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The classic Quiet Mule blog. Musings, observations, reviews, rants, and everything a quiet internet man or lady could want to read. Previously, this was known as Prophecies, but Quiet Mule (yes, THE Quiet Mule) took that title for his own blog.

THE QUIET MULE COMPANION:

On Morris Berman’s “Coming to Our Senses” - 02 Mar 2010

I finished Morris Berman’s “Coming to Our Senses” recently.  Damn good book.  It doesn’t exactly “cry truth from the blood” the way that, say, Nietzsche did for me, but it’s damned on the mark.

I’m generally skeptical of such books, which claim to invalidate vast continuums of knowledge.  Specifically, Berman questions the view of history as held by the entire continuum of western history and the fundamental basis of western civilization and western belief as rooted in the rejection of the body.

Most books that claim that all other books have “got it wrong” are wish fulfillment fantasies, written by authors who want to inflate their sense of self-importance and read by readers who want to feel as if they are part of a small privileged elite privy to special understanding.  I detest these people.  But Berman has got it right.  His arguments are compelling and multi-dimensional.  Even if I didn’t agree with everything, I didn’t question whether Berman was being egotistical.  I didn’t think he was.  Well, okay, I think it’s impossible not to be egotistical, but Berman did a damned good job of not being egotistical as far as is humanly possible.

Berman’s thesis, insofar as my understanding of it went, was that western civilization is losing touch with its humanity through the suppression of its physicality.  That’s why western society is “doomed” and rapidly running into an evolutionary dead-end.  Berman retraces four or so different models of western evolution of thought and outlines how they have failed.

What Berman desires is that western civilization moves away from the repetitive cycle of “isms” and their rejecting and onto a new path.  He traces back the problems of western civilization to the “basic fault,” the realization that there is a “self” and “other.”  As Berman would have it, primitive hunter-gatherer societies did not have such a strong “self” and “other” dichotomy and were happier.  The basic fault became ingrained into society through the course of history and thenceforth western civilization sought solace in things such as “isms”, which served as transitional object.  Ingrained into western civilization were binary oppositions, etc.  Such as “self” and “other,” “mind” and “body.”

Society moves through “isms,” in that a certain “ism” is accepted for a time and then rejected.  Society moves onto another “ism,” which in time is also rejected.  Berman wants humanity to move away from this cycle. This is a sort of dialectic that Berman argues for, but it’s divorced from Hegel’s because Berman jettisons that whole “march of God through history” component.  Unlike Hegel, there isn’t as much of a teleology.  Well, maybe I can’t really call it a dialectic, since there’s not as much of a antithesis and Berman even brings up the Hegelian dialectic to criticize it.  Berman criticizes the entire spectrum of belief and western thought for being based around dichotomies and divorcing subjectivity from objectivity.

Whatever.  I really can’t be bothered to resummarize the vast amount of arguments Berman makes.  But he’s quite compelling.

I found a lot of what Berman had to say quite similar what I believe.  For instance, I am also of the opinion that binary oppositions are a damaging foundation of thought.  And I had witnessed earlier in my life how deeply ingrained into western thought.  As a case in point, take my earlier systems of thought I had created, of “judge/observer” and “true/false self” dichotonomies.  I created these systems of thought when I was young and slowly moved away from them, as I progressed from being unconsciously enraptured in western societal mores and then becoming aware and disillusioned with them.  So when Berman started talking about these things, I was rather pleasantly surprised.

I hadn’t thought that the self-other dichotomy as might be a merely human construct either, though I suppose I may have been aware of it on an unconscious level.  Thinking about it, perhaps according to my own “philosophy,” the realization that life is meaningless I posit first is conceived because of the “self-other dichotomy.”  Perhaps then a human not aware of the self-other dichotomy might not think life is meaningless on even an unconscious level?

