Quest Magazine

Originally printed in the November-December 2000 issue of Quest magazine.
Citation: Conwell, Allistair. "Depriving Death  of its Victim." Quest  88.6 NOVEMBER-DECEMBER 2000): pg 234-235.

By Alistair Conwell

So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men: and Death once dead, there's no more dying then.
--William Shakespeare

When the Lord of Death beckons, will you go kicking, screaming and biting? Or will you calmly accept the fact that your sojourn on this physical plane has ended--for the time being at least? If the first scenario is more apt, take heart because the vast majority of people in the Western world harbor a grotesque fear of death. The medical profession has even coined the word thanatophobia, which is derived from the Greek word thanatos meaning "death," for this universal phobia.

Many people, when asked, may say they do not fear death at all, but instead fear the painful or frightening circumstances that may result in death. Articulating such a view, the comedian Woody Allen said, "I'm not afraid of death, I just don't want to be there when it happens." But consider this: the mind cannot easily conceive of its own mortality. Sigmund Freud believed that, in our unconscious, every one of us is convinced of our own immortality (Reanney 1995).

Psychologist Gregory Zilboorg elucidates further, "If this fear [of death] were as constantly conscious, we should not be able to function normally. It must be properly repressed to keep us living with any modicum of comfort. . . . We may take it for granted that the fear of death is always present in our mental functioning. . . . No one is free of the fear of death" (Reanney 1995).

So whether one is capable of acknowledging one's fear of death or not, arriving at some understanding of this fear is important for two reasons. Firstly, all fear, without exception, is based on ignorance; and secondly, the way we approach death is directly related with how we approach life. As Russian Orthodox bishop, Metropolitan Anthony of Sourozh asserts, "Death is the touchstone of our attitude to life. . . . If we are afraid of death we will never be prepared to take ultimate risks; we will spend our life in a cowardly, careful, and timid manner. It is only if we can face death, make sense of it, determine its place and our place in regard to it, that we will be able to live in a fearless way and to the fullness of our ability" (Cohn-Sherbok and Lewis 1995).

So where does our fear of death stem from?

Some scholars contend that it is something that we are taught as children. Such a view was presented in an essay entitled "Education in Thanatology," coauthored by Gary J. Grad from Columbia University and Sir Stephen V. Gullo, who wrote, "We are not born with a fear of death; we learn it from the taboos of silence and fear transmitted by our families and society as a whole" (Rogo 1990).

This view is shared by author and parapsychologist D. Scott Rogo, who writes, "Most people in Western societies fear death with a phobic terror. This lamentable situation isn't strange since we live in a death-denying culture where death is constantly divorced from the everyday realities of life. Popular illustrations of this widespread denial don't seem difficult to find. Death is a subject most people refuse to discuss in polite conversation, while the dying are usually shunted off to hospitals or rest homes, conveniently out of sight and out of mind from the standpoint of their relatives. We even try to shield our children from the simple reality of death on the misguided premise that we're doing them a favor" (Rogo 1990).

Our fear of death may be linked with the concept we have of our selves, our ego-self. The late Darryl Reanney believed that three of our most common fears (vertigo, a fear of falling from a height; claustrophobia, a fear of closed spaces; and agoraphobia, a fear of open spaces) are all metaphors for our fear of death. Many thanatologists agree that the basis of our fear of death is a fear of losing our ego-self. Although some people may say that what they fear is the pain associated with death, or the indignity from a terminal illness, or the "final judgment," or losing their friends and relatives, or even the unknown, all these reasons involve a strong sense of ego-self.

Our fear of death and our denial of that fear are deeply rooted in the human psyche. Astronomer-physicist David Darling sums up this point when he observes, "We fear death for many reasons. We fear the possibility of pain because we see it in the faces of others, the agony and angst of terminal cancer. We fear death's unpredictability, its awesome power to bring in an instant an end to everything we have lived and worked for. We fear the death of loved ones--parents, spouses and children. But above all else we fear the loss of ourselves" (Darling 1995).

So, if the basis of our thanatophobia is a fear of losing ourselves, we need to be clear about what the self really is. And, moreover, we need to understand what it is about the self that we are so terrified to part with.

