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pirsig is full of shit. throughout the whole first half of the book, i kept wondering when he was going to stop his prosaic attempts at philosophizing and just get back to the motorcycle maintenance.
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I'm convinced this is one of those books that somehow made it onto the high school syllabus and just sort of stuck around, with no one ever examining its right to be there. This then created the unwarranted impression that Pirsig's text is a 'classic' or something approaching significance. I say this with only slight reservation, but I don't think there is any kind of genius, misunderstood or otherwise, to be found in this bloviated acid trip. Pirsig warns in the author's note not to expect an accurate commentary on Zen Buddhism or motorcycle maintenance. What he neglects to mention is that you won't learn much of anything else, either.
With a title like Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance: An Inquiry Into Values, I suppose I shouldn't have been too surprised when I wound up with a soupy slog through a tortuous jungle smeared over with the purest bird guano. Which is to say the book revels in being tedious, in laying out tedium on an operating table and dissecting it into its little tedious parts. By itself this isn't a dealbreaker, but if what's being conveyed tediously (in this case the intricacies of motorcycle anatomy as a launching pad for the unification of Occident-Orient philosophies) isn't worth the intellectual expenditure, something has gone wrong. And with this one, something went very, very wrong.
The semi-autobiographical book sets out under cover of a novel—a cross-country father-and-son bike trip—before quickly devolving into an effluvium of Pirsig's disordered thoughts. I seriously doubt any foresight went into this novel; thoughts are scattered so vagrantly across the pages that you increasingly expect the all-pervading synthesis that must surely await you at the end. Expect to be disappointed. Not even Pirsig, apparently, could clean this mess up into a functional philosophical treatise. It's as if a stream of thoughts came to him in the shower and, not sure what to make of them, jotted them down in slapdash fashion, hoping someone would come along later and piece it all together into an integrative, paradigm-shifting, status quo-shattering whole. I, for one, don't wish to be that person.
What you should expect instead are prolonged servings of motorcycle-speak and mechanic lingo and quasi-intellectual discussion of the term 'Quality'—what it is, what it isn't, what it means, how it works, why it matters. Most of his "Chautauquas", as he calls them, begin with, "Now I want to discuss...", such as: "I want to talk now about Phaedrus' exploration into the meaning of the term Quality, an exploration of which he saw as a route through the mountains of the spirit." (p. 168). The mystical undertones irked me here and there, but not as much as his bait-and-switch of pretending to tell a story that is really just an open-ended, self-indulgent, coma-inducing lecture.
I should say at this point that I am a huge fan of philosophy. Much of philosophy is interesting, intangibly so, and indispensable to every conscious adult. (You can't have science without philosophy, for example.) Some of it can even be life-changing and revelatory. But you wouldn't know it if this book is your first and only data point on the discipline. It's books like this which give philosophy a bad name and turn people away from the subject.
Anyone looking to get their feet wet is better off reading Kant, Camus, Sartre, Nietzche, Hume, Buber, Locke, Hobbes, Rousseau, Marcus Aurelius, Dogen, Mencius, Spinoza, De Chardin, or Thomas Merton, or digging around for Plato and Aristotle online.
Worse, it's not even well-written. I cannot recall a single lyrically memorable passage in the entire book. The dialogue sections, apart from being wooden, stodgy, and vacant of life, are completely disposable as mere segues cutting up the oration. And the way Pirsig uses the stuffy, hidebound university professor to validate his supposedly earth-shaking ideas is childishly bogus. Perhaps Pirsig has an axe to grind, or perhaps his opinion of himself is higher than it should be.
Closing Thoughts
In the afterword to the 10th anniversary edition, Pirsig reveals that his book was turned down by 121 different publishing houses (a record according to Guinness). I'm not saying this shouldn't have been published, but I am saying I understand why it almost wasn't. Pirsig aspired to pierce the boundaries of philosophy itself, to unify the dualism blanketing modern academia. Instead of achieving this quixotic but admirable target, he ends up mostly with disjointed, turgid ramblings that veer occasionally into the territories of pseudoscience and New Agey mysticism. The novelistic tropes sprinkled in are there simply to make his quasi-arcane discourses more palatable to the reading public.
It's my opinion that ZAMM is well-known among pseudo-intellectuals who pretend to have discovered something profound in it. But we must be honest in recognizing that not all philosophy is profound. Some of it is deeply insightful and life-affirming, while some portion of it is poofy and, yes, low on quality. Period piece or not, this is just bad philosophy.
Post-Script
As an addendum to this review after reading other reactions and takeaways, it does seem that one’s impression of this book is shaped largely by the time of your life that you read it. Art is by its very nature subjective, and I think this rings especially true in the case of ZAMM. A person whose life is in disarray and looking for order may be put off by the scattered thoughts expressed here, while a different person may have the opposite experience and find Pirsig’s chaotic effusions cathartic.
