Deconstructing cinematic and philosophical allegories of The Matrix, this chapter explores the illusion of free will within a systemic prison maintained by human helplessness. Rejecting both conformist sleep and naïve reformism, the text asserts that true liberation requires extra-systemic "madness," an acceptance of catastrophe, and an unhuman commitment to unplugging only the exceptional few who are capable of enduring absolute freedom.
Many say that man has abused his power and the knowledge he possesses. That position implies that the human being has some kind of free will and is thus capable of making a choice, or making a decision. Humans have abused nothing; they have simply, as a species, been crushed by the life force. The liberation and growth of consciousness are possible only as an individual process, through the effort of the individual. The collective can only hope for further suppression of human cognitive and action powers. Occasionally and temporarily, the collective may enter into some kind of trance or collective hysteria—some in that trance may fall into an ecstasy—and that is essentially all. General trends are always in opposition to the liberatory aspirations of individuals and communities. In most cases, human beings do not possess free will, but rather a rudimentary will. If we had free will, nothing would constrain our existence. What we do have is the possibility to build a will that can be called free. That process is long, arduous, and encompasses a lifetime of dedication. On the other hand, the will is either free or non-existent. In fact, we are speaking of dormant and activated will. Thus, a parallel might be drawn between free (active) and non-free (dormant) will.
The existence of free will in man is not a fact, but a highly questionable matter. In this sense, I consider that the majority of human beings possess a dormant will. We are crushed by the life force because we have no control over life; rather, life happens to us. Beings to whom life happens do not possess an active will. Aleister Crowley said that the majority of humanity consists of incompetent people unable to coordinate their mental muscles to produce meaningful movements. According to him, most people do not have a true will, but merely a web of desires, many of which are in mutual conflict. In one of his commentaries on his prophetic Book of the Law, Crowley, evaluating the current era, wrote that a danger unprecedented in history hangs over us. He observed a growing trend and the comprehensiveness of new forms of restricting the individual, resulting in nations thinking like a herd.¹
Occultist Jack Parsons made an interesting remark that man is a radical being with the abilities of a god. Yet such a claim points to the potential of the human being in principle, rather than applying to every single person. In light of this, let us ask why these divine abilities and powers in man are rarely manifested, while the majority of human specimens live anonymously in general levelness, gaining strength only in the crowd, or in an order organized by some political or religious power? Is not man, therefore, an outcast?²
Institutions are monsters. They are a powerful collective expression of individual helplessness. If people were powerful as individuals, no institutions would be needed. In their totality, institutions form the system. That system is the expression of the omnipotence of human incompetence. In the legendary film The Matrix, an extreme futuristic form of system development is depicted, the premises of which actually apply to the world we inhabit. Namely, people are asleep, overcome by the force of the system, lulled into it, and therefore need to be awakened and shown the truth, for "the truth will set them free." What truth? Whose truth? Let us proceed step-by-step from the premises of awakening.
"The system is our enemy!" So reads the first premise of revolutionary awakening. That assertion needs no proof at all. Our anxiety testifies to it. Its truth is self-evident, no matter how much we are persuaded that this is one of the best possible systems despite all its flaws. Of course, we all know this, but in essence we fall for the first objection to this thesis. Yes, the system is bad, but what is the alternative? In response, an entire force of arguments and associative chains of horror rises against us, presenting monstrous alternatives and their catastrophic consequences. Thus, the development of conceiving and searching for an alternative is cut short, at least among most of the system's sleepers, its slaves, users, and victims. And for most, that is the end. The edge of resistance is, if not broken, well blunted in its infancy by confronting not only the question of what the alternative is, but also who is part of that alternative.
If we have overcome the first obstacle regarding the initial premise, we come to the second premise, which requires an effort of immersion to achieve an observational distance. When Morpheus tells Neo: "You see the shaped minds that serve the system," he describes a condition, but offers no exit, because exiting the system is not an exit from the mind, but an exit from the madness passing itself off as reason. The premise points out that small, ordinary people just doing their job are the main sustainers of that daily horror.
The system reaches not only where everything is orderly like a beehive, but also where disorder and lawlessness reign. Anarchy is also part of the system. In that case, it is systemic anarchy. Hence, that homeless person, at first glance an outcast from the system, is also part of the system. Likewise, the illegal immigrant, the sufferer, the refugee, the homeless, the unemployed, the prisoner, the criminal, the outcast, the stateless person, etc. All of them are also part of the system, encompassed by a network of complex relations that make their unenviable or horrific life situation—their social, economic, psychological, physical, and health condition—necessary components of the system's functioning. Even those who rebel against the system and offer resistance are part of it. Everything and everyone is encompassed by the network of relations, forms of opinion, and institutions that make up the system.
How then to exit the system at all, how to liberate oneself, or change the system? The final sentence of the premise about the shaped minds of people serving the system means that exiting the system implies a special kind of departure from the mind, a sort of mindlessness in relation to the system. To be outside the system means dwelling in madness. Madness, in this sense, is not an illness, but freedom, because what the system calls madness is precisely what the system cannot control. That is why the revolutionary must accept madness, not as a burden, but as a weapon. On the surface of the system is its ideology as an organized set of representations and axiomatic statements backed by corresponding narratives whose purpose is to keep the majority of minds within the scope necessary for the functioning and maintenance of the system itself. For system ideology, being mad means thinking outside its boundaries. For a mind shaped to serve the system, thoughts, ideas, and behaviors rooted outside the system are manifestations or symptoms of madness. Minds shaped to serve the system follow established tracks and models of thinking, imagining, and acting. Even their supposed departure outside the system is bounded by certain indicators and landmarks, thus retaining them within the system while lulling their revolutionary potential. A mind shaped to serve the system is generally incapable of independent decision-making and thinking, which means it possesses a weak capacity of will. The system makes decisions for us—or rather, its institutions do. Therefore, leaving the mental framework of the system is not the same as exiting the system, but it is the first step.