The "self" referred to here is the "little" self or I-centered awareness, which is ultimately illusory and ephemeral. It is not the deathless Great Self, or the spark of the Divine inherent in all beings. This little self, in fact, creates the biggest problems for us in terms of our spiritual progress because it is this self that succeeds in blanketing the Divine Spark in a thick, seemingly impenetrable veil of darkness born of ignorance.

"I am this. I am that," we often say. But really what is that "I"? On close reflection, we find that the "I" is really no more than a collection of attachments to the experiences of life. For it is only through this "I," functioning in the physical body with its five senses, that we can experience sensual life. The "I" becomes attached to the physical body and those pleasant experiences, which it soon begins to crave. And equally soon, the "I" is repulsed by unpleasant experiences that it has endured. But these habit-forming attachments succeed in separating us from the total cosmic experience.

We are, without doubt, creatures of habit. Just reflect for a moment on all that you have done so far today, or yesterday, and it is certain that you will find that many of the things you did, said, and thought were a result of habit. Habits dictate what we eat, what we drink, where we go, how we speak, what clothes we wear, what time we go to sleep, what time we wake up, and so on. Our habits, or our attachments, are ultimately the basis for our concept of "I." And it is these attachments that bind us to the physical body. Naturally, the prospect of losing the body at death, which we have become so attached to over the course of a lifetime, must elicit fear because we will no longer have the means to feed our entrenched habits.

Asceticism is no solution to the problem of habit. A normally functioning sense of self is necessary to perform everyday duties in our homes and workplaces. But while we perform our duties to employers, families, and friends, the challenge is not to become chained to these relationships. Once chained by the bonds of attachment, we become a slave to the ego-self. And while we remain slaves of the ego-self, we will continue to harbor a fear of death.

If we can succeed in negating the ego-self, we have the opportunity to experience consciousness as it really is--not as an individualistic, selfish experience but rather as a holistic and unified awareness of inherently interdependent spiritual entities of pure consciousness. It is with this understanding and knowing that we can begin to plumb the depths of the concept of spiritual Love.

All ancient spiritual traditions emphasize the importance of Love. In the Indian tradition Love is expressed as ahimsa, or nonviolence, not only toward other humans but also toward all other creatures we share this planet with. Similarly, Jesus' quintessential message was "Love thy neighbor." Unconditional love is perhaps the most selfless action we can perform because, while we unconditionally love something, we forget the self. And when there is no self, there is nothing that can die.

This is a message that has echoed through all religions and all ages. It is advice that many have heard but few have successfully assimilated. If it can be assimilated into our lives, then we will be truly liberated from the clutches of death. As David Darling aptly summarizes, "The message is clear: if we can learn to see through the illusion of self now, in this life, then the 'I' who can die no longer exists. Death is deprived of its victim, so that the basis for fear and sorrow of death is undermined. We become part of a much larger process--the totality of being--that has no start or end."

References

Cohn-Sherbok, Daniel, and Christopher Lewis, eds. 1995. Beyond Death: Theological and Philosophical Reflections on Life after Death. New York: St. Martin's.

Darling, David J. 1995. After Life: In Search of Cosmic Consciousness. London: Fourth Estate.

Reanney, Darryl C. 1995. After Death: A New Future for Human Consciousness. New York: Morrow.

Rogo, D. Scott. 1990. Beyond Reality: The Role Unseen Dimensions Play in Our Lives. San Francisco: Thorsons.

---

Born in India, Alistair Conwell grew up in Perth, Australia, where he lives and is writing a book on the spiritual importance of death. His articles have been published in Yoga International and several Australian journals.

Originally printed in the November-December 2000  issue of Quest magazine.
Citation: Ellwood, Robert. "Christian Ritual in Theosophical Perspective." Quest  88.6 NOVEMBER-DECEMBER 2000): pg 225-227.

Originally printed in the November - December  2002 issue of Quest magazine.
Citation: Quinn, William W."Harry Potter and Maximizing Cyclic Opportunities." Quest  90.5 (NOVEMBER - DECEMBER  2002):226-231.

By William W. Quinn

Who is Cassandra Vablatsky, and what is the content of her book, Unfogging the Future? On a purely literary level, Cassandra Vablatsky is the author of the textbook Unfogging the Future used in a course in divination at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, whose best known student is the young wizard in training Harry Potter. But what lies behind this fictional author and her fictional book?

