Why Cypher was Ontologically Right: A Philosophical Reinterpretation in Favor of the Matrix’s Virtual Reality

Once Zhuang Zhou dreamt he was a butterfly, a butterfly flitting and fluttering around, happy with himself and doing as he pleased. He didn't know he was Zhuang Zhou. Suddenly, he woke up and there he was, solid and unmistakable Zhuang Zhou. But he didn't know if he was Zhuang Zhou who had dreamt he was a butterfly, or a butterfly dreaming he was Zhuang Zhou. Between Zhuang Zhou and a butterfly there must be some distinction! -Zhuang Zhou

Reality: is it something simply perceived by one or more perceivers, or is there something more to it, something objective? Oftentimes, problems with perception itself can bring reality into question. Whether through an instance of déjà vu or the time lost from a long nap, these subtle and not so subtle moments of disorientation can call the fundamental nature of reality into question for a perceiver. Even the routine process of dreaming can affect how one views the world, forcing one to ask that seemingly unanswerable question: “What is real?” The Daoist thinker, Zhuang Zhou, recounted this phenomenon through exploring a dream about being a butterfly. He observed that dreams often feel so real to the dreamer that when one is in them, the dream is indistinguishable from reality; however, Zhuang Zhou wondered if this was perhaps because the dream was real and what he considered real was instead a dream. His observation gives no answers; it, instead, places a thorn in the mind of the reader to wonder for his or herself what is real. Yet, not all have needed this thorn; plenty of thinkers, philosophers, scientists, and entrepreneurs have considered this problem, this skepticism, including Plato, Rene Descartes, Nick Bostrom, Neil DeGrasse Tyson, and Elon Musk.

Overtime, this issue developed through numerous disciplines and eventually found its way onto film during the 20^th century. As an embodiment of numerous arts, film has become one of – if not the greatest – source for powerful and moving endeavors on the human spirit and what it means to be human, yet they have also become a source for the exploration of philosophy, including ontology. Films, such as Sunset Boulevard, Memento, Donnie Darko, The Truman Show, and Mulholland Drive, have questioned not only what is real and what makes up one’s reality but also what happens when reality falters and fails.

Nevertheless, none have explored the meaning and make up of reality and false realities with such intensity and philosophical inquiry as The Wachowski’s The Matrix. In it, programmer and hacker, Thomas Anderson a.k.a. Neo, played by Keanu Reeves, discovers his reality is an intricate simulation created by intelligent machines, which have been waging war against mankind for decades, and that he must fulfill the prophecy of the One, who will bring about the end of the war and save humanity. Throughout Neo’s three film journey to become a neo-noir, cyberpunk savior, he and others face several philosophical questions pertaining to the nature of reality and the simulated reality of the Matrix. Like Zhuang Zhou, these characters must ask the same fundamental questions about what is real and why or why not reality matters in order to forge their paths. Neo, under the guidance of Morpheus, who sees the Matrix as a prison, ultimately believes that the world outside the Matrix is the one worth fighting for, yet Cypher, another character under Morpheus’ supervision, eventually abandons this logic and seeks to be reinstated into the Matrix.

After years of serving Morpheus in a cold, dark, metal shell, devoid of most human pleasures, Cypher longs for the simulated paradise of the Matrix. To return, he strikes a deal with the iron enemy in which he will deliver Morpheus and kill the other members of his crew, including the potential savior, Neo. Although his actions make him morally reprehensible, there remains a certain ontological logic hidden underneath Cypher’s betrayal, a logic purposely placed in the film to attempt to be debunked and keep the audience on the side of the protagonist and his quest. However, Cypher’s moral actions seem to cloud the minds of those who consider his position; while this may have been the intention of the filmmakers, Cypher’s ontological beliefs go largely un-countered for the remainder of the film. The general assumption is that by being morally disgraceful Cypher was wrong, despite the merit of his ontological opinions.

Overall, the narrative of The Matrix operates under strong, long-held ontological arguments from Plato, Descartes, and Robert Nozick, which have – in one way or another – identified manmade simulated/virtual realities as meaningless; however, given the complex nature of the Matrix as a reality imperceptible to our own (circa 1999), the presence of uninhibited minds, and the Matrix as a virtual social system populated by other, real minds, the Matrix is, as Cypher claims, as real as the world outside the Matrix.

The Matrix fits neatly within nearly every story archetype. It is man versus monsters, a quest, a voyage, and in some ways, it is even man versus self. The story not only encompasses but blends these archetypes. Mankind must fight to survive, and mankind must fight for what is considered an essential truth. All the while, a romantic subplot simmers between Neo and Trinity, adding yet another layer to the film. Altogether, it is hopeful and hopeless and retells what has been termed “the greatest story ever told.” For in the end, Neo resurrects himself and becomes the savior of mankind from their maniacal, mechanical sins. Although such narrative archetypes, subplots, and themes may seem too much to balance, the Wachowskis succeed and tell a story that is not only an epic for its groundbreaking action sequences and visual effects but for its embodiment of several themes plaguing present-day man and the philosophical arguments that follow.

Throughout its two hour and sixteen-minute runtime, the film exemplifies several ontological arguments, which are those concerned with the philosophy on being, reality, and existence, including one of Plato’s classics taught in nearly every Philosophy 101 course offered at a university: “the Allegory of the Cave.” The argument serves as a foundational philosophical work for its emphasis on truth, especially the weight of truth in the face of adversity. Within book seven of The Republic, Plato provides the argument through dialogue by his teacher and fellow philosopher, Socrates, who commences with a description of the environment of the titular cave, stating:

Picture men dwelling in a sort of subterranean cavern with a long entrance open to the light on its entire width. Conceive of them as having their legs and necks fettered from childhood, so that they remain in the same spot, able to look forward only, and prevented by the fetters from turning their heads. Picture further the light from a fire burning higher up and at a distance behind them, and between the fire and the prisoners and above them a road along which a low wall has been built, as the exhibitors of puppet shows have partitions before the men themselves, above which they show the puppets (Plato 747).

In this unconventional setting, Socrates describes a blackened time and place where there are individuals who are bound and know nothing but the shadows of puppets dancing on the wall in front of them. They have never seen the light of day, nor have they seen the objects and people who create the shadows. To them, all that has been and all that will be are the shadows. Thus, Socrates concludes this setup, stating, “Then in every way such prisoners would deem reality to be nothing else than the shadows of the artificial objects” (Plato 748). Without seeing for themselves or being shown anything other than the shadows on the wall, the shadows have become the entirety of these individuals’ reality.

However, Socrates does not conclude with this descriptive yet powerful argument that reality appears to consist from what one can sense; he goes on to discuss what might happen if the illusion were shattered. He postulates:

Consider, then, what would be the manner of the release and healing from these bonds and this folly if in the course of nature something of this sort should happen to them. When one was freed from his fetters and compelled to stand up suddenly and turn his head around and walk and to lift his eyes to the light, and in doing all this felt pain and, because of the dazzle and glitter of the light, was unable to discern the objects whose shadows he formerly saw, what do you suppose would be his answer if someone told him that what he had seen before was all a cheat and an illusion, but that now, being nearer to reality and turned toward more real things, he saw more truly? And if also one should point out to him each of the passing objects and constrain him by questions to say what it is, do you not think that he would be at a loss and that he would regard what he formerly saw as more real than the things now pointed out to him? (748-749).

When the façade falls and one of the individuals is freed, Socrates intuitively and justly describes the process as painful. To discover one’s reality, one’s life, one’s existence to be a lie would be excruciating. One might, as Socrates hints at, reject the real world and instead crave the reality they have known all along. To ease the process, Socrates next describes a series of steps to take one from sole belief in shadows to a complete indoctrination to the real world of Socrates’ day. By taking small steps and poking miniscule holes with care into the reality of such individuals, one may be able to open their minds to a new reality – rather than shock them into a state of existential dread and fear (748-749).

Before Socrates ceases the explanation of his thought experiment to Glaucon, the learner in the story, he proposes what might become of the one who is able to escape or slowly be shown the world outside. In discovering the truth, the escapee may feel a sense of moral obligation to his fellow prisoners to return and expose them to the truth as well, which Socrates describes:

Now if he should be required to contend with these perpetual prisoners in ‘evaluating’ these shadows while his vision was still dim and before his eyes were accustomed to the dark – and this time required for habituation would not be very shot – would he not provoke laughter, and would it not be said oh him that he had returned from his journey aloft with his eyes ruined and that it was not worth while even to attempt to ascent? And if it were possible to lay hands on and to kill the man who tried to release them and lead them up, would they not kill him? (749).

As previously established, someone being suddenly freed from the cave and exposed to the real world would feel a sense of betrayal and dismay; similarly, if one were to return to the cave with knowledge from the outside, he or she would need to take care as to not suddenly disturb those still shackled physically and mentally by their reality. In shattering the grand illusion, he or she my face severe consequences: establishment as psychotic and/or death.

Though, despite these fears, Socrates concludes his allegory by establishing what is most important in life, what is good; for Socrates – and therefore Plato, the writer – knowledge, therefore truth, is the ultimate good. He states:

But our present argument indicates, said I, that the true analogy for this indwelling power in the soul and the instrument whereby each of us apprehends is that of an eye that could not be converted to the light from darkness except by turning the whole body. Even so this organ of knowledge must be turned around from the world of becoming together with the entire soul, like the scene-shifting periactus in the theater, until the soul is able to endure the contemplation of essence and the brightest region of being. And this, we say, is the good, do we not? (Plato 750-751).