That seems to be what Berman believes, in regards to hunter-gatherer peoples.  I’m normally skeptical of such Romanticisms of the past.  Because the past is long gone, people like to look at it and uphold it as pleasant as a coping mechanism.  This is specifically because the past is unattainable and gone and thus it cannot be “diminished.”  Perhaps Berman’s belief as such is such a sort of coping mechanism.  That’s one of my critiques of him, that he might not realize this, and that if he does he doesn’t acknowledge it explicitly as far as I am aware.  Still, Berman’s argument seems pretty solid (and I’m pretty sure that he does realize that his belief is a form of coping mechanism, though I feel he should have made it more apparent).  After all, if this book did one thing, it was make me more fully aware of how deeply ingrained my thoughts are in the root beliefs of western civilization.  How are we to say that the people of the past were like us?  After all, things we take for granted, such as “family love” are fairly recently concepts historically.  In earlier eras where the deaths of family members was more commonplace, it was even considered foolish for people to have emotional stock in family members.  I previously thought differently.  Maybe I was wrong.

Berman’s historical models were pretty good.  But, I have to critique him for seemingly ignoring postmodernity.  Berman’s model of the twentieth century seems to go from “modernism” to “new age-ism” without postmodernity somewhere in there.  I would have found it valid if, say, he had argued that we are approaching the age of “new age beliefs” after postmodernity, but he seemed to ignore it entirely.  I don’t know.  He would have had interesting things to say about postmodernity, I’m sure.  I don’t know.  Then again, I’m the deluded fool who thinks postmodernity may be what finally allows us to break the cycle Berman describes.  Well, then again, he was writing from twenty years back.

I have to criticize Berman for buying into the societal model of “art as consumption” as well.  This is something that’s been around since Kierkegaard at the very least, because it comes up Either/Or, but it’s just a societal construct as well.  Can’t art be divorced from the creator at times?  Berman really made me realize how much my own art is a “transitional object” which I use to fill up the meaningless of my life, though.  I knew that it was beforehand, admittedly, but I didn’t really consciously acknowledge it or I tried not to.

I think what Berman says is really relevant to the modern age, as well.  I think I might look up some of his more recent writings.  What Berman says, at first glance, seems irrelevant because the modern age of mass media is so focused on physicality (Berman was writing from twenty years back, so he may have been unable to anticipate this.)  However, western society still suppresses its physicality, which is why it comes out to the fore of mass media.  Mass media serves as a “substitute” or “release” for suppressed physicality.  Because physicality is so suppressed in daily life, it literally explodes in forms of mass media such as films, music, etc.  This is why I’m tempted to turn to towards beliefs as outlined in #19.  I can’t because I’m aware of the body and the mind as inseparable, though admittedly I didn’t really realize that until I finished this book.

Still, I get the feeling the wrong people who don’t get all this stuff I outlined earlier will be the most devoted advocates of Berman.  Berman may “Romanticize” the past and claim hunter-gatherers were happier than present people because of their lack of the basic fault of self and other, but he doesn’t agitate a “return” to their ways.  Berman is saddened by the destruction of the Gnostics by the mainstream church but not because they had some sort of intrinsic virtue, but because they represented an interesting possibility for humanity that was cut off.

People who Romanticize the past precisely because they seek to fill the void of their meaninglessness will latch on to Berman, not understanding.  They’ll shout “Yeah Cathars!” or “Yeah hunter-gatherers!” because they just want to relish in the despair of glorifying a past that is gone.  These are the precise “New Age” people that Berman fears.

I don’t think what Berman advocates is going back to the self-other non-awareness he believes hunter-gatherers had but being aware of non-awareness of awareness, so to speak.  Well, that was a joke, but I think Berman wants us to know both awareness and non-awareness of self and other, rather than simply distinguishing between self and other as most do.  What Berman thinks is that humans must become truly aware that self and other are human concepts.

I don’t think people will get that.  Sure, perhaps past people weren’t aware of meaninglessness and were happier, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t forget about it.  We can find a way to be happy, a new way.  Or am I falling into the trap of the basic fault by saying so?

I hadn’t realized how divorced from subjectivity I’ve attempted to make myself, and how that’s not a good thing.