I’m aware that many consider ZAMM an insightful novel and even profound intellectual entertainment. Some have gone as far as dubbing it a well-crafted piece of fiction. I do not share these sentiments, but I can respect them.
The narrator (father) seemed like a ‘reflective’ man, attempting to sort out his personal and professional struggle and trying to understand the nature of ‘quality’ and how it can be captured, described, or illuminated. Some readers found this struggle fascinating and thought-provoking. I found it poorly communicated, not just on a conceptual level but on a literary level as well.
The use of ‘motorcycle’ is supposed to be the analogy of the romantic (form) and the classical (function). According to the narrator, there are two ways of experiencing a motorcycle: romantically and classically. The romantic experience of a motorcycle involves riding it down a mountain road, going past a soft meadow or prairie, and being completely absorbed by the wind rushing past.
The classical or functional experience of a motorcycle is to understand the inner mechanism of the machine—how the various different mechanical parts work together in harmony, how to tighten a bolt or fix any maintenance problems. Being romantic is to experience living in the present state, whereas being rational or classical is to connect the past to the future and thus continue to accumulate the collective wisdom and knowledge down through the generations.
Through this analogy we are supposed to appreciate both the emotional and logical modes of our life experience, and obtain a sense of how the two interact and reinforce one another. Indeed, the narrator’s romantic experience of his motorcycle was not merely informed but enlarged and uplifted by his classical knowledge of it. That true enlightenment comes from an organic melding of the two flavors is a notion I can certainly understand has broad appeal. However, I think there have been far better treatments of this concept (Sophie’s World comes to mind, a book that maintained a genuine sense of curiosity throughout but avoided making any grandiose claims). Most unfortunate from where I stand, though, is that I simply found the book particularly unpleasing, banal, and thoroughly unremarkable.
Note: This review is republished from my official website.
With a title like Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance: An Inquiry Into Values, I suppose I shouldn't have been too surprised when I wound up with a soupy slog through a tortuous jungle smeared over with the purest bird guano. Which is to say the book revels in being tedious, in laying out tedium on an operating table and dissecting it into its little tedious parts. By itself this isn't a dealbreaker, but if what's being conveyed tediously (in this case the intricacies of motorcycle anatomy as a launching pad for the unification of Occident-Orient philosophies) isn't worth the intellectual expenditure, something has gone wrong. And with this one, something went very, very wrong.
The semi-autobiographical book sets out under cover of a novel—a cross-country father-and-son bike trip—before quickly devolving into an effluvium of Pirsig's disordered thoughts. I seriously doubt any foresight went into this novel; thoughts are scattered so vagrantly across the pages that you increasingly expect the all-pervading synthesis that must surely await you at the end. Expect to be disappointed. Not even Pirsig, apparently, could clean this mess up into a functional philosophical treatise. It's as if a stream of thoughts came to him in the shower and, not sure what to make of them, jotted them down in slapdash fashion, hoping someone would come along later and piece it all together into an integrative, paradigm-shifting, status quo-shattering whole. I, for one, don't wish to be that person.
What you should expect instead are prolonged servings of motorcycle-speak and mechanic lingo and quasi-intellectual discussion of the term 'Quality'—what it is, what it isn't, what it means, how it works, why it matters. Most of his "Chautauquas", as he calls them, begin with, "Now I want to discuss...", such as: "I want to talk now about Phaedrus' exploration into the meaning of the term Quality, an exploration of which he saw as a route through the mountains of the spirit." (p. 168). The mystical undertones irked me here and there, but not as much as his bait-and-switch of pretending to tell a story that is really just an open-ended, self-indulgent, coma-inducing lecture.
I should say at this point that I am a huge fan of philosophy. Much of philosophy is interesting, intangibly so, and indispensable to every conscious adult. (You can't have science without philosophy, for example.) Some of it can even be life-changing and revelatory. But you wouldn't know it if this book is your first and only data point on the discipline. It's books like this which give philosophy a bad name and turn people away from the subject.
Anyone looking to get their feet wet is better off reading Kant, Camus, Sartre, Nietzche, Hume, Buber, Locke, Hobbes, Rousseau, Marcus Aurelius, Dogen, Mencius, Spinoza, De Chardin, or Thomas Merton, or digging around for Plato and Aristotle online.
Worse, it's not even well-written. I cannot recall a single lyrically memorable passage in the entire book. The dialogue sections, apart from being wooden, stodgy, and vacant of life, are completely disposable as mere segues cutting up the oration. And the way Pirsig uses the stuffy, hidebound university professor to validate his supposedly earth-shaking ideas is childishly bogus. Perhaps Pirsig has an axe to grind, or perhaps his opinion of himself is higher than it should be.
