Emerging from the Cave – Encounter, Transformation, and the Path Forward

Part II

1 Kings 19:9 Then he came there to a cave and lodged there; and behold, the word of Yahweh came to him, and He said to him, “What are you doing here, Elijah?” 10 And he said, “I have been very zealous for Yahweh, the God of hosts; for the sons of Israel have forsaken Your covenant, pulled down Your altars and killed Your prophets with the sword. And I alone am left; and they seek my life, to take it away.”

In Part 1, we began to explore the depths of God’s question, 'What are you doing here, Elijah?' and its resonance with Everyman and Everywoman. This question, far from being a mere point of curiosity, acts as a mirror for all who find themselves at a crossroads in life, fleeing from something deeper within. While Elijah’s journey to Horeb may seem like a response to Jezebel’s threats, it is in fact a much more existential flight—away from his own shadow, his own fears, and his unresolved inner turmoil.

For Everyman and Everywoman, this question serves as a pivotal point of reckoning. What are we running from? What unfinished business lies beneath the surface of our external struggles? The cave at Horeb is where these deeper layers begin to be uncovered, and God’s question is the first step toward healing, inviting us to confront the very things we seek to avoid. Before we move forward to Elijah’s response, it’s crucial to see this moment as an archetypal encounter that echoes through the lives of all who find themselves in moments of crisis.

When  I speak if an archetypal encounter I am referring to an experience that taps into universal patterns deeply embedded in our human psyche, something we see across myth, religion, and history. These moments aren’t just personal—they are part of our shared human journey, where we face existential challenges, often finding ourselves on the threshold between despair and transformation.

Elijah’s experience in the cave—isolated, exhausted, and overwhelmed—reflects the common human confrontation with the darker aspects of life and the self. This kind of encounter calls us to face not only external pressures but our own internal fears, failures, and unresolved struggles.

Whether it’s a personal crisis of identity, a loss of direction, or an overwhelming sense of isolation, we all, at times, find ourselves in our own version of the cave. This encounter is archetypal because it represents a moment of reckoning, where the self is forced to pause, reflect, and confront our shadows within. It is a liminal space—a crossing point between what was and what could be. Just as Elijah must reckon with his fear and his sense of failure, we, too, in our darkest moments, are confronted with the parts of ourselves we often try to avoid. In these moments, the ancient patterns of crisis and rebirth—found in myths, religious stories, and the lives of countless figures throughout history—begin to play out, shaping us in ways we may not immediately recognize. Archetypal encounters, like Elijah’s, are transformative because they invite us to move through crisis, not just as isolated individuals, but as participants in a greater, timeless journey of becoming.

While the specifics of Elijah’s crisis may not mirror our own, the lived experience of exhaustion, fear, and disillusionment is deeply relatable. We, too, may find ourselves in moments where external pressures—whether relational conflicts, career failures, or personal disappointments—drive us into a metaphorical cave.

These crises are often layered, not just about the surface-level challenges but revealing deeper struggles within us. We may flee from the expectations of others, from feelings of inadequacy, or from the weight of unprocessed grief or trauma. In these moments, much like Elijah, we wrestle with the sense of isolation, questioning our purpose and place in the larger story. The cave becomes a space where we confront not only the external events that have brought us to this point but the unresolved inner conflicts that have long been simmering beneath the surface. God’s question—'What are you doing here?'—pierces through the fog of these crises, inviting us to reflect on what is truly happening within us as we seek meaning and resolution.

We can draw a hidden connection between the cave as both tomb and womb in Elijah’s experience, and the life of Christ. The symbolism of the cave in Christ’s birth and death mirrors this archetypal pattern of endings and beginnings, of descent into darkness and emergence into new life.

Jesus: Born and Laid to Rest in a Cave

The symbolism of the cave as both tomb and womb is further deepened in the life of Christ, particularly in His birth and burial. According to ancient tradition, Jesus was born in a cave in Bethlehem, wrapped in swaddling clothes, a humble beginning that signifies the womb—the place where new life is formed and enters the world. Later, after His crucifixion, He was placed in a tomb, again wrapped, this time in linen burial cloths. The cave here serves as a tomb, a place of death, but also a womb of resurrection, where new life emerges.

