The Dharma Bums by Jack Kerouac

As if I did not get enough of Kerouac in On the Road, I embarked on this virtually identical account. Well, not identical in content, but identical in conclusiveness. Kerouac espouses a sort of Buddhism in which one prays constantly without knowing to whom, one meditates and writes poetry and tries to be kind to all, and one continually keeps in mind the fact that everything is nothing, that no one is anything, that all of existence is just part of the Void. One also drinks and sleeps around and has orgies whenever one feels like it.

As far as I can tell, Kerouac bases some of his philosophy on ancient Buddhist writing, but much of it comes from within him, as he fancies himself a sort of god. I do not understand how one can form an entire belief system from his own line of reasoning, for as limited beings humans are intrinsically faulty. And while Kerouac's character reads from the Bible and has happy feelings toward Jesus, his friend and mentor derides Christianity and mocks a "Dharma Bum" who turned Christian in his last days.

Frankly, I cannot comprehend the anatagonism toward Christianity. Perhaps it is the moral restraint. No more orgies, don't you know. But intellectually, these "bums" should have no qualms. If one is willing to accept the authority of ancient manuscripts as truth, the Bible is certainly more reliable and verifiable. And philosophically, it is beautiful. "To the pure, all things are pure." (Titus 1:15) I could easily imagine Kerouac writing something like that. He could retain his esoteric poetry and adhere to the true incident of God reaching down to man. The Gospel is, unequivocally, more intellectually honest than "everything is nothing."