Thel,
Everything you've said is redolent of a marvellous and intriguing story by Jorge Luis Borges (a giant literary luminary once admired and visited by the great Christopher Hitchens in Argentina) entitled The Library of Babel. To me the story serves as a philosophical analogy for human beings living in a bewildering cosmos in search for truth and meaning and often seeing what they want to see, a kind of pareidolia, if you will. It certainly expresses an element of a myriad possibilities coming to fruition and certainly pertinent to the spellbinding powers of language. Notice that the library is sufficiently vast (not infinite) to incite meaningful stirrings in the fallible humans, who, had they been immortal and eternal, would have been at a loss to find purpose and novelty; as Kafka once said, 'The meaning of life is that it ends.'
The story is about a mystical library containing a vast number of interlinked hexagonal rooms, each lined with books. Each of these books contains 410 pages and together they bear every possible random permutation of alphabet characters and basic punctuation. Thus, the library contains, of course, mainly nonsense, but the inhabitants of the library are convinced that there is mysterious meaning in those pages, especially when they come across phrases or words that have arbitrarily fallen into place amongst the random combinations of letters. Imagine having housed there every possible sequence of characters! Every book ever written and every book that could ever be written will be included there somewhere! Which means that your autobiography will be found on the shelves, along with the book that correctly predicts how you will die (as well as the book that tells you the steps to take to avoid that particular death). This causes cults to spring up, and throughout history, sections of the library are destroyed by groups such as the 'Purifiers' who which to rid the library of what they deem to be nonsense. You begin to see the genius of Borges. Others believe that a book must exist somewhere on the shelves that contains the key to understanding the collection's contents, and they search for the messianic 'Man of the Book' who will have read it and can unlock the library's secrets.
The Library of Babel contains a nihilistic premise which isn't considered by the groups who believe the library must contain some kind of profound meaning and significant truth to be found; purpose is derived in the search to unlock 'secrets' while the real truth is that the library might as well be empty, something humans are reluctant to contemplate precisely because it ostensibly threatens to render their existence and chosen ventures pointless and ultimately fruitless—as though a cosmic voice taunts us with the statement, 'You think you're special? Think again ...' Nihilism is anathema to the majority of people, thus many appeal for consoling religious narratives in an attempt to avoid a dispiriting concept about the world. With this in mind, here's a profound quote from someone who carefully observed human expression as we progress into a post-Enlightenment world and try to do away with superstition:
'We think we can congratulate ourselves on having already reached such a pinnacle of clarity, imagining that we have left all these phantasmal gods far behind. But what we have left behind are only verbal spectres, not the psychic facts that were responsible for the birth of the gods.'~Carl Jung
Sivason,
Morpheus had a brilliant approach. He never told Neo what the Matrix was prior to offering the pills. As he put it, 'Nobody can be told what the Matrix is, you have to see it for yourself.' Which would have aroused my curiosity. (Just because you're a sceptic doesn't mean that you are not curious or open to discovery.) If Morpheus had proposed to show me something, I would have responded with, 'Okay, show me.' I would have undoubtedly taken the red pill because I care about truth—and seen as I am the kind of person who stands by the philosophy that I'd rather a cold, harsh truth than a consoling lie, I would've taken it quite well upon finding where the figurative rabbit hole leads. But Neo has a profoundly human reaction that most would have (and I suspect even I would have experienced a slight pang of existential terror) upon seeing it for himself—what the world is really like and that his life had been a lie. He even tries to deny it to himself when he mutters (and I paraphrase), 'No, it's not true. That's impossible! This can't be happening ...' At which point Morpheus tells him, 'I never said it would be easy, Neo. All I'm offering is the truth.'
I am still, however, waiting for someone to offer me that red pill. Then I'll believe in the Matrix. The blue pill doesn't warrant my consideration because, as Morpheus puts it, 'You go back to Wonderland and believe whatever you want to believe.' Well, I don't just want to believe whatever is fanciful. I don't value flights of fancy. I just want the truth. I want the demonstration. It's about waking up to what the world is really like.
By the way, The Matrix quadrilogy is brilliant. Yes, I also loved the last one! It is full of profound meaning and Jungian archetypes. One can interpret the whole thing as some kind of psychological individuation. And the religious connotations are obvious. It is the human story, the struggle, the search for truth, sacrifice rebellion and heroism. Neo is the hero archetype, the Saviour, the Christ-like figure, an Osiris. The machines and the Matrix itself is Satanic, the father of lies, the serpent of the world that challenges all of us, the force that attempts to deny the past and threatens to erase the mistakes from which we can all learn and progress in a vital heuristic process, which, slight spoiler alert, pertains to The Matrix: Resurrections narrative.
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