The connection between Christ’s birth and burial is made explicit in the writings of St. Ephrem the Syrian, who reflects on this profound symbolism:

"He was wrapped meanly in swaddling clothes, and offerings were offered Him.—He put on garments in youth, and from them there came forth helps: He put on the waters of baptism, and from them there shone forth beams:—He put on linen cloths in death, and in them were shown forth triumphs; with His humiliations." (Nineteen Hymns on the Nativity of Christ in the Flesh)^[1]

Here, Ephrem draws a powerful parallel between Christ’s wrapping in swaddling clothes at His birth and His burial in linen cloths, emphasizing that both moments—birth and death—are marked by humility and triumph. The cave, in both instances, becomes a place where radical transitions occur. Just as the tomb becomes the womb of resurrection, so too does Elijah’s cave represent a space of transformation, where death to the old self gives way to a new calling.

This symbolic resonance ties Elijah’s experience to the universal Christian narrative of death and rebirth, underscoring the archetypal nature of these encounters. In both cases, the cave represents a liminal space where endings and beginnings converge, reflecting the deeper truths of our shared human and spiritual journey.

To further develop the idea of the cave and Elijah’s misplaced expectations of what might occur there, Ephrem the Syrian’s reflection offers us a rich theological perspective that can shed light on this theme. Ephrem describes the cave on Horeb as a place where God stoops down to impart His majesty to mortals, a space where the divine glory is tempered to dwell within the humble and the feeble.

He writes:

"To the cave in Horeb He stooped and came down,—and on Moses He caused His majesty to dwell;—He imparted His glorious splendor to mortals.—There was therein a figure of Baptism:—He Who came down and dwelt in it,—tempers within the water—the might of His majesty,—that He may dwell in the feeble.—On Moses dwelt the Breath,—and on you the Perfecting of Christ."^[2]

Ephrem draws a parallel between this divine condescension in the cave and Baptism, where God's overwhelming power is moderated within the waters, allowing His presence to enter human frailty.

Elijah’s Misplaced Expectations

Elijah, I would argue, more than likely approached the cave with expectations rooted in his prior experiences of God's power—dramatic displays like those on Mount Carmel, where fire from heaven visibly demonstrated God’s presence. In seeking refuge in the cave, Elijah may have anticipated another grand, external manifestation of God’s might to validate his mission and bring resolution to his crisis. However, what he encountered was something altogether different: God’s still small voice, a quiet and gentle presence that did not conform to his prior expectations.

Ephrem’s Insight: The Cave as Baptismal Figure

Ephrem’s insight offers a key to understanding the paradox of the cave. He suggests that God tempers His majesty in the cave, just as He tempers it in the waters of Baptism. This idea—that the divine condescends to dwell within human frailty—reframes the cave as a place not of outward displays of power but of inward transformation. Elijah’s expectation of an external solution—perhaps a display of divine wrath or intervention—was met instead with a gentle, intimate encounter where God’s presence was quiet, yet transformative.

Theologically, Ephrem’s comparison of the cave to Baptism suggests that the cave is a space of purification and renewal, where God’s majesty enters into the weakness of human experience, bringing life and transformation. Elijah, in his despair and sense of isolation, was not in need of a dramatic external sign, but rather of God’s quiet indwelling presence, which met him in his frailty and restored him from within.

A New Framework for Elijah's Experience

Ephrem’s reflection helps us see that Elijah’s experience in the cave was not about God affirming his expectations of grandeur, but about God descending to Elijah’s weakness and imparting His presence in a way that Elijah might not have anticipated. The misplaced expectation was in thinking that God would act as He had before, in dramatic fashion. But, as Ephrem points out, the cave is a place where God tempers His power, allowing His divine majesty to dwell in fragile humanity, much like how Baptism tempers the overwhelming presence of God within water so it may dwell in the baptized.

For Elijah, the cave experience became one of interior renewal rather than external validation. His misplaced expectations were transformed by the reality that God’s presence was more profound in the stillness and quiet than in the outward displays of power he had previously witnessed.

Ephrem’s reflections offer a theological framework for understanding Elijah’s encounter in the cave as a moment of divine condescension and inner transformation. However, from an existential perspective, Elijah’s expectations of a dramatic divine encounter, and the reality of what he experienced instead, invite us to reflect on the nature of faith in times of crisis. As Kierkegaard powerfully explores in Fear and Trembling, faith often requires moving beyond our familiar expectations into the realm of the unknown...we can turn to Kierkegaard’s reflections in Fear and Trembling, where he grapples with the story of Abraham and Isaac. In particular, Kierkegaard highlights the tension between expectationand faith, and how true faith often calls individuals to move beyond their familiar expectations, stepping into the unknown and confronting the "shudder of the idea" that God may act in ways that are utterly confounding.

