PART 4: Anger and Alternatives,
This book makes me angry.
To be Crystal Clear: I am angry at the book and the ideas and the morality it espouses (what the book presents as virtuous or not), I am not angry at people, I wish all people happy lives full of art and failure and meaning. You are beautiful, make the world a better place. My anger is personal, and subjective, and says more about me than it does about the book. What I care about mapped onto what I think the book cares about.
And as an aside: Thank you for this opportunity. Sincerely. It is rare that I feel anger, and it is even rarer that I feel safe sharing it (especially on the internet). I realize that this might surprise some, given my emotionally charged avalanche of commentary with the tone of a fervent tweet, But I engage rarely and carefully. I have real skin in the game, That's my name up there. Hi.
Also, REDACTED mentioned during the livestream that an alternative philosophy would be more interesting than a takedown (ie, instead of nitpicking the ideas, make something). SHOW ME WHAT YOU GOT. Deal. Let's do that also, Let's make something.
Two parts then:
1. Why does this book make me angry?
2. REDACTED's Theory of Dualistic Metaphysics
*Or: How Two Connected Definable Concepts are Better than One Undefineable Concept*
Ok, let's get the uncomfortable part over with. The Angry Part.
## Content Warning ##
This is personal and emotional, feel free to skip it if yuo are not up for that. I mention abuse and when it comes to my strong feelings about the book, the gloves come off. I am not delicate and the reaction is far more emotional than logical. It gets shouty.
## Content Warning ##
Ok, here we go.
The main reason that it makes me angry is that I have a lot in common with this book and its protagonist/villain, so it pushes my buttons more than it would others,
I grew up in Montana, and I went to college at REDACTED, the same school Persig taught at (though after he was teaching there). I started in Philosophy, then switched to Religious Studies, then Engineering, then Computer Science, then I dropped out to work in the first dotcom boom. As I progressed through majors, I kept taking Philosophy and Religious Studies and Engineering classes because I loved ideas.
During this period in my life, I was an insufferable intellectual pedant. My sister sent me a poem during this period because it reminded her of me. It is called "Pedantic Literalist" by Marianne Moore. It is a short and accurate depiction of the person I was.
Here it is: https://www.poetrynook.com/poem/pedantic-literalist
That was me.
I wasn't lonely though, I had friends and relationships and hobbies and adventures and fun times. I was blithely unaware of how far up my own ass I was. I would get into a discussion with a stranger about something and it would often end with them furious at me, and I was baffled. I remember one time when I got into a discussion about rehabilitative vs punitive justice with a nice friend of a friend and after about an hour she had to leave because she was so mad at me. This shocked me, I was having a good time. I was oblivious to the state of mind of other people. I didn't really listen to them. I would lecture to them, My ideas were better ideas. I was relentlessly interruptive.
I was convinced that I was the smartest person in the room. Every time Phaedrus' towering intellect is described by Persig, it pushes my button. If it is framed as a failure, that's a TOTALLY different experience, because it IS a failure. But if it is framed as virtuous (which it is in the book), nah man. It took me years to recover from that insufferable superiority,
By spring semester of my Junior Year, I had lost all respect for academia. All the stuff in the book about the frustrations of academia, could have been my biography. That bit in the book where he writes out his gleeful contempt for esthetics? I did that too. My last philosophy class was Philosophy of Art, and my final act of contempt was to scribble curt responses to each of the essay questions, fold the exam paper into an origami cube, and drop it on the professor's desk like a mic-drop. And then everyone clapped. r/thathappened...
Lol, no. Nobody gave a shit. They didn't care, it was a petulant and disrespectful act by a Pedantic Literalist. This is one of my big shameful Failures (see my Part III essay about Stuckness for more on that). My professor was a nice guy who was paid a pittance to teach children like me to give a shit about ideas. He did not deserve my disrespect. I learned a lot from this failure, and my guess is that he doesn't remember it at all.
The book frames this insulting tantrum as a hilarious takedown, It's just mean. Button pushed.
