Explaining My Religion (Michael Stipe Voice) In Five Parts
Me and faith have a unique relationship.
Hey y’all thanks for bearing with me through the nearly two-month break.
August was filled with another wonderful stint in Europe at Flow Festival in Helsinki. I also visited my spiritual homeland of London where I interviewed a lovely artist named Cody Pepper who will be featured in Artist’s Brain in October.
I also made one of my dreams come true by interviewing my favorite electronic artist of all time, Skream (that’s the kind of thing that happens when I’m in London).
But I’m back with another newsletter. This one features my unfiltered thoughts on my religion, and I will have another one before September ends (I am confident I can do two per month until the end of the year).
Right now, we’re in the season of high holidays for Judaism. The celebration of the Jewish New Year, Rosh Hashanah, just passed (Happy 5784!) and this coming Monday, I will be properly celebrating Yom Kippur for the first time in years.
For the last several years I’ve fasted, but this year I’m going to services. They’re actually at Denver Botanic Gardens, too, so I’m excited to see the venue.
For those who don’t know, Yom Kippur is the holiest day of the Jewish year centered around one concept: repentance.
The gist is that since almost the entirety of the religion is based on suffering, the most important day is when Jews gather and suffer together. Everyone sitting in a room, listening to services, literally starving, to make amends for the wrong we’ve done in the previous year.
I’m excited to engage with this tradition of suffering because my Jewish faith means a lot to me, but the extent of my relationship with religion is more personal, practical, and musical than Judaism itself (it’s also based on five parts).
I am Jewish by blood (and tradition), but overall I like to describe myself as “practically spiritual.”
I say this because, despite all the horrors that are committed in the name of religion, there are actionable ideas contained within scripture and myth that have led me to a more fulfilling and peaceful life in the here and now.
At the end of the day, isn’t that what religion really is? It can be interpreted literally endlessly given it’s imaginative nature, but one thing all religions have in common is they involve guidelines for living right here and now.
Even if the whole point of the religion in question is to gain enough “god points” to earn eternal salvation in the afterlife, the means of doing so comes from acting a certain way while you’re alive.
This brings me to the second thing many religions have in common, these actions are intended as a form of service. Usually to some nebulous higher power (or his son).
Do certain things and you’re good. Fuck up at doing those certain things, and repent your face off until the higher power forgives you.
This, of course, is where all the bullshit comes into play. Because these higher powers aren’t tangible in any way shape or form and are usually fucking horrendous monsters (God literally drowns the entire world in the beginning of the Bible except for one dude, his family, and two of every animal. Then that dude lives for 900 years apparently, lolz), any number of equally horrendous actions can be justified in their “service.”
Spoiler Alert: at the end of the HBO dark comedy, Barry, the title character, who is a hitman and a pseudo-born-again Christian, is listening to a bunch of religious podcasts searching for justification to murder someone.
Long story short. He finds justification. Under god.
This is why, I believe, when I tell people I’m very religious in my own way, I often receive skepticism in response, and frankly, I don’t blame anyone for those reactions.
I know people who have been victimized by religious practices performed in service to some malicious higher power. It’s fucked up, and I don’t condone it.
That’s where the word “practical” comes into my own relationship with religion. Following a set of guidelines for living in the here and now; guidelines that are practical to the human race.
Some might simply call those “morals” or “ethics” or “values,” and those some would be correct. I believe religion involves all three of those concepts.
What separates religion from those concepts is the introduction of an intention that goes beyond the here and now; beyond anything contrived by the human race (religion itself was contrived by the human race)
But what is both practical to the human race and beyond anything contrived by the human race?
Well the answer is not only simple, it’s something I spend most of my life discussing and celebrating, and the first part of the five-part structure of my religion:
Music.
Most major religions involve service to some higher power, and I serve music.
Music is the most direct way human beings can connect to the fabric of the universe, and by serving music, I am doing my part to align everyone and everything in that fabric.
When that alignment happens the challenges we face will disappear. We will be reminded that we are all connected and the world will come together to create an ideal situation for everyone and everything.
It’s the same reason dance floors are known to be some of the kindest places in the world. In the presence of music, everyone is happy, having a good time, and welcoming to those around them. Music has the power to do that to the entire universe.
See, when music is considered fundamentally, its foundations permeate literally every phase of existence.
In truth, the music that people stream on Spotify, spin on vinyl, reorganize into a new playlist, dance to in the club, cry to at times of grief—that is actually music’s most topical form.