I hadn’t really thought about the body’s role in terms of the meaninglessness of things, and how it precipitates that either.  I wonder.

Anyway, I’m worried that the people who pick up Berman’s philosophy will be the stupid people he fears.  People who advocate things without really understanding, and who live within a circle of limited dogma.  Berman argues that many of the people who came before him were wrong, as any philosopher does.  However, these people who I fear may pick up Berman’s philosophy will be those who attempt to invalidate all other knowledge.  These will be the people who don’t even know who Lacan was, or what the dialectic is, or what Manichaeanism.  And they’ll read Berman and say, “Oh yeah, I don’t need to know all of this complicated earlier stuff.  It’s all wrong.  Why bother read it?” and then cling to Berman as an “ism” and then move on when the next thing gets popular.  Well, I can’t claim to have read Lacan or Freud or Hegel either, since my readings in philosophy are circumscribed to the Ancient Greeks, most of what Nietzsche wrote, and Kierkegaard because of the fact that I haven’t really read anything deeply in a long time.

-Brian
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When Art was Gospel - 22 Feb 2010

From the time I began to invest heavily in animation, I had dreamed of being famous.  Without this drive to compete with others, I would have never had an interest in art.  Because of bullying and inconsiderate teachers, among other negative influences, I probably would have dropped out of high school if it were not for my artistic motivation.  I can safely say, capitalism gave me meaning in life.  Yet, it also left me a broken and disheveled boy.

 

I think back to those days, whether I would have spent even more time watching pornography or TV and left the house less frequently, if I had no art.  Or whether I could have broke out of my shy tendencies and socialized if art was not a priority. 

 

I gave myself the label of an outsider, but I was too ignorant to realize I was a product of the system.  Most artists fail to realize how their own behavior and art has nothing to do with them as individuals, but instead with their culture and transmissible behavior.  Many often theorize about art, but few are conscious of how their own mind operates. 

 

So all throughout my life, art was fueled by my feeling of superiority over others.  I thought I needed this to remain sane in high school.  But the old routine stuck with me and continued to keep me separate from my surroundings. 

 

To some extent, during the process of creating, meditating and spending time in nature, my habits would subside and my detached state lessened slightly.  But as soon as I was finished with one of those three, my mask would rush back into place.  Until one day, when I chose to become a depressed nervous wreck. 

 

Slowly I lost that competitive trait, so much so that I kept withdrawing from classes in college, eventually dropping out.  This depressed me further and I stopped my search for artistic meaning altogether. 

 

I needed that artificial institutional setting to focus on art.  I did not have the confidence to do it on my own.  I had three classes left plus an internship.  The thought of a career contending with people over jobs and recognition in the real world was too frightful for my immature mind to bear. 

 

At first, I replaced that drive with the short-term goal of completing a great sculpture for my thesis.  Pathetically I wasted many a day sulking.  As a result, my sculpture was left unfinished.  This was the final blow to my ego.  I would spend even less time on art the following year.  Almost two years have past. 

 

It is incomprehensible to me how little I have accomplished since.  But then, that is the system talking, not me.  I have not exactly achieved anything, but I have learned more in these two years then the previous twenty-three.  You see, the system wants me to continue working without taking a break to mature.  Thinking is the systems worst enemy.  Once you spend time in deep reflection frequently enough, you no longer are so easily assimilated.

 

That is what is missing with many creative people today, no deep reflection.  They only think of an idea, and then immediately act on it.  They never learn during the process and grow as humans.  It is so damn simple to call yourself an artist nowadays without ever producing a genuinely unique or beautiful thing.  From hero worship to nostalgia, present day artists search everywhere but themselves.  I am not talking about a lack of selfishness.  There is plenty of that.  I mean people are completely dependent on other’s ambitions.  They have little ability to resolve stuff on their own.  That is Capitalism for you.  Where people imagine they are independent, but rely on corporations, institutions, “experts” and addictions.  A land of make believe. 