After the dotcom boom, I couldn't find work, and I went back to REDACTED to start over, go back to school, try to recover some of my karmic debt. I ended up working in Neuroscience and then Research Computing at REDACTED for ten years, some of the best years of my life. I worked with teachers and students. I got deep into the complicated world of post-secondary education, and the amazing people who choose to teach in spite of the soul crushing bureaucracy. Every time Phaedrus "dunks" on academia with his naive reductive takes, Button Is Pushed.
I met my wife, had two kids, figured out how to adult and be responsible for other people. I went to therapy. I went to work on myself. I came out of this period a completely different person. I still loved ideas (and still do!) but my values were totally overhauled. I cared about other people. I knew that I was more often wrong than right. I learned the inestimable value of Failure. I was a genuinely better person.
I have continued this work of self-knowledge and self-improvement to this day. It is my life's work, it is complicated and messy, punctuated by Failure and beauty. This work is never done. My philosophy of life is a side-effect of this work, not its goal. My goal is to know myself better so as to be a good person ON THE SIDE OF ART. Everything else is a side-effect of that. The casual dismissal of the hard work of being a responsible adult... Button FUCKING Pushed.
It makes me angry that Persig has it backwards. Understanding and goodness don't come from an undefineable mystical concept. Working towards being a better person ON THE SIDE OF ART will. You don't want to go farther up your own arrogant metaphysical ass, you want to understand why that is so important to you in the first place. The answer is inside you, and it's not metaphysical.
It makes me angry that Persig focuses on the primacy of an undefinable Quality instead of the hard work of Failing and Care and talking to other people. Learning from other people. You don't need to be a motorcycle expert. We should celebrate the expertise of others, you don't have to do it alone. It doesn't make you a low Quality person (whatever the fuck that means). Different people are good at different things. when we celebrate the expertise of others, we can cooperate, we can work together. We can ask for help. We can be good people ON THE SIDE OF ART. Share your pain (consensually). Listen to other people. You are more wrong about the world than you think. None of this is called out in this book. The Guiding Principal of this book, the holiest of holies, is undefinable an unactionable. It means everything and nothing. It does not help you to learn about yourself or communicate with others.
It makes me angry because this is NOT a story of philosophical discovery buried in a dysfunctional family road trip. It is a how-to guide for Pedantic Intellectual Assholes to excuse their awful behavior because it is in the service of a greater good. They can declare literally anything to be Quality because it is undefinable. It is your fault if you "don't get it" because "everyone can detect Quality." They can justify any of your behaviors or ideas or belongings as being "low Quality", and if they are charismatic and convincing enough, it is true! There is NO WAY for you to determine what does or does not have Quality because it is undefinable. But it is The Most Important Thing, it underlies everything, it's more important than feelings or desires or suffering. It is Quality. It is all that matters. It is the ultimate abusive tool and it. makes. me. angry because it comes disguised in good vibes and impressive intellectual bullshit. Lots of "mic drop" moments and dunking on "low Quality" things like people who live in cities or "squares" or National Parks. FUCK YOU AND YOUR TRASH BOOK.
OK! Ok. ok. that is enough anger for 2022.
I think I have made my point. I think I got it all out. This is a weird thing to do in public. I hope it didn't bother anyone too much.
To re-clarify: This is my subjective experience. My emotional response based on my unique path through life. My Failures, and my attention, and my strong opinions. It may not be yours, and I do celebrate that. If it brings you joy and clarity, there are few finer things in life. Please, continue.
I have to take a break now though, I will present my Alternative later. Probably at ~4:30AM EST if it follows the same pattern as the last few.
To be Crystal Clear: I am angry at the book and the ideas and the morality it espouses (what the book presents as virtuous or not), I am not angry at people, I wish all people happy lives full of art and failure and meaning. You are beautiful, make the world a better place. My anger is personal, and subjective, and says more about me than it does about the book. What I care about mapped onto what I think the book cares about.
