Summoning the Self: Psychology, Theology, & Philosophy in Persona 3, 4, & 5

In the Persona series—especially entries 3, 4, and 5—the term “Persona” refers to a supernatural manifestation of a character’s inner identity. These Personas serve as external expressions of the self, summoned through moments of personal awakening, existential threat, or confrontation with repressed truths. Rather than portraying identity as fixed or singular, the games portray it as layered, multifaceted, and in development. Drawing on Carl Jung’s analytic psychology, particularly his theory of the persona and the shadow, the series explores how individuals navigate the tension between the self they show to the world and the self they keep hidden. Jung viewed the persona as a necessary but potentially deceptive social mask, a role we assume to navigate communal life, while the shadow consists of the parts of the psyche we disown. The games dramatize the need to confront these repressed aspects in order to achieve psychological integrity.

While the term “Persona” in Jungian theory refers to a social role, the Persona games reinterpret the term in a more expansive way. Rather than being mere masks, Personas represent the internal potential and psychic strength of an individual—figures that emerge when one accepts and integrates their shadow. In this way, the games use Jungian categories but also depart from them. A Persona in the series is not simply a false front or a tool for adaptation; it is a representation of a deeper, archetypal self that arises through synthesis. Each character’s Persona reflects not only their personal journey but also their alignment with broader symbolic patterns—mythic, spiritual, and emotional truths that transcend individual experience. Personas, then, are a creative reimagining of Jung’s psychological categories, used to portray human growth as a process of encounter with both the personal unconscious and the collective symbols embedded in the psyche.

This symbolic structure is reinforced through the use of Tarot Arcana, which organize Personas and their associated characters into archetypal categories such as the Fool, Magician, Priestess, Hermit, and so on. These Arcana are not used randomly, but correspond meaningfully to recurring human patterns: beginnings, trials, wisdom, isolation, transformation, and judgment. The games thus present psychological growth in a symbolic grammar—one that speaks to the universality of human development. Personas and their Arcana are vehicles for engaging what Jung called the “archetypes of the collective unconscious”—structures of meaning that shape how we experience the world and ourselves. But rather than merely identifying with a given archetype, characters in the Persona series are constantly moving, fusing, and evolving—suggesting a dynamic model of the self that is always in progress.

This idea of identity as something formed over time also resonates with Paul Ricoeur’s notion of narrative identity. For Ricoeur, the self is not a static entity but a story told over time, involving acts of reinterpretation, appropriation, and reconfiguration. In the Persona series, players literally rewrite their “self” through action and choice: the fusing of new Personas, the forming of social bonds, the selection of values. The Persona becomes a way of participating in one’s own becoming—a narrative symbol of a person striving to unify their memories, desires, and contradictions into something whole. In this sense, Personas function like moral and imaginative tools for self-construction, a view deeply compatible with both narrative psychology and theological models of transformation.

Søren Kierkegaard described the self as “a relation that relates itself to itself,” and added that true despair lies in refusing to become oneself. In this way, the Persona series can be seen as a gamified meditation on becoming—on the risks and rewards of facing what lies beneath the surface. The Persona, as both a reflection and extension of the self, invites characters (and players) to engage in a form of existential honesty. Rather than offering an escapist fantasy, the games confront us with a fundamental human question: Who am I, really, and what must I face to become whole? In asking this, Persona becomes more than a series of JRPGs—it becomes a philosophical and spiritual journey toward integration.

The Fool’s Journey: How Persona Synthesizes the Hero’s Journey with Cartomancy

In Persona 3, 4, and 5, the player’s journey unfolds through a symbolic framework rooted in the Major Arcana of the Tarot, with particular emphasis on the Fool card. Traditionally, the Fool is numbered 0, representing boundless potential, naiveté, and the beginning of a spiritual journey. In esoteric Tarot systems, the Fool traverses all other cards in sequence, evolving from ignorance to wisdom, from openness to understanding. In Persona, this arc is embodied by the protagonist, who begins as an empty vessel and gradually grows in relational, moral, and spiritual depth. The Fool card thus symbolizes both the hero’s blank-slate status and their capacity to embody the full range of human archetypes through social connections and psychic transformation.

Tarot cards.

