, and his health. At the same time, I can see - on my small, wimpy, "first world problems" scale of yissurin - how it is possible for yissurin to not be experienced as a tragic misfortune, but as an opportunity to increase one's love of Hashem. Moreover, I have partaken of the joy that can come from the insights yielded by these small yissurin. I know that even a small insight like this can act as a seed which will develop into a fruitful tree that continues yielding its produce for years and decades to come. That alone is worth the price of a new laptop.

There may have been more insights I had on my drive to work, and there may be more yet. But all of this just goes to show how much more productive the Torah's prescribed response to yissurin is, compared to the standard response of griping, complaining, and getting mad at God or the universe. 

Even though this particular yissurin didn't happen to you, that you were still able to gain from the perspective I articulated in this post.

My Grandfather and the Volcano Goddess

Disclaimer: As you can see by its label, this blog post is in the "musings" category, and is different from most of what I write. As a ger (convert), I sometimes have moments when I think about the different direction my life could have gone had I not encountered the Jewish teachers I met at the critical points in my development. This post started off as one of those musings, and I decided to see what would happen if I articulated these thoughts in writing.

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photo of a volcanic eruption at Mt. Kilauea,
claimed by some to be a photo of Pele, the goddess of volcanoes

My Grandfather and the Volcano Goddess

Introduction

Hawaii has a special place in my heart. I was born in Hawaii. My mom was born in Hawaii. My grandparents on my mom's side of the family were born in Hawaii. Even my great-grandfather was born in Hawaii. I grew up there. My mom's whole side of the family lives there. I've visited my grandmother there almost every year since I was a teenager. 

On Thursday, May 3, I received an emergency notification on my phone: "Mt. Kilauea is erupting." The volcano had been showing increased activity since 1983, but this last round seems to have gotten more news coverage than others in recent memory. Although my grandmother lives on Oahu, and will not likely be affected by the volcanic events on the Big Island, the news of the eruption still felt close to home.

Kilauea is not the only fiery mountain that has been on my mind for the past few weeks. There is another, which is even closer to home: Har Sinai. 

The connection between these two mountains in my mind has less to do with their fire and more to do with their association to the divine within their respective nations. For Jews, Sinai's significance lies in the singular revelation of Hashem and the giving of His Torah. Lehavdil, the ancient Hawaiians viewed every volcanic eruption as a manifestation of Pele, the volcano goddess.

(Halachic reminder: it is prohibited to verbalize the name of an avodah zarah deity. I have decided to use the name of this Hawaiian deity in writing, but if you plan on talking about it, the recommended course of action is to either avoid saying the name, or to come up with a derogatory nickname, like "Poopy" - which is probably what Eliyahu ha'Navi would have called her, given his track record of mocking false gods using bathroom humor.) 

According to Wikipedia: "In the Hawaiian religion, Pele, the Fire Goddess, is the goddess of fire, lightning, wind and volcanoes and the creator of the Hawaiian Islands." Pele came up in an article I read this week about how the current volcanic activity on Kilauea is viewed by some Hawaiians even today. The article reports: 

As threats from the latest Kilauea eruptions continue in Puna, many speak of the dramatic lava flows as the work of Pele, the goddess of fire and volcanoes. 

These Native Hawaiians and other Hawaii residents accept the volcanic activity that has consumed 36 structures and displaced hundreds of residents as demonstrations of Pele’s power and beauty. And there is no way to stop her. 

Pelehonuamea, or Pele of the sacred earth, is also known as “ka wahine ai honua,” woman who devours the land. She is also called Madame Pele or Tutu Pele. 

“I usually use Tutu Pele because she’s an ancestor to me and one of our family aumakua, or family guardian, so we have great respect for her,” said Lilikala Kame‘eleihiwa, a professor at the Kamakakuokalani Center for Hawaiian Studies on the University of Hawaii’s Manoa campus. “We have a personal relationship with Pele” ... 

