Why real problems can't be 'solved': Pain, The futility of inspiration + the necessity of struggle.

Inspiration. Consolidation. Growth. For most of my religious life, spirituality has been described to me in those terms.  There has been the assumption that a true relationship with G-d requires dazzling inspiration followed by an inevitable lull and then a concerted effort to return to that original ideal. That somehow, by recharging and focusing on this wonderfully ambiguous concept 'growth', the religious personality is nurtured and sustained. The ideal, it would appear, is to reach a stage where the excitement of youth is permanently ingrained into the personality. The religious individual in some ways is one in whom one can see this process. They strain at the leash with positive energy. You know they feel it. You can see it. If they lose it, which they invariably do over time they must at least pretend until they once again regain that mindset. Because that is the aim of life, right? To keep that flame burning or else face the murky abyss of mediocrity. How do you know who has reached it? Well, they talk about it. Frum guys should talk about learning primarily and every now and again about growing and self-improvement. Frum girls vice versa. Then you knew. For sure. 

Except for three things that would linger in my mind: 1. It seemed very false, though I couldn't always place why. 2. When 'the music died'/ the going got tough, this ideal didn't help, it just made you feel worse. It seemed to ignore the fact that not everyone actually wants inspiration. Cue more guilt. 3. That feeling/rush of emotion was, like everything else, an emotion. And like all other emotions, could not be forced. The more you aspired for the specific feeling, the less likely it was to come. It all seemed oddly unnatural.

So what's wrong with being fake if it leads to this ideal? Well, only that in any other relationship that I had any other experience with in the rest of my life fakery spelled non-existence. If my relationships or decisions in life had been based on similar foundations which did not actually resonate, I would discard them and quickly become disillusioned. The character traits of truth, integrity and sincerity were ones which are so basic to existence that our forefather Ya'akov Avinu is characterised by them. 

Unlike integrity, inspiration could never be regarded as a quality, per se. It was either a mask which could reflect an internal reality or could be something which had been learned over time. To cite a few soundbites from 'The Seven Habits' "only basic goodness gives life to technique" and "it is character that communicates most eloquently". Charismatic inspiration, in whatever form, often just blurred the lines and made it more difficult to see the person inside.

In addition, as I left my teens and the enclave of the Yeshiva, starry-eyed inspiration seems like a childish form of religiosity. It wasn't just cynicism either. Something I learnt from a young age is that it is often those who say little that have most to offer. Those who have internalised moments of inspiration into a more developed and subtle personality impressed me far more than those who tried to wear it on their sleeves. Instead of performing the requisite actions that the manual had told them they should do, they quietly and profoundly served G-d in a way that resonated deeply. They were good, kind and gentle. 

It is this that led to my second point and in a sense was a proof that this paradigm wasn't the only ideal. When the going got tough, I perceived not only in myself but in several close friends, this model became something of a burden and a cause of resentment. And no matter how much you could try and cover it, in the words of Smokey Robinson "if you take a good look at my face, you'll see the smile  looks out of place, look at little closer it's easy to trace the tracks of my tears." Now you could always argue ad infinitum that this was simply a case of not internalising the ideals enough, but based on the above paragraph there seemed enough reason to suggest that this wasn't the case. At the very depths of the human soul was not the yearning for an inspired existence but something far deeper and far less tapped into.

As ever, it was Dylan that sort of triggered the thought process. It is a general truism that artistic creativity is often stimulated by very powerful and often painful personal experiences. Pain sure brings out the best in people, doesn't it?  In a way that sometimes seems uncontrollable, the artist will spill out his or her tangled and tortured emotions onto the page or canvass, with the deepest feelings and experiences distilled into one or two words or phrases. And I never heard anything as powerful as the song 'Tangled up in Blue', the opening track of Dylan's Blood on the Tracks, an Album he wrote during the deterioration of his marriage in 1974. In particular, it was the following line which I think touched on something so fundamental:
  And in the end the bottom fell out and I became withdrawn. All I really knew how to do is keep on keeping on like a bird that flew, tangled up in blue.

 In this verse, several themes are raised that are so important. Firstly, the powerful image of 'withdrawal' as a reaction to unhappiness, alone in a corner, inconsolable. Secondly, the response. There is no attempt to 'solve' the issue. A world-view based on the need to return to some primordial inspired state will constantly seek to solve the 'illness' or the 'lack' within the individual. It will constantly aim for the light that is elusive and out of reach and pretend that there is no abyss.  It will leave you at the mercy of people who claim to have 'answers'. But Dylan attempts no such answers. He keeps on keeping on without denying the reality of the pain he is experiencing. Mathematical problems can be 'solved' but human ones are far more complex and can't just be fixed like a machine. He remains tangled up in blue. But he still flies and perseveres. Why? Simply because he must.