And as an aside: Thank you for this opportunity. Sincerely. It is rare that I feel anger, and it is even rarer that I feel safe sharing it (especially on the internet). I realize that this might surprise some, given my emotionally charged avalanche of commentary with the tone of a fervent tweet, But I engage rarely and carefully. I have real skin in the game, That's my name up there. Hi.
Also, REDACTED mentioned during the livestream that an alternative philosophy would be more interesting than a takedown (ie, instead of nitpicking the ideas, make something). SHOW ME WHAT YOU GOT. Deal. Let's do that also, Let's make something.
Two parts then:
1. Why does this book make me angry?
2. REDACTED's Theory of Dualistic Metaphysics
*Or: How Two Connected Definable Concepts are Better than One Undefineable Concept*
Ok, let's get the uncomfortable part over with. The Angry Part.
## Content Warning ##
This is personal and emotional, feel free to skip it if yuo are not up for that. I mention abuse and when it comes to my strong feelings about the book, the gloves come off. I am not delicate and the reaction is far more emotional than logical. It gets shouty.
## Content Warning ##
Ok, here we go.
The main reason that it makes me angry is that I have a lot in common with this book and its protagonist/villain, so it pushes my buttons more than it would others,
I grew up in Montana, and I went to college at REDACTED, the same school Persig taught at (though after he was teaching there). I started in Philosophy, then switched to Religious Studies, then Engineering, then Computer Science, then I dropped out to work in the first dotcom boom. As I progressed through majors, I kept taking Philosophy and Religious Studies and Engineering classes because I loved ideas.
During this period in my life, I was an insufferable intellectual pedant. My sister sent me a poem during this period because it reminded her of me. It is called "Pedantic Literalist" by Marianne Moore. It is a short and accurate depiction of the person I was.
Here it is: https://www.poetrynook.com/poem/pedantic-literalist
That was me.
I wasn't lonely though, I had friends and relationships and hobbies and adventures and fun times. I was blithely unaware of how far up my own ass I was. I would get into a discussion with a stranger about something and it would often end with them furious at me, and I was baffled. I remember one time when I got into a discussion about rehabilitative vs punitive justice with a nice friend of a friend and after about an hour she had to leave because she was so mad at me. This shocked me, I was having a good time. I was oblivious to the state of mind of other people. I didn't really listen to them. I would lecture to them, My ideas were better ideas. I was relentlessly interruptive.
I was convinced that I was the smartest person in the room. Every time Phaedrus' towering intellect is described by Persig, it pushes my button. If it is framed as a failure, that's a TOTALLY different experience, because it IS a failure. But if it is framed as virtuous (which it is in the book), nah man. It took me years to recover from that insufferable superiority,
By spring semester of my Junior Year, I had lost all respect for academia. All the stuff in the book about the frustrations of academia, could have been my biography. That bit in the book where he writes out his gleeful contempt for esthetics? I did that too. My last philosophy class was Philosophy of Art, and my final act of contempt was to scribble curt responses to each of the essay questions, fold the exam paper into an origami cube, and drop it on the professor's desk like a mic-drop. And then everyone clapped. r/thathappened...
Lol, no. Nobody gave a shit. They didn't care, it was a petulant and disrespectful act by a Pedantic Literalist. This is one of my big shameful Failures (see my Part III essay about Stuckness for more on that). My professor was a nice guy who was paid a pittance to teach children like me to give a shit about ideas. He did not deserve my disrespect. I learned a lot from this failure, and my guess is that he doesn't remember it at all.
The book frames this insulting tantrum as a hilarious takedown, It's just mean. Button pushed.
After the dotcom boom, I couldn't find work, and I went back to REDACTED to start over, go back to school, try to recover some of my karmic debt. I ended up working in Neuroscience and then Research Computing at REDACTED for ten years, some of the best years of my life. I worked with teachers and students. I got deep into the complicated world of post-secondary education, and the amazing people who choose to teach in spite of the soul crushing bureaucracy. Every time Phaedrus "dunks" on academia with his naive reductive takes, Button Is Pushed.