In this instance in Plato’s writing, one may consider the soul and the mind as being complimentary; for Plato, they were one in the same. The language itself speaks to something deeper and unexplainable within us, not just of the physical operations of the body and brain. Socrates uses this terminology to impress upon Glaucon the essential nature of truth and knowledge for humanity. These philosophical truths would be nothing to bodies, to zombies; however, to moral beings, exercising their mind or perhaps something even more essential like a soul, truth and knowledge in life are crucial.

Yet, not all are capable of discovering truth and knowledge and contemplating the greatest questions and achieving the highest forms of thought. It is not an insult but a realistic probability. Due to this, Socrates argues for a moral imperative; those who are capable, who spend their days marinating in thought, must not think of themselves as being greater than anyone else but be willing to share with them the knowledge they discover. In conclusion, Socrates states,

It is the duty of us, the founders, then, said I, to compel the best natures to attain the knowledge which we pronounced the greatest and to win to the vision of the good, to scale that ascent, and when they have reached the heights and taken an adequate view, we must not allow what is now permitted… That they should linger there, I said, and refuse to go down again among bondsmen and share their labor honors, whether they are less or of greater worth (Plato 751-752).

Although Socrates sees those who contemplate truth and knowledge as being a higher class in some sense, he maintains that this does not excuse them from having a responsibility to attempt to bring those not in such a class to a similar level. Simply put, Socrates advocates for the wise to lead the unwise to wisdom, seeing it as a moral duty. Despite whatever consequences may come, the escapees from the cave must always return and attempt to free those remaining individuals – in whatever fashion – from the physical and mental chains which bind them.

In the Matrix, Morpheus essentially serves this role, as a wise man seeking to imbue the prisoners of the Matrix with wisdom, yet this is not the only similarity to Plato’s “Allegory of the Cave.” One might even suggest that the Matrix is ultimately a cinematic, science-fiction, anime driven version of Plato’s cave. The complex virtual world of the Matrix can arguably be seen as a more advanced cave; instead of shadows dancing on a wall, programs and codes create a simulation of a world forgotten. Like shadows, though, the code stands in for real world objects, largely as a reflection of something outside. The inhabitants of the Matrix know of nothing beyond the Matrix. Only the hackers who search and finally find Morpheus – or some other freed entity – can ever glimpse the real world beyond the green hues of virtual reality. Otherwise, like the chained members of the cave, they simply go about their existence, content to see the shadows shudder each day and night. Though, in the case of The Matrix, it is the virtual world that is filled with light and an abundance of objects not found in the sullied state of the world outside, circa 2199.

To be freed from the Matrix presents identical problems as being freed from the cave. The experience sends both a mental and physical shock to the system. Throughout the course of the film, Neo has to learn to accept the world outside and reject the “realness” of the Matrix in order to become the One, but before this, Neo has to be physically taken from the machines’ chamber – in which he has lived his entire life. Though the physical effect on his body is mostly skipped over – due to Neo drifting in and out of consciousness – there are small moments showcasing the physical strain. In one instance, Morpheus recounts that Neo’s muscles must be rebuilt, and his eyes must adjust to light because he has never actually used them before (The Wachowski Bros). This directly mirrors what Plato describes: a pain in the eyes of those who finally see the light (Plato 748). But despite the physical difficulties of leaving and living outside a cave or virtual world, the mind must also accept the environment around it. The Matrix presents the audience with two cases of escapees: Neo and Cypher. Although Neo has his doubts, not only with his role as the One but with accepting reality, he eventually overcomes them. Unlike Cypher, he is given a much grander purpose to fulfill in both worlds – though more specifically for the salvation of the world outside – and also finds a love interest in Trinity, so he is ultimately able to adapt to his new surroundings (The Wachowski Bros). While it does not come easily, especially considering his death and resurrection, Neo finds the truth and knowledge of the world outside the Matrix acceptable, arguably but not solely due to the benefits of grand purpose and romantic infatuation.

Cypher, as the opposing escapee, has trouble accepting the world outside the Matrix, accepting life beyond the cave. After years of a life in servitude of Morpheus and his feelings of moral obligation to free minds, Cypher has grown weary. His life has ultimately become pleasure-less; he lives solely to serve Morpheus and Morpheus’ vision alone – without the comforts of heat, solid food, and love (The Wachowski Bros). To find purpose and pleasure once more, Cypher betrays his teammates, as Plato argues one might do to not only reclaim their reality but regain balance.

By the end of the film, Neo, who survives Cypher’s assault and rejection of the world beyond the Matrix, claims Morpheus’ and Plato’s mission for himself – albeit in a much more dramatic fashion. Like the “Allegory of the Cave,” Neo comes to a similar conclusion as Socrates and decides to dedicate his life to the spread of truth and knowledge. He feels a sense of obligation to mankind, especially given his godlike abilities. Though despite his capacity to stop bullets and fly at supersonic speeds, Neo is nothing without knowledge, for it is the knowledge of the artificiality of the Matrix that allows him to be so powerful. While the Matrix is still much more than just a retelling of a section of Plato’s Republic, it shares a similar purpose with similar pieces. There is a sort of cave, an escapee, and an emphasis on truth and knowledge that permeate and make the film so much more than just an action-packed, leather-clad fantasy.

Yet given the level at which technology has developed and evolved in The Matrix, there are certain leaps being made by the Wachowski’s between their own story and Plato’s “Allegory of the Cave;” a closer philosophical argument – in technology and theme – from Robert Nozick’s Anarchy, State, and Utopia more aptly applies. Within his work, Nozick explores an ontological assessment of meaning and reality in his thought experiment titled: “The Experience Machine.” Nozick’s argument follows in the footsteps of Plato, arguing for truth and true experiences. He begins, stating:

Suppose there were an experience machine that would give you any experience you desired. Superduper neuropsychologists could stimulate your brain so that you would think and feel you were writing a great novel, or making a friend, or reading an interesting book. All the time you would be floating in a tank, with electrodes attached to your brain (Nozick 42).

Much like The Matrix, Nozick imagines a machine in which one can experience anything programed, specifically for pleasure. His description of the machine even mirrors that of the tank Neo wakes up in, a floating being with wires connected to his brain (The Wachowski Bros).

However, Nozick is not nearly as interested in the technology as he is with the consequences of said technology; he asks, “Should you plug into this machine for life, preprogramming your life’s experiences?” (42). For Nozick, the answer is a clear and hard “no,” but before explaining why, he outlines that situation further for how the machine is used:

You can pick and choose from their [machine owners/operators] large library or smorgasbord of such [pleasurable] experiences, selecting your life’s experiences for, say, the next two years. After two years have passed, you will have ten minutes or ten hours out of the tank, to select the experiences of your next two years. Of course, while in the tank you won’t know that you’re there; you’ll think it’s all actually happening. Others can also plug in to have the experiences they want, so there’s no need to stay unplugged to serve them… Would you plug in? What else can matter to us, other than how our lives feel from the inside? (43).

In Nozick’s thought experiment, the machine gives the user the option to dictate what events or pleasures occur while the user is plugged in; however, there are short and temporary periods of waking to choose future events and/or pleasures. While plugged in, there is no knowledge of the outside world. One essentially forgets the machine, allowing them to enjoy whatever experience without the knowledge that it is preprogrammed or unreal. He also eliminates, at least for some, the desire to remain unplugged to be with loved ones; by insisting that everyone has plugged in, experiencing their own, unique fantasies, there is no need to stay unplugged for the sole purpose of being with anyone, especially given that they could be within the experience of the machine.

With the scenario set, Nozick proceeds to argue why an experience machine can never beat real reality. First, he writes on the concept of fulfillment, stating,

What does matter to us in addition to our experiences? First, we want to do certain things, and not just have the experience of doing them. In the case of certain experiences, it is only because first we want to do the actions that we want the experiences of doing them or thinking we’ve done them (43).

For Nozick, there is a difference between doing something and experiencing doing something. To do something, there must first be a want before the want of the experience. For example, one must want to write a novel before wanting the experience of writing a novel, or even more simply, one must want tacos before wanting the experience of eating tacos. Essentially, the concept proceeds the experience, and Nozick argues that one must want the concept before wanting to experience the concept. By not craving the concept, one proceeds directly into the experience of the concept in an ingenuine manner – in Nozick’s view.

Nozick’s next argument against the experience machine follows in a similar direction; he argues that, as complex, thinking beings, humans innately want to exist in a certain manner, that people take pride in who they are. He states:

A second reason for not plugging in is that we want to be a certain way, to be a certain sort of person. Someone floating in a tank is an indeterminate blob. There is no answer to the question of what a person is like who has long been in the tank. Is he courageous, kind, intelligent, witty, loving? It’s not merely that it’s difficult to tell; there’s no way he is. Plugging into the machine is a kind of suicide. It will seem to some, trapped by a picture, that nothing about what we are like can matter except as it gets reflected in our experiences. But should it be surprising that what we are is important to us? Why should we be concerned only with how our time is filled, but not with what we are? (43).