In Elijah’s case, he more than likely approached the cave with expectations rooted in his prior encounters with God—dramatic and unmistakable displays of divine power, like the fire from heaven at Mount Carmel. These manifestations of God’s presence visibly validated Elijah’s mission. But when Elijah sought refuge in the cave, hoping for another such demonstration of God’s might to resolve his crisis, what he encountered was something entirely different: God’s still small voice, quiet and gentle, not conforming to the fiery interventions Elijah had witnessed before.

In Fear and Trembling, Kierkegaard reflects on the journey of Abraham as he faced the unimaginable task of sacrificing Isaac, noting how Abraham’s faith defied expectation:

"His craving was to go along on the three-day journey when Abraham rode with sorrow before him and Isaac beside him...for what occupied him was not the beautiful tapestry of imagination but the shudder of the idea." ^[3]

Kierkegaard’s insight into Abraham’s journey speaks directly to Elijah’s experience. Just as Abraham faced the shudder of the idea—the deep existential uncertainty and tension that comes with trusting in God’s inscrutable will—Elijah, too, was called to confront the unexpected in the cave. Both men approached their encounters with God carrying prior expectations, but their faith was not about the confirmation of those expectations; it was about a willingness to embrace the unfathomable.

Kierkegaard emphasizes that faith requires stepping beyond the "tapestry of imagination"—the ideas and constructs we form about how God should act—and instead, trusting in God’s purposes even when they diverge from what we expect. Elijah’s anticipation of dramatic intervention reflects this tapestry of imagination, but his true encounter with God—the quiet, still small voice—demands a deeper faith, one that lets go of certainty and embraces the paradox of divine silence.

In this way, Kierkegaard’s reflection on Abraham’s journey offers a profound parallel to Elijah’s time in the cave. Both figures are asked to abandon their expectations of how God might reveal Himself and instead lean into the unknown, where God’s presence, though perhaps less dramatic, is no less transformative. For Elijah, as for Abraham, the path of faith is not in receiving what was anticipated, but in trusting the God who surprises, even in the stillness.

In Staring at the Sun, Irvin Yalom speaks directly to the existential fear of death, which he describes as the “mother of all religions.” He writes:

"It's not easy to live every moment wholly aware of death. It's like trying to stare the sun in the face: you can stand only so much of it. Because we cannot live frozen in fear, we generate methods to soften death's terror. We project ourselves into the future through our children; we grow rich, famous, ever larger; we develop compulsive protective rituals; or we embrace an impregnable belief in an ultimate rescuer."^[4]

Yalom’s reflection on death anxiety resonates with the deeper, unspoken fears that lie beneath Elijah’s retreat to the cave. While Elijah’s immediate crisis stems from Jezebel’s threats on his life, the true crisis he faces is not external but internal. Like all of us, Elijah is confronting the painful separateness of death—the existential isolation that comes from realizing the limits of his own power, influence, and survival. Elijah, having witnessed the dramatic displays of God’s power in the past, may have unconsciously hoped for a similar external resolution to his internal crisis.

In his response to God’s question, Elijah’s speech is full of cognitive distortions and selective memory. When Elijah says, “I alone am left; and they seek my life, to take it away,” he is expressing a profound distortion of reality. This kind of thinking falls into what psychologists often call catastrophizing^[5]—the tendency to believe that one’s situation is far worse than it actually is. Elijah, in his despair, perceives himself as the last faithful prophet, when in reality, God later reveals that 7,000 others in Israel have not bowed to Baal (1 Kings 19:18).

This cognitive distortion also reflects all-or-nothing thinking^[6], where Elijah reduces the situation to extremes: he sees himself as utterly abandoned, and Israel as completely forsaken. Moreover, his selective memory^[7] becomes apparent as he focuses only on the negative aspects of his journey, conveniently forgetting the great victory on Mount Carmel where God displayed His power so unmistakably. Rather than acknowledging the people’s positive response to that moment, Elijah fixates on the immediate threat to his life.

These distortions serve to amplify his isolation, fueling a narrative in which he is not only physically alone but also spiritually abandoned. In doing so, Elijah is unconsciously avoiding the deeper truths about his own despair. His distorted view of reality becomes a defense mechanism, shielding him from confronting the more profound question: 

What does it mean to be abandoned by everything, and what remains of my identity when all external affirmations crumble?

Yalom points out that we often avoid this confrontation with mortality by projecting ourselves into the future or by embracing rituals and beliefs that temper the terror of death. Elijah, having served as God’s prophet, carried within him a deep sense of purpose and mission—one that now seemed to be crumbling. His expectation of divine intervention reflects a projection of his need for reassurance, for a blueprint that could help him avoid confronting his own limitations. Yet, as Yalom suggests, it is precisely in these moments that we are invited to confront reality with radical self-awareness, something Elijah has been evading until this very moment in the cave.