Kame‘eleihiwa said those who feel they have a relationship to Pele may put markers at the boundaries of their property hoping she will spare it. Others may clean out their homes and leave hookupu, or gifts, for her ... 

Kame‘eleihiwa was on her way to Tahiti this weekend to visit the birthplace of Pele, where she planned to offer a prayer and a gift of Hawaiian salt.

My mind kept on returning to this article throughout the week leading up to Shavuos. I started musing on various themes which overlapped the Hawaiian belief in Pele's revelation at Kilauea, and our conviction in Hashem's revelation at Sinai (the term "lehavdil" should be inserted throughout this blog post).

I decided to write a blog post about three of these musings. 

Fear of Hashem vs. Fear of Pele

Unlike many of my Jewish and non-Jewish friends, I was not raised with any superstitious beliefs. Neither of my parents are superstitious, and neither were their parents - at least, not that I know of. Judging by the stories I hear from my friends about their upbringings, I really dodged the bullet on this one.

There are only two incidents in my memory of any of my close family members exhibiting superstitious beliefs, and both of them stemmed from the same superstition: Pele's Curse. According to Wikipedia:

Pele's Curse is the belief that anything natively Hawaiian, such as sand, rock, or pumice, will effect bad luck on whoever takes it away from Hawaii. The myth has caught on, told as if it were an original Hawaiian taboo, and every year countless tourists send these back in order to escape the awful luck that Pele has caused them.

I first heard about this when I was a kid, when I traveled to the Big Island with my grandfather. We went on a couple of hikes around the crater at Hawaii Volcanoes National Park, and when we were about to leave I showed him a cool volcanic rock I found, that I planned on taking home as a souvenir. "Leave that here" he said, "or Pele will bring bad luck." I don't remember the dialogue exactly, but I probably asked him who Pele was, and he probably told me that she is the volcano goddess, and that she doesn't let people remove rocks from her mountain.

But my grandfather didn't stop there. He proceeded to tell me a story about a friend of his who tried taking volcanic rock back home with him after a hike near a volcano. He was on his way back to his car but was stopped by none other than Pele's daemonic white dog, who blocked the path and wouldn't let him pass. Lo and behold, when he emptied his pockets of the rocks, the dog left him alone. 

Although I was not a superstitious child, and didn't believe my grandfather's tale, he definitely did (since he was eager to believe things like this), and because of this, he made me leave the rocks behind. 

Fast-forward 15-20 years later. My family visited the Big Island and went to that same national park. This time I noticed something that was probably there when I was a kid, but escaped my attention: food offerings to Pele (which I now know are called "hookupu"), placed near the crater. I have no idea who brought these offerings, and whether they did so out of custom, out of religious belief, or out of some mixture of the two. 

When we were about to leave, I picked up a volcanic rock to take home as a souvenir. My mom said something to the effect of, "You can't take that home. It's bad luck." I was shocked. This was the first time I had ever heard my mom utter anything even remotely superstitious. Since this was years after we had all converted to Judaism, and since my mom was well aware of the Torah's stance on avodah zarah and superstition, I called her out on it, asking if she really believed in what she said. As though shaking off a sorcerer's spell, she immediately realized the stupidity in what she had said, and then proceeded to give me a different rationale for leaving the rock behind - namely, that it's illegal to take rocks from a U.S. national park. 

I think it's safe to say that neither my mom nor my grandfather actually believed in Pele. My mom certainly didn't harbor this belief, and even my grandfather - a quasi-lapsed Catholic - probably wouldn't admit to harboring such a belief, if asked directly. And yet, both of them had an instinctive fear at the prospect of violating this Hawaiian taboo. In my grandfather's case this fear had melded with his own quirky view of the way the world works: everyone needs to visit Hawaii, everyone should start their own business, everything in Reader's Digest is 100%, bee honey cures every type of malady, and if you take volcanic rocks home, Pele will bring bad luck, or send her daemon dog to stop you. In my mom's case, the fear manifested as the vestige of a taboo that was probably inculcated into her by my grandfather when she was just a child. 