In an experience machine like Nozick’s, where one can preprogram themselves writing a novel, that person is not actually a novelist; he or she has just experienced what it is like to be one. This is the distinction Nozick makes between the real world and the world of the experience machine. In the real world, one is a novelist because he or she desires to write a novel and then writes a novel; he or she does not preprogram the experience like ordering at a drive-thru window – where he or she picks out a genre or topic from a menu and are then given a novel experience. As the Nike slogan proclaims, the novelist in the real world has an idea and decides to “just do it;” he or she is not given the luxury to just decide to experience writing without first coming up with an idea, then an outline, and finally the story. Furthermore, because one can simply pick what they want to be, as opposed to preprogramming the time and means to be able to accomplish their goal, one can, in a way, be or become anyone or anything. He or she does not have to be brave to be a firefighter or a soldier; he or she just has to pick firefighter or soldier off the experience machine menu, and in Nozick’s case, the machine will make them brave. Ultimately, for Nozick and because of how he has setup this specific experience machine, there is little one can learn from the real person who preprograms the experiences – other than analyzing what they choose to program and why. Because of this, Nozick argues that one cannot be a certain person; he or she can only experience what it is like to be that certain person, whoever he or she may be.

Lastly, Nozick argues that the nature of the reality in the experience machine limits its ability to be considered a genuine reality – or at least a reality as genuine as the real world is/appears to be. He contends,

Thirdly, plugging into an experience machine limits us to a man-made reality, to a world no deeper or more important than that which people can construct. There is no actual contact with any deeper reality, though the experience of it can be simulated. Many persons desire to leave themselves open to such contact and to a plumbing of deeper significance (43).

Though his argument presupposes that the real world has a deeper meaning, Nozick clarifies that this presupposition may not be considered by all. Those who are deeply religious believe that God’s creation of the real world imbues it with deeper meaning, which follows given that God is considered a superior being of omniscience, omnipresence, and omnipotence. However, this argument only applies then to those with a belief in God or a creator, not all who may choose to plug into Nozick’s experience machine. Yet, if one were to consider this argument in terms of a video game, a much lesser and not fully immersive version of the experience machine, one can begin to understand what Nozick is arguing. Oftentimes in video games, there is a singular path one must take, despite the appearance of multiple paths. To keep the gamer off the other paths but maintain the appearance of multiple paths, the designers will block them off either with locked doors or physical obstacles. In doing so, the designers of this reality give the impression of their being options and a larger world while ultimately keeping the story moving forward. If such designs were applied in Nozick’s experience machine as well, one could understand how the reality would be simple and containing less meaning. For without a possibility for choice, there is but one path.

Although Nozick’s depiction of his experience machine mirrors the visible experience machine Neo wakes up in in The Matrix, the actual function and experience of the two experience machines are fundamentally dissimilar. Throughout The Matrix trilogy, the Oracle as well as her counterpart, the Architect, who built the Matrix, clearly and consistently emphasize the importance of choice. When instructing Neo on the path of the One, the Oracle tries to put his concern at ease, stating “We can never see past the choices we don’t understand” (The Wachowski Bros). Despite her seemingly divine gift, the Oracle cannot see beyond a choice which has not been made; she alludes to her ability to see the potential futures behind choice A or choice B, but she cannot see or know what the future holds before that choice has been made – either by Neo or someone else. This persistent emphasis on freewill and the necessity for choice not only drives the story of the Matrix but also makes the Matrix fundamentally different from Nozick’s experience machine. In Nozick’s thought experiment, one can simply order the experience of writing a novel from a menu of experiences and then experience it within the machine like a sort of Amazon Prime Virtual Reality generator, but in the Matrix, one has to make the choice to write a novel and then write it – much like in the world outside. Though it may be entirely possible within the reality depicted in The Matrix to use the advanced technology as a sort of “inception-like” device, to inject the idea for a novel into one’s mind along with the novel itself to be written while in the virtual world, this is not what viewers see transpiring in The Matrix. The closest instance of something like this occurring would be when Neo has his combat training uploaded into his brain; however, he is awake on Morpheus’ ship during this process. Even within the Matrix when Trinity asks for knowledge on how to fly a helicopter and has it uploaded into her brain, she still has to make the choice and commit to flying the helicopter; it is not simply done for her and experienced by her (The Wachowski Bros). From this, it appears the best the futuristic technology of The Matrix can do is instill people with knowledge and give them a world in which to utilize that knowledge, if they so choose. Nozick’s machine implies a passivity in which one can simply pick and receive experiences; whereas in The Matrix, one can pick and receive training or knowledge but must choose within the reality of the machine whether or not to use such knowledge, which then by his or her own active consent in decision-making effects the experience in the virtual world.

Nozick’s second objection in regard to the experience machine simply reduces to an assessment of value but is also affected by the element of choice. Through a complex and consistent need for those in the Matrix to make choices on and effecting their virtual existence, one can determine the type of person one is or is not much like in the real world, especially given that the stakes of a justice system, social system, and death are still present in the Matrix. As long as one assigns value to their virtual existence – as one would do or not do in his or her non-virtual existence – he or she will make choices in the same way. He or she must make the choice to receive training, commit to said training, and then choose to apply it. This interactive aspect of the Matrix allows those plugged-in to be a certain person, and how they choose to spend their time provides clues into psychology, moral beliefs, and personhood in the same way such choices would tell us about individuals and groups in the world outside the Matrix.

Most notably though, the Matrix’s design as a virtual, social reality makes it fundamentally different from Nozick’s experience machine; while the element of choice does as well, the rich, complex design of the Matrix to house millions of people makes it entirely unlike the machine Nozick believes to be devoid of meaning. The world of the Matrix is not one of perpetually blocked or locked doors, the doors open, and there is a multitude of paths to explore, primarily because of its immense population. While Nozick mentions that others will be plugged into their own experience machines, he never states that the experience machines will be connected or taking those in them to areas or realities of shared experiences. Nozick implies a feeling of loneliness and isolation in his thought experiment, yet the Matrix is not like that at all; the Matrix is populated by the minds of real individuals as well as some programs, which appear in the films as having rich, detailed personalities of their own, making them extremely person-like though never fully human (The Wachowski Bros). In this way, the Matrix is purposely like a housing unit for minds as opposed to an experience machine. Though one can and most certainly will have experiences while plugged in, the purpose of the Matrix, as made clear by the intentions of the machines, is that sort of function: a place for human minds to be, to live, especially given the lack of resources, entertainment, and pleasures in the world outside of the Matrix. One does not plug in with an intention to feel what it is like to write a novel; one, perhaps like Cypher, desires to be plugged in to be with others in a better version of reality. While Cypher does attempt to have a more Nozick-like experience by requesting a new life as an actor, his wish is never fulfilled, so there is no way of knowing if the Matrix could work in this way. In Agent Smith’s monologue to Morpheus, he recounts the first Matrix being a failure for giving humans exactly what they want, which would be the only indication that the Matrix does not serve as a version of Nozick’s experience machine (The Wachowski Bros). Ultimately, this makes the Matrix something much more complex and unlike an experience machine; these facts make the Matrix a place for genuine human experience and meaning because it is populated by real minds acting freely in a richly designed environment.

Despite these not being the only philosophical arguments which can be applied to The Matrix, they are among the most popular. Plato’s cave and Nozick’s machine both possess similar scenarios and ontological questions about truth and the nature of truth in alternate realities much like The Matrix; however, as briefly examined, the Matrix is unlike either of the thought experiments put forward by Plato and Nozick. The Matrix is a multifaceted, multi-layered reality, which cannot be reduced to the same standards for truth, knowledge, and experience which have been the subject of discourse by Plato, Nozick, and others. Although the Wachowski’s may have borrowed from their arguments when constructing their narrative for The Matrix, which ultimately follows these philosophers on their insistence on the importance of the real world, philosophically, the Matrix as a virtual reality – with its unique operation and purpose – cannot be held to these standards and demands logical and philosophical reinterpretation.

As briefly mentioned in response to Robert Nozick’s experience machine, the Matrix lacks comparative grounds; ultimately, it is its own, unique version of an ontological argument. While the film does share thematic grounds with works by Plato, Nozick, and Descartes, it does not feature a carbon copy adaptation of any of their works, and in creating something new, it deserves new philosophical analysis, notably because the reality of the Matrix is imperceptible when compared to the reality outside the Matrix for both the characters within the film and viewers who have watched the film.

In a book covering the prevailing philosophical arguments in a variety of films, ranging from Akira Kurosawa’s Ikiru to Christopher Nolan’s The Dark Knight, the authors, Damian Cox and Michael P. Levine, address this distinction between the Matrix and other ontological arguments. Though they admit that the film contains pieces and references to Plato and Descartes, Cox and Levine make the case for a realist interpretation of the Matrix and its relationship to the real world. What matters specifically to Cox and Levine are a person’s beliefs; Levine and Cox state,

The key to understanding thought within the matrix is to reflect on the contents of beliefs. What are a person’s beliefs about? How do beliefs acquire the content they do? Where does this content come from? The most plausible answer to the last question is that beliefs get their content from the environment believers interact with (70).

This idea derives from the film’s overall insistence that beliefs are tied to one’s reality. For example, Morpheus is easily able to make the impossible leap in the jump program from one building to another because he believes that the world around him is not real, making his will superior to the reality; Neo, however, fails to make the jump because he cannot see beyond the rules of the Matrix (The Wachowski Bros).