 

When I talk of introspection, I do not intend to bring up the image of the dispirited western artist.  Ideas through depression feel exciting but come at a steep price.  When depressed, you are weakened mentally.  You exhaust your mind, and as a result it partially shuts down.  The creative forces seem to be more productive within this state.  The gap between the self and the other releases its grip so your mind can reserve its energy.  Creativity then becomes an addiction that comes in jolts.  In extreme circumstances, this can lead to being stuck in a dysphoric slump, creating only to ignore responsibilities. 

 

The way of art is to let prowess come to you.  Creative forces never cease.  Existence flows evenly if you are aware of its presence.  It is nature working through you.  The creativity comes slowly.  Over time it will gradually increase.  I realize this sounds evasive.  Nature cannot be understood through language.  Sure, it can guide you but your own experience is what counts.  Using effortlessness cannot possibly deplete your energy.  Addictive creativity comes in a rush and leaves in a rush, leaving you feeling empty without it.  This reinforces the cycle of depression.  It is an ever-worsening trap.  Believe me.

 

 

 

-Chris
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No One's Realizations - 15 Feb 2010

I wake up at 4 am from a dream. My bladder is filled slightly and my mouth is parched. I summon myself from the bed and walk through the hallway to the bathroom, flip on the disorienting light and piss and think "I am pissing." Then I hit the knob with my knuckle and wash my hands. Before I leave the bathroom I make a stupid face at myself in the mirror.

I stumble around into the kitchen and press the "light" button on the remote. The flickering lamp illuminates completely and I grab the glass cup on the table. I fill the glass halfway and drink. I think "I am drinking."

Two years ago I stumbled on an essay about how to become more aware of your activities during the day. Basically, it said that you think of the verb that describes the action you are carrying out. So when you wipe your hands you say to yourself, "Wiping," and when you wipe your ass you also say, "Wiping." So you become aware of your present place and present action in the universe.

I engaged in a similar activity by thinking to myself, "I am pissing." When I returned to bed, many thoughts began to rush to my head and prevent me from resting gently on my pillow and falling asleep. Yesterday I had researched and printed out the Noble Eightfold Path of Buddhism, and had been reading it over and over and contemplating it in my head.

These ruminations combined with the awareness exercises at 4 in the morning thrust me into some feelings of spiritual emptiness. I began to think about how there is "no separate self" and that "all things are impermanent" and started to feel some serious feelings of meaninglessness and subtle depression. And I tried evaluating these statements against my observations, and confirmed to my thinking mind, yes, these thoughts do not make up anyone, and yes, the world of no self is the only world that makes any plausible sense.

 So what is there if there is no self? Just the realization that perception is an illusion, and the continuation of the flux of the body. Out of which the question develops, is anything worth it? Saving the world from the soybean? Eating organic? Meditating? Trying to get laid? Doing anything?

I also began to think about how I once read a Buddhist master warn that there are a lot of ways to bring you into nothingness, but there are no ways to get out of it. The goal of Buddhism seems thus to be about realizing the illusion of selfish reality, but still retaining some semblance of a self in order to continue existing without (a.) festering in your own piss and semen until you starve to death, or (b.) being an emotionless zombie that takes no part in the joy of the world.

So, in the dead of night, not being able to fall asleep, I got up, baked an apple, ate it, and decided that I would give up serious spiritual pursuit until I was 25. Apparently in yogic tradition that's the age when the majority of your practice switches from physical exercises to breathing ones. Sounds good to me.
-Peter
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Grease 2 Review - 06 Feb 2010

My favorite movie is Grease 2.

Why, you ask?

Well, when I was little, my parents plopped me down in front of the television during a free HBO weekend. As fate would have it, Grease 2 was one of the movies that played several times during that weekend. After it was over, I remember getting up from it in a daze and my family commenting on how much I liked it. They said I enjoyed watching “the kids” sing and dance and they were right. The music was rock and roll, in that Broadway style, and the dancing was incredible. I didn’t understand the plot and wouldn’t for many years to come. However, Grease 2 left an indelible imprint on my psyche.