Closing Thoughts
In the afterword to the 10th anniversary edition, Pirsig reveals that his book was turned down by 121 different publishing houses (a record according to Guinness). I'm not saying this shouldn't have been published, but I am saying I understand why it almost wasn't. Pirsig aspired to pierce the boundaries of philosophy itself, to unify the dualism blanketing modern academia. Instead of achieving this quixotic but admirable target, he ends up mostly with disjointed, turgid ramblings that veer occasionally into the territories of pseudoscience and New Agey mysticism. The novelistic tropes sprinkled in are there simply to make his quasi-arcane discourses more palatable to the reading public.
It's my opinion that ZAMM is well-known among pseudo-intellectuals who pretend to have discovered something profound in it. But we must be honest in recognizing that not all philosophy is profound. Some of it is deeply insightful and life-affirming, while some portion of it is poofy and, yes, low on quality. Period piece or not, this is just bad philosophy.
Post-Script
As an addendum to this review after reading other reactions and takeaways, it does seem that one’s impression of this book is shaped largely by the time of your life that you read it. Art is by its very nature subjective, and I think this rings especially true in the case of ZAMM. A person whose life is in disarray and looking for order may be put off by the scattered thoughts expressed here, while a different person may have the opposite experience and find Pirsig’s chaotic effusions cathartic.
I’m aware that many consider ZAMM an insightful novel and even profound intellectual entertainment. Some have gone as far as dubbing it a well-crafted piece of fiction. I do not share these sentiments, but I can respect them.
The narrator (father) seemed like a ‘reflective’ man, attempting to sort out his personal and professional struggle and trying to understand the nature of ‘quality’ and how it can be captured, described, or illuminated. Some readers found this struggle fascinating and thought-provoking. I found it poorly communicated, not just on a conceptual level but on a literary level as well.
The use of ‘motorcycle’ is supposed to be the analogy of the romantic (form) and the classical (function). According to the narrator, there are two ways of experiencing a motorcycle: romantically and classically. The romantic experience of a motorcycle involves riding it down a mountain road, going past a soft meadow or prairie, and being completely absorbed by the wind rushing past.
The classical or functional experience of a motorcycle is to understand the inner mechanism of the machine—how the various different mechanical parts work together in harmony, how to tighten a bolt or fix any maintenance problems. Being romantic is to experience living in the present state, whereas being rational or classical is to connect the past to the future and thus continue to accumulate the collective wisdom and knowledge down through the generations.
Through this analogy we are supposed to appreciate both the emotional and logical modes of our life experience, and obtain a sense of how the two interact and reinforce one another. Indeed, the narrator’s romantic experience of his motorcycle was not merely informed but enlarged and uplifted by his classical knowledge of it. That true enlightenment comes from an organic melding of the two flavors is a notion I can certainly understand has broad appeal. However, I think there have been far better treatments of this concept (Sophie’s World comes to mind, a book that maintained a genuine sense of curiosity throughout but avoided making any grandiose claims). Most unfortunate from where I stand, though, is that I simply found the book particularly unpleasing, banal, and thoroughly unremarkable.
Note: This review is republished from my official website.
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Дзен и искусство размыкания кандалов
Кое-кто может толковать, как улучшить судьбу человечества. Я же просто хочу поговорить о том, как починить мотоцикл.
Большая часть людей, которые крепко задумаются, совместимы ли гений и злодейство, легко согласятся, что гениальность и безумие часто сопутствуют друг другу. Ну, пусть не гениальность, все-таки подлинный гений – явление чрезвычайно редкое в масштабах человеческой истории. Но высочайший уровень одаренности. Примеры? Да сколько угодно, со времен Диогена, который жил в бочке и ходил днем с фонарем. Эдисон в быту был забывчив и сильно неряшлив. А Эйнштейн, для чего он так высовывает язык на знаменитой фотографии? На этом поток малоубедительных жизненных примеров иссякнет и можно будет перейти к литературным. Вспомнишь чудаковатого Паганеля, и набоковского Лужина, и Натана из «Выбора Софи» Стайрона. Негусто? Так откуда же непрошибаемая обывательская уверенность, что если «профессор», то непременно «чокнутый»?