In accordance with such examples from the film, Levine and Cox continue, fleshing out the impact of such beliefs and what they mean: “If pre-pill Neo says in all good faith ‘here is a spoon,’ he is talking about the spoons he has interacted with in his environment. He is not trying to talk about spoons outside the matrix, like the crude devices you might encounter in Zion” (70). Before learning of the world beyond the Matrix, Neo and his beliefs on reality were all tied to the Matrix, so as stated, when Neo speaks about spoons – or any other physical object – he is speaking to the spoons he has experienced, which would be matrix-spoons, made up of matrix code. Yet while a matrix-spoon and a Zion-spoon are made up of different substances, they share the same practical and fundamental purpose: to be a spoon, an object that helps people eat liquid-like foods such as soup, cereal, chili, etc. What matters between the matrix-spoon and the Zion-spoon is that they share this purpose in form and in concept. Cox and Levine express this statement, arguing “… a matrix-spoon is a structured array of information stored in the machines’ computer together with certain operations performed on this information. Matrix-spoons are bundles of information, for short. This goes for all material objects in the matrix…” (71).

Whether in the Matrix or in the world outside the Matrix, a spoon – from a semiotic standpoint – operates in the same fashion; it is caught up in all the same meanings, concepts, and ideas that have been ascribed to it. When Neo thinks about a spoon, whether in the Matrix or outside it, his mind attaches the same properties and ideas to it: the spoon is a tool, the spoon will help him eat, the spoon is made of metal or wood, and so on. Neo and others who have fled the Matrix can think in this way because of how the Matrix is presented in the film. As Cox and Levine state, “The world of the matrix is not an illusion. That is, it does not make its denizens think that they are seeing something that isn’t there or make them ascribe a property to an object that isn’t a property of that object” (70). The machines and the Architect from the sequel, The Matrix Reloaded, created a virtual world based off of the world around them and the world that was once around them. Because of this, the Matrix is not filled with mythical beings or objects, such as unicorns or Infinity Stones. By grounding it in reality, specifically in an American city in the year 1999 (but presumably the entire world in the year 1999), the Matrix appears to house, based on the communication between those in and outside the Matrix, the same shared meanings for objects and concepts. If it did not, communication between Neo, someone born inside the Matrix, and Tank or his brother, Dozer, who were born in Zion, would be nearly impossible. In this way, a spoon, as with all physical objects in the Matrix, shares the same fundamental and practical purposes. A matrix-spoon, despite being made up of code instead of atoms, which are in their own way code-like, is identified, discussed (if at all), and utilized in the same way. The matrix-spoon is even perceived as being made from similar materials as the Zion-spoon. To the person in the Matrix, a matrix-spoon feels, looks, operates, and even tastes like a Zion-spoon. Moreover, the matrix-spoon carries with it the same fundamental properties, shared meanings, and practical purpose as the Zion spoon; there is no clear distinction between them other than describing one as “matrix-spoon” and the other as “Zion-spoon,” making the matrix-spoon and all other matrix-objects as real as the Zion-spoon and all other Zion-objects.

However, the Matrix is more than just a structure for spoons or forks or any other utensil; the Matrix is a system, a system for housing people. However, the machines and the artificial intelligence behind them who created the Matrix were not looking to reinvent the wheel. As opposed to creating an entirely new reality, they virtually recreated an already existing world. In doing so, the machines and the Matrix follow a sort of inverse of one of Jean-Paul Sartre’s existentialist arguments. In his lecture turned book, Existentialism is a Humanism, Sartre argues that humans feel a sense of existential anxiety because their existence precedes their essence (Sartre 20-22). In short, this means that humans exist before having a purpose, and in existing before knowing why or what for, there is an anxiety created due to a lack of existential purpose. However, objects, such as spoons, are imbued with purpose before their creation. In the case of a spoon, one might imagine that there was once an individual who needed a tool in order to consume a liquid or liquid-like substance. To more easily consume this substance, this individual created a spoon, an object with a handle and a small caved-in bowl to be able to take a small amount of a liquid or liquid-like substance from a bowl and move it more easily into his or her mouth for consumption. In this process of thought, planning, and then action, the existence of a spoon is actually preceded by its essence; the idea and purpose comes before the actual, physical thing. Everything in the Matrix follows this; every object in the Matrix is imbued with meaning not only because the thought came before the virtual creation but because the idea of whatever object and the non-virtual object came first as well. The Matrix borrows and carries concepts over from the outside world, making everything within the Matrix imbued with the same meanings and concepts that exist in the outside world.

As another point of reference, one may even consider the Matrix in regard to Plato’s Theory of Forms, as opposed to his cave. Despite writing on the Forms in multiple works, David Macintosh concisely summarizes the entire theory in an issue of Philosophy Now. He describes Plato’s theory, stating,

Take for example a perfect triangle, as it might be described by a mathematician. This would be a description of the Form or Idea of (a) Triangle. Plato says such Forms exist in an abstract state but independent of minds in their own realm. Considering this Idea of a perfect triangle, we might also be tempted to take pencil and paper and draw it. Our attempts will of course fall short. Plato would say that peoples’ attempts to recreate the Form will end up being a pale facsimile of the perfect Idea, just as everything in this world is an imperfect representation of its perfect Form. The Idea or Form of a triangle and the drawing we come up with is a way of comparing the perfect and imperfect. How good our drawing is will depend on our ability to recognize the Form of Triangle. Although no one has ever seen a perfect triangle, for Plato this is not a problem. If we can conceive the Idea or Form of a perfect triangle in our mind, then the Idea of Triangle must exist (Macintosh).

For Plato, reality consists of a series of imperfect signs – similar to Ferdinand Saussure’s analysis of semiology. In the same way a signifier (word and/or sound) refers to a signified (a physical object or concept), the existence of an actual, physical spoon signifies the idea of a spoon. For Plato this idea of a spoon was superior to all existing spoons; physical spoons are, in his view, nothing but the byproduct of the idea of the spoon, the ideal spoon. In regard to The Matrix, this would mean a Zion-spoon, much like a matrix-spoon, is a mere, imperfect stand-in for the idea of a spoon. Despite one existing in what Morpheus calls “the real world,” the Zion-spoon is still just an imperfect representation of an idea, and ideas carry more philosophical and existential importance. According to Macintosh, Plato’s cave argument even serves to forward his thoughts on the importance of the forms, not just distinguish between the importance of the real world and a false one. When considering this, the “Allegory of the Cave” seems to emphasize the consideration of forms (ideas) not realities (Macintosh).

In summary, the Matrix is undeniably a virtual reality; however, it being a reality made up from code does not discount it. The Matrix does not conjure any nonreal objects or consist of any nonreal settings. The Matrix is based upon the real world from the film in the year 1999 and our own world from 1999, making the time displacement the only lie or unreal aspect of its reality. For those in The Matrix, there is a two-hundred-year time difference between the Matrix and the world outside the Matrix. While the technology of the Matrix is certainly beyond that of 1999, the distinction between their 1999, our 1999, and the Matrix’s 1999 does not appear to exist. The objects within it are all perceived in the same fashion and possess the same meanings and ideals. From this, the individuals within the Matrix can all experience the same things while operating within or outside the Matrix. Meaning is still imbued and shared by those in the system, which is what truly matters, even from Plato’s perspective.

While Morpheus sees the Matrix as a prison for the mind, the Matrix does not truly imprison minds. Though the Matrix does create a virtual world specifically for minds to inhabit, it does not force those plugged-in into seeing or interpreting virtual events and information in a specific manner or fashion, nor does it somehow impede a person’s will, forcing a person to act, think, or feel a certain way that he or she would or would not typically do in the outside world. The Matrix – by all evidence of free minds in the film – arguably enriches minds, gifting them with a space for creativity, self-fulfillment, and even to do philosophy – rather than limiting them as Morpheus suggests.

In one of his greatest works, philosopher, scientist, and mathematician Rene Descartes explores his passionate skepticism in order to determine what can be known beyond any reasonable doubt. He begins in his revered work, Meditations on First Philosophy, reflecting on how many of his beliefs, especially those from his childhood, have either been proven wrong or found to be false (Descartes 13). To discover what is worth believing, Descartes discards all beliefs and works to discover what beliefs he can recover. He reasons that his current beliefs have all come from or by the means of his senses; senses which have been false in the past or continual provide him with false information (Descartes 13). Although the world before us appears real in the moment, Descartes recounts,

All the same, I am now perceiving this paper with eyes that are certainly awake; the head I am nodding is not drowsy; I stretch out my hand and feel it knowingly and deliberately; a sleeper would not have these experiences so distinctly. – But have I then forgotten those other occasions on which I have been deceived by similar thoughts in my dreams? (14).

Much like Zhuang Zhou, Descartes acknowledges his brain’s ability to deceive him through the process of dreaming. Only after waking does one realize he or she has been dreaming, but within a dream, nothing seems out of place. Though this is not the only case where Descartes reckons with his senses’ abilities to give him false information. Another example can come from the feeling that the room is spinning when one is drunk or dizzy after spinning in a chair. In truth, the room is not spinning – other than the spinning from the Earth’s rotation – but the senses trick the mind into feeling as though the room has descended into an anarchic twirl. Phenomena such as these fuel Descartes uncertainty on the reliability of the senses; though sense-data can be generally helpful in navigating reality, it is not infallible.