Crazy right? It’s definitely fucking crazy given how much that topical form of music has changed my life for the better. How much money I’ve spent because of it and how much money I’ve earned because of it (I’d like to believe that scale is close to balancing itself out).
But to dispel the crazy, let’s take this idea of music further. Level by level.
First of all, music exists in nature. Birds and whales sing their songs. Crickets chirp. Cicadas buzz. Even though none of these examples include a chorus, a hook, or a bridge, they are still forms of music.
Here’s one of Webster’s definitions of music:
“the science or art of ordering tones or sounds in succession, in combination, and in temporal relationships to produce a composition having unity and continuity”
All of the examples above fit that definition, which means, as such, that music is not a byproduct of humanity. Remember how people say that music is the “universal language”? Well not only is that true, but it’s a language that connects more than just humans. It connects every living being on the planet.
But wait. Music also takes us deeper than a connection between Earthly beings (well, “deeper” may not be apposite in this case, because we’re actually moving outward).
One of the core elements of music is rhythm. Frankly, rhythm is THE most important element of music. Listen to his DCI snare solo. There are no lyrics, melodies, or harmonies. There is only rhythm, and yet no one in the world will deny that it is a piece of music. Most would also admit it’s also enjoyable to hear.
From there, we can conclude that anything with a consistent rhythm is inseparable from music.
Enter: the universe.
The Earth rotates at a certain velocity to where we consider one completed cycle a single day. That’s a rhythm, and so, that’s music.
The Earth revolves around the sun at a certain velocity to where we consider one completed cycle a single year. That’s a rhythm, and so, that’s music.
Now to reverse course and go from stars back to individuals, human beings all operate on rhythm. Most prominently the heartbeat, which increases when we are excited, agitated, or scared (qualities that uptempo recorded music frequently retains), and decreases when we are relaxed (a state of being most people seek to find in downtempo recorded music).
But there is more to it than the heartbeat. We generally breath at a regular pace, once again associating fast breaths with heightened emotions and slow breaths with calm.
Another example is our eyelids. It may be irregular, but they have to operate within a certain rhythm so our eyes don’t literally shrivel up and fall out of our heads.
Music is what binds the entire universe together, and I do everything in my power to serve that bond. From my day job of introducing the world to new recorded music alongside new perspectives on the art.
To my daily interactions of discussing music as this ubiquitous force. To spending my money on live gigs so artists can continue touring; which means venues stay open; which means managers, agents, and publicists stay employed; which means the artists’ careers continue so they’ll want to make more music; which means labels continue to operate…
Obviously, I don’t hold the entire industry on my shoulders, but I do my part, and beyond actions that are attached to music created by humans, being the best possible version of myself allows me to best engage with those actions.
No matter what anyone is trying to do, or what they are trying to serve, they do it better when they’re healthy mentally, physically, emotionally, socially healthy—TL:DR if you’re a good person, you’re in a better position to be of service.
The remaining four facets depict how I do my best to be a good person in the here and now.
But first a story…
I Am Jewish.
As I stated above, I am Jewish by blood.
My father is Jewish. My mother was Jewish. All four of my grandparents were Jewish. I don’t know how far back it goes (I really should look it up).
In today’s day and age though, these traditions are not binding whatsoever. According to Wikipedia, 15.6% of the world’s population fall into the category of “irreligion,” otherwise not being associated with any religion via titles like “agnostic” or “atheist.”
So clearly the concept of belonging to religion is by no means a stricture of society anymore. If I didn’t want to consider myself Jewish I would not have to by any means.
But I do ( I have a tattoo to prove it).
And here’s why.
A little more than eight years ago, I was in Israel doing what I highly recommend anyone who has even the slightest Jewish ancestry to do, Birthright. A.K.A. taking a free trip to Israel for ten days.
We got to ride camels, visit cool bar districts, drink absinthe, smoke hash and play pool with strangers (the hash and pool part was just me and my friend because we know how to talk to people and they took us to a secret room), eat mountains of delicious pita bread (you literally bought a whole pack for like one shekel, which is like 40 cents. I always had a pack with me), float in the dead sea, hike through the desert.
But none of that is what grounded me in the religion of my blood.
I’ve heard numerous Jewish people say that when they stepped foot in Israel, they immediately felt like they were home. Like they could feel their ancestors speaking to them from generations passed.
Not me.
In my opinion, there is no such thing as “holy” land. It’s just land. Religion is an internal experience. The only thing “holy” about any object or area is that bunch of people who are devout decided to make that object or area holy.
When the human race eventually dies out, that land will most likely still be there, but religion will be gone.
What grounded me in my Judaism had nothing to do with the land itself, but it was something we did on the land.