In this way, Elijah’s existential experience is one of deep angst, not merely about his mission or the threat of death but about his own identity and sense of meaning in a world where the external sources of validation have failed him. Yalom’s insight into death anxiety points to the fact that Elijah’s crisis is not just about survival but about the loss of self. Something has to die in Elijah—the false self, the reliance on outward displays of power, the cognitive distortions that tell him he is alone. Only through this death can something new rise from the ashes, allowing Elijah to experience transformation in the quiet presence of God’s still small voice.

Yalom further notes:

"Death anxiety is the mother of all religions, which, in one way or another, attempt to temper the anguish of our finitude. God, as formulated trans-culturally, not only softens the pain of mortality through some vision of everlasting life but also palliates fearful isolation by offering an eternal presence and provides a clear blueprint for living a meaningful life."^[8]

Elijah’s encounter with God in the cave serves as a pivotal moment where he is forced to confront his isolation, his fear, and the limits of his own existence. The still small voice is not a grand resolution but an invitation to accept the limits of human power and lean into the eternal presence of God. In this way, Yalom’s insight into death anxiety and the human need for connection with the Divine reveals the profound existential dimension of Elijah’s cave experience: it is not just about survival, but about the transformation that occurs when one faces the fear of finitude and emerges renewed.

Elijah’s dilatory will—his delayed obedience in responding to God’s summons to stand at the entrance of the cave—reflects a deeper psychological and theological struggle. God explicitly commands him to “go forth and stand on the mountain before Yahweh” (1 Kings 19:11), but Elijah remains inside the cave. His hesitation is more than a simple delay; it reveals a profound internal conflict. Theologically, Elijah is caught between the call of God and his own sense of despair. He has just encountered God, not in the powerful wind, earthquake, or fire that he might have expected, but in the gentle whisper that speaks to him in his vulnerability. Even with this divine encounter, Elijah’s response is delayed—his will, once so aligned with God’s purposes, now falters. Only after the dramatic external manifestations have passed does Elijah wrap his face in his mantle and step to the entrance of the cave, drawn not by the signs of power he might have anticipated, but by the quiet voice of God.

Elijah’s failure to immediately step forward when God calls is more than an act of hesitation—it can be understood as a form of spiritual resistance, revealing his internal conflict and dilatory will. Psychologically, it speaks to his exhaustion and despair, while theologically, it reflects a deeper crisis of faith. Elijah had become accustomed to witnessing grand displays of God’s power, such as the fire from heaven on Mount Carmel, but now he struggles to reconcile this new, quieter manifestation of God’s presence. The wind, earthquake, and fire reflect the kinds of dramatic external demonstrations that Elijah might have expected, yet God was not in these events. His delay in stepping out suggests that Elijah was still holding on to the hope for a powerful, outward sign of divine intervention. However, it is in the gentle whisper that God finally speaks, inviting Elijah to a deeper engagement that requires internal transformation, not just external validation.

This delay is significant because it indicates that Elijah was still processing his disappointment, fear, and sense of failure. Theologically, it reveals his hesitancy to fully trust the new way in which God is revealing Himself—a way that is less about dramatic interventions and more about quiet transformation. Elijah, who once relied on powerful acts of God, is now faced with the reality that God’s voice can come in the stillness, calling him not only to listen but to step into a renewed faith. This renewed faith requires a deeper trust in God's purposes, beyond the external signs and powerful displays of the past. Elijah’s delay, therefore, is not merely a failure of obedience but a moment of reckoning, a pause where his inner turmoil and external reality meet. He is forced to confront both the limits of his own power and the fragility of his prophetic mission.

As Rosscup observes, God’s question—“Why are you here, Elijah?”—is more than a challenge to Elijah’s physical location; it is a challenge to his state of mind and heart. God is calling Elijah back to ministry, back to engagement with the people of Israel, but Elijah’s focus remains on what he perceives as his past accomplishments and present failures. This backward focus blinds him to the future purposes that God still has in store. His hesitation at the cave’s entrance is not simply a reluctance to step outside; it reveals his inner ambivalence about reengaging with life, mission, and ministry after the crushing weight of his perceived failure.

Rosscup insightfully points out that Elijah’s prayer reflects a negative, untrusting spirit. His prayer emphasizes his own past efforts rather than focusing on God’s power to work through him in the future. Elijah’s perspective is clouded by cognitive distortions: the belief that he is utterly alone, his selective focus on Israel’s rejection, and his failure to acknowledge God’s ongoing faithfulness. The zeal that once fueled Elijah’s prophetic mission has now become inward-focused, an assertion of his own efforts instead of an openness to God’s work. Elijah’s gloom overshadows the possibilities of renewal—for both him and for the people of Israel.

