Contro il logorìo della vita moderna.

Fughiamo subito ogni dubbio.

Questo non è un libro né per chi si aspetta un monaco tibetano che a cavallo di una motocicletta vi spieghi la filosofia tutta, né per chi si aspetta istruzioni utili per far partire una moto che avete ferma in officina dal 1965. Chiunque di voi spera nell’una o nell’altra cosa ne rimarrà deluso e sbadiglierà tutto il tempo.

Piuttosto è un libro che vi offre un approccio diverso a due cose che sembrano lontane anni luce e tutto sommato non lo sono.
Anche senza leggere questo prezioso volumetto, mi era già capitato di pensare che in un modo o nell’altro in ognuno di noi alberga un piccolo filosofo. Il tutto sta a farlo uscire.
Ma dove? Tra un post su Facebook e due chiacchiere in chat? Tra l’ora della spesa e quella della pennichella? Tra le telefonate vuote di amici stressati e le lavatrici di capi colorati? Ummm, difficile.

Sembrerebbe una questione di tempo. E in fondo lo è.
Eppure, il ciondolamento post-prandiale estivo sull’amaca, non è detto faccia di noi dei saggi illuminati. Io ad esempio, ho sempre e solo rimediato le righe della tela sulla faccia e qualche pigna in testa. E quindi non è solo una questione di tempo libero da scassamenti di palle.

Mesi fa, vidi in tv un documentario su un corridore famoso di cui non ricordo il nome, che fece stampare sulla maglietta la scritta “L’uomo che corre, è un uomo che pensa”.

Eccolo il punto.

Perché un’ora sul letto/amaca/divano, produce inerzia , mentre un’ora di corsa produce buoni propositi, ricordi sopiti, strategie di vita? Forse perché pur impegnati a raggiungere una meta, siamo costretti ad ascoltarci. E non solo il nostro fisico che chiede venia e si rifiuta di fare quell’ultimo chilometro, ma anche il nostro cervello, libero finalmente di fare le proprie associazioni senza ingerenze esterne, neanche quelle derivanti dall’ozio.

Stessa cosa vale per un viaggio in moto. E non è indispensabile che siate soli. Anche Pirsig fece il suo viaggio on the road con il figlio. La moto è un mezzo fantastico, ma non è adatto a fare salotto. Le conversazioni vengono urlate o smozzicate, perciò se avete voglia di conversare dovete farlo interiormente.

Ecco spiegato il binomio zen-moto che all’inizio poteva sembrare tanto dissonante. La ricerca spirituale di noi stessi, specie se fatta con Qualità (la Q maiuscola la capirete solo leggendo il libro), è un modo inverso di concepire il mondo in cui viviamo. Anziché trarre conclusioni sommarie da una visione panoramica, bisognerebbe incominciare a guardarci dentro ed estendere piano piano la visuale fino ad abbracciare ciò che ci circonda.

Lo so, sembra una cazzata. Infatti io (tento) di scrivere recensioni, mica libri come Pirsig!!!

E proprio perché l’ha scritto lui e non io, si vedranno accontentati anche coloro che cercano una trama. Dolorosa in questo caso, un po’ alla John Nash per intenderci. Ma forse essenziale per poter arrivare a un’accettazione della verità sofferta, ma liberatoria.

Sarebbe bello adesso fare del gossip, magari anticipandovi non solo che si tratta di una storia vera, ma dicendovi pure cosa successe dopo; invece mi limito a consigliarvi questo libro a piccole dosi, e vi allego un link, a testimonianza di tempi e riflessioni che furono.

http://ww2.usca.edu/ResearchProjects/...

Reading is much like astrology I feel with some books. It is not just a conjunction of reader and book, but the planets need to be in the right aspect, the moon in its appropriate quarter. This I observe from how when people read a certain book at a certain time they are wowed by it and hugely excited, otherwise one reads a book with a kind of damp realisation that it would have made more impact on you if it had been thrown at you. So my memories of reading this are along the lines of 'author why are you telling me this? Ok, this might be moderately interesting but... Are we there yet, and if not can I have an ice cream?' Naturally I feel myself to be a literary Vandal or Hun, perhaps even a Visigoth of books for failing to appreciate it or be greatly moved by it, but sometimes you have to face facts and embrace your own inner barbarian, drink some ale with him (or her) and complain about the unreasonably high levels of wergild these days.

It was neither the vexed issues of motorbike repair  and the tidiness or otherwise of your workshop, nor philosophy, nor quality, or even surviving a mental breakdown any of which one can be reasonably reminded of through the simple expedient of taking a walk down the street which brought this experience back to me but dogs.

