To be incapable of taking one’s enemies, one’s accidents, even one’s misdeeds seriously for very long— that is the sign of strong, full natures in whom there is an excess of the power to form, to mold, to recuperate, and to forget. Friedrich Nietzsche (1)
Boy meets Girl. Boy loses memory. Boy meets girl. Put in such a tidy nutshell, the plot of Michel Gondry and Charlie Kaufmann’s Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind might seem fairly straightforward. But the philosophical issues raised by this intriguing story— the story of two people who try to put the past behind them by having their memories of each other erased, and only end up repeating the very relationship they were trying to put behind them— are anything but straightforward. In this paper I want to explore some of those issues, and the interrelations between them, particularly as they connect to three central themes: memory, affirmation, and repetition.
Start with repetition. From a certain point of view, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind is one of the few films one can recall that leaves its main characters almost exactly where it finds them: a pair of near-strangers in the very early stages of what is likely to be a difficult, indeed tumultuous, romantic relationship. Yet this summary again risks making the situation of the lovers seem more straightforward than it actually is. After all, if at the end of the film Joel Barish and Clementine Kruczynski are in a sense strangers to each other, it is at the same time true not only that they have known each other intimately but that they know (thanks to their own brutally honest recorded comments) a great deal about each other. And if, at the start, they think it likely that their relationship will be a trying one, at the end of the film they are in a position to be very nearly certain that this is the case. And this is an important difference.
Indeed, the idea of beginning a relationship under such conditions may seem both absurd and hopeless. For surely there is a certain level of ignorance that is necessary at the start of a love affair. Perhaps the idealization of one’s beloved is a necessary part of infatuation. Perhaps, too, it is necessary to pass through the infatuation stage in order to develop a commitment strong enough to weather the difficulties that will present themselves as one goes on to develop a more accurate and more realistic picture of the person to whom one is committed. One is reminded of Charlotte’s claim, in Pride and Prejudice, that at least at the beginning of a relationship “it is better to know as little as possible of the defects of the person with whom you are to pass your life”—a species of ignorance that is entirely unavailable to Joel and Clementine at Eternal Sunshine’s conclusion. (3)
Although their desire, in seeking out the services of Lacuna, Inc. (the company that performs the memory erasure), is to be liberated from a painful past, it might be suggested that in purging their memories of one another, Joel and Clementine are only setting themselves up for a second round of pain and despair. “If one has character,” writes Nietzsche, “one also has one’s typical experience, which occurs repeatedly.” (4) In reliving their experience of meeting, loving, and despairing, this couple becomes living proof of George Santayana’s maxim that “those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it” (5) —and become, at the same time, living counter-examples to Nietzsche’s dictum, “Blessed are the forgetful, for they get the better even of their blunders.” 6 That line from Nietzsche is, of course, quoted as a line of dialogue in Eternal Sunshine . The quoter is Mary Svevo, a Lacuna employee who, as it turns out, is dragging her own submerged history behind her (and who will ultimately be responsible for Joel and Clementine’s finding out the truth). Mary has not made a systematic reading of Nietzsche; she only knows this quotation because, as she puts it, “[I] found it in my Bartlett’s .” Her knowledge of Nietzsche is as incomplete, in fact, as her knowledge of her own past. She is thus not aware that Nietzsche’s thinking about forgetfulness is far more complex and ambivalent than this simple quotation suggests.
Thus the climax of the film— Joel and Clementine standing in the hall, choosing their fate— can be read as a dramatization of just the sort of “tremendous moment” that the truly free spirit will achieve in the face of the demon’s challenge. Joel and Clementine’s task is to help each other learn to become so well disposed to themselves, and to life, as “to crave nothing more fervently than this ultimate confirmation and seal.” Their task, that is, is to confront without illusion the true nature of their relationship— that the initial infatuation that unites the two is doomed to give way to disappointment, resentment, and even hostility— and to find the strength not to despair in the face of these facts.
In this connection it is interesting to recall what Lacuna’s head, Howard Mierzwiak, says to Joel as he urges him to opt for the memory erasure procedure. “This is a personal and profound decision to make,” he tells Joel, “but might I suggest that you at least consider the potential pitfalls of a psyche forever spinning its wheels.” (37) “Forever spinning its wheels” is an image that might itself remind us of the eternal recurrence. Howard’s promise is that Joel will be released from the nightmare of eternal recurrence— the endless recurrence of the same memories, pains and regrets. Ironically, though, all the procedure actually does is release Joel into a different kind of cycle of recurrence, one in which he will not only figuratively but literally relive the agonies (and, alongside them, the ecstasies) of meeting, falling in love with, and suffering alongside Clementine. In order to overcome, and to master, the tragedy of his fate, Joel must extirpate his longing to be released from it and instead find a way to embrace it, wholeheartedly and with full knowledge and acceptance of its darker aspects.