One suspects the title of the book has to do with lifting the veil of Isis but, as these are a fictional character and a fictional work both undeveloped by the real author of the Harry Potter stories, there is no dispositive answer to either part of the question. One may, however, speculate, based on the full context of the four existing works of fiction by J. K. Rowling, which follow the exploits of the gifted young wizard, Harry Potter, and in the third of which we encounter the reference to Vablatsky's book. Within the larger context that contains both the fictional Unfogging the Future and its probable referent, the future to be "unfogged" is not based on any empirical notion of time in a progressive, rectilinear sense, but rather of temporal duration as that occurs in cycles, both microcosmic and macrocosmic as the polar extremes of the principle of periodicity.

It has been asserted by numerous, authoritative expositors of the philosophia perennis, as well as in various prophecies in the West during the last half of the previous millennium, that the world or humanity is fast approaching the end stage of a massive cycle. Since roughly the beginning of the nineteenth century, certain of these metaphysicians began to utilize the growing body of Indic exposition of cycles and duration. This utilization was based on the increased circulation and availability of the Sanskrit texts and their translations in which these matters were treated. So at present, meaningful discourse on these subjects relies in large part on the traditional concept of the yuga and the Sanskrit lexicon of time and duration.

The concept has various subthemes, but as it relates to the cosmogonic duration of our world, a yuga is a system of four ages said to represent kalpa, a process that traces the decline from dharma at the beginning (the krita yuga) to adharma at the end (the kali yuga) or, in other words, a process that traces the disintegration of the human social (and spiritual) order from law to lawlessness and chaos, in which the expression of truth is inverted, and whereby the first shall be last.

At certain junctures in this cyclic process, opportunities present themselves for the increased infusion of light into a darkening world. Often these opportunities are subtle, but for those who are sufficiently sensitive and alert to the signs, the chance to assist in the promulgation of more light is extraordinary. Many people are familiar with the great infusions brought by the renowned light bearers, such as the scriptures revealed by Moses, Jesus, and Muhammad; the written legacy of the Socratic academy in Attic Greece, and the teachings of the Buddha and Lao-tzu, all of which occurred at specific times in our recorded history (assuming one accepts their historicity). In the most recent arc of our present cycle, these events of revelation were all spaced at roughly five-hundred-year intervals, and for those who understood the significance of these infusions at the time, the opportunity to maximize their purpose was exceptional. Such was the role and work of the disciples, arhats, and companions of the great light bearers.

In addition to these greater infusions or revelations, many of which were the genesis of world religions that serve as the bases for traditional cultures, there were (and are) other lesser points of opportunity for the infusion of light into the obscurity of material existence. One such opportunity occurred in New York in 1875, with the founding of the Theosophical Society; another related opportunity occurred several years later in India taking the form of a remarkable correspondence involving a resident British government official and journalist, both events being subsequently described as "experiments" by their originators, who were facilitating (by virtue of their sensitivity and vision) the opportunity then available because appropriate circumstances had coalesced at a point in the cycle. Roughly a hundred years later, another sizeable infusion of light came in the form of the hundreds of thousands of spiritually oriented youths of the 1960s (in contrast to the more numerous political activists and fun seekers), whose music, art, and practice were immediate expressions of certain principles of the primordial tradition, the religio perennis.

Finally, there is today a new and conspicuously overt expression of the esoteric, whose principal characteristic, while related to that of the 1960s, is even greater—because it has unparalleled breadth and scope across the planet. This new opportunity is the receptivity of the newest generation of our new millennium to teaching of a higher order that is related to, but more than, the dramatic occult powers and divination taught at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and exhibited by young Mr. Potter in both his apprenticeship and his exploits against the malevolent Voldemort.

Though possibly ephemeral, one needs to consider whether the Harry Potter phenomenon may be an "experiment" of the present age—another opportunity for the infusion of light. The substantial difference between this infusion and its predecessors is an enhanced receptivity for more light by literally millions of children and early teenagers in every corner of the planet who have consumed the books of J. K. Rowling (and the films made from them) with virtually unsurpassed thirst and enthusiasm. Yet this experiment, if indeed it is that, is only half completed at this point. As the next logical step in sequential order, the other and more significant half of the experiment would be to bridge the occultism of Harry Potter's world to the sacred science of higher metaphysics.

