Book review: Dharma Bums and On The Road by Jack Kerouac
Dharma Bums by Jack Kerouac
I read this book because it was recommended in an off-hand way in The Art of Learning as formative to some of that author’s beliefs, as well because I’ve heard Jack Kerouac mentioned from time to time and yet I hadn’t read any of his work. Now I have. You know, it’s not bad. As writing goes, it’s decent. It was surprisingly engaging even though there wasn’t much in the way of plot. It chronicled a year or so in the life of the first-person protagonist, who journeyed around the country, partied with his friends, hung out with his family, and generally schlepped about. He slept in ditches and flops and on his mother’s porch and under his friend’s rosebush and in shabby hotels. Kerouac gave a great picture of the 1960s/70s bum/hobo lifestyle as well as the philosophical underpinnings behind it (or at least behind this particular individual).
The protagonist was a Buddhist, which is more core to the bum subculture than I originally thought. Although the protagonist and many of his friends said they were bums due to their religion, I think rather that the religion appealed to them because they were bums. It validated them, you see, and gave them moral superiority over anyone who actually (gasp!) worked for a living and bought into all that 9-to-5 rigmarole. Buddhism, like many other faiths (including Christianity, if a person bothers to read it), preaches the renunciation of the world and all worldly acquisitions. To be pure and holy, one must give up all wealth and live a life of simplicity, trusting in God or karma or dharma or whatever to see one through. One must give up trying to change the world, for that is ego and sin. One must simply ‘be’, existing in harmony with all, making as small an impression as possible, and preaching the way for others to find and share the enlightenment you know within yourself.
The experience of this enlightenment is shifty - sometimes the protagonist felt it, sometimes he didn’t. Mostly it was the journey towards enlightenment, one that is never-ending. Yet I noticed the lack of fulfillment didn’t keep the adherents of this faith from proselytizing. In their own way, they were just as annoying as any holier-than-thou Christian. There was a definite whiff of ‘different is better’ about them, with the way they tossed around Buddhist vernacular as though using unusual and inscrutable code words to describe the commonplace made them part of a secret and elevated order.
As a philosophy, I found it very self-absorbed and selfish. That’s an odd thing, because usually I’m quite an advocate of people doing what works for them and being self-oriented. I think it was the arrogance that got to me, how these people felt they were living a better, more virtuous life than that of anyone who watched television (something mentioned repeatedly as indicative of moral decay) or kept to a routine (which was a form of slavery, not being free to do as one wished at each and every point in time). It seemed very self-serving that all these dead-broke young men would preach that everything they possessed (which was nothing) was holy and everything anyone else had (material things) was evil. Of course, while they preached this, they would be trying to bum alcohol, hop rides on trains, and impose upon the charity and generosity of others. Hypocritical, it seemed.
I’m not sure if the author was trying to glorify their creed or just report it as it was. I came away feeling that Buddhism, which had previously looked attractive, was definitely not for me. While I can get behind the meditation and being at peace with the world, it is the detachment of meaningful connections, smugness, and self-centeredness that doesn’t work for me. I can very much see why this religion appeals to people who don’t have children (ie, men, and mostly young men at that). In another age, they'd be men's rights activists.
On the Road
I also listened to the first half hour or so of another Jack Kerouac book called On the Road (also off-handedly recommended). It seemed to be following a similar theme as Dharma Bums, this time being that one of the wage slaves was enticed into travel and bum-style vacation of hitch-hiking and backpacking. I suppose he’s going to find himself and enlightenment on the road. It didn’t interest me to continue.
I will say that Jack Kerouac does incredible character studies and is a vivid describer of scenes, moods, places, and people. If you take away the theme and plot issues, he’s a great writer. It’s that what he chooses to write about is kind of fucked up from my point of view.