Thinking about this primitive "fear of Pele" - as displayed by my grandfather and my mother in a mild form, and by the native Hawaiians (like Lilikala Kame‘eleihiwa of the article) in an extreme form - led me to associate to a different type of fear: the yiras Hashem (fear of God) at Sinai: 

The entire people saw the thunder and the flames, the sound of the shofar, and the smoking mountain; the people saw and trembled and stood from afar. They said to Moshe: "You speak to us and we shall hear; let God not speak to us lest we die."

Moshe said to the people: "Do not fear (אַל תִּירָאוּ), for in order to elevate you has God come; so that the fear of Him shall be upon your faces (וּבַעֲבוּר תִּהְיֶה יִרְאָתוֹ עַל פְּנֵיכֶם), so that you shall not sin." The people stood from afar and Moshe approached the thick cloud where God was. 

This contradiction is impossible to ignore: first Moshe tells them "do not fear" but then he says that "the fear of Him shall be upon your faces"! 

The answer is clear: there must be two different types of fear: one which Moshe urged Bnei Yisrael not to have, and the other which was one of the very reasons why the entire revelation at Sinai took place. What are these two types of fear?

The first type of fear is a primal, instinctive, animalistic reaction - in this case, Bnei Yisrael's fear that they were going to die. Rationally speaking, this type of fear was misplaced. They knew that Hashem was not planning on killing them, and that as long as they followed His instructions and stayed within the boundaries, they had nothing to be afraid for their lives. Moshe pointed this out to them, saying: "Do not fear, for in order to elevate you has God come." This injunction highlights their mistaken underlying premise. It is as if he said to them: "I understand that you are afraid, but this fear that you are currently experiencing does not reflect the reality of the situation. You might feel that you are in danger, but in actuality, the opposite is true: you are being elevated. But in order for this elevation to take place, you must see through the falsehood of your primal fear."

The second type of fear is the yiras Hashem which the Sinai experience was intended to instill in the nation of Israel. This is the same yiras Hashem which was subsequently given as a commandment in the Torah, which Moshe later says is "the only thing Hashem asks of you." This yiras Hashem is eloquently defined by the Rambam in the Mishneh Torah alongside his definition of ahavas Hashem (love of God):

What is the way of loving and fearing God? When a person contemplates His great and wondrous works and creations and sees from them His infinite and incomparable wisdom, he immediately loves, praises, and extols and is filled with a great desire to know the Great Name, as David said: “My soul thirsts for God, for the living God” (Psalms 42:3).  

And when he reflects on these same principles in relation to himself, he immediately recoils back with fear and dread, and knows that he is a small, insignificant, unenlightened creature standing with a frail and puny mind in the presence of Perfect Knowledge, as David said: “[When I behold Your heavens, the work of Your fingers, the moon and stars that you have set in place, I exclaim,] ‘What is frail man that You should notice him, [and the son of mortal man that You should take note of him?’]” (Psalms 8:4-5).

This is the type of fear that Moshe told Bnei Yisrael to internalize. According to the pesukim cited above, the Sinai experience was not intended solely in order to provide experiential and historical evidence for Mosaic prophecy. It was also intended to create a foundational national experience of yiras Hashem - the awareness of man's status as a frail creature who forms an infinitesimally small part of the universe that Hashem created. This yirah will, in turn, prevent man from sinning. This can happen on three levels:

Level #1 - Fear of Punishment: On the most elementary level, a person will be afraid of Divine punishment - whatever his or her conception of that may be. Having seen, heard, and experienced the awesome and terrifying Revelation of the Shechinah at Sinai, he or she will think twice before violating God's law. Even if the person's grasp of Divine punishment is immature, incomplete, or flawed, it will at least be rooted in the historical reality of the event at Sinai, when Hashem demonstrated His might to the entire people. 