The current works of Rowling do not, in fact, teach or otherwise convey in any clear terms the higher principles of the philosophia perennis, but one can conclude that was never the objective of the books. The books convey a wonderful and interesting fictional story of the education and maturing of a young wizard who undergoes the tribulations of learning his art at Hogwarts. To the extent that this was the primary objective of the books, the author has achieved an admirable degree of success. But the books also convey other, secondary objectives, whether by the author's design or not, and they are key for the proper assimilation of esoteric knowledge.

Chief among the secondary objectives is an elucidation of the principle of the pairs of opposites—good and evil, light and darkness, selfishness and sacrifice. It may be said that this principle is common and can be found in abundant supply in the world's great myths, folktales, and fairy tales—and that is certainly true. Furthermore, one may point out that, together with ample presence of the magical and fantastic, this principle also inheres in other classics for the young (in body or heart), such as J. R. R. Tolkien's stories The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings and C. S. Lewis's seven-volume Chronicles of Narnia.

However, what distinguishes J. K. Rowling's Harry Potter books from these others is the clear, express, and unambiguous notion of the potential for development of the latent powers in human beings—even in Muggles. What is needed for that development is sufficient discipline and determination, set within the context of a nonempirical educational and developmental process that is based on metaphysical laws of nature and the elements. While these latent powers may be on the lower reaches of the vertical axis of higher metaphysical principles and the philosophia perennis, they are nonetheless an integral aspect of that vertical axis.

The understanding or even acceptance of such occult subjects among young readers, by virtue of the author's treatment of them in a sympathetic and gently humorous manner, is nearly always a precondition whose fulfillment may lead to further development along this path. Indeed, it may ultimately lead to understanding the higher suprarational metaphysical principles as a consequence of growth and maturity. In short, Rowling's books illustrate the graphic and undisguised conflict between what is commonly referred to as white magic and black magic, in their own terms. For many, including the world's youth, recognizing this conflict is a necessary realization before undertaking the long and arduous path to liberation from the pairs of opposites. The pairs of opposites are represented by the "outer man" and the "inner man," whose resolution occurs within at the point where these opposites coincide.

One may theorize that Rowling's reference to Cassandra Vablatsky hints at the author's understanding of a need for further and higher education for her readers. That being the case—unless Rowling herself undertakes this higher education in future works, in which she might have the graduate Harry Potter undertake the disciplines and mysteries of meditation and the study of the santana dharma while developing the suprarational faculty of intellection—it may be left to others to seize this opportunity. This, of course, is not to suggest that anyone produce a book under the fraud of a modern pseudepigrapha, but someone intent on maximizing this opportunity may well find a legitimate and suitable bridge to carry these millions of loyal followers of the exploits of Harry Potter to a new and higher metaphysical destination. In particular, associations of people who profess and promulgate the philosophia perennis need to be aware of such opportunities and to maximize them.

The overwhelming success of J. K. Rowling's work, both in print and in film, testifies to the fact that the positive response to her works is enormous, is world-wide, and numbers in the millions of readers and viewers. To state this is not to endorse a purely quantitative standard for the ultimate significance of the Harry Potter phenomenon, for unless the ground prepared by Rowling's books is planted with a commensurably qualitative spiritual influence from the center, and is subsequently nurtured by those willing to cooperate and assist in this endeavor, the phenomenon will have been only an ephemeral entertainment. The possibility of such a planting and nurturing for bringing more light to humanity, and thereby maximizing this cyclic opportunity, should be obvious. A failure to benefit the eager young audience of these books by further education in the first principles of the philosophia perennis that will lead to a higher understanding would be a missed opportunity. Not all such opportunities are taken, however, or even perceived.

For individuals who do perceive them, any effort undertaken toward maximizing these opportunities does nothing less than lend support to the work of certain bodhisattvas and all who actively assist them in their work. For maximizing opportunities inherent in cycles is in large part what that work is, examples being that which was done in 1875 and again nearly 100 years later. Those who undertake and guide this work always remain vigilant for the next such opportunity of the cyclic dynamic to appear and are neither sentimental nor conformist in the expenditure of their energies in taking the fullest advantage of the hour, for they have no energy to waste.