Equipped with the knowledge that sense-data can be misleading, Descartes, a God-fearing Christian, commits to a thought-experiment much like the Matrix. Descartes posits that because the senses can be tricked that it is possible his senses could be constantly and consistently undermined by a demon or evil spirit. Instead of a machine-made world like the Matrix, Descartes envisions a reality controlled by an evil demon. To discover what one can truly know, Descartes utilizes this idea to combat the possibility that his senses can be entirely outside of his control. In committing to his quest, Descartes states,

I will therefore suppose that, not God, who is perfectly good and the source of truth, but some evil spirit, supremely powerful and cunning, has devoted all his efforts to deceiving me. I will think that the sky, the air, the earth, colours, shapes, sounds, and all external things are no different from the illusions of our dreams, and that they are traps he has laid for my credulity; I will consider myself as having no hands, no eyes, no flesh, no blood, and no senses, but yet as falsely believing that I have all these; I will obstinately cling to these thoughts, and in this way, if indeed it is not in my power to discover any truth, yet certainly to the best of my ability and determination I will take care not to give my assent to anything false, or to allow this deceiver, however powerful and cunning he may be, to impose upon me in any way (16-17).

Though the idea of the demon may seem excessive, it serves as a stand-in for Descartes’ ultimate distrust in the senses. Without any method to determine the validity of the senses, Descartes assumes the worst for the sake of his argument: he has no control over his senses, but a demon does.

Without a body – in argument – or a world to learn from, Descartes reflects on where he can go next, what truth there can be. He states,

Now I am at a loss, because what follows from this? Am I so bound up with my body and senses that I cannot exist without them? But I convinced myself that there was nothing at all in the world, no sky, no earth, no minds, no bodies. Did I therefore not also convince myself that I did not exist either? No: certainly I did exist, if I convinced myself of something (18).

In tearing down the senses and reality with them, Descartes almost falls into a philosophical oblivion, the belief that he may not be. However, in realizing that he was able to convince himself of something through thought, Descartes advances the following:

Beyond doubt then, I also exist, if he [the demon] is deceiving me; and he can deceive me all he likes, but he will never bring it about that I should be nothing as long as I think I’m something. So that, having weighed all these considerations sufficiently and more than sufficiently, I can finally decide that this proposition, ‘I am, I exist’, whenever it is uttered by me, or conceived in the minds, is necessarily true (18).

This pattern of thought constructs the foundation for Descartes much quoted idea: “I think, therefore I am.” Even in a reality controlled by a demon, where one cannot trust the senses, the act of thought means that one exists. For Descartes, to think is to be. The senses and the body can be manipulated, and therefore, they may not even be real; they may simply be illusions made by a demon – or an artificial intelligence in the interest of comparison to The Matrix. But the act of thinking, of acknowledging oneself at all through thought, means that one exists, even if it is just as a bodiless, thinking thing. Although Descartes believes that he thwarts the demon and reestablishes reality through his belief and argument in favor of God’s existence and benevolence in the following mediations from Meditations on First Philosophy, the most significant philosophical discovery and argument from the work, as evidenced by it being referenced continuously in the philosophical works which followed, is the Cogito[1].

In regard to The Matrix, Descartes’ work both fuels the arguments for and against the virtual world. First, the Matrix itself represents another adaptation of his evil demon thought experiment. The world surrounding those in the Matrix is artificial and controlled by the machines, which directly informs the senses of those experiencing it, even if the sensations they are feeling are not exaggerated or incorrect – in regard to the sensations one would feel outside the world of the Matrix. Though the world of the Matrix is a recreation of a world that once existed, the same could potentially be said of the world an evil demon could choose to create. However, Descartes is only able to put an end to this thought experiment through arguing for the existence of God. For some this argument may be enough, but if there is no God to stop the demon, much like in The Matrix where there is no external, godlike entity to stop the machines, what can be done?

As stated, Descartes begins his work in Meditations on First Philosophy by tearing everything down: the senses, reality, and at some level even the self; all that is left after this cynical feat is the idea of the self as a thinking thing. Without a means to philosophically rebuild belief in the body and reality, the self is all that remains, the one thing an individual can truly know beyond any doubt to exist. If Descartes is right, which in this case he appears to be, and there is no solution, the self, as a thinking thing, is all that one can know exists, making the nature of reality inconsequential. Whether it is the world inside the Matrix or in the metallic halls of Zion, it is a reality interpreted by the senses, which cannot be trusted. If the mind, as the concept, which houses one’s ability to think, is all that exists, then the reality the mind and therefore the body wanders through is irrelevant. One can never truly know if it is real because the tools with which one can sense and reason through reality, the senses, are untrustworthy.

Yet, a life with such nihilism is no way to exist; reality is necessary. Though the senses often deceive, to assume they always deceive the sensor is to commit to a life of uncertainty, which is no way to live. To be reduced solely to a thinking thing but to have nothing to think about – because reality may or may not be a lie – would, more than likely, drive one to a form of insanity. While one can never say for certain that the reality around them is not at least in part deceiving them, it is far better and prudent for one’s mind to assume the world around him or her is appearing through the senses most often without deception. A thinking thing needs a place to consider, or as Plato might argue that thinking would exist for nothing.

Ultimately, this solution – rather, this bet – on reality and its existence, serves in favor of the Matrix’s simulated reality; largely due to the fact a mind plugged into the Matrix has the potential to experience and consider more than one unplugged. At the heart of Plato’s “Allegory of the Cave” is an insistence that the meaning of life is to learn, and for a thinking thing, the reality of the Matrix offers the potential to learn and consider more aspects of reality, existence, morality, etc. than the world outside. While plugged-in, one can consider the ethics of a capitalist society, but on the outside, in the post-apocalyptic Zion, the ability to study the intricacies of a capitalist culture no longer seem to exist. Zion exists not to make profit but to house the remaining humans and serve a militaristic endeavor hellbent on defeating the humans’ automated adversaries. Cypher acknowledges this fact in part while giving his final monologue; one of his main reasons for betraying Morpheus and his crew is his lack of freedom. While unplugged, Cypher exists as a member of the crew, living in a small, metal ship and following Morpheus’ every order. However, in the Matrix, Cypher has the potential to do whatever he wants or at least more than he can while unplugged; he does not have to follow Morpheus’ orders, he does not have to live in a tin can, and he does not have to eat the protein-filled goop. He can eat a steak, smoke a cigar, drink wine, listen to music, visit a park, sleep in an actual bed, read philosophy, and consider the meaning of life itself. While it is certainly possible for him to do those last two in the world outside the Matrix, it is highly unlikely, as reading and thinking about the meaning of life will not help Morpheus or the rest of the humans in Zion to fight or defeat the machines. A life outside the Matrix is consumed by this conflict between man and machine and is therefore unsuitable for a mind wanting to learn and commit to the project of philosophy. To live life to the fullest and commit to learning, a life in the Matrix would be more suitable. Otherwise, if one commits to Descartes preliminary argument and accepts that the only thing real is the mind, then the nature of reality is inconsequential; one can never know how authentic or inauthentic it is. In either case, it is best to take an absurdist[2] perspective and choose to live regardless of the potential deceptions the senses may present.

Aside from Cypher and his rational ontological arguments, characters such as Trinity and Morpheus often discount arguments made for the Matrix and its reality by simply stating something along the lines of “it isn’t real,” yet as Morpheus asks Neo, “what is real?” (The Wachowski Bros). In an article from 1998, futurist, Hans Moravec, wrote on the potential impact of virtual, simulated realities. Moravec does not see virtual reality as a prison or an illusion but an inevitable evolution in human existence. Regarding the nature of virtual realities, Moravec argued that they were products of mathematical realism and therefore something Platonists should favor, stating,

Mathematical realism, a philosophical position advocated by Plato, illuminates this problem's vexing intangibles. Mathematical objects like numbers and geometric shapes manifest themselves just as richly and consistently to abstract thought as physical objects impress the senses. To Plato, mathematical concepts were as real as physical objects, just invisible to the external senses as sound is imperceptible to the eyes. Computer simulation brings mathematical realism neatly full circle. Plato's unaided mind could handle only simple mathematical objects, leading to such dichotomies as the idea of a perfect sphere compared to a mottled, scratched marble ball in the hand. Computer simulation, like a telescope for the mind's eye, extends mental vision beyond the nearby realm of simple mathematical objects to distant worlds, some as complex as physical reality, potentially full of living beings, warts, minds, and all. Our own world is among this vista of abstractly conceivable ones, defined by the formal relationships we call physical law as any simulation is defined by its internal rules. The difference between physical and mathematical reality is an illusion of vantage point: the physical world is simply the particular abstract world that happens to contain us (Moravec).

For Moravec, a virtual reality is just an enhanced version of reality, taking not only what is physically known but also complex, intangible concepts and moving them into realization through computer systems. As he notes, the only difference between a physical and virtual world then, which he calls “mathematical,” is the observer. Since a mathematical reality and a physical can and – in the case of the Matrix – do appear to be the same, the only question of meaning then comes from the individual or individuals inhabiting said reality. According to Moravec,

There is no content or meaning without selection. The realm of all possible worlds, infinitely immense in one point of view, is vacuous in another. Imagine a book giving a detailed history of a world similar to ours. The book is written as compactly as possible: rote predictable details are left as homework for the reader. But even with maximal compression, it would be an astronomically immense tome, full of novelty and excitement. This interesting book, however, is found in ``the library of all possible books written in the Roman alphabet, arranged alphabetically''---the whole library being adequately defined by this short, boring phrase in quotes. The library as a whole has so little content that getting a book from it takes as much effort as writing the book. The library might have stacks labeled A through Z, plus a few for punctuation, each forking into similarly labeled substacks, those forking into subsubstacks, and so on indefinitely. Each branchpoint holds a book whose content is the sequence of stack letters chosen to reach it. Any book can be found in the library, but to find it the user must choose its first letter, then its second, then its third, just as one types a book by keying each subsequent letter. The book's content results entirely from the user's selections; the library has no information of its own to contribute (Moravec).