Level #2 - Fear of Consequences: On a more mature level, this type of yiras Hashem - rooted in the awareness that we live in a world governed by rational, lawful principles of cause and effect - will lead to a development of a chochmah-centered approach to decision-making based on anticipation of natural consequences. This is the type of yiras Hashem that Shlomo is referring to when he says: "Fear of Hashem is the discipline of wisdom" (Mishlei 15:33). 

Level #3 - Awe of Hashem: On the highest level, this type of yiras Hashem will lead to the awe of the Creator - as defined by the Rambam in the halacha cited above - which will naturally give way to ahavas Hashem via the continued pursuit of chochmah.

Now, compare the two fears, experienced by my avos (forefathers) on both sides of my family: the fear of Pele as experienced my grandfather, and the fear of Hashem as experienced by my ancestors who stood at Sinai. The fear of Pele is a primitive, superstitious, detrimental fear rooted in childish imaginations and psychological insecurities, whereas the fear of Hashem is a mature, reality-based, developmentally beneficial fear rooted in the intellectual apprehension of the laws of nature, and their Author.

As I thought about these two mountains - Kilauea and Sinai - and the two deities (lehavdil) who were feared and revered by their respective nations, I became filled with a deep gratitude to Hashem for enabling me to join the Jewish people and to embrace a chochmah-centered life governed by the Torah regimen.

And this past Shavuos, "zman matan Toraseinu" ("the time of the giving of our Torah"), I truly meant it when I thanked Hashem "she'hechyeanu, v'kiyemanu, ve'higiyanu la'zman ha'zeh" ("for giving us life, for preserving us, and for enabling us to reach this time").

You Saw No Image

In thinking about Kilauea vs. Sinai, I couldn't help but associate to another phenomenon: the seeing of a "divine image" in the fire of the mountain. Take a look at the picture at the beginning of this article. This photo gained notoriety because people claim to see the likeness of Pele in the eruption. Similarly, Hawaiians believed that "[Pele's] body is the lava and steam that comes from the volcano" (Wikipedia). This article and this video show that Pele sightings are as common today as they were in ancient times. 

Compare this with Moshe Rabbeinu's recap of the Revelation at Sinai to Bnei Yisrael before his passing:

Only beware for yourself and greatly beware for your soul, lest you forget the things that your eyes have beheld and lest you remove them from your hear all the days of your life, and make them known to your children and your children's children - the day that you stood before Hashem, your God, at Horeb, when Hashem said to me, "Gather the people to Me and I shall let them hear My words, so that they shall learn to fear Me all the days that they live on the earth, and they shall teach their children." 

So you approached and stood at the foot of the mountain, and the mountain was burning with fire up to the heart of heaven, darkness, cloud, and thick cloud. Hashem spoke to you from the midst of the fire; you were hearing the sound of words, but you were not seeing a form, only a sound. 

He told you of His covenant that He commanded you to observe, the Ten Declarations, and He inscribed them on two stone Tablets. Hashem commanded me at that time to teach you decrees and ordinances, that you shall perform them in the Land to which you cross, to possess it. 

But you shall greatly beware for your souls, for you did not see any likeness on the day Hashem spoke to you at Horeb, from the midst of the fire, lest you act corruptly and make yourselves a carved image, a likeness of any shape; a form of a male or a female; a form of any animal on the earth; a form of any winged bird that flies in the heaven; a form of anything that creeps on the ground, a form of any fish that is in the water under the earth; and lest you raise your eyes to heaven and you see the sun, and the moon, and the stars - the entire legion of heaven - and you be drawn away and bow to them and worship them, which Hashem, your God, has apportioned to all the peoples under the entire heaven! But Hashem has taken you and withdrawn you from the iron crucible, from Egypt, to be a nation of heritage for Him, as this very day.