The new and emergent form arising from such an opportunity will invariably seem unlikely and may at first appear bizarre or foolish or trivial, but that is because we are comfortable with what we know and with what is generally acceptable. New seed sprouts and grows in the decay of the old, each on a corresponding and coequal but opposite mission. Where the new sprout promises to generate more light in the obscurity of darkness, in addition to all other consequences, that light will also serve to unfog the future.

William W. Quinn is a resident of Phoenix, Arizona, where he practices law. He received a Ph.D. from the University of Chicago in 1981. His doctoral dissertation, which dealt with the philosophia perennis and its relation to traditional culture, was published as The Only Tradition by SUNY Press in 1997.

Originally printed in the November - December 2003 issue of Quest magazine.
Citation: Richardson, Chris. "The Matrix as the Hero's Journey." Quest  91.6 (NOVEMBER - DECEMBER 2003):220-225.

By Chris Richardson

"The hero's journey" is a phrase coined by Joseph Campbell to describe the underlying monomyth that links stories from every part of the world and every epoch in human history. This story emerges again and again because it is the fundamental human story written in symbolic language, laying out the journey we all must take from ignorance to knowledge. It tells the story of our own growth and development into fully realized individuals. The hero separates from the reality we share, is awakened to greater truths, and then returns to share the knowledge and power gained. The most effective contemporary expression of this archetypal myth is the 1999 film The Matrix, in which Thomas Anderson, aka Neo, is separated from the reality he has always known, awakens to the truth of his existence, masters the power that comes with that knowledge, and then vows to free others. Neo's story is our story writ large. It reminds us, just as mystics from every age have done, that we are all asleep, that we must wake up to the truth, that our work is to help others.

Prior to The Matrix, the major cinematic depiction of the hero's journey was George Lucas's Star Wars trilogy. George Lucas has always been forthright about his debt to the work in which Campbell articulated this essential story, The Hero with a Thousand Faces (indeed, the cover of its newest edition include a picture of Luke Skywalker alongside more ancient images). The Matrix has much in common with Star Wars both in terms of content and the details of their creation. Both created influential new technologies in order to express their vision. On a more substantive level, both films address—with quite different conclusions—the relationship between humanity and technology, and both successfully combine science fiction adventure with palatable dispensations of an underlying mysticism. Most important, however, both successfully dramatize the hero's journey.

To give a quick synopsis of the movie: The Matrix is set in Chicago in 1999. The hero of the story is named Thomas Anderson. By day, Thomas is a programmer for a software company; by night he is a computer hacker known as Neo. Neo is looking for a man called Morpheus. He believes Morpheus can answer the question that haunts him: What is the Matrix? We never discover what inspires Neo to ask such a question, but the question itself is similar to us asking, What is reality?

We soon learn that Morpheus is actually looking for Neo. He contacts Neo and reveals the answer to his question. The year is not 1999, but closer to 2199. The world Neo has always known to be real is actually an advanced form of virtual reality. Morpheus explains to Neo that early in the twenty-first century humanity created artificial intelligence (AI). A war broke out between humanity and its newly independent child. During the war, humans used nuclear weapons hoping that the fallout would blot out the sky and deprive the AI of the solar power it depended upon. The AI, however, discovered it could live off of the energy the human body generated. It began farming humans, functionally reducing them to batteries. In order to keep the human bodies alive, the AI plugged them into a computer program, a massively networked virtual reality. This system is the Matrix. People live out their entire lives inside the Matrix unaware of the truth of their enslavement. Sometime in the past, there was a man who could change the Matrix at will. He used his powers to free others and began a resistance movement. After he died, it was prophesied that he would return and lead humanity in the final battle against the Matrix. Morpheus spent his entire life searching for this reincarnation. He believes Neo is it, the One.