This symbolic logic extends to the entire cast through the game's Social Link (or Confidant) system, which assigns each major side character to a different Arcana. These Arcana—such as the Lovers, Hermit, Tower, Justice, and Death—aren’t arbitrary but map to psychological and mythological patterns. For example, characters aligned with the Lovers Arcana often embody tension between desire and duty, while those under the Hermit represent alienation, introspection, or guardedness. This echoes the archetypal patterns explored by Carl Jung, who held that archetypes are "forms or images of a collective nature" embedded in the unconscious. In the Persona games, the Arcana system externalizes these forms, allowing the player to interact with and “complete” them through narrative engagement and ethical decision-making.

This engagement mirrors what Joseph Campbell famously termed the “Hero’s Journey,” or monomyth—a recurring narrative structure in myth where a hero departs from the ordinary world, undergoes trials, and returns transformed. The protagonist of each Persona title follows this trajectory, not just individually, but relationally. Each Social Link represents a miniature version of this journey, a microcosmic test of empathy, discernment, and sacrifice. Through these bonds, the protagonist not only matures but enables others to grow as well. These smaller journeys collectively shape the Fool’s path from ignorance to cosmic understanding—a metaphor for psychological individuation and, theologically, sanctification. The Fool becomes wise not in isolation but through encountering the many faces of the human condition.

Across the three titles, certain Arcana are repeatedly tied to familiar character tropes. The Empress Arcana, for instance, is frequently assigned to women who embody elegance, restraint, or social prestige—such as Mitsuru in P3 or Haru in P5. The Death Arcana, rather than symbolizing morbidity alone, often takes the form of a mysterious child or tragic figure who introduces the theme of impermanence—like Pharos in P3 or Hisano in P4. The Justice Arcana typically embodies legalism, order, or righteous conflict, while the Tower introduces crisis and collapse. These recurring assignments suggest that Persona has developed its own internal mythos: a structure of recurring psychological types that map onto familiar human narratives. These tropes provide continuity across games and deepen the sense that the Arcana serve as living archetypes rather than symbolic gimmicks.

This system also functions as a mirror for the player. The process of deepening each Social Link allows players to project aspects of themselves into the narrative and make ethical choices that shape both the story and their Persona arsenal. Each Arcana link is not only a narrative encounter but a test of moral and emotional alignment. In Jungian terms, this is a form of transference, where the player encounters aspects of their own psyche through others. The game thus invites players to move through the same journey as the protagonist: to see others more fully, to recognize patterns in themselves, and to form meaning through interactive storytelling. The Tarot Arcana are not just story labels—they are mirrors through which the player comes to understand human diversity and their own capacity for choice.

Ultimately, the protagonist, aligned with the Fool, serves as a vessel for this process of synthesis. As they move through each Arcana—literally collecting Personas and metaphorically embodying new relational insights—they enact a journey of spiritual and psychological maturation. Theologically, this mirrors the path of sanctification, wherein a person grows not merely in knowledge but in likeness to the divine, through trials, relationships, and internal transformation. The Fool becomes the Everyman: not exceptional because of inherent greatness, but because they are willing to walk the path, embrace others, and be changed. In this, the Persona series turns a game mechanic into a metaphysical allegory—one in which archetype, narrative, and theology converge to portray the self as a pilgrim moving toward integration.

Memento Mori: Death, Time, and the Fragile Self in Persona 3

Persona 3 operates as a profound meditation on death, self-sacrifice, and the human search for meaning in the face of inevitable mortality. Through a masterful fusion of Greek mythology, Christian theology, and existential philosophy, the game tells a story that is both deeply personal and universally resonant. At its heart lies the labyrinthine structure of Tartarus, an underworld symbolizing the liminal space between life and death. The protagonist’s ultimate act of self-sacrifice parallels Christ’s kenotic death, transforming despair into redemption. In this world, memento mori—"remember you will die"—is both a warning and a call to authentic existence. By engaging with death not as an abstract concept but as an immediate and defining force, the narrative weaves mythological and theological archetypes into a transformative story of suffering, hope, and transcendence.

The protagonist from Persona 3 using the “Evoker” on himself to summon his Persona.