"And those are the minds that need to be saved." So reads the next premise, which I will immediately link to the following one: "Until we save them, they are inside the system, and that makes them our enemies because they are not ready to be unplugged from the system." Here we notice three key words: save, enemies, and unplugged. Behind this stands a humanistic ethic—after all, it is Hollywood—that the enemy must be saved. We do not kill the enemy; we save him, for his own good! The question remains hanging in the air: on the path to saving the enemy, is it acceptable to kill those who represent an obstacle? And how many enemies is it acceptable to kill so that the rest may be saved? In general, what is the price of saving just one enemy? And what if practice reveals that saving one implies the liquidation of tens, hundreds, or even thousands of enemies? Will our revolutionary messianic mission remain steadfast even then, or will it pause for calculation: how many dead for one saved? I think the system is so deeply rooted in the minds of people that it is practically impossible to destroy the system while the majority of humanity survives at all. That is why I called the process of revolutionary liberation the revolution of catastrophe, because the path of liberation is a catastrophe.
Abruptly unplugging someone from the system represents a catastrophe for them. Unplugging all people from the system is a general catastrophe. In that sense, the proponents of the system (as well as systemic alternatives) are seemingly right that there is no alternative to the system—that the alternative is actually catastrophe, and it is better to stick to the system, gradually repairing and perfecting it, than to work on its collapse. That is the seemingly wise path of so-called systemic reforms, an endless reform process and a never-completed work on perfecting something that cannot be perfect. The question of basic method has always been the apple of discord between radical revolutionaries and moderate reformists. The path of the revolutionary is catastrophic, but cannot the same be said for the path of reformists? The difference lies in the fact that the revolutionary approach causes catastrophe immediately, whereas reformists actually accumulate, time, and postpone the manifestation of catastrophic consequences—if possible, for a time after their passing. Reformists naively believe it is possible to create a better system and that it is possible, step-by-step, to free man by creating a different, improved system! They recoil from revolutionary terror and anarchy, failing to see that their path is very similar. From their standpoint, terror is also necessary, but controlled, while anarchy is limited and localized. The path of reformists is paradoxical. They actually want a new and better system, but the cumulative consequences of their method are catastrophe. It is a catastrophe without remainder, whereas revolutionary catastrophe knows the price in advance—and that price is freedom for a small number of chosen ones. In Zion, the subterranean settlement of free people in The Matrix, there actually dwells a very small number of awakened individuals compared to the vast majority that slumbers. Reformists want to liberate humanity as a whole, of course, with acceptable losses. Revolutionaries are not interested in humanity as such, but in the survival of the strong outside the system. Being free also means going beyond the boundaries of humanity. Thus, exceptional individuals awaken—on their own, or based on the mystical selection of the revolution's actors.
Why is it necessary to adopt such an inhuman requirement of the Divine Revolution of Catastrophe—disregarding those who sleep, who are plugged into the system? Not all people possess the capacity of personal qualities necessary for the successful destruction of the system, nor do they possess the capacity to comprehend and accept the truth that there is actually no truth. Truth exists only as a indicator of a state. In that sense, we can talk about the truth about the system, but truth outside the system is not something graspable. Therefore, let us awaken only those who have the potential for extra-systemic survival, and let the rest not concern us. The reason for this lies in the last selected premise: "Many of them are so inert that they do not know how to think for themselves; they have become so dependent on the system that they will fight with all their strength to protect it."
Finally, why is it necessary to destroy the system at all? Why not simply leave people to their fate, and why should those who managed to exit the system bother with it at all, instead of sailing without looking back toward the open sea of freedom? I would say that is the price of freedom. An individual can sail toward the open sea of freedom, but he also has a duty toward those forces standing behind the very principle of existence. Freedom is a gift, and the gifts of the gods are not free. They require a sacrifice—not blood, but ontological: the sacrifice of one's own humanity, one's own place in the system, and one's own safety. That is the price the revolutionary pays.
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¹ This is a consequence of mass psychology. Gustave Le Bon was the first to address this topic in a modern way.
² Is not this human apostasy visible in the heavens as well, not only on Earth? Let us, for example, cast a glance toward the constellation Corona Borealis. Within it, we see a circle, a crown, and a labyrinth. We see the initiatory trial of Theseus. We see the monster Minotaur. We see the halo of saints. We see the goddess Libera, but we also see a casemate, a quarantine, a world of the dead, an arena of ostracism and apostasy. We see the shape of Amenta, the shape of purgatory. And the time that adorned itself with this symbol points to what is coming. Counter-initiation created a prison with all its temptations; initiation will find a way for the chosen individuals. The rest will fall to the Minotaur.
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Related Articles:
Baphomithras: Profile of the Aspirant of the Divine Revolution of Catastrophe
Baphomithras: The Arrow, the Eye, and the Lyre
NOTE:
Originally published in Serbian. This English version is an AI-assisted translation of the original text.
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