 Inner resilience, religious strength and aspirations for greatness do not arise from inspiration. Inspiration burns bright and can appear all-encompassing. It feels real. It is a wonderful feeling and  a desirable one. But it is just an emotion. And when the chips are down it usually goes away. Some will argue that it is essential to the development of the religious personality but I would  suggest  that it can simply provides plastic comfort which masks the real issues involved and can be as dangerous as useful. It can blind rather than cultivate. In the cold, frightening reality of life it will not develop a stable core. It is, by definition, superficial(not in the negative sense of the word but rather that it is skin-deep). It can not simply be 'internalised' in a linear manner because it is not the thing that needs internalising. It represents nothing essential to the human character but rather is a delightful bonus or stimulant which provides pleasant peaks in life's journey. 

 So what is this  'keep on keeping on' resilience that is at the heart of human experience?  In my mind it is this that Ya'akov Avinu teaches us as the man of truth. Truth doesn't just mean not telling lies. It really means perseverance and struggle to do the right thing and live in a way of integrity even if we don't always get it or understand why and face many challenges along the way. And I can't think of a better word to describe it than 'struggle'. Struggle is often associated with difficulty and therefore pain and unhappiness. But for me it has less to do with emotional response to something and rather it just expresses a need for movement. For purpose. For goodness. For G-d. To grapple. To fight. 
This does not mean that we must now sit down, define it precisely and write up a formula for how to achieve this. No, it is far more subtle than that and can't be confined, defined or packaged. It is an engine which pushes us and is a permanent reminder of our duties in life. It touches the reality of existence.

I like this Rambam in Moreh Nevuchim (1:50) a lot: "If you belong to those who are satisfied with expressing in speech the opinions that are correct or that you deem correct, without representing them to yourself and believing them, and still less without seeking certain knowledge regarding them, you take a very easy road." External manifestations of feeling, faith and devotion are all very well but scratch the surface and never penetrate deeper. Inspiration can never stimulate this profound curiosity.

It is this that also comes across in the Rambam's description of philosophy:
(Guide I, 34): One of the parables generally known in our community is that comparing knowledge to water. Now the sages, peace be on them, explained several notions by means of this parable; one of them being that he who knows how to swim brings up pearls from the bottom of the sea, whereas he who does not know, drowns. For this reason, no one should expose himself to the risks of swimming unless he has been trained in learning to swim".

Rabbi Dr. Isadore Twersky, one of the great Maimonidean scholars of the 20th century and father of R. Moshe Twersky H'Y'D comments on this: "Like swimming in deep water, the pursuit of philosophic knowledge demands multiple skills, patient preparation, and extraordinary tenacity. The training is long and hard but indispensable if one is to achieve the goal and enter the palace". 'Keep on keeping' on is the stimulus to broaden, to explore, to generate, to achieve, to keep fighting. Humanity are restless and adventurous creatures and we must reach the summit and enter the palace, in whatever manifestation. Whilst there will be pitfalls along the way it is this that keeps us going because it is real, and no matter what the dangers of this quest are the rewards will always outweigh the risks - because this the the greatness of humanity. 

It is this that I have learned to admire most in people. Those who are aware of this engine and all that implies. They do not necessarily burst from the seams with exuberant zeal. They do not dazzle or leave you feeling fuzzy inside. But they are real people. Flesh and blood. They mess up. They do not pretend that they are constantly on a high from life. But their calm sincerity and goodness represents something far, far greater than any hyperactive imitation ever could.

It is also this that saddens me when I think about the projected models of the inspired individuals that we are supposed to aspire to be like to fulfil criteria in social systems. Is he/she frum? How frum? They ask. What do you mean by that? I reply. "You know what I mean - You can just tell". Yes indeed,  generic questioner, I know exactly what you mean. But I can no longer tell. 

I recently saw the film Interstellar. *Spoiler alert* In a manner similar to 2001: A Space Odyssey  which is a classic that I only saw a few months ago it raises questions about the nature of existence and the universe. But it includes an element that space odyssey hints at but never addresses specifically (maybe that is its brilliance as a film because it stimulates wide-reaching thoughts): What is more important, the big/cosmic things like the future of the planet or the small and personal things family? What is more real? 
 That was a struggle that continued throughout the film. In the end, despite Cooper's original proclamation that humanity was meant to explore and not merely to consolidate, by the end all he wants to do is see his daughter again.
 Blinded by the bigger picture he realised too late that the great and unexplored universe represented something far less substantial than the family he left behind to die. Whilst Space Odyssey seems to question man's ability to conquer and know the universe,  Interstellar seems to accepts the futility of the quest of absolute knowledge and focuses inwards again.  Whilst Hollywood cliches featured about love crossing all dimensions, the message was important. For the things and people that matter we will forever persevere, regardless of the logical impossibility of the situation. Keep on keeping on. 

 This quote is particularly poignant:
 Dr. Brand: Do not go gentle into that good night; Old age should burn and rave at close of day. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.