On either the second or third to last day of the trip (I can’t remember), we visited the holocaust museum in Jerusalem, and we must have been blessed with the best. Tour. Guide. Ever.
As a Jew, I’ve heard sooooooooo much about the holocaust. Not to devalue it’s horror. But like anything in this world, if you hear about it so consistently for so long, the subject loses some gravity.
Well, this tour guide multiplied the gravity by 10,000. Like my fallen kin whose burnt shoes that were pulled from the gas chambers and held in glass cases in the floor of the museum were pulling me closer to their souls with all their strength, reminding me that I was a part of something greater than myself—that every time I feel alone I can remember that I have a community that extends back thousands of years.
The museum is set up like a long hallway with huge exhibits on either side. The tour guide took us through every room. He was wearing a mic and we were all wearing earpieces so we could explore each room as he spoke, and while other members of my birthright group took a load off and stared at their phones, I was fucking engaged.
Every bit of history in every room: from notebooks of Wagner’s; to a charred hairbrush that a young girl held on to because she was still human; hearing the tour guide speak about how one man (yet again) turned my people into enemies…I couldn’t believe it.
Then at the end of the museum is the Hall Of Names, where the museum has compiled millions of names of Jews who were murdered in the Holocaust.
This room is massive. You walk in on a floating central platform, but the room itself must be at least 100 feet from floor to ceiling, and from the floor to the ceiling are binders containing records of names.
Even writing about it at this moment I feel the breathlessness I felt during that experience. To see the atrocities laid before me like that alongside the stories the tour guide told…
It really hit me then. There are still people in the world who think I should be thrown into a gas chamber for nothing other than my ancestral beliefs, and furthermore, through all of that persecution, my family is still here.
I’m not going to be the one who lets our traditions die. No fucking way.
It was through that intention I started to learn about what aspects of Judaism I can apply in my daily life to continue to serve music.
The Talmud
One of those aspects stems from the Talmud, which is “the central text of Rabbinic Judaism and the primary source of Jewish religious law.”
Now, to preface. I have not studied this book in the slightest in terms of its contents, as I’m sure, being the byproduct of a major organized religion, it is filled with the kind of antiquated, offensive, and destructive nonsense that permeates every major organized religion.
However, there is a general foundation of the Talmud that is aligned with an idea that is central to my own relationship with religion: uncertainty.
See, the Talmud is technically divided into two components:
The Mishnah - which is basically just a different version of the Torah—which is essentially the Jewish bible (and is literally the first five books of the Christian Bible. The Torah is also commonly referred to as the “Old Testament).
The Gemara - which is basically the commentary of thousands of rabbis across hundreds of years sitting around and discussing what the Mishnah says.
It’s Gemara that binds me to the concept of the Talmud because it introduces the idea of uncertainty—the idea that there may not just be one right answer to life’s conundrums.
For example, in the fifth episode of the third season of The Simpsons (because “Simpsons did it!”) entitled “Like Father, Like Clown,” Rabbi Krustofsky—Krusty’s father—is talking with other rabbis and he says:
“The best charity is to give and not let other people know.”
Very common conception because giving anonymously means you aren’t giving for attention and praise from others.
But then another rabbi says:
“But what if your example encourages others to give?”
That’s the Gemara in action. Uncertainty.
Here’s an example that could apply to more modern times. If the Jewish part of the bible included the part about homosexuality being an abomination (it doesn’t), then those same rabbis could sit around and be like:
“This book that was written thousands of years ago said it’s wrong for people of the same gender to engage in sexual relations!”
“Well, we don’t live thousands of years ago. We live here and now, and we’ve seen that not only does someone being gay literally affect nothing, but homosexuality has been overwhelmingly observed in nature as well. It’s clearly a natural part of life on this planet, a life we all share. So, I think we can divert away from what the book says on this one.”
Perhaps some older cunty rabbis would disagree, but it’s simply the fact that a forum for discussion (that a forum for uncertainty) is built into the religion that aligns with me.
It’s the other side of that coin—certainty—that introduces so much of the fucked up shit associated with organized religion.
Devout Christians are certain that gay people are going to hell after they die, and they are certain that hell is a real thing, and they are certain that it’s the worst thing that anyone could ever experience.
As a result of that certainty, a market for conversion therapy—where parents send their gay kids to attempt (and fail) to make them straight—exists.
Devout Muslims are certain that women have to wear a hijab or they are an insult to Allah. It’s because of that certainty there is a morality police in Iran. It’s because of that certainty the morality police murdered Mahsa Amini last year. It’s because of that certainty artists protesting her murder are being tortured in prison right now.
