Robert Pirsig - Lila. An Inquiry Into Morals

The author said suddenly, I don’t think you know what you’re talking about. How do you know that?

Know what? Rigel asked.

About Lila.

I know it from the experience of a very close friend whose divorce case I handled, Richard Rigel answered. In his memory a picture returned of Lila, arm in arm with Jim, coming into his office. Poor Jim, he thought. Your friend Lila completely ruined his life.

She used to be much more attractive than she is now, Rigel added. She seems to be going downhill fast.

Capella said, You never told me about that.

It’s not a public matter, Rigel said, and I won’t mention his name, Bill, or you’d recognize it.

Then he looked at the author seriously. You’ve never seen such a sad, forsaken man. He lost his wife, his children, most of his friends — his reputation was gone. He had to quit his job at the bank where he had a promising future — in fact was scheduled for a vice-presidency. Eventually he had to move to get re-established. But knowing the bank’s president I’m sure he put it on Jim’s record, and that was the end of his career, I’m afraid. No board will ever promote him to any position of real responsibility.

That’s really bad, the author said, and looked down at the table.

It was completely necessary, Richard Rigel said. No one wants to trust millions of dollars to a man who hasn’t enough self-control to keep his hands off a common bar-whore.

Another challenge. This time the author’s eyes hardened. It looked as though he was going to take it.

Who was to blame? he said.

What do you mean? Richard Rigel asked.

I mean was it Lila who was to blame for your friend’s misfortune or was it his wife and his so-called friends and his superiors at the bank? Who really did him in?

I don’t follow, Richard Rigel said.

Was it her love or was it their hatred?

I wouldn’t call it love .

Would you call it hatred on their part? What exactly did he do to them that justified their hatred?

Now you’re no longer being naive, Richard Rigel said. Now you’re being deliberately stupid. Are you trying to tell me his wife had no right to be angry?

The author thought for a while. I don’t know, he said, but there’s something wrong there.

I think there is, Richard Rigel said.

There’s always been something wrong, logically , the author went on. How can an act of love, that does no injury to anyone, be so evil?… Think about it. Who was injured?

Richard Rigel thought about it. He said, It wasn’t any act of love. Lila Blewitt doesn’t know what love means. It was an act of deceit.

He could feel anger growing. I’ve heard that word "love" so many times from the mouths of so many people who don’t know what it is. He could still see Jim’s wife sitting in his office. She had shielded her eyes with her hand and tried hard to keep her voice steady. There was love.

He said, Let me try another word: "Honor." The person we are talking about dishonored his wife and he dishonored his children and he dishonored everyone who put trust in him, as well as himself. People forgave him for his weakness, but they lost respect for him and that was what finished him for any position of responsibility.

But it wasn’t weakness on Lila’s part. She knew what she was doing.

The author stared at him. Dumbly it seemed.

And I don’t know what the circumstances of your own personal family are my friend, but I warn you, if you’re not careful she’ll do it to you.

As an afterthought he added, If she hasn’t already.

Rigel looked at the author to see what the effect was. There was no change of expression. Nothing, apparently, penetrated that thick crust.

But who did she hurt? Capella asked.

Rigel looked at Bill with surprise. Him too? He thought Capella was more sensible. It was a sign of the times.

Well, there are some of us left, he said, returning to the author, who are still holding out against your hedonistic "Quality" philosophy or whatever it is.

I was just asking a question, the author said.

But it’s a question that expresses a certain point of view, Richard Rigel answered, and it’s a point of view that some people, including myself, find loathsome.

I’m still not sure why.

God, he was insufferable. All right, I’ll tell you why. Will you listen?

Of course.

No, I mean really listen?

The author was silent.

You made a statement in your book that everyone knows and agrees to what "Quality" is. Obviously everyone does not! You refused to define "Quality," thus preventing any argument on the subject. You tell us that "dialecticians" who debate these matters are scoundrels. I guess that would include lawyers too. That’s pretty good. You carefully tie your critics’ hands and feet so that they cannot give you any opposition, tar their reputations for good measure, and then you say, "OK, come on out and fight." Very brave. Very brave.

May I come out and fight? the author said. My exact statement was that people do disagree as to what Quality is, but their disagreement is only on the objects in which they think Quality inheres.

What’s the difference?

Quality, on which there is complete agreement, is a universal source of things. The objects about which people disagree are merely transitory.

My oh my, what smart talk, Richard Rigel thought. What "universal source of things"? Some of us can do without that universal source of things, that no one else seems to be able to talk about but you. Some of us would rather stick with our good old-fashioned transitory objects. By the way, how do you keep in touch with that marvelous "universal source of things"? Do you have some sort of special radio set? Hmmm? How do you keep in touch?

The author did not answer.

I’m waiting to hear, Richard Rigel said. How do you keep in touch with Quality?

The author still didn’t answer.

Relief poured through Richard Rigel. He suddenly felt better than he had all morning. He had finally communicated something to him. There are answers, the author finally said, but I don’t think I can give them all to you this morning.

He wasn’t going to get off that easy.

Let me ask an easier question then, Richard Rigel said. You are in contact with this "universal source of things," aren’t you?

Yes, said the author. You are too, if only you’d understand it.

Well, I’m trying, said Richard Rigel, but you’re just going to have to help me a little. This "universal source of things" moreover tells you what’s good and what’s not good, doesn’t it? Isn’t that right?

Yes, said the author.

Well, we’ve been talking in a rather general way so far, now let me ask a rather specific question: did the universal source of things, that is responsible for the creation of Heaven and Earth, broadcast on your radio receiver as you stumbled across my boat at two a.m. this morning that the woman you were stumbling with was an Angel of Quality?

What? the author asked.

I’ll repeat, he said. Did God tell you that Miss Lila M. Blewitt of Rochester, New York, with whom you stumbled across my deck at two this morning, has Quality?

What god?