Честно? Я думаю, что нас, ординарных и ничем особым не отмеченных, но в поте лица своего зарабатывающих хлеб, ужасает легкость, с какой эти люди достигают блестящих результатов. Заставляет подозревать в них скрытый порок, порчу. В какой области самый большой страх человека, обладающего суперсилой? Лишиться ее: красавице стать уродкой, богачу нищим, великому спортсмену калекой, блестящему ученому безумцем. Тут еще и сорт зависти, не имеющий ничего общего с житейскими благами, которые обеспечивает обладание талантом. Высокий уровень дохода и премии, апартаменты и автомобили, вхожесть в элиту – не это главное. Даже относительно свободный рабочий график с долгим отпуском, с возможностью оплаченных приглашающей стороной путешествий Главное отличие – радость, которую они испытывают от процесса работы. Где для абсолютного большинства галеры с девяти до пяти, там редким счастливцам эдемский сад с возможностью называть всякую встреченную тварь ее именем.
«Дзен и искусства ухода за мотоциклом» - это инструкция по разбиванию кандалов и смене галер на сады Эдема, написанная блестяще одаренным безумцем. Книга, которая много раз переворачивает ваше представление о тексте, его авторе, а заодно уж – и это наиболее важно - о вас, читающем эту книгу. Начинается как простоватое, слегка занудное повествование о неоспоримом преимуществе собственного подхода к уходу за мотоциклом перед тем, который демонстрирует спутник, в чьем обществе совершается мотопробег. Перетекает в не лишенные интереса размышления о разнице в понимании техники и методах содержания инструмента. Продолжается описанием мотопутешествия с ребенком в качестве пассажира. И ты думаешь: молодчина какой мужик. И не такой уж зануда. Просто демонстрирует основательный подход ко всему в жизни: завел мотоцикл, так уж учись обслуживать, чтобы был всегда на ходу; родил сына – не пожалей времени и терпения на то, чтобы научить его тому, что знаешь сам.
Только вот, что-то с ними неправильно. Тебе не кажется, что мальчик ведет себя странно? Скажем так, не вполне соответствуя ожиданиям от поведения подростка, пустившегося в увлекательное приключение. Капризничает, отказывается выполнять часть работы, о которой просит его отец. Да ведь и с рассказчиком что-то не так. Что за призрак Федра, то и дело маячащий на периферии? Ты еще пытаешься устоять на кренящейся платформе романа воспитания в уютном жанре семейного путешествия с попутным введением в позитивную психологию, когда он одним ударом выбивает ее из-под ног. Спутница в поездке, жена друга интересуется, отчего у Криса так часто болит живот, не стоит ли показать его врачу? И автор отвечает, что обследовали неоднократно, со всем возможным тщанием. Со стороны внутренних органов все идеально, но это может быть, даже скорее всего, симптомы начинающегося душевного заболевания.
К-как? Только и можешь выговорить, да как им в голову могло прийти такое? Могло. Психические расстройства часто передаются по наследству, а наш знакомец, так искусно обращающийся с техникой, пребывал, оказывается, на излечении в психлечебнице и проходил принудительный курс электрошока. Теперь здоров, но почти полностью утратил воспоминания о той части своей личности, которую сам называет Федром. Да, призрак. А потом воспоминания начинают возвращаться, и все оказывается еще сложнее, потому что перед вами, господа, тот самый чокнутый профессор, о существовании которого так долго твердило общественное бессознательное.
Роберт Пирсиг, герой рассказчик, а «Дзен» - книга автобиографическая. Профессорский сын, который демонстрировал в девять лет запредельные сто семьдесят IQ, а в пятнадцать поступил в университет. И обещал стать блестящим молодым биохимиком... пока не оказался отчисленным за неуспеваемость, попав в Корею (в те поры война была). Вернулся, получил степень бакалавра философии в университете Сиэтла, изучал восточную философию в Бенаресском Университете в Индии, написал диссертацию по философии и журналистике в Чикагском университете, но не смог ее защитить, потому что, внимание! Предлагаемый им подход к системе высшего образования базировался на безоценочном методе, когда мерилом эффективности является не диплом, но качество имеющихся у соискателя знаний.
Все это очень непросто понять, хотя льщу себя надеждой, что разобралась, по крайней мере, в части качества. Часть греческой философии и платоновых диалогов об Аристотеле, Сократе и Федре, мне кажется, невозможно постичь полной мерой без изучения источников, хотя бы в переводе. Это очень сложно, при том, что попутно Пирсиг продолжает объяснения дзена, дао, дхармы, базируясь все на тех же аналогиях ухода за мотоциклом. И тебе внезапно открываются такие глубины понимания собственной жизни, которые и обеспечили книге читательский успех четырехмиллионного тиража. То есть, ты не одна такая, но лишь одна из тех, кто многое понял, благодаря этой книге. И. воспарившей в эмпиреях, разнежившейся в осознании качественно проделанной интеллектуальной работы, он выплескивает на голову ушат ледяной воды разговором с Крисом в конце путешествия. Ты снова вне зоны комфорта. Так далеко от нее, как и представить не могла минуту назад. Но это жизнь.
