Zen and the Art of Home Maintenance

Finding a good book isn’t just about finding a talented author with a good story to tell. It really has to do with the reader that you happen to be at the time at which you encounter the book. Some books are able to transcend time and circumstance in such a way that they’d be enjoyable to all at anytime. These are the appropriately named ‘timeless’ classics. They are few in number. They speak to the universal in such a way that they overcome the particulars of the who, where, and when of the reader. I don’t know if I’ve ever found such a book, but they exist, at least in theory. But most books are like meals or loves: they have to hit you at the right time to be fully appreciated. Otherwise, they’ll satisfy you very little, if at all.

I’ve started reading “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.” I’m only 66 pages through a 500 page book, so it’s probably too early to comment, but I’m going to comment nonetheless. I think what the author will eventually get at is that there’s a certain pleasure in learning how things work. For the author, the subject is motorcycles, but even that, I assume, is just a clever allegory for the human condition as a whole. It seems that this book has found me at just the right time - just as I’m learning to tear down and rebuild my house and as my interest in the human condition persists.

I’ve always been interested in figuring out how people work. It can be said that my studies of psychology, philosophy, and ethics was largely about taking myself and others apart (deconstruction) and trying to figure out how we should be put back together (ethics). I never really thought about it in such rudimentary terms, but it’s a useful analogy. The book is suggesting, at least so far, that my learning to fix things around the house is not completely unrelated to understanding humanity.

When I told a friend what I was doing with my life, she suggested that I was, at the very least, improving my stock on the Life Boat. That is, when they were deciding who to throw overboard on a sinking ship, let’s face it, my degrees in psychology, philosophy, and law weren’t doing much for me. But, now that I know a thing or two about plumbing and electrical work, they may decide to keep me around for a bit. (And by the time I bang around long enough to figure out what the heck is wrong with the boat, help will probably have arrived. Phew) What she says is true, but I don’t like thinking of myself in such utilitarian terms. However, I did, admittedly, have difficulty coming up with another illustration of how my new career was making me a better person.

Enter Zen and the Art’. Fixing things has a lot to do with having the right tools. That’s what Home Depot will tell you, anyway. This is an oversimplification. Yes, it’s important to have the right tool, but what’s more important is identifying what tool to use. On this point, I have found that you are largely on your own. Instructions generally only apply to ideal conditions, which exist next to never. In most circumstances, you will have to improvise. This is true in life, too. I’ve found that “instructions” from Freud and Kant rarely, if ever, find direct applicability in life. Rather, one has to improvise. My new career is honing this ability. And I’m getting the sense that fixing a broken relationship might not be all too different than fixing a broken carburetor (or sink)…? Whether or not this is actually the case, I will find out in another 434 pages or so. But I’m getting the sense that these two things are related. Maybe (1) the sensitivity to notice when things are not functioning at their best and (2) the ability to determining what steps should be taken to fix it are habits that will generalize to other aspects of my life.

Of course, by the time I explain this to the relevant parties, they long since will have thrown me off the boat.