In Persona 3, death is omnipresent, structuring every facet of its world. The “Dark Hour,” an eerie hidden hour that bridges midnight, and Tartarus, an ever-ascending labyrinth, reflect an existential landscape shaped by mortality. This thematic foundation resonates deeply with Martin Heidegger’s concept of Sein-zum-Tode (being-toward-death). For Heidegger, authentic existence demands a conscious acknowledgment of death as intrinsic to life. The game’s protagonists live in this forced authenticity, as each night they ascend Tartarus to confront death in its manifold forms. Their journey mirrors the existential challenge of facing one’s finitude, offering a narrative framework where mortality becomes both the enemy and the means to transcendence.

Psychologically, Persona 3 delves into the human response to the terror of mortality. Ernest Becker, in The Denial of Death, describes the intricate ways humans manage their awareness of death, often through denial or sublimation. The members of SEES, as adolescents, grapple with developmental vulnerabilities while facing existential dread. Characters like Junpei and Yukari cycle through stages of denial, anger, and acceptance, embodying the psychological toll of constant confrontation with mortality. These struggles echo depth psychology's understanding of the ego's fragility when faced with archetypal forces, such as death, that threaten to overwhelm. The labyrinthine structure of Tartarus becomes a metaphor for their internal battles, a terrain where psychological defenses are tested and often broken.

The game’s most striking and controversial symbol is the Evoker—a handgun-like device used to summon a Persona by simulating suicide. This imagery transcends shock value, functioning as a ritualized engagement with mortality. Jung might interpret the Evoker as a confrontation with the Shadow, the repressed aspects of the psyche that, when integrated, unlock transformative potential. Yet existentially, the Evoker takes on a deeper meaning. Pulling the trigger represents an embrace of finitude, a deliberate engagement with the self’s mortality. Heidegger’s distinction between the “they-self” (an inauthentic, socially determined existence) and the “authentic self” finds resonance here, as the Evoker compels characters to confront their fears and claim ownership over their existence.

This confrontation with death also carries spiritual implications, particularly through Kierkegaard’s notions of anxiety and despair in The Sickness Unto Death. Kierkegaard sees despair not as a flaw but as a condition for becoming one’s true self before God. Characters such as Shinjiro, weighed down by guilt, and Aigis, whose humanity emerges through suffering, embody this existential struggle. Their despair, rather than marking failure, signals their transformation. The protagonist’s ultimate sacrifice becomes the culmination of Kierkegaardian resolution: embracing despair and death to achieve a paradoxical form of life. This act of surrender affirms the necessity of facing suffering as a pathway to authentic existence.

Theologically, Persona 3 reflects the Christian concept of kenosis—the self-emptying love of Christ described in Philippians 2. The protagonist’s voluntary death to prevent the Fall mirrors Christ’s Incarnation and sacrifice, embodying the redemptive power of love that transforms suffering into hope. Tartarus becomes a symbolic via crucis—a way of the cross—where each step upward is both a descent into the depths of human frailty and a movement toward transcendence. The Evoker, in this light, transcends its violent appearance, becoming a symbol of volitional suffering for the sake of transformation.

The protagonist from Persona 3 falling asleep and passing away next to his android companion, Aegis.

Ultimately, Persona 3 invites its players into a narrative that does not shy away from the inevitability of death but instead insists on its transformative potential. Drawing from Heidegger and Kierkegaard for existential depth, Jung and Becker for psychological nuance, and Christian theology for spiritual resonance, the game constructs a story of immense complexity and power. It is not a story of escape or triumph over death but a call to embrace mortality with courage and authenticity. The protagonist’s journey—marked by despair, sacrifice, and renewal—offers a compelling vision of what it means to live fully in the shadow of death. To remember you will die is, paradoxically, to learn how to truly live.

Know Thyself: Shadows and Truth in Persona 4’s Foggy World

At its heart, Persona 4 is a rich exploration of society’s relationship to truth, individuality, and self-awareness, framed within a mythopoetic and psychological narrative. The game draws heavily from Japanese cosmology and mythology, weaving these traditions into its exploration of hidden truths and repressed emotions. Central to this is the antagonist Izanami, whose name and role reference the Kojiki, Japan’s oldest written chronicle of myths. In the Kojiki, Izanami, the goddess of creation, dies giving birth and descends into Yomi, the land of the dead. Her husband, Izanagi, attempts to rescue her but fails when he sees her decayed form, leading to her curse that death will forever plague humanity. This myth symbolizes the irrevocable rupture between life and death, as well as the consequences of confronting truths that cannot be undone.