А также повод применить на практике то, что теперь с тобой – дзен и искусство ухода за мотоциклом.
Кое-кто может толковать, как улучшить судьбу человечества. Я же просто хочу поговорить о том, как починить мотоцикл.
Большая часть людей, которые крепко задумаются, совместимы ли гений и злодейство, легко согласятся, что гениальность и безумие часто сопутствуют друг другу. Ну, пусть не гениальность, все-таки подлинный гений – явление чрезвычайно редкое в масштабах человеческой истории. Но высочайший уровень одаренности. Примеры? Да сколько угодно, со времен Диогена, который жил в бочке и ходил днем с фонарем. Эдисон в быту был забывчив и сильно неряшлив. А Эйнштейн, для чего он так высовывает язык на знаменитой фотографии? На этом поток малоубедительных жизненных примеров иссякнет и можно будет перейти к литературным. Вспомнишь чудаковатого Паганеля, и набоковского Лужина, и Натана из «Выбора Софи» Стайрона. Негусто? Так откуда же непрошибаемая обывательская уверенность, что если «профессор», то непременно «чокнутый»?
Честно? Я думаю, что нас, ординарных и ничем особым не отмеченных, но в поте лица своего зарабатывающих хлеб, ужасает легкость, с какой эти люди достигают блестящих результатов. Заставляет подозревать в них скрытый порок, порчу. В какой области самый большой страх человека, обладающего суперсилой? Лишиться ее: красавице стать уродкой, богачу нищим, великому спортсмену калекой, блестящему ученому безумцем. Тут еще и сорт зависти, не имеющий ничего общего с житейскими благами, которые обеспечивает обладание талантом. Высокий уровень дохода и премии, апартаменты и автомобили, вхожесть в элиту – не это главное. Даже относительно свободный рабочий график с долгим отпуском, с возможностью оплаченных приглашающей стороной путешествий Главное отличие – радость, которую они испытывают от процесса работы. Где для абсолютного большинства галеры с девяти до пяти, там редким счастливцам эдемский сад с возможностью называть всякую встреченную тварь ее именем.
«Дзен и искусства ухода за мотоциклом» - это инструкция по разбиванию кандалов и смене галер на сады Эдема, написанная блестяще одаренным безумцем. Книга, которая много раз переворачивает ваше представление о тексте, его авторе, а заодно уж – и это наиболее важно - о вас, читающем эту книгу. Начинается как простоватое, слегка занудное повествование о неоспоримом преимуществе собственного подхода к уходу за мотоциклом перед тем, который демонстрирует спутник, в чьем обществе совершается мотопробег. Перетекает в не лишенные интереса размышления о разнице в понимании техники и методах содержания инструмента. Продолжается описанием мотопутешествия с ребенком в качестве пассажира. И ты думаешь: молодчина какой мужик. И не такой уж зануда. Просто демонстрирует основательный подход ко всему в жизни: завел мотоцикл, так уж учись обслуживать, чтобы был всегда на ходу; родил сына – не пожалей времени и терпения на то, чтобы научить его тому, что знаешь сам.
Только вот, что-то с ними неправильно. Тебе не кажется, что мальчик ведет себя странно? Скажем так, не вполне соответствуя ожиданиям от поведения подростка, пустившегося в увлекательное приключение. Капризничает, отказывается выполнять часть работы, о которой просит его отец. Да ведь и с рассказчиком что-то не так. Что за призрак Федра, то и дело маячащий на периферии? Ты еще пытаешься устоять на кренящейся платформе романа воспитания в уютном жанре семейного путешествия с попутным введением в позитивную психологию, когда он одним ударом выбивает ее из-под ног. Спутница в поездке, жена друга интересуется, отчего у Криса так часто болит живот, не стоит ли показать его врачу? И автор отвечает, что обследовали неоднократно, со всем возможным тщанием. Со стороны внутренних органов все идеально, но это может быть, даже скорее всего, симптомы начинающегося душевного заболевания.
К-как? Только и можешь выговорить, да как им в голову могло прийти такое? Могло. Психические расстройства часто передаются по наследству, а наш знакомец, так искусно обращающийся с техникой, пребывал, оказывается, на излечении в психлечебнице и проходил принудительный курс электрошока. Теперь здоров, но почти полностью утратил воспоминания о той части своей личности, которую сам называет Федром. Да, призрак. А потом воспоминания начинают возвращаться, и все оказывается еще сложнее, потому что перед вами, господа, тот самый чокнутый профессор, о существовании которого так долго твердило общественное бессознательное.