Let our hearts break provided they break together.(40) What better statement of Joel and Clementine’s ultimate aspiration could we desire? Indeed, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind is surely one of the most romantic movies ever made. Other movies cheapen love by regarding it as nothing more than the gateway to pleasure and success. Sunnier and more optimistic by nature, but less confident in the value of passion, they insist on justifying love in terms of something other than itself. The happy couple, united (typically in marriage) in the film’s finale, revels in the anticipation of the blissful and prosperous future they have been promised. And so one cannot help but wonder: do these two really love each other, or are they merely in love with their own anticipated joy? Whereas one cannot doubt that Joel and Clementine are true lovers. Knowing how badly things will turn out— that they will live not happily, but miserably, ever after— they nonetheless pledge themselves to each other. It is, indeed, “the very mark of Eros” whose stamp we are witnessing.
In the film’s final exchange, behind Clementine’s voice, speaking its single, hesitant yet celebratory “Okay,” there seems to me to be a second, very nearly audible voice. That voice is also Clementine’s: perhaps we would hear it if the film chose to take us into the largely unknown territory of her head. And that we cannot hear it does not matter, for we can see it in Clementine’s face, in the ecstatic and finally comprehending smile that breaks across her features as Joel responds with his own calm and accepting “Okay” to the litany of sufferings and despairs that are in store for them. You are a god, this voice tells Joel. And never have I heard anything more divine . (41)
Sometimes existing on the internet can feel like being trapped in that dark room with Morpheus, the one where he holds out his hands to Neo and offers up either a pill of knowledge or a pill of blissful ignorance. Red pill or blue pill; know your enemy or live in peace; click or don't click. Of all the ideas and images The Matrix sent spiraling into American culture—computer simulation paranoia, black leather trench coats, falling green code, spoons that don't really exist—none has become so entrenched, or so contentious, as this one.
Of the two options, the red pill is more often discussed (it is Neo's choice, after all). Yet as the world grows more polarized and less courteous, that blue pill is starting to look mighty swallowable. After all, life is hard, bad news is everywhere, and maybe, just maybe, ignorance is bliss. So we asked two of our writers, Emily Dreyfuss and Emma Grey Ellis, to debate the merits of picking the blue or the red pill. Follow the white rabbit.
Taking the Blue Pill
Emily Dreyfuss: The Matrix is like the '90s cyberpunk version of Plato's cave, where everyone is sitting shackled looking at projections on a screen and only Morpheus' crew and philosophers are able to see things for what they really are. Presenting the choice that way makes it ABSURD to pick the blue pill—who would choose slavery and ignorance over freedom?
If, as in the movie, we take the blue pill to mean ignorance of everything, then no one would. And I wouldn't either. In fact, I won't even try to argue for that because I honestly worry "that guy" from my freshman Phil 101 class in undergrad will show up—still dressed in his trench coat!—and "actually..." me until I die.
I don't have time for that. And neither do you, reader.
But here's the thing: In reality, life is not as simple as "knowledge means power" and "ignorance means slavery." In the Matrix, once you're unplugged you see every lie. But IRL, you just don't know everything or nothing. Everyone lives somewhere in the middle. You know some stuff, not all of it. And moreover, just because you are awake to one problem doesn't mean you aren't causing the others.
And even people who verge on complete ignorance can still have power, and vice versa. Consider the dumb, rich child kings of history, born into a position of absolute power and lacking knowledge of, really, most things! Or the deeply knowledgeable social reformers who are out there working day in and day out to right the wrongs of society. They know a lot! They'll tell you they are seeing behind the screen and they are still in the cave, shackled to a system. A system that can't be undone just by suddenly seeing it exists.
In the movie, as soon as you take the red pill you're supposedly partially freed up from the systems that enable those lies. The red pill lets you literally fly and hack the code that powers the world. Should a red pill exist IRL, that wouldn't be the case. There's no code to hack.
To me that's the biggest argument against the red pill, which makes it seem like if you just could—zap!—learn the truth of the world then now suddenly your life has meaning and you can fight back against the lies! It's not an argument in favor of the blue pill as the movie defines it, but it's a reason to think red pilling is, well, impossible.
Taking the Red Pill
Emma Grey Ellis: Hang on, Emily, are you saying that knowledge and truth actually aren't power? I hear you on the oversimplification—anybody who's ever been milkshake ducked knows the pain of rooting for something or someone who seems good and righteous, but winds up being deeply flawed. Those betrayals might shake your faith in activism or institutions, but I don't think individual failings mean that the pursuit of knowledge is a doomed exercise.
To me, problems like brilliant Nobel Prize winners somehow missing that they, and the institution that honored them, are wildly sexist are issues of people feeling that their education is somehow complete as-is. If we take Morpheus at his word, the red pill, in all its science fiction glory, is a sweeping dose of unalloyed truth—something akin to a complete education. That doesn't exist in the real world, but empathetic, lifelong learners, people who acknowledge their own inevitable ignorance and strive to reduce it, do. Imagining a world without them, or considering their efforts useless, is bleak enough to make me want to reach for that blue pill.