A cinematic of Persona 4’s “Midnight Channel” and “TV World” with abstract silhouettes of people walking by, showing their obscurity to the truth of what is happening around them.

In Persona 4, Izanami embodies this mythological resonance. As the orchestrator of the events in the Midnight Channel, she challenges humanity to confront uncomfortable truths about themselves and their world. The Midnight Channel—a supernatural realm shrouded in fog—parallels Yomi as a liminal space where hidden, often disturbing, aspects of the self emerge. Much like Izanagi’s harrowing journey, the game’s protagonist and their friends delve into this foggy realm to confront their own Shadows, the repressed and contradictory aspects of their psyches. Through this lens, the story becomes a modern retelling of the Kojiki myth, exploring how self-discovery requires the courage to face what is hidden and integrate it into a fuller understanding of oneself and the world.

Beneath its murder mystery premise lies a profound commentary on the human condition. Central to Persona 4 is the confrontation with Shadows—manifestations of the repressed, contradictory aspects of the characters’ psyches. These encounters echo Carl Jung’s theory of the Shadow, which he described in Psychological Types as “everything that the subject refuses to acknowledge about himself.” The game compels its characters to face these disowned aspects, forcing a public acknowledgment that transforms their Shadows into Personas. Jung believed that integrating the Shadow is essential for individuation, the process of becoming one’s true self. Persona 4 dramatizes this integration, showing how self-awareness leads to empowerment and growth.

The metaphysical framework of Persona 4 deepens this psychological exploration. The Midnight Channel—a supernatural realm accessed through a fog-covered TV world—serves as both a literal and symbolic setting for the story. The omnipresent fog represents confusion, denial, and the difficulty of perceiving truth. This aligns with Jean Baudrillard’s concept of the “simulacrum,” the idea that reality becomes obscured by layers of representation. In Inaba, truth is fragmented by rumors, media distortions, and personal deceptions. The fog becomes a metaphor for postmodern skepticism about objective truth, emphasizing the importance of relational and communal efforts to lift this obscurity and arrive at clarity.

Paul Ricoeur’s concept of narrative identity enriches our understanding of Persona 4’s exploration of selfhood. Ricoeur posits that identity is not static but formed through the stories we tell and the relationships we build. Each character in Persona 4 undergoes an arc of self-discovery that is co-authored by their friends. When Kanji, Naoto, or Rise confront their Shadows, their peers act as witnesses, offering support and encouragement. This communal witnessing reflects the game’s belief that truth is not only personal but relational. Authenticity emerges not in isolation but through shared vulnerability and dialogue, where individuals are both challenged and affirmed.

This dynamic resonates with theological perspectives on sin and confession. In Scripture, sin is often described as a distortion of perception—an inability to see rightly (cf. Isaiah 6:10; John 9:39–41). Like the fog in Inaba, sin clouds understanding, isolating individuals from God, others, and themselves. Confession, as described in James 5:16, is a communal act: “Confess your sins to one another… that you may be healed.” Similarly, the characters in Persona 4 must confess their fears and flaws before their peers to restore harmony. The process of naming the Shadow becomes an act of liberation, breaking the power of repression and inviting transformation.

The game’s treatment of truth and selfhood challenges modern cultural norms. Teddie’s existential crisis—his fear of being “empty” inside—embodies a contemporary anxiety: that beneath our masks and roles, there may be nothing of substance. Yet, Persona 4 insists that vulnerability and connection reveal the true self. Through relationships, the characters confront their fears and find meaning in love and community. The fog, though it obscures, is ultimately transient, and the journey to clarity becomes a testament to human resilience and the power of mutual understanding.

Adachi (speaking) confessing his plan as one of the primary antagonists of Persona 4 to the main protagonist and your team.

In conclusion, Persona 4 offers a profound meditation on the complexities of self-discovery and the communal nature of truth. By weaving Jungian psychology, postmodern philosophy, and theological insights into its narrative, the game presents a vision of authenticity that is deeply integrative. The Shadow becomes not a symbol of shame but a catalyst for growth. Narrative identity shifts from isolated self-authorship to a shared, relational process. And the theological framework of confession and reconciliation becomes the narrative’s spiritual backbone. In a foggy world where truth feels fragmented and elusive, Persona 4 reminds us that self-knowledge is not only possible but transformative—and that the journey to knowing oneself begins with the courage to be seen.

