Into the Alone
Thoughts on looking inwards
The inner experience of recollection has been described most beautifully as a journey of the alone into the Alone. It is when all attachment to what is foreign to Self recedes, willingly or by force, that the soul no longer looks outwards, but inwards. And as we move to where we look, we proceed to journey inward. But, if undertaken, ‘how’ is this journey? That is, how does it feel? We are not yet at “journey’s end”, but on the journey. And here, all experience is marked by a modality of feeling; it is either enjoyable or not, it is either pleasant or not, euphoric or dysphoric, loved, hated, or feared. If the journey is a journey into ourselves, it will be coloured by how we relate to ourselves. Do we love ourselves, or do we hate ourselves? Do we yearn to be with ourselves, or do we fear what is hidden within ourselves? Do we trust ourselves, or do we only put our trust into what is other? As Aristotle would ask, do we relate to ourselves as to a friend?
It is according to how our dispositions lie in this regard, that the journey gains its colour. And this will determine, whether in pursuing the Good, we are flooded with a feeling of absolute connection, or with a feeling of absolute disconnection. Approaching our selves by ourselves, do we love what we are approaching? Or do we seek to flee from what we are approaching?
Let me share an experience, of many years ago.
The room was dimly lit, as I was dragged into myself at an unexpected speed. With a rapid pace, all that connected me to the World outside fell away. All false identification, with ideas, beliefs, people, body, or any material affair, became more and more distant, until eventually it was all inaccessible. I was alone in the room, eye turning inward, yet I felt fear as I sensed my attachments to all that is other from myself fall away. Other people, mere acquaintances, and deepest loved ones, all were fading from my consciousness. I identified with them, and as all identification with what is other than self was falling away, so too were my closest others. I was alone, as in a different universe, forever distanced from all I held dear in this world. Forever locked away. In a similar manner, my body was taken from me, not calmly, but accompanied by physical pain. In Plato’s Phaedo it is said that those purified will leave their body gladly and easily, while those un-pure will cling to it and be torn from it with violence. With such violence, each nerve flipped into dysphoria, as my body was being taken. I was not prepared, nor was I willing to accept what was happening. “The alone into the alone”, it is said. But how could I have known at the time, that the road is marked by such pain and fear?
The thought got hold of me, that this was Evil itself. This process of turning inward towards Self, of dissolution, that this was to be resented and resisted with all the force I had. Looking back, I see here clearly, the root of all destructive inversion of values. The inversion that lies at the root of our cultural drift, the one that feeds our dogma: that life must turn against Life. That the self must be renounced, for the sake of all that is Other. What is most high and Good, the Alone, is perceived as most Evil. And what is most to be loved, is feared with every fiber of one’s being. The flow of Life is resisted, by our imposed control. As one could say; the ego, imposing its petty tyranny on the immeasurable force of the Self.
Looking back, I see here clearly the root of all Evil, understood as life turning against Life. What Michel Henry would call barbarism; this desire, born in us when forced to undergo ourselves, to no longer want this undergoing, to be done with it. And thus, to no longer want ourselves. For we are nothing, but this self-undergoing. To no longer want to undergo ourselves, not to kill ourselves, but to flee from ourselves in the most violent manner possible. Here, the silent desire is born, to exit ourselves, to flee into what is Other, into the world, into the body, into opinion.
In these experiences, you realize that the fear of death, is the same as the fear of Life. You fear the dissolution of the body, and the loss of connection to this world, the loss of attachment to other selves roaming this earth. And as such, you fear the Alone, you fear being with Life and with nothing else. You fear being with your Self, and with nothing else. You fear having to undergo Life, all by yourself.
As it is said:
“any man whom you see resenting death was not a lover of wisdom, but a lover of the body.”
(Plato, Phaedo, 68c)
You must remember, that the Platonic conception of the body is a mature one, signifying the vehicle of attachment through which the Soul attaches itself to what is other than itself. It is this that we have come to love, it is this that we are taught to adore, and it is this, that makes us resist the journey. It is this hatred and fear of ourselves, and this love of body, “that is like the other” (Plato, Phaedo, 79e), that prevents us from reaching journey’s end. It is this resistance to what Is, that turns eternal bliss, into eternal torment.
It is claimed that the philosopher, possessing wisdom, will gladly journey inward, and be granted a smooth journey. But we must not forget, that philosophy is a love of wisdom. Know thyself, it is said. But in order to know oneself, one must be willing to love oneself. The hardest task, and the hardest journey. But the only one worth undertaking.