I don’t think my parents understood the impact watching a sequel would have on my development or on my taste in movies for years to come but I can certainly look back on it now and realize how it affected me.

To begin, Grease 2 is a “bad” movie. People I’ve met who actually like it are few and far between. But, at 3 years old, I didn’t know that the movie was the bastard cousin of a wildly successful movie based off a Broadway show. I didn’t even know what a Broadway show was; I just thought it was fun. As I grew older, I couldn’t understand why people scoffed at the mention of its name, even though I have never been a fan of sequels, other than this one.

That’s because Grease 2 held its ground for me as a movie in its own right; I didn’t actually watch the movie Grease until middle school. The sequel holds 3 dimensional characters, plot devices (though ridiculous and fantastical) that didn’t make viewing the first movie necessary to understand the second, and even though characters from the first movie appear in Grease 2 and act accordingly, if the audience is unaware of Danny and Sandy, they really don’t know the difference.

Over the years, Grease 2 came to hold deeper meaning in my life. I bought a copy of it from the video store when I was in 5th or 6th grade for some birthday. After that, it became the movie I turned to when I sick and stayed home from school. I learned all the words to most of the songs and the inflections to the way lines were said. I held onto my VHS tape for a very long time and even bought a cigarette holder to put in my mouth, like the character of Sharon, to emulate her, as I grew older.

For a very long time now, I have wanted to write a dissertation on Grease 2. I feel this need to express myself about this movie for several reasons. First, because I think it would be interesting to see just how deep the well goes with me. There are many things I have to comment about on this movie. Seeing as how I consider myself an expert on it, I would think that I should get my thoughts down, for prosperities sake. Second, I think it’s kind of funny to write a dissertation on something so banal in the sense of the world in general. To have something so grand attributed to it says a lot about my personality and sense of humor.

Finally, the reason I feel so compelled to write this work is that maybe after I write it, I can finally move on from it. I can get over the fact that I loved a really shitty movie for so many years and that I still love the song “Cool Rider.” Join me, won’t you?
-Nicole
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Soak Your Oats - 29 Jan 2010

It is funny that even among the people who do not watch TV, who believe it to be a waste of time, there are those who are mesmerized by the entertainment they have viewed in the past.  This goes for me as well.  The vast majority of friendships in my life had not so much to do with a bonding over experiences, but with bonding over entertainment.  I get this from my parents. It is a very odd thing to watch 50 year olds in the middle of a conversation with you one second, then bring it to a halt and run to their television like children. 

Peter and I joke around about how we still remember scenes from mom’s favorite soap opera “One Life to Live.”  A bad man named Todd was murdered (for those who are curious, Todd was apparently in hiding and is still on the show). We also remember that a boy was stuck in a well.  It is sad that I have no fond memories of spending time with my parents, but I sure do have vivid ones of their favorite TV programs.  I would viciously attack, say, "The Tonight Show with Jay Leno," unaware that it was because I bonded with entertainment instead of family.  I identified with the Late Show with Conan O’Brian instead of my father. 

Speaking of The Tonight Show, the real bad guy in all of this is Letterman.  Cheating on your wife is much worse than Jay Leno being a jerk.  NBC execs have done more reprehensible things than kicking Conan out as well.  O’Brien’s version of The Tonight Show had the same nonexistent range as Leno except aimed at a younger audience.  There was nothing new going on, Twitter Tracker?  Sure, the actual Conan and Letterman sometimes pop up to speak from the heart.  Those few minutes though are hardly worth the hours of stale monologues, dull interviews, and repetitive bits.  Turning the TV off will always be more rewarding.  Except Conan’s last episode, that was cool.  Will he learn from all of this?  God only knows.  Let us pray that he does, or we will have another great depression on our hands.

 The moral of this post is to join me in burying the Todds and Irishmen exalted by unrelenting colored dots.  Cling to your neighbor and support them, not a dahm coco, come on.

-Chris
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