Beneath the Mask: Persona 5’s Free Will-Identity Metaphysics Against Gnosticism

At its heart, Persona 5 explores the tension between free will and pre-determinism, the power of rebellion against oppressive systems, and the struggle for self-discovery. The game weaves these themes into a mythic framework heavily influenced by Gnosticism. In Gnostic cosmology, the material world is a flawed realm created by a false god (the Demiurge), and salvation lies in uncovering hidden truths that transcend the physical plane. This narrative is mirrored in Persona 5, where the world’s corruption is personified by authoritarian figures whose distorted desires create Palaces in the Metaverse—a spiritual dimension reflecting their inner depravity.

The Phantom Thieves’ mission to “steal hearts” parallels the Gnostic quest for gnosis—a transformative knowledge that unveils the hidden truths of reality. Like Gnostic seekers, the Thieves traverse two interconnected realms: the everyday social world and the Metaverse, a distorted reflection of human desires and corruption. By exposing the hidden flaws within societal structures and confronting the twisted desires of the powerful, they challenge the oppressive illusions that govern their world. This journey mirrors the Gnostic path to salvation, which involves transcending the false constructs of the material world to attain spiritual enlightenment. The Phantom Thieves’ ultimate adversary, Yaldabaoth, symbolizes the Demiurge—a false deity who perpetuates a system of control rooted in predestination and submission. The climactic battle against Yaldabaoth crystallizes the game’s core message: true liberation demands the rejection of imposed authority and the courageous embrace of one’s authentic self.

Persona 5’s primary antagonist from Gnostic myth, Yaldabaoth.

Persona 5 philosophically foregrounds themes of free will, rebellion, and moral ambiguity, drawing on the critical traditions of existential revolt and post-structuralist power analyses to interrogate the nature of justice and autonomy in contemporary society. The narrative’s motif of the Phantom Thieves’ challenge to corrupt social systems resonates with Albert Camus’ conception of the rebel as one who asserts freedom against absurd or oppressive structures, while simultaneously confronting the paradox of moral law and revolt. Nietzsche’s critique of ressentiment informs the portrayal of systemic injustice and the dangers of vengeful retribution masquerading as justice, compelling the player to question the legitimacy and consequences of revolutionary violence. Michel Foucault’s theories on power, discipline, and surveillance further illuminate the Palace as an externalized manifestation of desire and control, symbolizing how individuals internalize and reproduce mechanisms of domination. The game’s theological tension between vengeance and redemption, exposure and healing, gestures toward Christological themes of true liberation, challenging players to discern whether the Phantom Thieves function as agents of authentic moral transformation or performative vigilantes within a spectacle of power.

Persona 5 casts the player as the leader of the Phantom Thieves, a group of high school students who enter the “Palaces” of corrupt adults and steal their “hearts” to effect a moral transformation. Framed as an act of justice, this rebellion quickly takes on existential weight. Albert Camus’ The Rebel offers a critical lens here: rebellion is not mere resistance, but a moral posture against the world’s absurdity and injustice. “I rebel—therefore we exist,” Camus writes, suggesting that revolt is a fundamentally human assertion of dignity in the face of violation. The Phantom Thieves operate in this vein, not as revolutionaries seeking chaos, but as rebels asserting that some acts—abuse, manipulation, systemic exploitation—must be named and condemned for human solidarity to be possible. Their rebellion is not against order, but against hypocrisy masked as order.

Yet, the game’s narrative reveals an underlying ambiguity about rebellion itself. Nietzsche’s critique of ressentiment in On the Genealogy of Morality challenges the Thieves’ claims to moral purity. Nietzsche argues that those who are powerless often construct a reactive form of morality—one based not on creative strength but on the condemnation of the strong. The Phantom Thieves risk falling into this trap, channeling moral outrage in ways that blur the line between justice and vengeance. Characters like Akechi, who seeks retributive justice under the guise of righteousness, represent the shadow side of the Thieves’ enterprise. Are the Thieves truly liberating society—or are they caught in a cycle of moral compensation, masking their own pain and powerlessness with the performance of virtue?