Роберт Пирсиг, герой рассказчик, а «Дзен» - книга автобиографическая. Профессорский сын, который демонстрировал в девять лет запредельные сто семьдесят IQ, а в пятнадцать поступил в университет. И обещал стать блестящим молодым биохимиком... пока не оказался отчисленным за неуспеваемость, попав в Корею (в те поры война была). Вернулся, получил степень бакалавра философии в университете Сиэтла, изучал восточную философию в Бенаресском Университете в Индии, написал диссертацию по философии и журналистике в Чикагском университете, но не смог ее защитить, потому что, внимание! Предлагаемый им подход к системе высшего образования базировался на безоценочном методе, когда мерилом эффективности является не диплом, но качество имеющихся у соискателя знаний.
Все это очень непросто понять, хотя льщу себя надеждой, что разобралась, по крайней мере, в части качества. Часть греческой философии и платоновых диалогов об Аристотеле, Сократе и Федре, мне кажется, невозможно постичь полной мерой без изучения источников, хотя бы в переводе. Это очень сложно, при том, что попутно Пирсиг продолжает объяснения дзена, дао, дхармы, базируясь все на тех же аналогиях ухода за мотоциклом. И тебе внезапно открываются такие глубины понимания собственной жизни, которые и обеспечили книге читательский успех четырехмиллионного тиража. То есть, ты не одна такая, но лишь одна из тех, кто многое понял, благодаря этой книге. И. воспарившей в эмпиреях, разнежившейся в осознании качественно проделанной интеллектуальной работы, он выплескивает на голову ушат ледяной воды разговором с Крисом в конце путешествия. Ты снова вне зоны комфорта. Так далеко от нее, как и представить не могла минуту назад. Но это жизнь.
А также повод применить на практике то, что теперь с тобой – дзен и искусство ухода за мотоциклом.
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i kept on reading this book hoping ever more desperately as i got deeper in for some real insight and revelation. Why had so many people recommended it? Why did people say it changed their life?
Over 400 pages all the book clumsily manages to ask is: "Are my priorities straight in this consciousness-addled, consumerist culture?"
The protagonist's answer: "i don't know. i'm going crazy."
Pop philosophy meets a second-rate, "On the Road" ripoff.
Over 400 pages all the book clumsily manages to ask is: "Are my priorities straight in this consciousness-addled, consumerist culture?"
The protagonist's answer: "i don't know. i'm going crazy."
Pop philosophy meets a second-rate, "On the Road" ripoff.
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Well, this book is not for everyone, and I have certainly heard people say that they found it overblown, pretentious, pointless, etc. but I loved it and found that what I read and my life experiences as I read it formed a didactic and interesting dialectic with the content of the book.
The book itself interstices Pirsig's account of a motorcycle road trip with his son and some friends with the story of his personal and professional struggles developing his philosophy of "the metaphysics of quality". There is also some history of philosophy, although this is to provide an exposition for Pirsig's arguments, so he cherry-picks the stories and interpretations that he tells. This is fine because it is not meant to be a primer on classical or any other kind of philosophy; I don't really have an extensive philosophy background but the little I did know helped I think.
Not that they have anything to do with the book, but I have a couple of stories about it. I figure that most people who have any interest in this type of book are already pretty familiar with it, so I won't say too much about it other than that I couldn't put it down and I wholeheartedly recommend it. While I don't agree with Pirsig's entire viewpoint, most of it rang true and even that which didn't was still an excellent impetus for introspection.
I got a copy at a used bookstore (I'm pretty sure it was this one) on a trip up to San Francisco with my girlfriend and a mutual friend. At first I had been browsing, and had found a cool coffee table book on phrenology which the lady at the counter chatted with me for a little bit. Encouraged by the chatting, I asked her if they had a book I had been looking for, The Secret Teaching of All Ages by Manly P. Hall, which is an encyclopedic reference about the occult, masonry, astrology, etc. (although it is reprinted in paperback, the original book had lots of charts, illustrations, etc that would not fit in the smaller paperback format and had to be abridged, so I was looking for the original, which I am told is something of a collector's item in certain circles).
At this point, the warmth drains from her face. There is an ominous, beginning-of-a-movie-like silence, and she informs me, "No. I don't sell that book. I'm a Christian." When I ask for further clarification, she says that the book contains "a secret spell to undo the universe" and that she didn't want any part in helping anyone undo the universe, so she would not sell the book even if she had it.
Well, things got kind of awkward at this point, and while trying to avoid eye contact with her, I saw a copy of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance in a stack of books waiting to be shelved, and tried to help myself. My friend Ian H had told me it was really good and I figured I'd check it out. She swatted my hand away and sent someone to get me a copy off the shelf. She told me that it was by far the most popular title that they sold.
