MD Pirsig the Critic

From: Valence (valence10@hotmail.com)
Date: Thu Jul 01 2004 - 03:45:30 BST

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    Hi all,
    My recent withdrawal from the MD notwithstanding, I just had to share this
    one with the friends I know I still have here :-)

    Anyway, following up on a lead I found at Ian Glendinning's wonderful
    Psybertron website (http://www.psybertron.org/pirsigpages.html), I shuffled
    down to the basement of the New York Public Library and eventually was able
    to locate this "long lost" Pirsig article. It's a book review he wrote for
    the The New York Times Sunday Book Review which was published on June 8,
    1975. I had to retype the whole thing from a blurry print-out of a
    microfilm archive. Words that (I think) were in italics are herein rendered
    with asterisks.

    It's my gift to you.

    Enjoy...

    and take care
    rick
    --------------------------------------------------
    A husband without a wife

    ONE MAN, HURT

    A Shattering Account of the End of a Happy Marriage. By Albert Martin. 278
    pp. New York: Macmillan. $8.95

    By Robert Pirsig (Robert Pirsig, author of "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle
    Maintenance," is now a Guggenheim Fellow writing a second book.)

    "One Man, Hurt" describes in detail the agonizing chronology of a divorce,
    shows the life that preceded and surrounds it, and calls for opposition
    to the social trends the author feels produced it. As a document of marital
    bliss and as an attack on feminism it backfires completely. The author's
    atrocious suburban banality drowns out everything else.
     We never get done reading how much the author loves his wife, his children,
    washing dishes, doing diapers, his house (a suburban one in Connecticut),
    his neighborhood, his job, his church, his priest, his mother and father,
    his mother-in-law, his father-in-law, the Little League, kid's hockey, TV,
    their cats and dogs. For him suburban life is some sort of continuous
    ceremony, a ritual he must have learned to imitate watching old Andy Hardy
    shows on the late-late movie on TV. Then, when his wife tells him she wants
    a divorce to "discover herself," he cries *what* is she *talking* about?
    What more can he possibly *give* her? Throughout the book, he never finds
    out.

    However, if one can transcend this banal level, one can find in this book
    some unexpected literary merit. The author tells us how miserable he is,
    yet because he doesn't know how to render it properly we never see it for
    ourselves. But he really is miserable. As one reads on, one begins to see
    beneath the surface of his plastic suburban style and acquire tolerance and
    even sympathy for his predicament. His one saving grace begins to shine
    through: he is not an arrogant man. He sincerely tries to learn what is
    wrong, tries to change himself. He really *is* hurt, and he hasn't
    deliberately hurt anyone else to provoke it. What are the real causes?
    What could he have done? he asks. What can he do now? It would be an act
    of arrogance not to try to answer.

    The first key is his pathetic clinging to the material symbols of
    middle-class life. This, one discovers, is a poor boy, ambitious and
    undoubtedly hard-working, from a Polish Roman Catholic childhood in New
    England. Everything he loves, down to his cats and dogs, are symbols of his
    upward rise from the background of his immigrant parents. Now, like Jay
    Gatsby and Sammy Glick before him, he sees it all turning to ashes. The
    central shining symbol of his own aspirations, the ballet dancer on the New
    York stage whom he persuaded to marry him, wants out. She sees her whole
    life is just a cheap symbol, like everything else in his world and she wants
    something more real.

    She asks him to look inward, but he doesn't know what she is talking about.
    For them there is no inward self, only roles. He is a totally
    other-directed man, a result of a background he cannot change and cannot
    even understand. At the superficial level of his own understanding there is
    no difference between his New England Catholicism and his wife's Texas
    Methodism, but at a level he is unaware of there are very deep differences,
    and these, I think, are the root of it all.

    I once taught a college course where I asked the class, "Is the an absolute
    external morality?" And I was astonished to discover that, without
    exception, every Catholic student said yes, and every Protestant student
    said no. There is a profound division here.

    For the traditional Catholic layman, morality is external. The author
    remembers vividly the terror he felt in parochial school when he saw what
    happened to Cecelia after she defied Sister Anastasia. He still feels it.
    For him the other-directed authoritarian system of his moral education has
    become the pattern of his life, and we see in page after page his professed
    love of, and obedience to, authority. He is a system player. That is how
    he had to learn it. You love the system and the system loves you. Now the
    system is failing and he is without a clue and in terror as to why this
    should happen.

    Protestants, including his own wife, tend to take more heed of their own
    consciences when coming to moral decisions. This is more true among
    Methodists than many other sects, more true of all, I think, among
    Protestants residing in the state of Texas. In fact, if there's one thing
    the traditional Texas Protestant knows how to do better than anything else,
    it's how to make up his *own* ornery mind about what is right and what is
    wrong, and *keeps* it made up, come hell or high water, or anything else you
    might want to run in front of him. Texas girls see this in their fathers
    and grow up unconsciously expecting to find it in every man. This,
    tragically, in the one thing the author cannot supply. He must run to
    authorities for every moral decision and every major idea in his head. And
    by Texas Protestant standards this makes him a moral weakling and a failure,
    and this, I think, is why his wife cannot love him. And there is nothing he
    can do about it.

    Nevertheless, I think this book will provide a happy ending for its author.
    It is, among other things, a 278-page marital advertisement which should
    produce dozens, if not hundreds, of matrimonial offers. I hope, for his own
    sake, that his final choice is someone who really appreciates him for the
    good man he is. Preferably, it should be an Eastern, Polish, Roman Catholic
    woman, heavy-boned and big-breasted, domineering and authoritarian, from a
    childhood of poverty like the one he got away from by marrying the little
    ballet dancer from Texas. She should love him earthily, and also her
    children and her church discipline and the suburban life, because she finds
    in these things the meaning of life itself. He deserves it.

    As for his divorced wife, I don't know what will happen. She has a hard
    life coming.

    But there's a feeling, rising up from deep inner sources, that in the end,
    when it is all over for all of us, it will be she who goes to heaven long
    before he does.

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