Darkness of Subjectivity

Recently one early morning, I experienced a hypnopompic dream.  While in that state of consciousness between sleep and wakefulness, I experienced what could best be described as absolute aloneness. Like Abram’s experience described in the Torah, “...a deep and terrifying darkness descended upon me.”  I existed in a vast primordial desert of darkness: no moonlight, no stars, enveloped in complete blackness, alone.  Sensory stimuli were absent: no light, no sound, no odor, nothing to touch, absolutely alone with my thoughts.  A sense of foreboding arose that my state was not provisional but eternal.  I would never hear, see, smell, nor touch anything or anyone again–total deprivation.  I could not move.  I could not escape.  All my thoughts and memories proffered no hope or consolation. 

The palpable sense of aloneness haunts me.  I am frightened by the seemingly eternal state which ensues, wondering whether the dream is a premonition or, as with Ebenezer Scrooge’s encounter with the ghosts of Christmas, a matter of my reclamation.  Immediately upon reflection, I am struck by the universal inevitability of life: it is transitory.  Whether temporal life be cyclical or linear, everyone dies.  Yet, what comes next?  Having prioritized myself, my needs, my wants, and my comforts to the neglect of concern for others, I am left alone with that in which I had invested: myself.  In A Christmas Carol, Dickens aptly captures my state when describing the misery of lost souls who, upon death, realized their selfishness and retroactively “...sought to interfere, for good, in human matters, and had lost the power forever.”  

Regardless of how much attention and intention I place upon myself, satisfaction with life will never ensue from hyper-subjectivity.  In fact, as a mental health counselor, I observe the negative correlation between chronic focus upon self and satisfaction with life.  In Man’s Search for Ultimate Meaning, Viktor Frankl observes, “Human existence—at least as long as it has not been neurotically distorted—is always directed to something, or someone, other than itself, be it a meaning to fulfill or another human being to encounter lovingly.”  Frankl’s convictions reflect two inviolable and abiding needs in human nature: not to be alone and to live purposefully.  Hence, my disposition that life revolves around me, and bears no responsibility to anything or anyone beyond myself, is delusional and, as I experience in my dream, hellish. 

The horrific experience of absolute aloneness confronts my inordinately subjective approach to life.  Even more, I experience a sense of urgency to alter my attitude and behavior; to focus not upon what I want but, rather, upon what I should do.  I realize now, as Frankl observes, that “The only thing which is subjective [in life] is the perspective through which we approach reality, and this subjectiveness does not in the least detract from the objectiveness of reality itself.”   By objective reality I mean existence and dynamics beyond my purview which cannot be ignored or reduced.  Serving as the soil from which the seeds of subjective life develop, a clear perception of reality and my role in it remain an essential prerequisite to a healthy quality of life.  As Viktor Frankl discovered in his concentration camp experience, “It [does] not really matter what we expected from life, but rather what life expected from us…and instead to think of ourselves as those who were being questioned by life—daily and hourly.”  

The moment I accept that objective meaning and purpose exist for me, and that I have unique tasks to fulfill, I no longer live in a subjective void.  I no longer wander aimlessly; rather, my life becomes an odyssey with unique and exciting challenges.  This responsible engagement with life forever remains juxtaposed against cowering in the face of life‘s tasks and challenges.   As Jesus teaches, the ultimate measure of my life lies in the impact, both good and bad, I make in my life.  For those who endeavor to fulfill their responsibility, much joy and fulfillment ensues.  For those who knowingly shirk their responsibility to life, as my dream discloses, darkness, loneliness, and despair await.

My dream vivifies the truth of core, objective precepts in the Torah: It is not good for people to be alone; each individual is intended to love and to flourish in relationship with God and others; prescriptive moral principles exist, to know and to follow, so that life may go well. If I choose not to embrace this attitude toward life, mine becomes relegated to a self-induced, synthetic existence; a subjective void; my dark desert of absolute subjectivity.   The psalmist magnifies this condition as the “valley of the shadow of death,” which equates with God's absence if traversed alone.  In the same breath, however, the psalmist testifies to a deeper meaning: when I walk through the valley of shadows with the God of creation and meaning, I need never be afraid.