In the USA they do things differently on a grand scale, so while in Britain when it is tea time one puts a teabag in a mug and pours boiling water over it while in America they dump a shipload of tea in the ocean and wait for the seas to warm up, in like manner to study for a PhD in Britain you need to study in near isolation for three years while in the USA they have seminars and stuff at one such the author observes of one poor soul bounced off the course allegedly for being insufficiently Aristotelian or some such is brought back to be in at the kill of the author who observes that a dog is at its core is always a wolf, the alignment of the stars only have to be correct for the teeth to grip the hand that fed it, this before the author swiftly turns the philosophical table on the academic supervisor and watches him being eaten alive by the dark side of the Enlightenment metaphorically speaking, actual book maybe be far less exciting or more depending on whether Mercury is ascendant in Virgo or whatever.

Anyway this sold a lot of copies back in the day.

"Aristotelian ethics, Aristotelian definitions, Aristotelian logic, Aristotelian forms, Aristotelian substances, Aristotelian rhetoric, Aristotelian laughter..ha-ha, ha-ha. And the bones of the Sophists long ago turned to dust and what they said turned to dust with them and the dust was buried under the rubble of declining Athens through its fall and Macedonia through its decline and fall. Through the decline and death of ancient Rome and Byzantium and Ottoman Empire and the modern states--buried so deep and with such ceremoniousness and such unction and such evil that only a madman centuries later could discover the clues and uncover them, and see with horror what we had done...."



The author gives two storylines. The first takes us on a trip with his son across the country on a motorcycle. The second reaches back in time to a man named Phaedrus. One of them sounds fictitious, or stretched creative nonfiction, or like metafiction (it might be, but I don't consider myself qualified to make that distinction). However, in the end of the story the reader comes to realize it really happened, all of it. I forgot the story was nonfiction until the end, when Pirsig looks back ten years to the first publication and explains the devastating death of his son, the supporting "character." He had been stabbed to death. This follows an emotional ending to the original work that over-loaded me with terror and sentimentality. It dropped the feelings of a beginning resolution and returned my heart to questions about the reality and meaning of life. (Yes, I'm a Christian, and have my beliefs, but really? Can anyone understand it all?)

The second story-line concerns a man named Phaedrus, a "character" named for a figure in ancient Greek philosophy. I thought the name was a beautiful fit. The story and unfolding of Pirsig's opinion felt beautiful also. I took an English class that says we should not use the word "beautiful." Concerning that, Pirsig mentions the writing process, having been a teacher of rhetoric. He explains his belief that art should come from the heart, or soul, and should not be confined into a set of out-of-balance scientific rules, this the pursuit of what he calls "Quality." He discusses the term "quality" often, the main thrust of his "argument" in his theme. He uses other names for Quality, such as "Holy Trinity," the "Tao," and his personal choice, "The Buddha."

The author presents the philosophy as an introductory gateway. Although I had a difficult time keeping pace with it all I enjoyed it, and it instilled a desire to read more philosophy. I want to own this soon and read it again. I had a stronger understanding as I read it but now as I try to remember the argument trains I find myself lost. However, I still get the gist of what he is saying. The paradigm of society has been corrupted because we have separated life's meaning of "Quality" from "everything else" through an ancient basis of philosophy founding all of Western thought. He blames Aristotle. His argument seeks to unite religion, art, and science, thus Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.



"Peace of mind produces right values, right values produce right thoughts. Right thoughts produce right actions and right actions produce work which will be a material reflection for others to see of the serenity at the center of it all. That was what it was about that wall in Korea. It was a material reflection of a spiritual reality."

Can be a rewarding thought process.

This book is ideally read by Goodreads participants. There is great appeal in the argument about quality vs. the classic/romantic dichotomy ...Why is it important for Goodreads readers? Well, the issue we all have with our ratings is Quality. The same issue that this novel is all about. As we all should know the definition of quality is highly vaporous. Pirsig acknowledges that quality is actually impossible to define, but he would probably say that evaluations are very different between an intellectual and the common romantic. This issues comes up repeatedly here on Goodreads.

Pirsig argues that when we get caught up in the dichotomy of classical vs romantic evaluations we lose track of quality. Classic novels which are of evident quality to an intellectual, are often disparaged by commoners. While populist stuff like Stephen King, Harry Potter get disparaged by intellectuals. Does that mean that commoners have a better sense of quality or worse? Why is it so different than an intellectual's sense of quality? Who's right, who's wrong? Pirsig would probably say the commoner has a tendency towards the romantic side while the intellectual the classical side. But neither one has anything to do with quality. So how does this book stand up? Well, this book gets pretty average reviews by the common democratic consensus, but is considered a classic by many scholars. Which side is right? What is quality here?