Moshe Rabbeinu knew how difficult it would be for the recently liberated slave nation to relate to a completely non-physical God, especially after having been steeped for two centuries in Egyptian idolatry - with all of its  superstitious beliefs, occult practices, and anthropomorphic deities. This is why, in his parting speech to Bnei Yisrael, he emphasized again and again - as we must believe that he did throughout all the 40 years in the Wilderness - that they and their parents did not see any image or likeness in the conflagration of Sinai. They heard the Divine voice proclaim the Ten Declarations, but they did not see the Divine, because the Divine has no image or likeness.

Compare this to a statement from a local Hawaiian: "Pele is very real to us ... She is a living god. You can see her, you can feel her, you can taste her, you can smell her." This is a far cry from what we mean when we describe Hashem as "a living God," which we intend as an allegory, emphasizing again and again that Hashem is not physical, has no physical qualities, and is not comparable in any way to anything physical. The Rambam codifies this in the Mishneh Torah:

It is explicitly stated in the Torah and in the Prophets that the Holy One, Blessed is He, is neither a body nor a corporeal form, as it is stated, “For Hashem, your God, is the God in the heavens above and on the earth below” (Devarim 4:39), and a body cannot be in two places. It is also stated, “For you did not see any image” (Devarim 4:15), and it is stated, “To whom can you compare Me that I should be equal?” (Yishaya 40:25), and if He were a body, He would be comparable to other bodies ... 

Once it has been clearly demonstrated that He is not a body or a material form, it is also clear that He is not subject to bodily occurrences: neither combination nor separation, neither place nor measure, neither ascent nor descent, neither right nor left, neither front nor back, neither sitting nor standing. And He doesn’t exist in time, such that He would have a beginning, an end, or an age. And He does not change, for there is nothing that can cause Him to change. 

And He has neither death nor life like the life of a physical being, neither foolishness nor wisdom like the wisdom of a wise man, neither sleep nor waking up, neither anger nor jesting, neither happiness nor sadness, neither silence nor speech like human speech. Thus, the Sages declared: On High there is neither sitting nor standing, neither separation nor connection. 

Since this is so, all such [descriptions] and the like that are stated in the Torah and in the words of the prophets – all of these are metaphor and allegory. For example, “He who sits in heavens shall laugh” (Tehilim 2:4), “They angered Me with their emptiness” (Devarim 33:21), and “Hashem rejoiced” (ibid. 28:63) and the like – concerning all of these statements, the Sages said: The Torah speaks in the language of man. This is the meaning of [the rhetorical statement], “Am I the One whom they have angered?” (Yirmiyahu 7:19). Behold, it is stated: “I am Hashem, I have not changed” (Malachi 3:16). If He were sometimes angry and sometimes happy, He would change. All of these things only occur in dark and lowly bodies, those who dwell in houses of clay, whose foundation is dust. But He, Blessed is He, is exalted above all of this.

Moshe also emphasized how quickly such misapprehensions can spiral out of control. The mistake of thinking one has perceived a Divine likeness leads to the practice of making representations of the Divine, which will ultimately result in worshiping the physical. So powerful is man's need to "concretize the metaphysical" (as I wrote about in my post entitled Ayn Rand, Art, and Avodah Zarah) that what begins as an innocent misperception can quickly devolve into primitive paganism, and the loss of the abstract and tenuous concept of a totally non-physical Creator.

We live in a scientific era, in which even the most unsophisticated people are at least aware of the scientific paradigm - that the universe operates in a manner of rational, lawful principles cause and effect, which can be studied, understood, and even harnessed. But imagine a time before science and think about how this phenomenon of "Pele sightings" precludes the emergence of a scientific worldview. Allow me to paint a picture of the two paradigms:

When an ancient Jew would witness a volcanic eruption, he would say: "Blessed are You, Hashem, our God, King of the universe, Who does the work of creation (oseh maaseh bereishis)" This berachah would stem from and reinforce the recognition that nature isn't God, but is a melachah ("craft" or "product of design") created by God, which operates in accordance with the wondrous lawfulness of the "King (i.e. law giver and law enforcer) of the universe." The character of this recognition was expressed by David ha'Melech exclamation: "How great are Your works, Hashem! With wisdom You made them all; the earth is full of Your creations" (Tehilim 104:24). This orientation towards nature is conducive to the development of a scientific, chochmah-seeking worldview.

