Love and Happiness: The Matrix Myth and the Price of Freedom

By Jug Suraiya

Freedom is tough shit. That's the central message of the Matrix movies. The inhabitants of the computer-simulated world of the Matrix live in comfortable, salubrious surroundings and appear secure and content with their lives.

The rebels who inhabit the real world live in Zion, an underground citadel that looks like Dante's Inferno. They undergo physical and mental pain and are always prey to fears and doubts. Despite this, they feel immeasurably better off than those in the Matrix. Because Zion is freedom, and the Matrix is enslavement. And if the price of freedom is anguish, too bad. For everyone who's free knows that freedom is tough. Too tough for most, according to Dostoyevsky's Grand Inquisitor.

Ivan Karamazov relates the tale to Alyoshya, who is preparing to join the priesthood. Christ, says Ivan, returned to earth during the Inquisition. He was seized and thrown into prison, where the Grand Inquisitor came to interrogate him. "Why did you come back?", the Inquisitor asked. "Do you have any idea of the trouble you caused the last time?" 'The Kingdom of God is within you', 'You are the Kingdom of God', you told people. Then you went and got yourself martyred. And left us to build a Church on your precepts. What you didn't realise is that very few are capable of responsibility, which is another word for freedom. Most need to be led, to be told what to do. It is not the Church's business to save only those who are strong enough in any case to save themselves. We are concerned with obedience in exchange for stability and orderliness. And we can't have that by telling everyone that they can be their own Church - as you did.

"We, the elect, know just how terribly hard it is to 'achieve salvation', which really means achieving yourself. But we have kept it a secret from the people - who are not much better than dogs and cats, after all. Now you come back, proposing to give the show away. Do you suppose I can allow that? I'm afraid I shall have to have you done away with, and quietly, this time. And it is entirely your own fault. Prophets are all very well when they are dead, but while they are alive there is nothing for it but to burn or crucify them..."

As the Grand Inquisitor fell silent, Christ leaned forward and kissed him on his bloodless lips. That was his reply: Your case is compelling, but my love is stronger.

It didn't work. Christ was crucified again. Not by the Inquisitor, but by his own self-avowed faithful. As all seers have always been. Herod - who had to do the dirty work the first time round - knew this only too well. Auden has Herod say on behalf of the populace: "O God, put away justice and truth for we cannot understand them and do not want them. Eternity would bore us dreadfully. Become our uncle. Look after Baby, amuse Grandfather, escort Madam to the Opera, help Willy with his homework, introduce Muriel to a handsome naval officer."

Then three men come and announce that God has been born. A strange God whose promise is freedom. Herod is outraged. "For me personally it means God has given me the power to destroy Himself...Why should He dislike me so?...How dare He allow me to decide?...I've hardly ever taken bribes. I've tried to be good. I brush my teeth every night. I haven't had sex for a month. I object. I'm a liberal. I want everyone to be happy. I wish I had never been born."

Like the Grand Inquisitor, Herod had discovered that freedom is tough shit.

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See also: Love and Happiness, Life and Beyond, Death and Dying, Body Mind and Soul)