The Matrix has spawned a great deal of discussion among philosophers and religious scholars. The story has many parallels to bibilical scripture while philosophers have seized upon the film's resurrection of long-debated questions concerning the nature of reality, and its treatment of the interplay of humanity and technology. No one, however, has yet explored the film's relevance as a depiction of the hero's journey. This may be because while its philosophical and religious references are obvious and deliberate, its mythic aspect is not. The Matrix, like the diverse myths in which Campbell identified an archetype, becomes a variation of the hero's story incidentally. It is an example of what Campbell calls creative mythology. The hero's journey is essentially the story of our own psychological growth and spiritual unfolding.Campbell sums up the phases of the monomyth as separation - initiation - return:

A hero ventures forth from the world of common day into a region of supernatural wonder: fabulous forces are there encountered and a decisive victory is won: the hero comes back from this mysterious adventure with the power to bestow boons on his fellow man (Campbell 30).

The Matrix fits nicely into this schema: Thomas Anderson separates from the everyday reality he has known; as Neo, he is initiated and taught how to bend the reality of the Matrix, eventually defeating the heretofore unbeatable agents—those trying to keep people "plugged" into the Matrix—and he returns to the world to show the rest of humanity a world "without rules and boundaries." In this way, Thomas Anderson/Neo is not only the new Luke Skywalker; he is messianic, a modern bodhisattva.

The Matrix shares with Star Wars and other myths not only this infrastructure but many of the specific steps of the hero's journey. Each of the phases of separation, initiation, and return has several stages and facets.

The journey begins with the call to adventure, the separation from the ordinary world of the hero's life. At the beginning of The Matrix, we find the main character asleep at a computer that is doing an automatic search for information on Morpheus. Suddenly the monitor goes black, and in green letters—the color is a recurrent motif of The Matrix—a message appears: "Wake up, Neo. . ." In two simple words, the filmmakers align themselves with a long tradition that sees spiritual awakening as an awakening from sleep and dreams. (The film ends with a song by Rage Against the Machine, a band name consistent with the message of the film, in which the singer screams again and again, "Wake up!") Neo does awaken, perplexed at the source of this message, which continues: "The Matrix has you." We share in Neo's confusion. The words on the screen then instruct Neo to "Follow the white rabbit," an allusion to Alice in Wonderland and Neo's impending descent into strange adventure. Finally, "Knock, knock, Neo," and the screen goes black again. Immediately there is a knock on his door, deepening both Neo's and the audience's curiosity. At the door is a group of people who have come to Neo's apartment to buy illegal software. Two of the people are named Choi and Dujour—in other words, "choice of the day" —Neo's choice of the day. Choi invites Neo out with him; Neo at first defers but then sees a tattoo on Dujour's shoulder: a white rabbit. Neo makes his choice and follows the white rabbit; he accepts the call to adventure.

Next Neo meets Trinity, who will serve as the Divine Feminine, his complement. This is an important part of the hero's journey. In order to become a complete being, Neo must come into contact with his feminine side, his anima. Myths recognize, in symbolic fashion, that our essential nature is androgynous, that in our lifetime we must learn to balance the dual energies within us. As Neo's complement, Trinity knows he is searching for Morpheus, she knows that Neo is seeking an answer to the question that drives him: What is the Matrix? The audience has only a moment to ponder the meaning of the question before the next scene begins. Neo, as Thomas Anderson, is late again to his cubicle job. His boss tells him, "You have a problem with authority, Mr. Anderson. You believe you are special, that the rules do not apply to you." Neo's journey will be to that very realization—that he is special, that in fact the rules don't apply to him.

The boss represents another significant step in the hero's journey, approaching the guardians of the threshold. At the beginning of any adventure the hero encounters obstacles along the way. These guardians are both the inner doubts that halt the hero's progress over the threshold into adventure and the external factors that would do the same. In The Matrix, the most significant guardians are ‘agents', white men dressed in black suits and dark glasses. Drawn from a tradition of conspiracy theories regarding such "men in black," these guardians are named simply Agent Smith, Agent Brown, and Agent Jones, their sponsoring agency yet unknown. As is later said of them, "They guard all the doors, hold all the keys." They come for Thomas Anderson and detain him for questioning. The agents aren't truly after Neo but rather want to use him to get to Morpheus. These guardians of the threshold are a test for the hero, a hint of the risks to come if the adventurer accepts their call. Neo passes the test by refusing to aid them.