I argue it depends from the point of view. Because of the general audience or even high school audience that reads it, it is considered only average. But this is a common problem with classics. Classics are heaped on people incapable of appreciating them. I do not want to disparage younger or lesser educated folk, but there are significant differences in intellectual and emotional levels (and therefore significant differences in evaluations). There is a huge list of classics on Goodreads that get average or even poor reviews (Heart of Darkness, Gulliver's Travels, Brave New World, Homer, etc). The reason is obvious upon reflection. A huge unprepared audience reads those books because of their popularity, school curriculums, etc. But because of the high level of complexity, they don't understand the book, they reject the book.


Deserved classics should not be dumped on high schoolers, but they of course need to be challenged. Too soon though and they will only misunderstand them, trash them and avoid them. It will create the opposite effect of what is intended, a negative reaction, an avoidance and a consequent dumbing-down effect that carry over into adulthood. As adulthood approaches all this negative experience causes unconscious negative reactions to complexity. The adult therefore consistently hones in on less complex young adult material instead of the maturing potential of the classics. They cling to past feelings of bliss that had occurred when reading less mature books. They don't realize that new maturer moments are the correct time to take on the more emotionally and intellectually complex classics.

Does this mean that many classics that are learned in high school or even junior high therefore should not be learned at that relatively immature point? Would they be better off zooming in on lesser high quality high school level material?

If literature scholars rave about Heart of Darkness and common people trash it, there is a audience target problem, not a quality issue. Either that or our literature scholars are just raving idiots. As questionable as the quality of our university education systems are, I am not willing to throw the baby out with bath water. Those scholars have definitely learned a thing or two more than the common folk about literature quality.

The solutions is that young people tend to be romantic thinkers (with very few exceptions), not classical thinkers and they should be targetted in that way, gradually developing their classical thinking through appropriate literature for their maturity level.

Of course the argument goes that dumbing down occurs because of the dumbing down of material. But teaching physics before addition and substraction isn't going to help us. We have a problem.The The fact is that kids are less and less oriented to emotionally or intellectually complex books.


It doesn't help that libraries and schools keep heaping overly classical material on students. They, in a very authoritarian way, simply won't respect that they students aren't that interested in it. Interest is important. As the student gets older and reaches adulthood and potentially university, those books will become much more interesting. But only if they don't learn to hate complexity!

Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance can appeal to a relatively developed thinker, only partially to a common romantic. But, ironically this book fails to bridge the gap between romantic and classical thinking. Clearly this is a classical novel, which attained bestselling status, but only with average reviews. Should this be a populist novel? No. That is why it has bar ratings. As bestselling as it was, most don't appear to understand it. As a novel, it can be intellectually and emotionally gratifying, but only for the right audience.

Here's hoping you that while you are reading this you get filled with peace from all that quality. But if you are a romantic, be careful, it could very well go over your head.

When I was in high school, my physics teacher, Mr. Bunday, came in one day and said he had finished reading this book, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, and was so moved by it he offered to give any of us -- his students -- an 'A' on our next report card if we read the book too and then came and talked to him about it. Now, physics as difficult. The texts hard. The concepts challenging. So I immediately signed up. A few weeks later I talked with Mr. Bunday and the concepts of ethics and quality, and the issues of life that were in the book. He gave me an A. And I have always remembered the book, the talk, and the physics as well. I was in and out of school then, mostly out. And I had no idea when I was reading the book that soon after I would leave home for good and head into my years of drifting, and end up in Montana. Where Zen and the Art... has a lot of action take place. The book is phenomenal on many levels. The writing. The story. The challenge. The events. The concepts. The tragedy. How do you rate such a thing? Start with 5 stars. Go from there.

DNF.

I've been meaning to read this well-known book. However, I fear I waited too long. There's too much "zen" and not enough "motorcycle maintenance," at least for me. The four motorcyclists on their trip make for a compelling story, but I can't get into the philosophical side of the narrative. If I was a younger man, I can see how it might be interesting and perhaps even profound to me. As it is, I'm going on 66, and I could only get through 25% of it.