In contrast, when an ancient Hawaiian would witness a volcanic eruption, what would he say? "Look! It's Pele's hair!" "Oh no! I can see Pele's angry face!" "The lava flowing towards my land is Pele reaching out for me. Quick! I need to give her an offering to consume so that she doesn't destroy my home!" No chochmah, no lawfulness, no seeking of the underlying unity of causality in nature. Nothing but imagination and fantasy, fueled by fear and insecurity.

Divine Revelation

The last musing I had led me to think about what a "divine revelation" would mean to a religious Hawaiian vs. a religious Jew.

The Jewish view of revelation is expressed in the text of the Shofros berachah on Rosh ha'Shanah:

You were revealed in Your cloud of glory to Your  holy people to speak with them. From the heavens You made them hear your voice and revealed Yourself to them in thick clouds of purity. Moreover, the entire universe shuddered before You and the creatures of creation trembled before You during Your revelation, our King, on Mount Sinai, to teach Your people Torah and mitzvos. 

For us, revelation is the means by which the Creator of the universe gave us (to quote the Ralbag's introduction to Torah) "a regimen that brings those who practice it properly to true success (i.e. knowledge of Hashem to the extent that this is humanly possible)." Hashem's revelation at Sinai provided the Jewish people, and mankind as a whole, with a system of laws, ethical guidelines, and ideas which enable us to create a society governed by the principles of chesed (kindness), tzedakah (righteousness), and mishpat (justice), devoted to the pursuit of knowledge and human perfection.

For the ancient Hawaiian, a revelation of Pele has nothing to do with chesed, tzedakah, mishpat, knowledge, or human perfection. Pele's revelation was nothing but an uncertain glimpse into the whims of a capricious deity.

Conclusion

When I am called up to the Torah, they call me up as "_____ ben Avraham Avinu." As the Rambam explains in his letter to Ovadiah ha'Ger, all converts are described as "the children of Avraham Avinu" not because Avraham was our biological ancestor, but because he is our ideological progenitor.

When I think about my non-Jewish grandfather and his cultural heritage and compare that to my Jewish "father" of Avraham Avinu and his cultural heritage, am moved to say: "Blessed are You, Hashem, our God, King of the universe, Who chose us from among the peoples, and gave us His Torah. Blessed are You, Hashem, Who gives the Torah."

We're ALL Sick

I must acknowledge at the outset the possibility that some will find this blog post to be offensive. To those people, I am sorry - for whatever preemptive apologies are worth. I don't know how to express these musings in a way that avoids any chance of upsetting people, and I am aware that by posting this, I might be putting my foot in my mouth. The best I can do is this offer little disclaimer. 

Artwork: Mind Bend, by Mike Dringenberg

We're ALL Sick

Over the past three weeks I have stumbled upon three different online discussions about three different "mental/psychological conditions" (for lack of a better term) - the type of condition that affects a minority percentage of the population. In each of these discussions, one party spoke of the condition as an illness, and the other party was offended and responded by saying something to the effect of, "How DARE you speak of this condition as though it were an illness! Keep your bigotry to yourself!" (I'm not going to identify which conditions were discussed, since that would likely sidetrack us with the same type of argument.)

Witnessing these online altercations led me to think about how mental illness is regarded in our present day American society. I am happy about the recent movement to destigmatize mental illness. People have become increasingly open to talking about mental illness, there is a greater awareness of how many lives are affected by it, and - most importantly - people are beginning to realize that there is no shame in seeking help when confronted by these issues. In this sense, things are moving in a good direction.