Michel Foucault’s theories of power and discipline sharpen this question further. In Discipline and Punish, Foucault contends that modern power functions not through brute force, but through surveillance, normalization, and internalization. The cognitive distortion that creates Palaces in Persona 5 mirrors this insight: societal power becomes internalized and projected into personalized prisons of desire and shame. Each Palace is a psychopolitical landscape—Kamoshida’s castle, Madarame’s museum—revealing how authority deforms perception and selfhood. But Foucault would warn that even liberation efforts risk becoming new forms of control. When the Phantom Thieves “steal hearts,” they act with quasi-divine authority, reshaping another’s will. Is this emancipation—or domination disguised as justice?

The tension intensifies when we examine the role of spectacle. The Phantom Thieves gain popularity through the Phantom Aficionado website, and their actions are filtered through media coverage and online validation. Here, Persona 5 flirts with Guy Debord’s Society of the Spectacle, in which rebellion becomes commodified performance. Justice risks becoming theater—an image consumed rather than a truth lived. The Thieves struggle with this double identity: liberators and celebrities, rebels and symbols. This ambiguity invites ethical reflection: are they moral agents effecting meaningful change, or vigilantes caught in a loop of projection and public desire? Does their rebellion emerge from authentic moral vision—or from a longing to be seen, admired, and justified?

Theologically, this tension reflects a deeper question: is liberation achieved through exposure or healing? The Thieves’ method—forcing confession by assaulting the distorted psyche—bears resemblance to apocalyptic unveiling (cf. Luke 12:2), but lacks the redemptive core of the gospel. In contrast, Christ liberates not through coercion but through kenotic love. Romans 12 calls believers not to avenge, but to overcome evil with good. Persona 5 exposes the insufficiency of vengeance as a moral paradigm. True justice, Christianly conceived, is not retribution but restoration. Where the Phantom Thieves change hearts by force, Christ transforms by entering into suffering, bearing injustice, and offering new creation. Thus, the game’s portrayal of “liberation” is incomplete—powerful, but still bound by the logic of power.

The Persona 5 protagonist, “Joker”, taking his mask off to summon his Persona.

In the end, Persona 5 invites players to wrestle with the nature of justice, freedom, and selfhood. Camus offers the ethic of revolt, Nietzsche warns against reactive morality, Foucault interrogates systems of power, and Christian theology proposes the scandal of grace. The Palaces may crumble and the public may cheer, but the deeper question remains: can the moral self be forged through rebellion alone? Or must liberation be reimagined not merely as the overthrow of corrupt authority, but as the inward transformation of desire, identity, and love?

Conclusion:

Bringing together the rich thematic currents woven throughout Persona 3, 4, and 5 reveals a profound engagement with enduring questions of identity, mortality, and liberation that resonate across philosophy, psychology, theology, and mythology. Each game, while distinct in its narrative and symbolic focus, participates in a shared dialectic between the self and the world, portraying the human soul’s journey toward deeper self-knowledge and freedom. Persona 3 frames this journey through the lens of death and sacrificial redemption, invoking existential and Christian motifs that confront the fragility and finitude of life. Persona 4 shifts the emphasis toward communal truth and the revelation of hidden selves, grounded in Shinto cosmology and the interpersonal processes of confession and reconciliation. Meanwhile, Persona 5 dramatizes rebellion against corrupt authority, employing Gnostic imagery to explore themes of spiritual captivity, falsehood, and the complex pursuit of authentic freedom.

This trilogy’s philosophical and theological richness is undergirded by Jungian psychology’s insights into archetypes, masks, and the shadow, which serve as both narrative mechanisms and invitations for players to engage in their own processes of individuation and moral reflection. The recurring use of tarot symbolism—the Fool’s Journey in particular—provides a mythic structure that connects individual psychological development with universal patterns of transformation. At the same time, the games’ theological allusions, from kenosis and theosis to Gnostic cosmology, underscore the spiritual dimensions of the human struggle for meaning and liberation from self-deception and bondage.

Ultimately, the Persona series offers more than just entertainment; it presents a modern mythopoetic canvas where philosophical inquiry, psychological insight, and theological reflection intersect. It challenges players not only to confront external adversaries but also to wrestle with the masks they wear, the shadows they hide, and the moral complexities of rebellion and redemption. Through this multidimensional narrative and symbolic tapestry, Persona invites a deeper meditation on what it means to become truly oneself—both as individuals and as members of a larger community—within a world marked by mystery, suffering, and the hope of transformation.