The True Nature of Enlightenment

There are several gimmicks existing in the world today that claim to aid the journey to find one’s self; whatever that incredibly vague phrase actually refers to is a mystery is tentative, depending on where one goes to find such guidance. Should one’s path range between religious institutions that insist on a righteous lifelong journey to self-betterment and vocational enlightenment, a multi-billion dollar pyramid scheme pledge to the ultimate achievement of nirvana (with a monthly fee of $29.99), or a 6-month silent retreat in the mountains with others seeking the same goal, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance argues that the greatest method of finding one’s self is through mediation, cognitive reflection, and (though a entirely biased opinion) taking a cross-country motorcycle journey. However, for the protagonist of Robert M. Pirsig’s prominent novel, the road is not a smooth one, and ultimately does not end how one may have hoped it to conclude; if the betterment of one’s self begins with finding one’s self, the narrator had to achieve this by becoming Phaedrus, an entirely insane and unstable character, thus relapsing into deep, enlightened insanity- an ending that argues against the true nature of enlightenment.

                Throughout the entire novel, the narrator is constantly struggling between his current cognizance and slivers of his past consciousness. It is not until the end of Part 1 that it becomes clear that the narrator was subject to psychotherapy which wiped out his memory and previous state of mind, something the narrator appropriately refers to as Phaedrus: the ghost of his past. More evidence of Phaedrus’s instability is revealed throughout the novel, and the nature of these incidents are so negative that the common opinion is that running an electric shock to the narrator’s brain was the best decision. Despite this, after he succumbs to the consciousness that is Phaedrus, the narrator reveals that it is his most comfortable state of mind; towards the end of the novel, he clearly states “I am Phaedrus, that is who I am… it has all come together.”(Pirsig,526). In reality, this is a debatable claim, because when considering the actuality of the violent, erratic nature of Phaedrus and his actions, it is normal to assume Phaedrus to be a madman unfit for society. For the sake of the philosophic journey, however, it is also plausible to consider that if the ultimate goal is to reach such a comfortable, enlightened state, then should it matter how capricious that Zen may be, especially when the narrator himself proves to be most mentally comfortable in such a state?

                The moments of mental distortion felt by the narrator that limit his progression to self-betterment are found during his dreams, and when he journeys to the top of the mountain, and this is because these are the prime moments when his subconscious alter-ego, Phaedrus, tries to pry out and become his reality. This constant friction between the narrator and Phaedrus is exactly what prolongs the ultimate desire to reach ultimate Zen, which is ironically futile. The narrator dedicates this entire motorcycle journey to find and better himself, but by doing this, he is actively working further away from his goal, which is also constantly attempting to pull him in. 

Through the length of the novel, the narrator describes the dynamic relationships between him and his son, his wife, his coworkers, and his friends, both old and new. Though he spends a great deal of time with his two friends, the couple John and Sylvia, and brief encounters with old friends like the DeWees’s, it can be argued that the most important and insightful relationship presented in the story is with his son, Chris. The narrator spends all of his time with Chris, from the beginning to the end of the novel, and although a great deal of change is evident by the narrator’s own actions and reactions, an even greater perspective and insight of the narrator’s past is drawn from the changes in Chris.

                Chris is an unbearable brat who complains a great deal and seems to make everything more difficult for the travelers. It is revealed later on that he suffers from some form of mental disorder, when the narrator says “’This spring they diagnosed it as the beginning symptoms of a mental disorder’” (Pirsig, 74), in order to explain Chris’s erratic behavior. However, Chris’s apparent mystery diagnosis does not seem to impact him as much as his father’s disposition towards him. He and his father have an abrasive relationship, and at one point, Chris breaks down and reveals that he liked Phaedrus better than the narrator’s current consciousness, saying “Don’t you remember?... You used to play games with us. You used to tell us all kinds of stories and we’d go on rides to do things and now you don’t do anything”, a claim the narrator rejects, to which Chris retorts with “You just sit there and stare and you don’t do anything!”(Pirsig, 513). After the narrator becomes Phaedrus, Chris’s attitude towards him changes completely: “Now the fog suddenly lifts and I see the sun on his face makes expression opening a way I’ve never seen it before… ‘Were you really insane?’…’No!’ Astonishment hits, but Chris’s eyes sparkle. ‘I knew it,’ he says” (Pirsig, 526). This is astonishing because despite being mentally unstable, Chris’s reaction makes it very clear that Phaedrus was a much better father than the narrator was.