Neo's separation from normal reality is made complete soon thereafter. He is brought to see Morpheus. Morpheus begins to answer Neo's question, "What is the Matrix?" The response is cryptic, and Morpheus finally tells Neo that he cannot be told what the Matrix is but must see it with his own eyes. The film then takes a shocking twist. After making one last irrevocable choice, to "see how deep the rabbit hole goes," Neo suddenly wakes up in a pod of amniotic goop, his body hooked up to numerous wires and tubes. He is in a seemingly infinite field of similar pods. A gigantic robotic spider grabs Neo and disconnects him before he is flushed out of the pod into a sewer. He effectively undergoes a birth process—not a re-birth since, as we soon find out, he was never really born the first time.

As his body recovers from its new infancy, Neo is informed of the truth of his existence. This is the beginning of Neo's initiation. Adventures often bring heroes into threatening surroundings—deep waters, jungles, and deserts, since they are symbolic of the human unconscious, are all common settings for the trials the hero must face. Morpheus welcomes Neo into "the desert of the real." The reality Neo has always perceived is actually an advanced form of virtual reality. He is a slave, part of a vast interneural network known as the Matrix, a word that echoes the Sanskrit word maya, the world as illusion. Neo's response marks another stage in the hero's journey, refusal of the call. Neo's refusal is particularly visceral. He begs Morpheus to stop, saying to himself over and over, "I don't believe it" before throwing up and passing out. Of course, the refusal is just a stage, a natural reaction to the enormity of the world or the task into which the hero is initiated. As Neo recovers, he accepts the truth and his new role.

Next in the journey comes the wise and helpful guide and the supernatural aid or magic talisman that the guide gives to the hero. In Star Wars, after Luke is called to adventure by the arrival of the droids with their urgent message, Obi-wan Kenobi, "Old Ben," is introduced as the wise and helpful guide. The light saber he gives to Luke serves as the magic talisman; his introduction to the power of "the force" is the supernatural aid. In The Matrix the guide is Morpheus. The supernatural aid is Morpheus's awakening of Neo's innate ability to manipulate the Matrix at will; the magic talisman is nothing but Neo's own mind.

Once in the initiation phase of the journey, the hero must undergo a series of trials. For Neo, those trials take place inside the Construct, a virtual reality training room similar to the Matrix itself. While "plugged in", Neo can have information downloaded directly into his brain. Even though Neo has extraordinary ability to absorb and apply the information, as demonstrated by his immediate grasp of kung-fu, he still struggles to free his mind from the constraints he has always known, showing both his potential and his present limitations.

During the journey the hero often attains mystical insight. Neo's insight is the same as many other great mystics: This world is an illusion, a playground where reality is shaped by our minds. This insight can lead to the development of spectacular powers, just as siddhis can occur through the practice of yoga. At one point, Neo meets a young boy who is bending spoons a la Uri Geller. He says to Neo, "Do not try and bend the spoon. That's impossible. Instead, only try to realize the truth . . . There is no spoon. Then you'll see that it is not the spoon that bends. It is only yourself." Some critics have dismissed dialogues like this as pseudo-philosophical platitudes, but what few realize is that this scene paraphrases a well-known and important Zen teaching. Hui Neng, the sixth patriarch of Zen and one of the tradition's most important figures, had to go into hiding after his ordination as patriarch. He resurfaced by settling an argument between two monks. While gathered at a Dharma talk, the two monks noticed a banner moving in the wind. One claimed it was the banner that was moving, the other the wind. Hui Neng corrected them: It was their minds that were moving. The Matrix never needlessly employs Zen-like aphorisms; rather, Zen-like realizations are at the heart of the film.

The Matrix set new standards for movie spectacle, yet its most compelling scene consists of a simple conversation between Neo and a woman known as the Oracle. It would take a whole essay to detail the significance of the names, numbers, colors, and literary references that abound in the film, but the Oracle scene is particularly rich in allusion and symbolism. The oracle at Delphi was the most famous of all issuers of prophecy in the ancient world. Priestesses of the god Apollo sat on tripods above a pit of vapors that when inhaled put them into an ecstatic trance from which prophecies issued. As Neo enters the Oracle's chamber, she is sitting on a stool, leaning over the stove, inhaling the smell of baking cookies. Just as at Delphi, the Oracle has a sign above her chamber that says "Know Thyself." Even the color scheme of the scene corresponds to Michelangelo's portrayal of the Delphic oracle on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. Most important, however, the prophecies of both oracles need interpretation.