I didn't get around to reading the book until almost a year later, when me and Vinny were on our rail trip to and through Hokkaido. The book got really water damaged during our ill-fated hike up and down Rishi-fuji-zan right around when I was reading Pirsig's mountain climbing allegory. A lot of the stuff about how when "you can't move forward, you move sideways" and etc. resonated with my at times aimless wanderings over the past couple of years.
So, in summation, you'll really like this book, unless you instead think it's interminable, rambling, and obtuse like this review.
The book itself interstices Pirsig's account of a motorcycle road trip with his son and some friends with the story of his personal and professional struggles developing his philosophy of "the metaphysics of quality". There is also some history of philosophy, although this is to provide an exposition for Pirsig's arguments, so he cherry-picks the stories and interpretations that he tells. This is fine because it is not meant to be a primer on classical or any other kind of philosophy; I don't really have an extensive philosophy background but the little I did know helped I think.
Not that they have anything to do with the book, but I have a couple of stories about it. I figure that most people who have any interest in this type of book are already pretty familiar with it, so I won't say too much about it other than that I couldn't put it down and I wholeheartedly recommend it. While I don't agree with Pirsig's entire viewpoint, most of it rang true and even that which didn't was still an excellent impetus for introspection.
I got a copy at a used bookstore (I'm pretty sure it was this one) on a trip up to San Francisco with my girlfriend and a mutual friend. At first I had been browsing, and had found a cool coffee table book on phrenology which the lady at the counter chatted with me for a little bit. Encouraged by the chatting, I asked her if they had a book I had been looking for, The Secret Teaching of All Ages by Manly P. Hall, which is an encyclopedic reference about the occult, masonry, astrology, etc. (although it is reprinted in paperback, the original book had lots of charts, illustrations, etc that would not fit in the smaller paperback format and had to be abridged, so I was looking for the original, which I am told is something of a collector's item in certain circles).
At this point, the warmth drains from her face. There is an ominous, beginning-of-a-movie-like silence, and she informs me, "No. I don't sell that book. I'm a Christian." When I ask for further clarification, she says that the book contains "a secret spell to undo the universe" and that she didn't want any part in helping anyone undo the universe, so she would not sell the book even if she had it.
Well, things got kind of awkward at this point, and while trying to avoid eye contact with her, I saw a copy of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance in a stack of books waiting to be shelved, and tried to help myself. My friend Ian H had told me it was really good and I figured I'd check it out. She swatted my hand away and sent someone to get me a copy off the shelf. She told me that it was by far the most popular title that they sold.
I didn't get around to reading the book until almost a year later, when me and Vinny were on our rail trip to and through Hokkaido. The book got really water damaged during our ill-fated hike up and down Rishi-fuji-zan right around when I was reading Pirsig's mountain climbing allegory. A lot of the stuff about how when "you can't move forward, you move sideways" and etc. resonated with my at times aimless wanderings over the past couple of years.
So, in summation, you'll really like this book, unless you instead think it's interminable, rambling, and obtuse like this review.
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I'm not sure where I stand on the philosophy in the book. In the early phases, I thought that perhaps I was responding negatively to the philosophy meditations because the book was a bit behind in the times (over 40 years old now). But then, as I went deeper into the author's Chautauquas, I understood the philosophy as part and parcel of a narrative that is not quite a narrative -- artifacts from a devastated psyche and the routine of a dad who is worried about his son. And then, I realized that this might be something more. More than philosophy, more than travel narrative -- it might be a new kind of practical reflective writing.
Little slips occur in the narrative that makes it less a pretentious philosophy lesson and more of what the work really is -- groping in the dark; a desperate attempt to understand something. It almost seems like the book was written as one long exploratory essay during a bike trip, not something that was written after the fact or tirelessly sifted from eight or nine drafts. The first draftness of the book is refreshing!
As a work of philosophy, the book would probably not be first rate. As travel writing, perhaps a bit less. But as something completely different, as a Chautauqua, it is in a league of its own. As an exploratory bit of writing on a bike trip across the country, it has more weight than a mere philosophical writing. The philosophy, too, demonstrates that there is a character at the center who thinks deeply, indeed where the very act of thinking might be a villain, a barrier, something to overcome.
At times, I wondered why the author didn't write more about his son. Why not write passionately about the other people on the trip? Why did the author dwell so much on Phaedrus, this other self that had been destroyed? Of course, that question is important for his son's sake -- understanding his own madness might get him closer to understanding what's happening with his son. But then you realize that there is something with the act of philosophy itself that might be wrong. That the author must embrace another "quality" or risk being destroyed.
Certainly, this is a book I can't really judge until I've read it one more time. But the point is, at least on a first reading, that this is a book I can't wait to read for a second time!