This is the worst book I have ever read completely through. Unfortunately, I decided to try and finish every book I start right before I picked this up.
It fails on virtually every level a book can fail in. The plot is ridiculously boring, the writing style is junior, and the philosophical discussions are outrageously asinine. Seriously, how in the heck did this get published? How is it still being published? How on earth am I now a person that read this? It is embarrassing.
I laughed out loud at how stupid his arguments were and how blatantly autobiographical and egotistical the whole thing is. It is hundreds of pages of garbage. I cannot stress how bad this book is.

Преди да отворя тази книга, бях убеден, че „поддържането на мотоциклет“ е свързано с удържането му на пътя – да успееш да го балансираш, да запазиш равновесие подобно на еквилибрист, опънал своето въже високо над главите на публиката, събрала се да наблюдава изкуството му. Споделих това с приятел, искайки да чуя неговата предрационална версия (защото той пък не е чел книгата и вероятно няма да го направи, съдейки по нагласите му). Разбира се, получих присмех – естествено, че ставало въпрос за поддържането на мотоциклета в изправност – проверка на течности, разглобяване, ремо��т, сглобяване… Но аз знам, че у въпросния мой приятел „класическият разум“, както го дефинира Пърсиг, надделява. Може би това е причината за диаметрално противоположните ни предиспозиции към заглавието? Защото у мен пък надделява „романтичният ум“? Отначало разсъждавах по този начин, но после си дадох сметка, че у мен класическо и романтично като че ли винаги са били поравно презентирани. Откъде тогава тази грешна интуиция? И дали всъщност е грешна? Уж само едно заглавие, а ето, че дава чудесна възможност за самонаблюдение в областта на несъзнаваното. Сега вече ми е ясно откъде идва объркването ми – от нагласата към мотоциклета, която винаги съм имал, като към нещо твърде рисково, дори излишно рисково, нещо, което трудно се управлява, което може да те дари с невероятни усещания за свобода и могъщество, но и да те осакати или да отнеме живота ти в един кратък миг. Вероятно по-лесно бих се справил с ремонтирането, отколкото с удържането на един мотоциклет на пътя. За англоговорящите такава дилема не съществува – to maintain е единият глагол, другият – to balance (поправете ме, ако греша). Но на български думата „поддържам“ е многозначна и води до именно такива недоразумения. Мотоциклетът на Пърсиг може да се схваща многопланово. Той не е нито само реален обект, нито само метафора за нещо друго, например за живота въобще. Метафорите тук всъщност са много и в това е очарованието на романа. Пърсиг дава възможността всеки читател да разбере своите си неща, четейки онова, което той е написал. Затова и мненията за книгата са толкова полярни.
Като читател донякъде бях в привилегированата позиция да подходя към тази книга след изкарани четири семестъра в специалност „Философия“ на СУ (изглежда, че и аз споделих съдбата на Федър и се отказах от нещо, с което всъщност се справях повече от добре). Езикът, на който говори Пърсиг ми беше много познат, защото романът по същество е задочен диспут с големите философи на отминалите времена. Те всички са търсели първопричината, основанието, истината, същината. Нищили са я тази същина в продължение на векове и на хиляди и хиляди страници. Един от майсторите в това занимание, разбира се, е Платон. Едва ли щях да разбера нещо от идеите на Пърсиг, ако преди това не бях чел четирите тома на древногръцкия философ. Както и на много други след него. И въпреки това, не мога да кажа, че успях да разбера всичко. Пърсиг надвишава читателите си не само с идеите си – умът му работи прекалено сложно, прекалено различно и прекалено отдавна, че да се опитваме да се изкачим до неговото ниво. Завършил колеж на 14, с IQ от 170, поставено на 9-годишна възраст. Но и човек, който в хода на живота си е достигнал до точката на психически разпад. Лежал две години в психиатрична институция, където бил подлаган на електрошокова терапия. За мен тази книга е много лична – не само, защото е изцяло автобиографична, а защото чрез нея Пърсиг се опитва да постави нещата от живота си обратно по местата им. Там, където те са били преди да настъпи пропадането. Преди да изгуби Федър, когото толкова много е харесвал, но на когото не е можело да се има доверие. За читателите с една самоличност тази диалектика е трудна за осъзнаване. Всеки би се радвал, в случай че се е раздвоил, чрез силата на медицината да бъде събран отново в една личност. Но за Пърсиг това е било огромна лична драма. Излекуването е дошло на цената на загубата на една значителна част от Аз-а.
Думите на автора са достатъчно показателни за това какво представлява романа му в композиционно отношение. Трябвало е да бъде есе. Но есето се е раздуло неимоверно – дотолкова, че той самият не можел повече да го удържа в тази форма. Да напише обаче скучен академичен труд, пък бил той и фундаментален, не го е привличало. Знаел е, че никой няма да отвори да го чете. Същото впрочем се случило навремето и с „Критика на чистия разум“ на Кант. Тогава на Пърсиг му хрумнало да добави образа на разказвача, яхнал своя мотоциклет. Просто и гениално. Мотоциклетът е медията, която увлича читателя към същината на произведението, а тя е във философските дискусии между Пърсиг и Федър – две самоличности, заключени в едно общо тяло и един общ ум. Всички описания на природни красоти и прочее са добавени с единствената задача да служат за художествен баласт – да разделят епизодите, предназначени за интензивно мислене по дадена тема. Затова и цялото пътуване с мотоциклет е някак безсмислено, ненужно. Оправдано единствено в ролята си на канава, върху която да бъдат избродирани философските концепции на автора. Сцените се повтарят и преповтарят – често пъти дори си личи явната досада на Пърсиг от това, че се налага да пише и за това. Личи си липсата на старание да изпълни художествените образи със съдържание, да разнообрази действието с нещо запомнящо се и интересно за читателя. Едва в последната част на романа се наблюдава някакво развитие в художествен план. Останалото е сякаш написано мимоходом, без страст, защото тя трябва да бъде съхранена за истински важните пасажи. Разказвачът и неговият син са в постоянно движение, а сякаш са застинали по средата на времето и пространството, медитирайки, опитвайки се да докарат минало и бъдеще обратно в точката на настоящето. Дзен. Някои читатели вероятно биха се увлекли в това привидно романтично пътуване сред необятната американска пустош, но то е само привидно. То е за почивка на ума от сложните теми. „Умори ли се – почети малко за мотоциклета, за да си починеш, защото после ни очаква нещо истински важно.“ В този смисъл книгата е и дидактична – авторът е съвсем наясно какво иска да каже, но знае и как точно да го направи. Въпреки сложните философски материи, в които ни вкарва Пърсиг, нещо по страниците не ни позволява да ги оставим недочетени. Тази книга не е само за дзен и за (техническото) поддържане на мотоциклета. Тя е за всичко в този свят, за целия живот. Тя е в крайна сметка и за балансирането на мотоциклета на пътя.