I met my wife, had two kids, figured out how to adult and be responsible for other people. I went to therapy. I went to work on myself. I came out of this period a completely different person. I still loved ideas (and still do!) but my values were totally overhauled. I cared about other people. I knew that I was more often wrong than right. I learned the inestimable value of Failure. I was a genuinely better person.
I have continued this work of self-knowledge and self-improvement to this day. It is my life's work, it is complicated and messy, punctuated by Failure and beauty. This work is never done. My philosophy of life is a side-effect of this work, not its goal. My goal is to know myself better so as to be a good person ON THE SIDE OF ART. Everything else is a side-effect of that. The casual dismissal of the hard work of being a responsible adult... Button FUCKING Pushed.
It makes me angry that Persig has it backwards. Understanding and goodness don't come from an undefineable mystical concept. Working towards being a better person ON THE SIDE OF ART will. You don't want to go farther up your own arrogant metaphysical ass, you want to understand why that is so important to you in the first place. The answer is inside you, and it's not metaphysical.
It makes me angry that Persig focuses on the primacy of an undefinable Quality instead of the hard work of Failing and Care and talking to other people. Learning from other people. You don't need to be a motorcycle expert. We should celebrate the expertise of others, you don't have to do it alone. It doesn't make you a low Quality person (whatever the fuck that means). Different people are good at different things. when we celebrate the expertise of others, we can cooperate, we can work together. We can ask for help. We can be good people ON THE SIDE OF ART. Share your pain (consensually). Listen to other people. You are more wrong about the world than you think. None of this is called out in this book. The Guiding Principal of this book, the holiest of holies, is undefinable an unactionable. It means everything and nothing. It does not help you to learn about yourself or communicate with others.
It makes me angry because this is NOT a story of philosophical discovery buried in a dysfunctional family road trip. It is a how-to guide for Pedantic Intellectual Assholes to excuse their awful behavior because it is in the service of a greater good. They can declare literally anything to be Quality because it is undefinable. It is your fault if you "don't get it" because "everyone can detect Quality." They can justify any of your behaviors or ideas or belongings as being "low Quality", and if they are charismatic and convincing enough, it is true! There is NO WAY for you to determine what does or does not have Quality because it is undefinable. But it is The Most Important Thing, it underlies everything, it's more important than feelings or desires or suffering. It is Quality. It is all that matters. It is the ultimate abusive tool and it. makes. me. angry because it comes disguised in good vibes and impressive intellectual bullshit. Lots of "mic drop" moments and dunking on "low Quality" things like people who live in cities or "squares" or National Parks. FUCK YOU AND YOUR TRASH BOOK.
OK! Ok. ok. that is enough anger for 2022.
I think I have made my point. I think I got it all out. This is a weird thing to do in public. I hope it didn't bother anyone too much.
To re-clarify: This is my subjective experience. My emotional response based on my unique path through life. My Failures, and my attention, and my strong opinions. It may not be yours, and I do celebrate that. If it brings you joy and clarity, there are few finer things in life. Please, continue.
I have to take a break now though, I will present my Alternative later. Probably at ~4:30AM EST if it follows the same pattern as the last few.
posted by he who seeks knowledge at 9:39 AM
4 Comments:
I’m so happy you linked that post.
Not too angry, worth a reread in fact.
You bring up a lot of the attitude Pirsig maintains throughout the book. While it never struck me until now as nose-in-the-air, I think his refusal to define quality, rather than a power-move to use quality as a bludgeoning tool, was a move admitting his own limits. Quality takes place at the interaction point of humanity with the world, and I don’t think there’s a call for humans to be good at everything. If it were, I might /finally/ fling myself off a bridge. Rather it seems like a call to follow your interests to something where you see the opportunity for quality, quality you want to, and get to generate.