But when it comes to talking about mental illness, things become complicated.

On the one hand, insofar as terms like "illness," "sickness," and "disease" are heavily stigmatized, I can sympathize with the efforts of those who want to rid our vocabulary these words, since their usage can be harmful and hurtful. There is definitely merit in finding the most positive or neutral terms possible (e.g. "she has a developmental disability" vs. "she's mentally retarded,"  or "he is struggling with addiction" vs. "he's a junkie").

On the other hand, one must be careful not to go too far in the opposite direction. Treating terms like "illness," "sickness," and "disease" as horribly taboo can contribute to the stigma, instead of diminishing it. To react to the phrase "mental disorder" with "How DARE you!" and "Don't SAY that!" is to treat mental illness as a reprehensible thing that shouldn't even be uttered. There is a similar risk with those types of euphemisms mentioned in the preceding paragraph: when they are pushed to the point where they become contrived, phony, or see-through, they can backfire (e.g. I am sure that there are kids with Down Syndrome who do not want to be called "special," just as there are kids in wheelchairs who dislike being called "differently-abled").

Terminology is a tricky balancing act, to say the least, as is the case with most things that fall into the zone of potentially offensive speech. 

These musings led me to ponder what Judaism would have to say - not on the topic of what mental illness is, but on how to deal with the stigma of mental illness in the way we talk about it. My thoughts went to the words of the Rambam at the beginning of Hilchos Deos, Chapter 2:

Those who are physically ill taste the bitter as sweet and the sweet as bitter. Some of these sick individuals desire and crave as food things which are inedible, such as dirt and coal, and detest healthy foods, such as bread and meat – all according to the severity of the illness. 

So too, there are people whose souls are sick; they desire and love bad character traits, and they hate the good path and are lazy to follow it, and it is very burdensome upon them, based on their sickness. Thus, Yeshayahu says about such people: “Woe onto those who proclaim the bad as good and the good as bad, who treat darkness as light and light as darkness, who regard the bitter as sweet and the sweet as bitter” (Yeshayahu 5:20). Concerning these individuals it is said: “They abandon the paths of uprightness to walk in the paths of darkness” (Mishlei 2:13).

It was at this moment that I an "aha!" moment: we are ALL sick. Well, maybe not ALL of us, but certainly most of us. How many people can say that they don't want to engage in the behaviors associated with a bad character trait, or feel some resentment towards some aspect of the good path, or experience some degree of laziness and/or burden in following the good path? I don't know about you, but I am certainly guilty of regarding "the bad as good and the good as bad" in some areas of my life. 

To be clear: I am NOT categorically equating "DSM-5 classified" mental disorders with the "sicknesses of the soul" that the Rambam is discussing in Hilchos Deos. There may be some overlap, but that is not my intention in this comparison here. 

Rather, my point is that according to the Rambam, "sickness of the soul" is part of the human condition - just as much as "sickness of the body." In fact, these sicknesses are universal and congenital. We all begin life with this kind of sickness (with the exception of the mythical "perfect child" whose value system lines up perfectly with the True Good) and we must grow out of it as we develop our minds and our ability to properly exercise our free will.

Based on this, I would like to suggest the following approach: instead of trying to pretend that mental disorders are NOT disorders and excising all pathological terminology from our vocabulary, perhaps we would be better off broadening our concept of mental disorder to include those sicknesses of the soul that plague the general populace. 

I believe that awareness of the ubiquity of these types of illness can help us to further destigmatize mental illness. By recognizing that we all suffer from some form of sickness - whether physical, mental, or moral - it makes it that much easier to have empathy for our fellow human beings, even if the particular form of sickness they suffer differs from our own.

... or maybe I'm wrong, and this is yet another instance of me calling something good when really it's bad. Let me know what you think!