Potentially drawing from the idea of infinite realities or a multiverse, Moravec posits that meaning only comes when “selection” or a choice is made. The only beings capable of making the kinds of choices which imbue meaning are those who Descartes might describe as “thinking things.” As Moravec points out, a reality is only as real or unreal as the observers/inhabitants which give it meaning. As presented earlier, this argument follows the same pattern as one focused on semiology, the study of signs. Much like in the discussion of the Matrix-spoon and Zion-spoon, there are meanings and signs associated with a spoon, which give it meaning and allow humans to communicate about it. Moravec takes this sort of an argument further, expressing the importance not only of language and signs for one object but for an entire system. A reality, after all, can be rightfully described as a system, albeit an exceptionally intricate system. To understand, communicate, and then give meaning to that reality, there must be at least one person, one thinking thing present to imbue that reality with any sort of meaning. Without this, a reality has no meaning; it merely yet paradoxically exists.[3] Therefore, when Morpheus and Trinity refer to the Matrix as unreal it is only because they have made the choice to do so – a choice based on the knowledge that there is a world outside the Matrix. The existence of a world outside the Matrix, however, does not negate the “realness” of the Matrix; in the film, it only appears to do so because almost everyone who has this knowledge has chosen to accuse the Matrix of being unreal. Yet, Cypher, who chooses to imbue the Matrix with meaning, much like those living within it, are not wrong; they, along with Cypher, have simply made their choice, the choice to a live a meaningful life in a reality that has been saturated with meaning by meaning-makers – the human minds within the Matrix.

Within the Matrix, free minds live out virtual lives, yet these lives are not lived alone. As shown throughout the film, those within the Matrix are able to interact with each other; Morpheus and Neo are able to spar, Trinity subtly flirts and falls further in love with Neo, Morpheus’ crew visit the Oracle, discuss reality, and so on (The Wachowski Bros). The Matrix serves not as the secluded experience machine Nozick describes but rather as virtual housing for the free minds of a multitude of individuals. Here, the population of the Matrix can freely choose to do with their lives what they wish, whether it be to do something, nothing, live alone, or together. The imagery in the film of the Matrix predominately features a city, a place where thousands, if not millions, choose to live, work, and ultimately be together (The Wachowski Bros). Humans are, after all, traditionally social creatures.

However, Aristotle argued that humans were more than just social by nature; he posited friendship as essential to human life and that the pursuit of friendship was a virtue. In an excerpt from his work, Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle outlines how important human relationships are, stating:

For without friends no one would choose to live, though he had all other goods; even rich men and those in possession of office and of dominating power are thought to need friends most of all; for what is the use of such prosperity without the opportunity of beneficence, which is exercised chiefly and in its most laudable form towards friends? Or how can prosperity be guarded and preserved without friends? The greater it is, the more exposed it is to risk. And in poverty and in other misfortunes men think friends are the only refuge. It helps the young, too, to keep from error; it aids older people by ministering to their needs and supplementing the activities that are failing from weakness; those in the prime of life it stimulates to noble actions – “two going together” – for with friends men are more able to both think and act (Soble 57).

Though in this instance Aristotle speaks mainly on the pragmatic value of friendship, he does so in order to illustrate the necessity of friendship in different aspects and times during one’s life. Whether in positions of power, periods of great wealth, or periods of great suffering, friendship remains the most important part of life. What is power without the ability to help those one cares about? What is wealth for if not to ease the lives of those around oneself? In times of trouble, who will be there to ease one’s own suffering if not friends? Moreover, friends encourage and challenge one’s development, making each other potentially more ethical, skilled, and fulfilled individuals over time. In both these practical and fundamental ways, friendship is necessary; for Aristotle, it is a reason why one chooses to live at all. Without friendship, life is without purpose.

In the Matrix and even the world beyond, friendship serves as an essential characteristic of life; friends give Neo, Morpheus, and Trinity something to fight for both in the moment and throughout the war. Generally speaking, one would not commit themselves to a quest to save humanity without a marginally favorable view on mankind at the very least. Yet Aristotle’s insistence on friendship and its relative meaning to life applies to both realities, not exclusively to one over the other. Friends, in his view, make any life worth living, which would extend to both a life plugged into a pleasing machine or a life in a post-apocalyptic wasteland. However, as noted, life in the Matrix provides a plethora of opportunities: paths to pursue, philosophy to do, and even people to meet. As evidenced when Neo overlooks the towers filled with human chambers plugged into the Matrix, there are undoubtedly more people plugged into the Matrix than unplugged in Zion (The Wachowski Bros). Therefore, through the literal process of connecting humans, there lies the potential for more human connection.

However, it is not solely the amount of personal connections one makes that matters; as with many matters, the quality in this case surpasses quantity. Aristotle elaborates in the rest of Book VIII and IX of Nicomachean Ethics on the different sorts of friendship. Most often, individuals will seek friendship with each other for purposes of utility (59-61). Largely in this instance, the friendship is just a polite, social expectation placed on top of a productive relationship – often in pursuit of the exchange of some good, service, or pleasure. Such useful, though perhaps shallow, relationships are just one reason Aristotle argues one would choose to be among others, rather than be alone. However, as Aristotle continues, he clarifies the qualifications for the most ideal friendship, aptly labeled “perfect friendship.” Aristotle identifies perfect friendship as being limited, something reserved for a few or else it risks becoming meaningless (68). For if one has too many friends[4], one has no real friends. This is due primarily to Aristotle’s view on perfect friendship being a combination of goodwill as well as an excess of love (67-69). Perfect friends desire the best for each other, not just in possessions but also in personal growth and development as moral beings. When considering such levels of quality and love in a friendship, one can begins to see Aristotle’s view on having too many friendships; in trying to please and develop meaningful relationships with a swarm of individuals, one cannot successfully forge anything meaningful in the way of loving and wanting the best for another.

Though it may be practical to develop numerous friendships for their usefulness in life, perfect friends are more appropriately what Aristotle refers to when arguing that friends make life worth living. While useful friends ease everyday existence, making life more livable, perfect friends offer one a sense of purpose and fulfillment in life; Aristotle clarifies this sentiment, writing:

Does it not follow then, that, as for lovers the sight of the beloved is the thing they love most, and they prefer this sense to the others because on it love depends most for its being and for its origin, so for friends the most desirable thing is living together? For friendship is a partnership, and as a man is to himself, so is he to his friend; now in his own case the consciousness of his being is desirable, so therefore is the consciousness of his friend’s being, and the activity of the consciousness is produced when they live together, so it is natural that they aim at this. And whatever existence means for each class of men, whatever it is for whose sake they value life, in that they wish to occupy themselves with their friends; and so some drink together, others dice together, others join in athletic exercises and hunting, or in the study of philosophy, each class spending their days together in whatever they love most in life; for since they wish to live with their friends, they do and share in those things which give them the sense of living together (69).

For Aristotle, a perfect friendship consists of two individuals whose connection is undeniable. Through this connection, the two desire not only for themselves but for the other. For example, in a perfect friendship, friend-A would not go see the upcoming Matrix 4 movie if friend-B was unable to attend. Friend-A cares about friend-B’s experience and desires for their shared happiness, rather than prioritizing one over the other. Yet for Aristotle, the logical conclusion to a situation such as this is for perfect friends to live together. In living together, perfect friends can revel in what delights them and share their experiences in the moment, whether it be trivial pursuits of pleasure or more passionate, revealing endeavors like the study of philosophy. By living together, perfect friends can share each moment of their lives, rather than sharing a select few and informing the other on what he or she has missed.

While perfect friendship may be Aristotle’s ultimate argument, one can find meaning in any sort of friend. Friends provide life with purpose and help in making each day worth waking up for. Perfect friends, particularly, give one reason to live because life with them is ultimately shared; it is no longer an unaccompanied undertaking where one must fend and fight for his or herself. In sharing one’s life, one not only depends upon another but accepts being depended on. In this way, one’s life cannot simply be terminated at the cost of oneself but at the cost of two or more. In the context of The Matrix, to be unplugged would more than likely shred such a devoted bond, compounding the effects on oneself onto two or three or even four. In the reality of the Matrix, perfect friends, as Aristotle describes, would be free pursue their passions without the worries of the war against machines or the limitations of the real world; they could live and share life together in happiness. Ultimately, in a perfect friendship, the type of reality one inhabits will be inconsequential, as long as the relationship has not been affected, which with free minds would not be possible. Moreover, the Matrix, which appears to house more of humanity in the film than Zion, provides one with more opportunities to not only make friends but to make the perfect friends which provide life with purpose. Though, whether it be for useful friends or perfect friends, Aristotle ultimately in Nicomachean Ethics advocates for the necessity of friends in one’s life. Friends make the best and worst aspects of life worth living, providing one with exactly what they may need. Mankind has, after all, been described as social creatures, who not only want but need others in order to survive and thrive.