I think you're onto something with uncoupling knowledge from freedom, though. In a way, I think Neo and company model the way good, thoughtful people are forced to operate within a bad system even after they're awake to its faults. Their knowledge gives them the power to navigate the Matrix, and, at times, bend it to their will, but while they're inside, they're still shackled to a chair by their headjacks, the same technology that used to be the primary tool of their enslavement.
That continued dependency is deeply unpleasant, way less glamorous than dodging bullets or suddenly knowing kung fu, and somebody under the influence of the system might come along and rip out your brainstem. But recognizing that you still have to work within the system in order to create systemic change is part of being someone who favors the red pill.
Taking the Blue Pill, Reloaded
Dreyfuss: That's an interesting interpretation of the knowledge/power struggle in the movie. And I don't disagree. Of course there are systems that we can't escape from and that we have to fight against from the inside.
I guess my problem with just saying, "yep, the red pill is better" is that the red pill is now something that exists in the real world. Its meaning has been totally corrupted and co-opted by message boards and people who define "truth" as something terrifying according to their own ideologies.
With that in mind, it's hard to talk about the Aristotelian ideal of the blue or red pill as it was meant to be. Now it's something else. The red pill is now conspiracy theories and hatred, and oftentimes muting them sounds like a good idea.
What does that make the blue pill? It's too far from the original meaning to suddenly define the blue pill as truth, as opposed to the red pills conspiratorial agenda, but I think there's something to the idea that the blue pill could be something like the state of ignorance—or safetly, bliss, etc.—that comes from being extremely offline and off-the-grid.
And that scenario, where blue pill means not ever knowing about the subreddit r/redpill or the hellscape of Twitter? Sign me up.
Taking the Red Pill, Reloaded
Ellis: OK, that made me laugh. And If I could blue pill away all my lurking in the internet's worst corners, I'd seriously consider it. Without question, being constantly buffeted by online toxicity has made me a more cynical, more anxious person. But also, I learned valuable stuff—terrible glimpses into the United States' fractured soul, misinformation and propaganda networks—in my time there.
I know probably better than most that picking the red pill puts me in bad company. Online, the red pill has become an emblem of misogyny and white supremacy because bigots mistake their own prejudices for inconvenient truths. To those guys, "red pilling" somebody means opening their eyes to a particular brand of persecution-complexed "conservatism"—convincing an initiate that they're under attack by hateful progressive women/minorities/billionaires/countries that are bent on destroying them.
Sounds ridiculous (and it is), but this reading of Neo's choice is so widespread that it's made its way to some very unlikely places—like Kanye West's Twitter account. You're absolutely right, Emily: Calling yourself "red pilled" is now in very poor taste.
But to me, the unfortunate context the red pill has acquired since The Matrix's release doesn't keep it from being the right choice. Why let trolls' misguided self-glorification ruin a perfectly good concept? Come on, those guys aren't Morpheus. It's not truth they're peddling. It's propaganda. If anything, they're Agent Smith—and truth is how good people beat them.
Taking the Blue Pill, Revolutions
Dreyfuss: I'm with you that it's the right choice in the movie. But man, if I could blue pill my way onto a commune where there's no internet access, and no constant stream of bad news in my feed, no worrying that any day now my son is going to get indoctrinated into some cult on YouTube, oof, that sounds lovely.
It's exhausting to know just enough to be afraid and annoyed and outraged, but not really be able to meaningfully change things—at least not quickly. I mean, hell, even Neo is exhausted by his battling for truth. Once he wakes up, everything only gets worse—and worse, and worse, and worse for three whole long movies. Neo himself barely survives the torture of enlightenment and the responsibility it demands. Good for him for keeping at it! But don't you think as he wanders the wasteland of reality, he ever just wishes he were back in his apartment, his body healthy, his room a mess, worrying about nothing more important than his dumb job?
Taking the Red Pill, Revolutions
Ellis: If Neo doesn't long for normal by the end of Revolutions, I'd be seriously concerned for him—he loses everything! I think there's a way in which the internet has come to give us a more aggressive version of the truth than even the red pill. Neo takes the red pill once. If you're like me, you get about a dozen crazy-making push notifications per day.
Dreyfuss: Yes! My way of dealing with that has been to uninstall all social media from my phone, and turn off push notifications. It's like Blue Pill Light.
Ellis: Which is how the world used to be, in a way, right? Truth hasn't changed, but the amount of time we're meant to and able to spend engaging with the worst bits of it has expanded hugely. You have to moderate it in some way if you want to avoid burning out. Maybe Morpheus' options aren't good enough anymore: I want the purple pill.
Dreyfuss: Would that be where you get the truth in small doses?
Ellis: Yes! Perfectly titrated doses of truth.
Dreyfuss: That's exactly how I like my truth, dribbled into my veins slowly, like a slightly muted stream of digital rain.