Neo has come to see the Oracle to find out whether or not he is, as Morpheus believes and his name anagrammatically implies, the One. All of the film's subsequent development hinges upon her statements. She allows Neo to believe he is not, but it is exactly this belief that will lead to his realization that he is in fact the One. Essentially, he can't be told he is the One; he must discover it for himself. In order to discover it, he must sacrifice himself. He will have to choose between his life and Morpheus's.

Neo's choice is contrasted with that of the character Cypher, who embodies two other stages of the hero's journey, sacrifice and betrayal, and losing the guide. Luke Skywalker loses Obi-wan in the first of the Star Wars films and through Lando's betrayal loses Han Solo in the second. In The Matrix, Cypher betrays the crew to turn in Morpheus. Cypher regrets his original decision to leave the Matrix, the world of illusion, and makes a deal in order to return to it. In the scene of his betrayal, he savors the tastes of steak and wine, emblematic of his attachment to the senses and to the material world. Despite Cypher's villification, his choice raises a serious question: Why choose a painful reality over a pleasant illusion? For Neo, the illusion is like a "splinter in the mind." He is unwilling to go back; more importantly, he is willing to give up his own life so that others may also know freedom.

This sacrifice, self-annihilation, is an essential aspect of the hero's journey. Heroes must descend into death to attain the ultimate boon with which they return to humanity. The Matrix, as modern myth, succeeds because the audience recognizes the truth and value of the boon Neo attains. As always, it is self-knowledge—the knowledge that we are more than the rules and boundaries that govern material existence; that we are of a more divine origin than is apparent. The Matrix affirms this ancient truth in the face of modern questions. Technology is bending the limits of reality and identity, potentially ensnaring us in a web in which we are each mere nodes of information. The self-knowledge that Neo gains requires a sacrifice of the lower self. It is the lower self that, while in control, enslaves the whole self in a world of dreams and sleep. The lower self seeks to continue its existence and doubts the existence of the higher self, which is the true link to the eternal. It is only when Neo risks his own life to save Morpheus that he begins to awaken to his true nature. It is only after Neo actually dies that he fully becomes the One.

The final aspect of the hero's journey is the return. After his separation from the world of the Matrix and his initiation into truth, Neo, like all great heroes, like the bodhisattva eschewing nirvana for others' liberation, returns to the world. The film ends with Neo sending a message to the Matrix: He is going to show people a world without rules and boundaries, a world without the Matrix. The message for us is simple. We live in a world controlled by rules and boundaries. We can easily become lifeless slaves of the system, or we can realize that that system is not the ultimate reality, that we are more. With that realization comes power and freedom. And we are not free until we are all free. This is the message of virtually every enlightened soul who has graced this earth.

A myth, however, becomes important to a culture when it adapts that message to the times and brings new insight. Almost all responses to the rise of technology have been reactionary, romanticizing the natural world. As just one example, the Star Wars trilogy ends with the complete destruction of the Empire and with the main characters in a forest with woodland creatures, engaged in organic and primitive celebration. The Matrix implicitly recognizes that technology is not to be feared but recognized as a potential tool for transformation. The original script of The Matrix ends with this speech by Neo:

You won't have to search for me anymore. I'm done running. Done hiding. Whether I am done fighting I suppose is up to you. I believe deep down that we both want this world to change. I believe that the Matrix can remain our cage or it can become our chrysalis. That is what you helped me to understand. That to be free, truly free, you cannot change your cage. You have to change yourself. When I used to look at this world, all I could see were the edges, its boundaries, its rules and controls, its leaders and laws. But now, I see another world. A different world where all things are possible. A world of hope, a world of peace.

We are each the hero of our journey. This world is the chrysalis for our spirit. When we realize this, all things are possible, even a world of hope and peace.

ReferencesCampbell, Joseph. The Hero with a Thousand Faces, 2nd edition. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press,1968.

Chris Richardson is in his final year at Shimer College, which he attends on a Kern Scholarship. He serves on the National Board of Directors of the T.S.A. and is the former Coordinator of the Young Theosophists' Movement. This article is adapted from his lecture The Metaphysics of the Matrix given in 2001.