This book is far more pretentious than I remember it being when I first read it. It gets downgraded from "love" to a mere "like."

According to family lore, my brother gave this book to my father when he - my brother - was in college. When my father read it, it apparently made a very deep impression on him, 'cuz he turned around and bought 4 copies and gave one to each of his children.

I refused to read it for years because...well...because my father gave it to me. Sometime after college though, I picked it up and read it for the first time and, for the next 5 years, I read it once a year every June. Clearly, it made a very deep impression on me, too. Come to think of it, I should probably read it again this year...

I love the narrative of the father/son motorcycle trip across the plains. I LOVE the sub-narrative about Zen and Quality and Values. And I love the theme of integration - how it all comes together in the end.

Plus, it shed a little light onto my father's psyche and experience. He named his last sailboat "Chautauqua," for Pete's sake.

This book was published the year before I went to Uni. There I read this during my Philosophy course. It was an interesting and thought provoking read. Now in my re-read years later it remains the same. Memories of Hume, Kant and Hegel linger from lectures. But what now strikes me is the brilliant interweaving of the simple story of a dad and his son on a motorcycle journey. And the immense sadness of the authors mental breakdown and ECT treatments. Together with the murder of his son a few months before his 23rd birthday. I couldn’t remain unfocused from this real sadness.

A very powerful novel now handing over to my Dad who started but didn’t finish this years ago.

I don't know what triggered the thought, but I remembered reading this book some years back. Not only that, but I recalled much of the story so it must have made an impression on me.

Blurb:
One of the most important and influential books written in the past half-century, Robert M. Pirsig's Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance is a powerful, moving, and penetrating examination of how we live . . . and a breathtaking meditation on how to live better. Here is the book that transformed a generation: an unforgettable narration of a summer motorcycle trip across America's Northwest, undertaken by a father and his young son. A story of love and fear -- of growth, discovery, and acceptance -- that becomes a profound personal and philosophical odyssey into life's fundamental questions, this uniquely exhilarating modern classic is both touching and transcendent, resonant with the myriad confusions of existence . . . and the small, essential triumphs that propel us forward.
End blurb.

To me this was more of a philosophical treatise on how we perceive quality, but done in a story like fashion so one's eyes don't glaze over :-) I don't know about it transforming a generation, but I do remember finding it an interesting read.