Phaedrucide: A Definition

So, what does Phaedrucide mean? I have been using this word, the namesake of this blog (and a series of other creative projects), for a while now without explaining it in full. I have given my explanation to those who have asked me in person whereby I have been able to do so live and uncut, with the aid of wild Mediterranean gesticulation and intense facial expressions, but it’s time to let the cat out of the bag in the written word.

The etymology of this word comes from the name Phaedrus and the suffix “-cide” (cidium, caedere- to cut, kill) following from the Latin example; Homicidium (Homicide). The name Phaedrus indirectly refers to a character found in various Ancient Greek scriptures, mainly used by Plato in a series of dialogues with Socrates. However this it is only through the description of Phaedrus in Zen in the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance by Robert M Pirsig that the name gains its meaning.

Without going into excessive detail, I do have to express that I view Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance as one of the most seminal and ground breaking philosophical writings of the century. Philosophy seems to be tied to antiquity, and perhaps it will only be in a reasonable future that his work will be popularly acknowledged. This isn’t to say that his work has gone unnoticed, millions of copies sold in 23 languages is quite compelling. Perhaps I am referring to the influence his work could still, and by all means should, have on popular culture. In all fairness, his description of the Metaphysics of Quality which he expanded on in his next book, Lila, has been included on philosophy courses at Universities around the world, and Anthony McWatt (a lecturer in philosophy at Liverpool University) actually has a PhD in his work.

The beauty of his work is it explores philosophy and values from a different angle, looking at the old and the new, the scientific and the mystical, the Eastern and the Western and proposes new perspectives. These can be, and are, understood on many levels by the reader, making his writings, in my humble opinion, a must read for all. Discussion on the philosophical underpinnings of his work are readily available on internet communities dedicated to this study, but I want to talk about Phaedrus.

In the book, the character of Phaedrus resides within the mind of the narrator. He represents another self within himself, a dual personality, one that drove him to insanity. This insanity was brought on, as it transcends in the journey (travelled in the book, experienced by the narrator and by the reader as well), by Phaedrus’s insatiable thirst for knowledge and ever intensifying challenge to his ‘reality’. I don’t intend to go into the intricacies of his rebuttal of Western philosophy, only to say that Phaedrus pushed the limits of his mind so far, and in so many ways, that his world imploded on him.

The presence of Phaedrus was initially manifested in the narrator’s recount of his university studies in biochemistry. Here he found, and was profoundly bothered by the notion that there was always “more than one workable hypothesis to explain a given phenomenon, and the number of such hypothesis seemed almost unlimited.” Let’s say that Phaedrus first manifested himself as an uncomfortable intellectual itching that eventually led the narrator to be institutionalised, even receiving sordid treatments such as electro shock therapy, until he was deemed recovered.

One of the shocking realisations that any reader of this book will encounter is the suspicious similarity between the plot and between Pirsig’s life. The extent to which it seems autobiographical is quite mystifying, a fact I guess I am making now to highlight the fact that the concept I am finally going to explain is truly a homage to this truly remarkable author.

It was in fact in crossing the threshold from insanity back into supposed sanity that the two characters were truly divided. The narrator spoke of his former self from a distance, this former self brought terrible memories of his tortured intellect, of the pain it caused him and his loved ones, of the helplessness of spiralling the drain of mental health. Phaedrus was a past different person to him and he was a threat, but Phaedrus was coming back.

The way Phaedrus is perceived by the reader is clearly tainted by the voice of the narrator who hopes to avoid Phaedrus’s return, to be able to live in his reformed reality and exist in harmony with his environment. That seems fair enough, having returned from the depths of despair which he had reached due to Phaedrus’s quixotic philosophical quest it is clear he wouldn’t want to go down that road again. The interpretation of Phaedrus’s character does however remain open to the reader’s subjectivity. The character is extreme; he is brilliant but he is mad, he is ferociously inquisitive yet inexorably self-consuming. Was Phaedrus good or bad?

Funnily enough, this kind of moral dichotomy is one that Pirsig rejects all together. Nevertheless, Pirsig did make a point to clarify this question in later publications, which for some (myself included) was understood form the start; Phaedrus was indeed the good guy.

Before I go off on my imminent rant, I just want to clarify that I am in no way claiming to be an authority on Pirsighian philosophy or making a statement about Phaedrus’s role in the book. I aim just to explain what Phaedrus has come to mean to me.

Phaedrus was indeed extreme: in his way of questioning what most regarded as irrefutable facts, in his manner of finding layers and layers of understanding invisible for common minds and in his ability to perceive the tremendous connectivity of systems in the world around him. Through out the book we discover more and more about his past, about his downfall and of the threat of his return. He understood that wherever he looked there was more to be seen, and that behind everything, behind mind and matter, there was one all-encompassing binding force; Quality (a kind of non-mathematical version of Einsein’s Unified Field Theory). So intense and so passionate was his pursuit that the fabric of his reality started coming apart, yet he was so focused trying to understand how it was woven together, and so fascinated in seeing the filaments come apart, that his reality just disintegrated before his eyes.

