Paul Jump
posted 14 December 2007

Philosophical scepticism about other minds aside, I’m pretty confident I know what you’re thinking. Motorbikes and philosophy: hasn’t that been done before? Well, yes it has - and it seems any superficial resemblance between Philosophical Ridings and previous two-wheeled existential rumblings is entirely deliberate.

For what the cover photograph (dusty old motorbikes in wild Argentina-like landscape) and subtitle ‘Motorcycles and the Meaning of Life’ hint at, the book’s blurb suggests even more unsubtly: anyone who has read The Motorcycle Diaries or Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance should seriously think about paying £10 to complete the set. Neither do the page numbers in boxes resembling mile-o-meters and the chapters named after gears (neutral, first and so on) do anything to dispel the initial impression that Craig Bourne’s book will chart another journey of philosophical self-discovery, with each section building on the last on the road to some grand conclusion about the meaning of life.

In fact, Bourne only raises that hoary old chestnut in the first chapter, where his discussion is rather more hindered than helped by the motorbike motif. Here, and throughout the book, he restricts himself to discussing philosophical ideas that lend themselves to being exemplified by motorcycles or motorcycling: above all, existentialism. 'Reflecting on our own riding experiences gives us immediate access to some of the more profound and influential insights offered by the so-called existentialists in response to nihilism', he claims (p16), adding - almost risibly - that Sartre’s call to 'be creative; original; daring' is 'an approach that fits best with the great films in which motorcycles feature' (p18).

Indeed, a great deal of Bourne’s first chapter is taken up with discussions of the ways of life exemplified by various bikers from the silver screen. Then again, what else could he have put in a discussion of the meaning of life? Clearly this is the topic philosophy is most centrally concerned with in the popular imagination, and there can be little doubt it is also the topic that attracts the discontented masses. Publishers aren’t stupid: they know putting a reference to the meaning of life on a philosophy book’s cover will shift more units - and they also know they will be fined under the Trades Descriptions Act if the book fails to live up to that promise.

However, as Bourne’s attempt amply demonstrates, the meaning of life is a deeply obscure topic which simply crumbles into dust when touched by the fingers of reason. The author takes the only sensible option and adopts the naturalistic perspective, concluding, essentially, that our lives are meaningful if we feel that they are and that 'some things need no further justification' (p24). Perhaps 'Neutral Gear' is, after all, an apt chapter title.

By contrast, 'First Gear', which discusses whether death is a harm, feels more like sixth. Its subtitle 'The end of the road' only adds to the sense that it should have appeared (if anywhere) at the end of the book. It is certainly full metaphysical throttle ahead as Bourne takes us way off the main philosophical highway, slapping our faces with dense reflections on causality, identity and the nature of time. This section is far too long and involved for what is a quirky introduction to philosophy - especially given all the other topics that space (one presumes) prevents Bourne from mentioning. No doubt the entire book he wrote on the philosophy of time in 2006 was still at the forefront of his memory when he came to write this chapter, but surely a kindly editor ought to have had a word in his ear.

All the more so given the whole discussion seems unnecessary. Bourne dismisses the link between harm and feeling, insisting that you can be harmed (eg. after your death) even if you don’t feel a thing. Yet he goes on to say: 'There is a complex relationship between whether you can be harmed after your death and the nature of time'. And, 'Whether Roper’s dramatic death was a harm for Roper depends on whether the sentence "Roper is harmed by what will happen" can ever be true and that depends on whether facts about the future exist. This is a rather surprising conclusion' (p44). I quite agree. Yet surely existence is only relevant to a discussion of harm if harm depends on feeling (which, in turn, depends on existence).

Bourne falls off his bike completely when he worries that since we can’t logically rule out that Roper will live forever, we can’t say now that his death will harm him. He infers from this that 'there is no way of telling whether people can be harmed after they have died. I find this very surprising but since I cannot see a flaw in my argument, I find it entirely compelling' (p45). To the extent I understand this sentence at all, I find it bizarre. If Bourne insists on worrying about existence, why not take the naturalistic line he took in the first chapter and accept that, as a matter of fact, people do die? Naturalism eventually comes to his rescue, though, allowing him to conclude sensibly that death is a harm because it halts the projects we want to continue. 'If I don’t get to do them because I die then death harms me, the living person who has those plans', he notes (p51).