Contemporary philosopher and psychiatrist, Irvin Yalom, who revolutionized the work of psychotherapists, came to a similar conclusion as Aristotle on the need for relationships, albeit with dissimilar reasoning. In his work, Existential Psychotherapy, Yalom explores existentialist ideas and concerns from philosophers such as Soren Kierkegaard, Jean-Paul Sartre, Albert Camus, and Fyodor Dostoyevsky through the lens of psychotherapy. He navigates through four main concerns from the existentialists – death, freedom, isolation, and meaninglessness – in order to propose therapeutic solutions. In regard to existential isolation, Yalom suggests, “No relationship can eliminate isolation. Each of us is alone in existence. Yet aloneness can be shared in such a way that love compensates for the pain of isolation” (363). In his writing, Yalom describes existential isolation as the ultimate form of isolation: an overwhelming sense that one is truly separate from other beings and the world (355). Such isolation follows from the skepticism present in Descartes’ Meditations on First Philosophy; as he noted, the only thing one can know for sure is that the self exists, as a thinking thing at the very least. Existential isolation describes the mental and emotional state that can come from such a chain of thoughts, the aftermath of Descartes’ famed phrase, “I think, therefore I am.” This knowledge creates that ultimate isolation, and in committing to it, one is truly, wretchedly alone. However, as Aristotle advocated, Yalom similarly posits human connection as a way to ease suffering and supplement meaning. Though the presence of others cannot eliminate existential isolation, in sharing one’s thoughts and feelings on existential isolation, one can – through love and empathy – compensate.

As a psychiatrist, Yalom not only understands but promotes the therapeutic potential of love and empathy from others, especially when dealing with feelings of isolation; however, as he concludes, only an authentic relationship can truly ease immense feelings of isolation. Yalom makes a clear distinction between frivolous friend-making and genuine connection, stating,

Individuals who are terrified of isolation generally attempt to assuage terror through an interpersonal mode: they need the presence of others to affirm their existence; they long to be swallowed by others greater than they, or they seek to alleviate their sense of lonely helplessness by swallowing others; they attempt to elevate themselves through others; they search for multiple sexual bondings – a caricature of authentic relating. In short, the individual who is flooded with isolation anxiety reaches out desperately for help through a relationship. The individual reaches out, not because he or she wants to but because he or she has to; and the ensuing relationship is based on survival not on growth. The tragic irony is that those who desperately need the comfort and pleasure of an authentic relationship are the very ones least able to form such a relationship (392-393).

Yalom argues that those who feel isolated will almost always seek the attention of others yet only on a surface level. To feel less alone, one reaches out in any way he or she can, typically in more simplistic, often destructive ways. However, as Yalom also argues, this is perhaps one’s instinctual response to isolation. The underlying idea beneath his argument stems from the belief that humans need human connection, and that fulfilling this need is not simply for pleasure but for survival.

Yet, as Yalom concludes in his discussion of human connection and isolation, only true, authentic relationships can ease the pain of perpetual isolation, not surface-level connections. Much like Aristotle, Yalom acknowledges the varying sorts of human relationships but ultimately sees value in those where a reciprocal level of care is acknowledged and applied between two or more individuals. He outlines the type of love between two such individuals, stating, “In addition to giving, mature love implies other basic elements: concern, responsivity, respect, and knowledge. To love means to be actively concerned for the life and growth of another” (Yalom 371). As with perfect friendship, in Yalom’s view, an authentic, loving relationship – the kind capable of diminishing the power of existential isolation – embodies a mutual preoccupation with one another. One does not exclusively use the other or vice-versa. Each person cares deeply for the other and respects the other, wanting the best for him or her, not just for oneself. As with Aristotle, a relationship such as the one Yalom describes can ease the anxiety of loneliness and give one not just a reason for living but someone to live with as well.

In The Matrix, Neo initially feels isolated. He spends his days within a maze of opaque cubicles and his nights in a dimly-lit studio apartment. Although he is physically isolated, his isolation is not necessarily the fault of the Matrix; his isolation comes from his search for the mythical Morpheus and the question: “What is the Matrix?” Rather than investing in the reality in which he lives or the people around him, Neo devotes his time to what he perceives as something greater than him. As Yalom argues, this is yet another flippant attempt at relieving isolation; however, the connection Neo is looking to make is not an authentic one. His quest to discover what the Matrix is serves simply as a distraction from his isolation. Even when Neo ascertains the truth about the Matrix and is finally unplugged, his isolation is cured not by leaving but by developing an authentic relationship with Morpheus and Trinity. Yet, this process – to develop an authentic relationship/perfect friendship – begins in the Matrix and could have arguably remained in the Matrix. Surrounded by the free minds of others, Neo could have developed any number of authentic, loving friendships to ease the isolation inherent to both life in and out of the Matrix.

In short, human beings need human connection. Though this fact may seem simple enough, philosophers, writers, and psychologists continue to discuss it and its implications. Whether in a virtual world or not, Aristotle, Yalom, as well as countless others would agree that human connection is essential. In being populated with the real, free minds of millions of humans, the Matrix possesses the potential for the most human connection to be made, not Zion. With this potential, individuals can find their authentic relationships and perfect friendships, instilling their lives not only with meaning and purpose but with others to share their experiences with.

For those whose reality is the film, The Matrix, the decision on whether to see “how deep the rabbit hole goes” and unplug his or herself or to ultimately remain in the Matrix becomes increasingly simplistic when considering the facts: the reality of the Matrix possesses more pleasing lifestyles, imperceptibility to that of the world outside, a lack of restraints on the mind, and the presence of a multitude of real, free others. By acting more so as virtual housing, simulating the real world of the late 1990’s, the Matrix is not an experience machine or a cave to be despised or escape from; the Matrix is a reality of opportunity.

However, due to the nature of the Matrix in the film, there are still several moral concerns when considering the Matrix itself and whether one should choose to live in it. Until Morpheus’ arrival – or someone acting in a similar role as Morpheus to unplug individuals – the denizens of the Matrix have little to no knowledge about what the Matrix is or their role in the mechanical empire’s rule. For Morpheus, this lack of disclosure makes the Matrix a prison, despite the pleasures and opportunities the Matrix affords – along with any friends he may or may not have plugged into it. He details several times throughout the film not only on his desire for control over his life but also on his beliefs that those born in the Matrix are born into bondage (The Wachowski Bros). On the surface, Morpheus is right; the machines are undeniably lying to those who inhabit the Matrix and are potentially robbing them of the opportunity to choose between the two realities. However, this omission by the machines is arguably morally justifiable.

Though the following argument may not satisfy any deontologists, who adhere to strict moral rules, including one against lying, there are schools of thought in moral philosophy which advocate for well-meaning lies. For a utilitarian, whose concern is not with following strict moral rules but to promote the most utility for the most beings, such a lie would be morally permissible. In keeping the truth about the Matrix from the humans, the machines spare humanity from the harsh reality outside the Matrix both physically and mentally. As seen in the film, Neo has an overwhelming anxiety attack when learning the truth about the Matrix, the war with the machines, and the world outside (The Wachowski Bros). To inform all citizens of the Matrix of the same set of facts would be to create chaos and instill unneeded levels of existential anxiety and isolation. Under the smokescreen of a well-meaning lie, the plugged-in people of the Matrix live without any additional anxiety not already instilled by the existential anxiety of existing.[5] A peaceful existence such as this can never exist without the presence of few, well-meaning lies. In our own reality, which created The Matrix, we live with the knowledge that there are classified secrets the governments of the world keep from its citizens in order to protect and promote peace. Though these lies may not be perfect solutions in either our reality or the reality of The Matrix, there are many who view such lies not only as necessary means to an end but also as morally permissible.

Though, in the reality of the film, the truth about the Matrix and its purpose is already known to a select few, forcing each individual to grapple with the moral dilemma of choosing between a life plugged-in or unplugged. Though the quality of life inside the Matrix is improved and imperceptible, outside of it there is a war being fought between man and machine. The viewpoint each individual holds toward the machines primarily informs this moral decision. If, for example, one sees the machines as gods, who not only created but maintain a pleasing reality for humanity, then the war is of no concern to said individual; in this case, those fighting in the war may even be seen as heretics. However, if one views the machines as conquerors, as Morpheus, Trinity, and Neo do, the decision to stay in the Matrix and ignore those in Zion, who are hunted by the machines, potentially comes at a moral cost. Yet, when given a choice between fighting in a war against a seemingly unbeatable enemy in a post-apocalyptic sewer system or returning to what one could call a virtual but typical life, it is not hard to understand why most people would – more than likely – decide to remain plugged-in. Though he or she may be turning his or her back on those outside, it is not without reason.

Ultimately, there are potential moral consequences for any number of what-if scenarios, stemming from the result and circumstances of either choice. When given the knowledge of a reality outside the Matrix and people fighting machines in it, there comes a responsibility. As moral beings, humans are all responsible for taking care of one another, but in being given this knowledge, one must choose between the two populations. In unplugging, one leaves behind those they were morally obligated to in the Matrix; in remaining plugged-in, one ignores those they are morally obligated to in the reality outside the Matrix. Either way, the decision comes at a moral cost, making neither decision inherently moral or immoral. Though one might argue that joining the fight against the machines is to make the moral decision to fight for all of mankind, a choice such as this usurps the will of those who have chosen or would choose to live in the Matrix, rather than the real world, making it yet another potentially immoral decision.

Aside from morality, though, there are those who, despite the meticulous creation and operation of the Matrix which make it imperceptible, will always maintain that the Matrix is not real simply because it is a computer-generated reality. In article on virtual reality for the Institute for Ethics and Emerging Technologies, philosopher John Danaher argues in favor of this claim, stating,

There is an apple in front of me. I can see it, but I can’t touch it. The reason is that the apple is actually a 3-D rendered model of an apple. It looks like an apple, but exists only within a virtual environment — one that is projected onto the computer screen in front of me. I can interact with the apple. I have an avatar that I can control on the screen. That avatar is a virtual projection of my self. It can pick up the apple, throw it around the virtual room, or eat it. But I can’t touch it and interact with it using my own physical hands. Is the apple real? Of course not: it’s virtual (Danaher).