We have agreed that the fear felt by the narrator was understandable, but eventually we come to appreciate that Phaedrus’s return does not equate to insanity. Although it was his quest to pinpoint and understand Quality that was largely responsible for his decline, it was the steadfast notion that Quality was “the key” (as well as his love for his son) that finally resurrected him. Phaedrus returns but this time he is stronger and wiser.

As I said, although this scenario is drastic, Phaedrus comes to represent the mad seeker of truth, (whatever that may be) which we all, hopefully, possess. It is one of the highest of human traits. He stands for the passion and devotion to a cause that can move mountains, the type of dedication which is so unusual yet so admirable in people who possess it. This kind of path isn’t always the easiest, and most likely it is quite the opposite. It is fraught with conflict with those that will inevitably oppose the controversy, outlandishness and menace of new thinking. It is never easy for the bearer of such thoughts.

Phaedrus is passion, inspiration, instinct and vision. He is restlessness, curiosity and drive. He is sheer creativity.

The Phaedrus that I am describing is the one that lies within all of us...

When I was a child I promised myself I wouldn’t grow up. I saw all the grown ups, so serious and so tame, while I was investigating the hedges, making mud pies and exploring the secrets of the garden. I would be racing around with my long golden hair, caked in mud, with patches on my pants and bloody elbows, blissfully happy. I saw grown ups doing their grown up things but they sure weren’t enjoying themselves as much as I was. I promised that I would never change.

Well, everybody grows up, even me. Such is life. Growth, responsibility, context, and experience…I don’t really have to explain what turns a boy into a man. I’m not making a big statement about happiness here either, or about being youthful or having fun. I am just using myself as an example, saying that as a child my undeveloped little mind was banging on all cylinders. It was unbound by knowledge. Everything was new and exciting, I was infinitely curious and I wanted to touch everything I saw. I could feel with incredible intensity, that was the only way I knew how to, and I was aware enough to realise that I never wanted to lose that feeling. That in essence was what that promise was all about.

In growing up there is a division from that child, to quote Pirsig, “it’s like those photographs of a rocket just after launching where you see two stages start to separate from each other in space. You think you're together and then suddenly you see that you're not together anymore.” Only the timeframes are much longer than that. The first realisation probably comes when you look back, not just passively remembering being a child but actually focusing on putting yourself back in your little boots and seeing things the way you used to. I guess there is a strong link with the Time Machine syndrome (TMS) that I described. It was the day I really remembered that old promise that got my mind ticking on this subject…that’s my story anyhow.

I believe that the inner Phaedrus is that child all grown up, without having ‘grown up’ if you get my drift. The wild card within that is suppressed by the rational and the pragmatic, the left side of the brain dominated by the right. At times it is absolutely necessary, but that is not the problem. The problem is when he is blindly assassinated! Smothered by routine, by mental rigidity, by lack of perspective, by self-consciousness, by materialism.

When ‘the man’ gets you down, when you become square, when you don’t draw because you say you are not good at it. When you don’t express yourself. When you discover something and don’t care or don’t want to find out more, when you forget the last time you laughed so hard you drooled. When you are “sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit crushing game shows stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth”. When you are bored. The very breaking of that childhood promise to oneself, a promise so prematurely profound and real.

Every time this happens you are committing Phaedrucide.

So, now that we know what it means, why be named after such a sad reality?

The word Genocide (from Greek genos [‘race,’ ‘kind’] and -cide, from Latin -cidere, ‘to kill’) was only coined in 1944 because the concept was unknown, at least in that magnitude, until then. It is not until you can recognise, define and name an evil that you can start to condemn it, tackle it and abolish it.

That is the purpose of this word!

Phaedrucide is the name under which I carry out my creative projects. Following the old principle of “to kill the killer one must become the killer” I carry this name to attempt to understand my Phaedrucidal tendencies and eliminate them. “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer” they say…

This name is a mark and a warning. I guess it’s along the lines of the psychological principle of pasting pictures of a pig on your fridge to stop pigging out. It’s kind of masochistic but it works for some. In the same way my Phaedrucide work is the opposite of what it says on the label. You put a pig on your fridge because you don’t want to be one, because you see a horrid reflection. I don’t have a pig on my fridge because that isn’t my issue. Mine is trying to keep an old promise.

So this is for me, but it’s also for anyone who can relate. Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance did a lot for me, it inspired me, but it stopped being about the book and about Pirsig’s Phaedrus long ago, this is about mine. It is a constant reminder that life is for living and that it is a truly amazing thing. It is my expression, my creativity, my attempt to be in touch, to allow my Phaedrus to breathe. These are things that I am excited about.

Phaedrucide is my one word lifestyle manifesto.