There was a wonderful German fellow with an unquenchable spirit named Klaus who smoked a constantly pivoting pipe and would sometimes drop a hundred points to me in his lunch hour; that went a long way.I used to have a hard time understanding what could motivate someone to play someone better than them for significant amounts of money, and often do so no plan to get any better.
Now I realize that people like Klaus are trying to feel alive for those moments. They are trying to experience what Pirsig refers to Dynamic Quality, as well as the "cutting edge of reality." I think I part company with Prisig on the semi-theological capitalization, and on the use of “the” in “the cutting edge of reality.” I think we shouldn’t lose track of the fact that this Quality (last time I’m capitalizing) has multiple edges. I am not sold on their being one, and only one, thing [1]; rather, I limit myself to the claim that there are spaces beyond our ability to use language. We know more than we can say. Also, that is where we feel alive, in a precognitive bliss of play and possibility.
Back to our gambler, the one who is simply donating money to a superior player. He has a deficiency of feeling alive during the day, and so he wants to do something about it. He has a socially conditioned pattern that says money has value, so playing for money adds a context for results to have meaning. The number of positions on a backgammon board is vast, so he can enjoy variety. Also, he has internalized the rules of the game so he can move the pieces with some fluidity, a feeling that is only heightened because he isn’t slowing himself down with hard calculations or worrying about what he doesn’t know about the game. (In a way, he is trading money for not having to make the vastness of possible moves into a trouble spot). The tactile feeling of the pieces, and the sounds of them clicking on the board, along with the sounds made by the roll of the dice is pleasant. And it is great to have people around.
Instead of "the cutting edge of reality," I often prefer the term "the cutting edge of creation." But Klaus the gambler isn't creating, is he? You can make an argument for our gambler being on the edge of creation, as long as you realize he is not one who is creating. It can be a joy to watch someone showing mastery of a difficult game. And our gambler can be seen as paying for a front-row seat [2].
It is interesting how many similarities there are between the gambler’s experience and when I go to a coffeehouses to write. I get a tactile experience, and even sometimes the sound of my work. I get to see people in a comforting way. I am also on the edge of creation/ Dynamic Quality/ whatever you want to call it, because it is a gQtimptan. The main difference being, of course, that I am not playing for money stakes. I have enough to load into my mind to push the event to a high level of gqtimpTAn, about the highest Quality my life can be. I do not judge the backgammon player who "wasted" his money, or at least I do not judge him as much as I used to. He just seems like someone trying to get something more out of life, something that are current systems are not built around providing. There is something noble about losing graciously, repeatedly. I admire this man, with some distance . . . I love bad decisions. I could watch them all day.
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[1] I am not convinced by Pirsig's reasoning here in Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.
What Phaedrus has been talking about as Quality, Socrates appears to have described as the soul, self-moving, the source of all things. There is no contradiction. There never really can be between the core terms of monistic philosophies. The One in India has got to be the same as the One in Greece. If it's not, you've got two (386).Interestingly enough, earlier in the book, there is another quote calling this into question.
. . . I don't know whether Phaedrus' claim that Quality is the Tao is true. I don't know of any way of testing it for truth, since all he did was simply compare his understanding of one mystic entity with another. He certainly thought they were the same, but he may not have completely understood what Quality was. Or, more likely, he way not have understood the Tao. (256).I feel like it might be an egregious spoiler to explain what happened to Phaedrus that might explain the change. As is usual, it is best to go the source and read it for yourself. (But who has he time?)
[2] This will be a long aside about tennis. . .
Damn, it was a joy to watch Roger Federer play. He forced his opponents to scramble across the court, grunting and straining while it often seemed like he barely moved. He took the fewest steps possible, never appearing to hit all that hard. I am glad that my grandparents were fans of tennis, so I got to see this type of greatness, a beauty of wei wu wei, or action through non-action. Wei wu wei is probably easier to understand as actions that are so efficient they barely show up to normal, untrained human perception. That was how Roger Federer played tennis. I’d be remiss to not point out the counter example of Rafa Nadal. He looked like a wild man on the court, with dust flying everywhere and maximum power on virtually every play. The fact that still style worked best on clay courts, especially early in his career, added to the scene of dirt and destruction. He even expended energy between sets, with a whole series of nervous tics before nearly every point, power just leaking out of his muscly frame. It certainly wasn’t wei wu wei, but to tell the truth, even if inconvenient to my project of endorsing daoist aesthetics, it was stunning to watch as well. First, there was a certain transitive property: Federer had beauty through mastery of a game, and Nadal could master Federer, ergo. . . Secondly, I must confess a certain lifelong pleasure in what others call "winning ugly." I’m not sure other people would agree that Nadal won ugly; after all, tennis is an individual sport and he was personally charismatic, but when you think about his style of play, it had a lot in common with what is called “winning ugly” in the context of team sports: a focus on playing defense so well that you eventually grind down your opponent's flow, allowing you, eventually, to get the scores you need from their mistakes. Wear down the body, and the flow will fall. Also, it is an appreciation of austere beauty, in that a defensive game can give you a clear focus that removes so much possible clutter.
But in the final analysis, having Nadal and Federer together in the same era made for a perfect yin yang.