                The narrator’s other friends offer more understanding of his past and present self. When the motorcycling group goes to visit the DeWeese, the narrator becomes anxious with the fact that he would not know how to act or react to them considering they had not seen him since before the incident, stating that he “really [doesn’t] want to go there. I’d just as soon turn around and go back” (Pirsig, 182). Although he coasts through the encounter without much slippage, the gap between his former self and his present self becomes awkwardly obvious; at times, Mr. DeWeese would mention certain event that had occurred long ago, and the narrator would have to weasel around it the best he could. At one point he even blatantly states the reason for the distortion, saying “The reason for the impasse, the bad feeling, is that DeWeese thinks that person is here now. And there is no way I can tell him otherwise” (Pirsig, 199). Aside from the discomfort, it is also important to take notice of the DeWeese’s emotions towards the narrator; they are certainly happy to see him, but are a bit hesitant at first; Mr. DeWeese comments “’You’ve changed a lot’ He is looking at me searchingly”(Pirsig, 201), which is evidence of their understanding that the narrator and Phaedrus are completely different people, and the adjustment to it is slow and painful for those who knew him as the latter. The DeWeese’s, however, seem to adapt just fine; in contrast, there are others who do not cope as well.

                When the narrator goes to visit his old college, where he had taught a little before his episode, he holds a brief encounter with an old colleague of his, Sarah, who does not react to him as warmly as his old friends did, and this is especially important to analyze. When he unknowingly stumbles upon his old classroom (something that he realizes only after his encounter with Sarah), she is completely shocked to see him there; once she realizes who she is, she calls out his name, and asks“’Oh, my God,’ she says ‘Is that you?’” (Pirsig, 224). The narrator had clearly frightened his peers at the college before, as Phaedrus, because she did not welcome him with open arms, rather, stared at him as if he were a ghost from the past who had returned for unfinished business- which, in a way, he is. She is astonished to even see him there, and though he realizes that he had a huge opportunity to converse with her and discover more about Phaedrus, she comments “I’d say something if I could, but there’s no place to start” (Pirsig, 225), and she is described afterward as running down the hall after quickly saying goodbye, a reaction that makes it clear that she was in no position to do so. All of the narrator’s interactions with others show a struggle with his past and present consciousness, but it is the struggle within him that causes the greatest conflict.

            Sigmund Freud believed that dreams were the gateway to the unconscious (McLeod); if this were to be true, the analysis of the narrator’s disturbing, reoccurring dreams is crucial for understanding the struggle between him and Phaedrus. Often throughout the second and third parts of the novel, the narrator experiences frequent nightmares where he is trying to reach his family, but there is something in the way, and each time he has the nightmare, more is revealed about its significance. At first, the reason for his entrapment is very vague; he does not understand why his family cannot hear him, despite his attempts to contact them. After another episode of the same nightmare, he awakens to comment “The dreamer isn’t me at all. It’s Phaedrus. He’s waking up.” (Pirsig, 425). He has full understanding of his mental conflict, stating that he had known it all along; “I always knew he would come back…” he states, “It’s a matter now of preparing for it… Poor Chris” (Pirsig, 425). But the analysis of his dreams is even more crucial than his realization.

                The only people in the dream are his wife and his son, Chris. When he sees them, they are excited yet visibly upset by seeing him. While his wife maintains this state of melancholy in his dreams, his son is the most dynamic, to the point where he actually speaks in the dreams. He attempts to contact his father, and despite his attempts, becomes frustrated with the fact that the narrator is not breaking through whatever partition is keeping them from each other, and begins to give up on the narrator, which upsets him greatly when he wakes up and analyzes his dream. This is representative of Chris’s attachment to the consciousness that was Phaedrus, but has ceased to be; this is even more critical of understanding the narrator, because his subconscious understands Chris’s true love for his old self, which causes a great deal of mental friction and discomfort for the narrator.

Towards the end of the novel, when the nightmare takes on full fruition, the true identity of his entrapment is revealed: after he becomes Phaedrus, Chris reveals that the glass door was in the hospital, stating “Don’t you remember?... We were standing on one side and you were on the other side and Mom was crying”(Pirsig, 525). This is best interpreted as his imprisonment by his own conscious; the narrator’s family is constantly trying to reach him, and they seem sad because they cannot, and this can be described as their attempts to reach the old consciousness of the narrator- Phaedrus. The hospital was the last place where the family was united with Phaedrus, before he disappeared into the subconscious of the narrator, making it an appropriate setting for the dream.; Phaedrus is dead, lost and buried somewhere within the narrator’s subconscious, and Chris and his wife are constantly mourning this loss. When the narrator has his final breakthrough nightmare, he is seen strangling what he calls “the evil figure in the shadows” (Pirsig, 425), which he soon realizes was him all along. This is the showdown that brings Phaedrus and the narrator face to face, and ultimately, decides who will come to consciousness in the end.

Although Phaedrus is clearly described as a madman, and through encounters that the narrator has during his motorcycle journey are evidence of Phaedrus’s instability, the reality is that Phaedrus was his most natural state, and his family, specifically his son, who he has the most difficulty connecting with, had loved him more when he was Phaedrus, sans the insanity. The entire novel is dedicated to finding one’s self, and becoming Zen, which is only achieved by the narrator when he embraces his true personality.