In this example, Danaher is specifically addressing virtual reality in our own reality, not within the reality of the film, The Matrix. As previously argued, such a rudimentary version of virtual reality does not meet the same standards as the virtual world of The Matrix. The Matrix is far more intricate and has feelings of touch and taste. However, Danaher’s argument represents a common thread when discussing virtual realities: that every virtual reality can be dismissed solely on the basis that it is virtual: a simulation rendered by complex code and computers.

And yet, the technology behind virtual realities develops further each day, becoming more and more advanced, and in doing so, the potentiality of a reality like the Matrix becomes greater. In an issue of Philosophical Quarterly, philosopher Nick Bostrom presents an argument with several parallels to The Matrix, in which he concludes that we are more than likely already living inside a computer simulation. He begins with a summary of his argument, stating,

Many works of science fiction as well as some forecasts by serious technologists and futurologists predict that enormous amounts of computing power will be available in the future. Let us suppose for a moment that these predictions are correct. One thing that later generations might do with their super-powerful computers is run detailed simulations of their forebears or of people like their forebears. Because their computers would be so powerful, they could run a great many such simulations. Suppose that these simulated people are conscious (as they would be if the simulations were sufficiently fine-grained and if a certain quite widely accepted position in the philosophy of mind is correct). Then it could be the case that the vast majority of minds like ours do not belong to the original race but rather to people simulated by the advanced descendants of an original race. It is then possible to argue that, if this were the case, we would be rational to think that we are likely among the simulated minds rather than among the original biological ones. Therefore, if we don’t think that we are currently living in a computer simulation, we are not entitled to believe that we will have descendants who will run lots of such simulations of their forebears. That is the basic idea (Bostrom).

In short, Bostrom explores the idea of a Matrix-like simulation and the predictions of futurists like Moravec. If one accepts that there is a potential for a Matrix-like simulation to be created at some point in the future, for Bostrom, this means one must accept the possibility that he or she is currently living in that simulation – one created by those in the future with the computing power, who are using the simulated reality as a means to understand the past. Bostrom’s argument follows a similar structure as one of the popular arguments made about time travel: if time travel ever exists, in the future or otherwise, then it has always existed (because time travel circumvents the passage of time). When considering complex simulations, Bostrom comes to a somewhat similar conclusion. If we believe our descendants will be capable of running such simulations, then it is possible we are living in a simulation; however, if we do not believe we are living in a simulation, then we cannot believe our descendants will be capable of running such simulations. Bostrom further develops this argument in the work using logic and math-like logic in order to conclude that we are “almost certainly” living in a simulation (Bostrom).

Though Bostrom makes several assumptions about future events and people, his simulation theory presents an intriguing thought experiment. Though his work does not specifically explore it, the ramifications of his theory, if true, are immense. If we already live in a simulation much like the denizens of the Matrix and our history, including the work and lives of Plato, Nozick, and Descartes, was part of that simulation, how do their arguments regarding reality change, if at all? If the real, God-created world these philosophers were arguing for were just a simulation, would that not cheapen their arguments? Danaher’s argument, as well as the argument of others, rests on the idea that a virtual, simulated world can never be as real as the real world simply because it is computer-generated. Yet, this argument rests on the assumption that whoever is making it is aware that the virtual world is, in fact, virtual. As Bostrom points out, the potential for a Matrix-like simulation to ever exist – and for us to be living in it – complicates this argument. If one is living and has lived in a simulation their entire life, he or she does not know whether or not his or her existence is/always has been virtual. Like those in the Matrix, he or she has accepted their reality for what it is: reality. As long as people exist, they will invest in the reality in which they inhabit; they will imbue it with meaning and find meaning in what they do and who they do it with. No matter how artificial or not a reality is, one must still live in it and to do so is to instill said with reality with meaning and purpose.

Despite the moral concerns and concerns of artificiality which may arise when considering a life inside the Matrix or not, these concerns are largely inconsequential. In terms of morality, there are no ethical ramifications for one to decide to return to the simulation, rather than stay in Zion. The only obligation one may have is to others, yet one cannot impose upon the will of another, making the decision one of personal preference. In terms of artificiality, the Matrix is a virtual reality; there is nothing which can be said to deny this. However, in being a perfectly simulated, imperceptible reality, in which one can feel and sense everything possible to feel and sense in the world outside of the Matrix, the virtual nature of the Matrix is inconsequential. While it may never be as real as the world outside, at least in the sense that it will never not be made up of code, the Matrix, like any other reality, is made real by the perception and the investment of those living within it.

Although Cypher is considered a villain for his moral betrayal of his teammates, Neo, Morpheus, and Trinity, Cypher’s intuition about the Matrix is, nonetheless, accurate. The Matrix is not what Morpheus and others accuse it of being; the Matrix is a place for free minds to gather, live, and flourish. It is indiscernible in comparison to the world beyond. All of the same senses and feelings one would have while unplugged, one has while plugged-in. Despite its history, the Matrix does not deceive those within it, forcing them to see things as they would not see outside; everything within the Matrix holds the same fundamental purpose and ascribed meanings. In this same vein, the minds of the Matrix are free. They are not constrained to consider only Matrix-things; the minds plugged-in to the Matrix can consider all things, potentially more considering the absence of a great many objects and texts in the world outside. Furthermore, the Matrix houses millions of individuals, gifting them with a pleasurable place to be together. Human connection is what drives humans and humanity, and within the Matrix, individuals can know one another, grow together, and do the things that make them happy, filling their lives with meaning. For one to choose the Matrix, as Cypher does, is to not only acknowledge the advanced technology the machines employ in the film but to acknowledge the idea that human existence is far greater and more intricate than whether physical surroundings are manifested by code or atoms.

Beyond The Matrix and as Nick Bostrom and Hans Moravec continue to discuss, our own reality grows more complicated and technologically advanced every day. It is not impossible to consider that we may one day have the ability to construct a virtual, simulated reality much like that of the Matrix. When that day comes, each of us must consider the arguments from The Matrix and those presented here, from Plato to Bostrom. Yet before society even reaches this state, our collective view on computer-generated realities must be explored. Virtual reality has the potential to not only convenience everyday life but to be used as an effective tool for training and education. Within virtual worlds, students could explore history as if it were happening right in front of them; soldiers could train and learn the environments where they will one day fight; counselors could meet with troubled clients from anywhere; architects could design and test buildings against potential hazards like earthquakes and meteors; and so much more. The problem-solving and teaching capabilities of virtual reality are endless, yet they must be considered with the seriousness one has for the reality we currently inhabit – whether it’s simulated or not.

Works Cited:

Aristotle, and Alan Soble. “Perfect Friendship.” Eros, Agape, and Philia, Paragon House, 1989, pp. 57–70.

Bostrom, Nick. “Are You Living in a Simulation?” Philosophical Quarterly, vol. 53, no. 211, 2003, pp. 243–255.

Cox, Damian, and Michael P Levine. Thinking through Film: Doing Philosophy, Watching Moves. Wiley-Blackwell, 2012.

Danaher, John. “The Reality of Virtual Reality: A Philosophical Analysis.” Institute for Ethics and Emerging Technologies, Sept. 2017, ieet.org/index.php/IEET2/more/Danaher20170918.

Descartes, Rene. Meditations on First Philosophy. Oxford University Press, 2008.

Macintosh, David. “Plato: A Theory of Forms.” Philosophy Now: a Magazine of Ideas, 2012, philosophynow.org/issues/90/Plato_A_Theory_of_Forms.

McCormick, John Cal. “Cinema's Ultimate Jerks #3: Cypher (The Matrix).” Goomba Stomp, 28 Aug. 2019, goombastomp.com/cuj-jerks-cypher/.

Moravec, Hans. “Simulation, Consciousness, Existence.” Simulation, Consciousness, Existence -- Hans Moravec, 1998, 1998, frc.ri.cmu.edu/~hpm/project.archive/general.articles/1998/SimConEx.98.html.

Nozick, Robert. Anarchy, State, and Utopia. Basic Books, 2013.

Sartre, Jean-Paul. Existentialism Is a Humanism. Yale University Press, 2007.

Shorey, P. “The Allegory of the Cave.” Plato: Collected Dialogues, by Plato, Random House, 1963, pp. 747–752.

The Wachowski Brothers. The Matrix. Warner Bros. 1999.

The Wachowski Brothers. The Matrix Reloaded. Warner Bros. 2003;

Yalom, Irvin D. Existential Psychotherapy. Basic Books, 1980.

Zhuangzi, and Burton Watson. Zhuangzi Basic Writings. Access and Diversity, Crane Library, University of British Columbia, 2013.

[1] Latin for “I think, therefore I am” and what is often stated by those referencing Descartes famed argument.

[2]Absurdism is one of many perspectives on meaning in life, which would generally argue to stop trying to make sense of everything – whether meaningful or meaningless, just live (“The Myth of Sisyphus” by Albert Camus).

[3] A reality without an individual or individuals to imbue meaning begs the question – much like the riddle: “If a tree falls in the forest, and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?” There is no one who can directly answer whether a reality can exist without meaning/without life, so the nature of the idea of this reality itself seems paradoxical on its own.

[4] Friends beyond purposes of utility or pleasure.

[5] Existing in and of itself creates existential anxiety: worries on how to live, what a meaningful life is, etc.