If any of those religions introduced the idea of uncertainty, that their religious text might have holes in it, then so much pain and suffering and death could be avoided.
Really what the concept of the Gemera says is to approach your life as best you can based on your own perspective, and use your past experiences to grow.
Religion. Ethics. Right and wrong. They are infinite topics. There is basically never any situation where there is only one right way forward upon which everyone agrees.
Life is uncertainty, but from my perspective, the reason people become so devout they are comfortable with murder in the name of their lord is because they fear uncertainty more than anything…
This idea brings me to the next tenet.
The Holy Ghost
So much of religion is explaining what can’t be explained.
Hence why the afterlife is such a huge topic in so many religions.
No one knows what happens after we die. No one will ever know, and that terrifies so many people.
As such, those people turn to religion in order to explain it. Throwing around words like “belief” and “faith.” Welcoming outrageous tales of supernatural occurrences into their lives to dispel just a bit of uncertainty; just a bit of fear.
There is, however, a flipside to this idea. A perspective that replaces the fear of the unknown with an excitement and reverence for the unknown, one that also fuels a practical approach to the here and now, and one that borrows an idea from established religious jargon: The Holy Ghost.
For those who aren’t familiar, The Holy Ghost is, generally speaking, the third manifestation of God according to the Christian faith.
There is The Father (God), The Son (Jesus), and The Holy Ghost, which is the form of God that resides on the physical plane, within every human being.
Now, pair this idea of a ubiquitous form of God with the utility of using God to explain the unknown, and the result is a profound truth: Human beings can’t be explained.
Sure there are definable factors like environment, upbringing, financial situation, etc. that could give clues to why people may behave the way they do, but those factors can’t be added up into an equation like a math problem to determine someone’s personality.
That inability to explain is why live music is illustrious compared to the recording. Even if you know the exact songs the artist is going to play, and you’ve seen the artist five times on the same tour (shoutout St. Vincent and boygenius), the performance will still be different, and inherently still unpredictable.
(The inability to explain is also why Dr. Manhattan cares about humanity again).
With that in mind, the Holy Ghost is real, and it plays a direct role in my service to music because in order to best serve music, I have to engage with this uncertainty.
A direct example is interviews. Every time I interview someone, there is uncertainty. I don’t know what their answers will be. If I did, there would be no point to the interview in the first place.
But beyond a simple correlation like that, engaging with the uncertainty, with the Holy Ghost, is the only way to truly grow as a human. Meeting new people. Exploring new places. Taking risks. Through these experiences, I can continue to serve music as best as I can.
The Golden Rule
This time I’m borrowing from the Bible, and I feel like most people borrow this particular idea from the Bible: The Golden Rule, which in Matthew 7:14 reads:
“Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”
Simple enough for the most part, but overall I also feel like there are certain layers to this phrase that require self-awareness to truly uncover.
Consider this. The golden rule can quickly be applied to people pleasing. Being overly nice. Sacrificing your own needs in order to provide for others.
Technically someone could say they’re engaging in the above behaviors because they would like to be on the receiving end of them.
There is also the flipside. Ignoring shitty behavior because someone wouldn’t theoretically want to be on the receiving end of criticism.
As this entire piece denotes, these are decisions everyone makes based on their own impressions (which are based on an infinite amount of factors leading the final decisions to utter unpredictability).
But by focusing on the true essence of the Golden Rule, this is one method of how I get to know myself. The people in our lives, in one way or another, are mirrors of who we are.
A simple way this manifests is through common interests. Generally, people spend time with other people who enjoy similar things.
There are more complex perspectives on this idea as well. Perhaps if someone’s social circle hasn’t changed since high school, and that person finds themself drained, frustrated, and annoyed whenever they spend time with said social circle, that is often a mirror reflecting low self-worth.
Settling for what’s comfortable and subpar rather than taking a risk to explore the unknown and meet new people (and yes, that is an example germane to my own experience).
So before I consider how to treat a person, there is a moment of reflection of whether how I would want to be treated in the same scenario is actually a reflection of who I am or a reflection of younger versions of myself that are emotionally unhealthy, depressed, and selfish.
One of the reasons I am so intent on serving music is it is the safe space to feel. Whether live or on the record, that is where my soul is at ease. I could be angry, melancholy, or euphoric, but the ease comes from the acceptance of it all.
Music has given me the gift of that safe space for my entire life. In my service, I owe it to look at myself and see those feelings for what they are and do my best to use them as a guide in applying the golden rule.