The characters in the book, I confess, Pirsig views in terms of idea-possessed demons more than humans trying their best to teach. Compassion for the colleague was nowhere to be found when sparring with an enemy. Those teachers didn’t realize they had an intellectual atom bomb in their hands with him as a student.
Yet we know there are professors that, rather than care for the students, are there to sprinkle their ideas like mana. I’ll never forget the professor who, when I asked about a particularly grim teaching we’d gone over, faced my despair with a nod and a shrug, as if to say “that’s how it is kid.”
From what I saw, Pirsig wasn’t /refusing/ to define quality, he was incapable of defining an item that seemed larger than himself, an important piece of the human experience. His perception was limited to the point that he urges us to look inward, focus on self improvement as a way to improve our perception of quality - after all, if one wants to be a painter, one must live rightly, then paint.
I’m intrigued by your proposed quality definition as a sense. I’m going to ponder that. Thank you for sharing!
*some of the characters (I was thinking of the teachers in Chicago specifically)
Hey, I never really thought anyone would read or comment, so this is delightful, thank you. Putting your therapy sessions on the internet is weird. I felt so much better after getting this all off my chest, I could actually think past my own shit.
I agree that there are totally awful people in academia (just like there are everywhere), but it's really the shade thrown at the whole endeavor of post-secondary education that pushes my buttons. But I agree, assholes everywhere are terrible, it doesn't matter if they have a high-status or virtuous job title.
And your point about the indefinable nature of quality being more an admission of limitation... sure maybe? The book really doesn't frame it that way though. It is pretty strident about declaring that the lack of definition is a feature not a bug. And for me, that's a big red flag.
Being good at everything... I can't remember a part of the book where the narrator is framed as "non-virtuous" for telling people to learn how to fix their own motorcycles (IE, the only real way to live is to learn to do things yourself).
There was a bit (this is very vague in my memory) where he does seem to qualify the lack of interest of his friends in motorcycle maintenance as a way of avoiding the classical world of technology, but it wasn't really a "and that's ok" it was more of a "this is why they live in ignorance and suffering" framing. Even the welding-porn part of the book where he describes the meticulous expertise of the rural craftsman (a cousin to the noble savage trope)... he only is able to get respect from the craftsman by signaling his own expertise with welding or motorcycles. If he was totally new to motorcycles or welding or whatever, the book implies that you are not worthy of respect, the craftsman has no reason to interact with you, and that is not a bad thing. I strongly disagree with this whole line of thinking and put it squarely in the "manipulative cult leader" toolbox.
So... I still think the book is bad. It's a bad book. It is really easy to come away from the book with dangerously toxic ideologies.
But I also think that my interpretation of "Quality as a sense" is correct.
Sorry about the late comment. I just wanted to say -- thank you for saving your rant. I've been struggling with my feelings about this terrible book. I feel...I guess, some sense of much-needed closure over the few hours I feel like I've wasted.
I had pretty high expectations for this book starting out. What this book is is, quotable. It makes sweeping generalizations that sound vaguely cool, and name drops a bunch of shit without really bothering to get into them.
There were several comments in the book club talking about what a shame it was that they couldn't grasp the full nuance and genius of this book because the narrator was building off of a bunch of ideas and name drops, especially towards the end. I couldn't figure out a way to reply without sounding condescending. But I felt like those commenters took the book as a springboard to have ideas that were much better articulated then what Pirsig managed to achieve (I swear I agonized over this sentence and it comes off as condescending ahhh).
Pirsig meanders and rambles. Rambles are hard to understand. That's not a failure for the readers. That's a failure of the writer. I do get though, that if Pirsig went gloves off and tried to clearly communicate what the narrator actually thought, that the book would have been even more unreadable because it would have been way to judgmental and unpleasant.
Anyway, I'm halfway through hate-reading this book just so I can say I finished it when I tell people I hate this book and folks should read Chuck Klosterman or Kurt Vonnegut instead.
I have terrible tastes and have unfortunately dated many people who are exactly like this narrator. I was like this in high school. Fuck you Pirsig for trapping me in his head.
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