And what should authors learn from this book? Perhaps this: the Chautauqua is clearly a new genre (though it has antecedents in Walden). If you're tired of losing at a game that others built (a genre or discipline), then perhaps it's time to create your own game.
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I may have been too young when I read this, but I really hated it. My wife and I were struggling with twins, one of whom had severe medical issues, and here's this fountain of hot air who had abandoned his wife and kids lecturing me about "quality". At least, that's how I remember it. Maybe I need to give it a second look.
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You know, just to give you some perspective, I was somewhere in the middle of Act III when I recognized a horrible habit of mine. I like to find out how many pages are in the current chapter that I'm reading. It seemed like, possibly multiple times in a single page, I'd double check how many pages I had left until I finished it... or how many pages left until the next act.
Pirsig said:
The last time I read something which dropped my jaw more than this was in Beck's "Everyday Zen", when she talked about the "Superstructure".
... and I don't think I scanned ahead more than twice the remaining 200+ pages.
If you can stand the sometimes really hard sections, you'll be completely rewarded by the ending. And it'll make the tough sections more meaningful, too.
In some sense, maybe that's exactly what Zen is.
As the book personally relates to myself, he defined a central term that I've used a lot over the past few years - being "pro".
Readers of the book will know what "pro" is and why, my attempts at being both "pro" and having substance are completely at odds.
Pirsig said:
To the untrained eye ego-climbing and selfless climbing may appear identical. Both kinds of climbers place one foot in front of the other. Both breathe in and out at the same rate. Both stop when tired. Both go forward when rested. But what a difference! The ego-climber is like an instrument that's out of adjustment. He puts his foot down an instant too soon or too late. He's likely to miss a beautiful passage of sunlight through the trees. He goes on when the sloppiness of his step shows he's tired. He rests at odd times. He looks up the trail trying to see what's ahead even when he knows what's ahead because he just looked a second before. He goes too fast or too slow for the conditions and when he talks his talk is forever about somewhere else, something else. He's here but he's not here. He rejects the here, is unhappy with it, wants to be farther up the trail but when he gets there will be just as unhappy because then it will be "here." What he's looking for, what he wants, is all around him, but he doesn't want that because it is all around him. Every step's an effort, both physically and spiritually, because he imagines his goal to be external and distant.
The last time I read something which dropped my jaw more than this was in Beck's "Everyday Zen", when she talked about the "Superstructure".
... and I don't think I scanned ahead more than twice the remaining 200+ pages.
If you can stand the sometimes really hard sections, you'll be completely rewarded by the ending. And it'll make the tough sections more meaningful, too.
In some sense, maybe that's exactly what Zen is.
As the book personally relates to myself, he defined a central term that I've used a lot over the past few years - being "pro".
Readers of the book will know what "pro" is and why, my attempts at being both "pro" and having substance are completely at odds.
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If I had a shelf called, "Ugh," this would be on it. Still slogging through. How long have I been reading this thing now, like 123 months? Eff ME.
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I first read this book shortly after it came out when I was barely into high school. Needless to say, it was decent but pretty heavy at such a young age. Now that it's several years older (and so am I), I've developed a greater appreciation for it. Definitely worth the time and effort.
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I confess that, when I first found this book on the shelf of a small and now-defunct used bookstore, my motivation was it's being one of those books that "everyone," or at least numerous people, read and recommended with that certain degree of enthusiasm and gravitas that spoke deeply to my peer-pressure-obeying 21-year-old self. I also confess that it took about three passes through it to connect it to my life in any meaningful way, due not to the author but to said life and its dearth of experiences. Of course, the same could be said for damn near all of college, but I digress.
A teacher once said that reading certain books at repeated intervals in one's life -- he had been speaking of _The Catcher in the Rye_, actually, and said interval was five years -- was important. I have found more to enjoy about _Zen..._ with each read.
Is "read" actually a noun? Title of this website notwithstanding?
A teacher once said that reading certain books at repeated intervals in one's life -- he had been speaking of _The Catcher in the Rye_, actually, and said interval was five years -- was important. I have found more to enjoy about _Zen..._ with each read.
Is "read" actually a noun? Title of this website notwithstanding?
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Preachy, self-congratulatory hogwash. The worst part is that his message could be a good one: "self-sufficiency is the key to personal empowerment". Anybody that's ever met me knows that I'm a poster child of that ethos. Pirsig manages to ruin a good sentiment with self-righteous back slapping and blatant finger pointing. If self empowerment is your end goal, do you need to constantly fall back on the plight of the non-believers to prove your point?
Here's an idea: focus on yourself and what you've learned. Since when was the path to discovery paved with snarky intolerance? What an asshole.
Here's an idea: focus on yourself and what you've learned. Since when was the path to discovery paved with snarky intolerance? What an asshole.
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