Nor is 'First Gear' the only place where Bourne misjudges how long to spend discussing a particular topic. 'Second Gear', for instance, falls victim again to his fatal attraction to existentialism. After a discussion of Descartes’s famous exercise in universal doubt, Bourne declares that 'there is one route - the existentialist route ‘ which stands out as being particularly relevant to motorcyclists' (p56).

However, he doesn't endorse the existentialist’s claim that using tools - like motorbikes - is our most basic experience of the world (a claim that supposedly by-passes scepticism about the real world because using tools simply means having experience in the world itself). Still, he concludes - implausibly - that his lengthy discussion was not a waste of time since it was 'worth pointing out' that knowing-how to do something is just as important when it comes to understanding the world as knowing-that. As for his omission of any discussion of direct realism, that is excued because it 'doesn’t have much of a link to motorcycle riding' and, besides, is 'catered for' in 'introductory books'. It seems the first excuse is the right one given that lots of other topics Bourne discusses are amply covered in introductory books too.

Yet motorcycling connections cannot account for Bourne’s decision to give scant mention to Kant and utilitarianism in his chapters on ethics while dedicating a long discussion to Peter Carruthers’ unpopular notion that Rawls’s contractarian theory of justice can be extended to generate all of morality. Rather, motorcycling restricts the moral topics Bourne specifically addresses: namely, speeding and the wearing of helmets. Yet while these are both interesting cases, they hardly exhaust the range of problems a decent moral theory would need to deal with. Neither, sadly, is Bourne’s intriguing call for the introduction of 'more inventive' punishments than imprisonment or fines followed up.

Bikers’ consumption of leather and oil stops Bourne embarking on interesting discussions of animal rights and environmental ethics. However, in both cases, while he grants considerable moral significance to animals and future generations, he - inevitably, perhaps - stops short of advocating that bikers leave their beloved machines in the garage, preferring instead to offer the somewhat limp advice that they find 'a healthy balance between virtue and vice'.

Motorbikes’ consumption of petrol and space is contrasted favourably with that of cars and nowhere is the other option - public transport - discussed. 'So long as we do our bit concerning needless waste, we should do those things which make life worth living - noting that all should be done in moderation - for we have encountered no good reason from environmentalism why we should stop riding entirely', he says. That, one might well argue, is because there has been no discussion of the empirical facts concerning the impact of climate change and resource depletion. Here, it seems to me, is a case where philosophy’s all-too-frequent refusal to dirty its hands with empirical facts is almost criminal in its short-sightedness. Motorbikes might well enrich the lives of those who ride them, but surely the idea that life would be unbearable without them is the height of decadence.

Needless to say, motorbikes also come out of the discussion of aesthetics in the final chapter smelling of lilies. (Incidentally, this chapter is called 'Sixth Gear'; I am reliably informed that modern motorbikes only have five.) After a great deal of waxing lyrical over the beauty of various different machines (very few of which are illustrated for the uninitiated), Bourne concludes that a motorbike - especially a Ducati - can be 'a great work of art'.

And that is that. Much less than a theory of the meaning of life, there isn’t even a re-capping up of the journey Bourne has led us on: the engine just cuts out. So what are we left with? Bourne succeeds in giving at least a passing mention to most of the important theories and figures of Anglo-American philosophy (logic excepted), but the unsystematic and ill-proportioned way he does so renders his book deeply flawed as an introduction to philosophy.

Throw in the novelty page-numbering and chapter headings and you are left with, at best, a last-ditch Christmas present for a friend who rides a motorbike. But the recipient would not be encouraged to rescue it from under the pile of magazines in his bathroom by gratuitous mention of haemorrhoids on page 001: just one example of a succession of attempts at humour (section headings such as 'Not mushroom for obligations, or do trees have standing?' (p149) and 'Should we bin the lid for a breath of fresh hair?' (p84) are by no means the worst of it). I don’t deny that Bourne’s aspiration to write in an engaging, conversational style is extremely refreshing, but there is no turn-off like a joke that isn’t funny.

For once, Bourne’s judgement is unerring when he decides to dedicate a mere page to discussing Zen’s incoherent 'metaphysics of quality' (likening it to - you guessed it - existentialism). One can only hope that his own similarly ill-fated journey marks an end to philosophy’s two-wheeled adventures. As a discipline it is much better off sticking to the Clapham omnibus.