Theological Dimension

Theologically, Elijah’s delay is an expression of his crisis of faith. He is reluctant to stand before Yahweh because standing there represents obedience and submission to a divine plan that now seems uncertain to him. Elijah’s earlier trust in God’s power has eroded under the weight of his despondency. The still small voice represents God’s invitation to step into a deeper, quieter faith—one that doesn’t rely on external validation but on the intimate presence of God. Yet Elijah hesitates, his spirit weighed down by what Rosscup calls self-pampering and short-sightedness. He is trapped in a pessimism that prevents him from fully trusting in God’s future action.

This contrast between Elijah’s earlier boldness on Mount Carmel and his current hesitation at Horeb speaks powerfully to the nature of faith during times of spiritual desolation. The same God who answered with fire on Carmel is now calling Elijah through a gentle whisper, but Elijah’s heart has become clouded by his despair. His delay signals a lack of readiness to embrace the new way in which God is working.

Psychological and Existential Dimension

From a psychological perspective, Elijah’s delayed response can be seen as a reflection of his existential crisis. Having faced significant threats to his life, witnessed rejection, and endured isolation, Elijah is at a point of exhaustion and disillusionment. His dilatory will suggests a psychological reluctance to reengage with the world. This is the classic existential dilemma of one who, having faced the stark realities of life’s fragility and the limits of human effort, hesitates to move forward. Elijah is paralyzed by angst, the deep sense of fear and uncertainty about what awaits him if he steps out of the cave.

As Yalom insightfully points out, death anxiety and the awareness of human limitation can paralyze us, leading to a desire to retreat rather than engage. Elijah’s delay can be seen as a reflection of this paralysis. He has encountered God, but the encounter doesn’t immediately resolve his inner turmoil. Instead, he is forced to confront the limits of his own power, and the realization that his prior expectations of God’s intervention no longer hold.

Elijah’s will falters because he has not yet integrated the new reality that God’s work is continuing, even when it doesn’t align with his expectations. Psychologically, this represents a crisis of identity: Elijah’s sense of self has been deeply tied to his prophetic success and his ability to stand against Israel’s idolatry. Now, facing what he sees as failure, he struggles to find a reason to move forward. His delay reflects the psychological process of letting go—something “has to die” in Elijah before he can fully embrace his next mission.

The Invitation to Renewal

Yet, even in this hesitation, God’s invitation remains. The delayed response does not negate the fact that God is calling Elijah forward. His dilatory will, while reflective of his inner conflict, is not the final word. The summons to stand before Yahweh remains a pivotal moment for Elijah: it is an invitation to step into a renewed mission, to trust not in what has been, but in what God is yet to do. As Rosscup points out, God is not done with Elijah, and neither is Elijah’s story finished. There are still 7,000 in Israel who have not bowed to Baal, and God still has work for Elijah to do. The question is whether Elijah can release his focus on his past accomplishments and disappointments and embrace the new work God is calling him to.

Daniel Berrigan’s Reflection on Elijah’s Vocation

As Berrigan puts it,

“The wicked queen of the north has precipitated the flight. But no evil, only good, has come of her designs. To the prophet the truth of his vocation, access to the wellsprings of prophecy, the work ahead—all these are revealed. But not in Jerusalem... Elsewhere, afar: in a harsh desert sojourn, in reliance on providence.”^[9]

This statement resonates with the counterintuitive nature of God’s work in the lives of His servants. Elijah’s retreat into the wilderness—his flight away from what he perceives as the center of activity and power—becomes the very place where his soul is stretched to the uttermost. This resonates with my own theological reflections on the nature of vocational crises. Often, the moments we experience as defeat or escape are the very places where God strips us of external attachments, forcing us into a deeper reliance on His providence. Elijah’s journey to Horeb is not one of defeat, but of refinement. It is a return to the sources—to the “well” from which his prophetic power originally sprang.

“Then another Herculean labor,” Berrigan writes, “He must ascend the mountain of Moses. Resolve and act!”^[10] This harsh uphill pilgrimage mirrors our own spiritual struggles—the moments where the meaning and direction of our calling are revealed not through triumph but through the strenuous path of wrestling with God in the wilderness of our souls. In Elijah, we see the profound paradox of the prophetic vocation: it requires both radical action and a radical submission to God’s quiet voice, even when all external markers of success seem to disappear.

Maggie Ross and Ephrem’s Apophatic Imagery

Berrigan's reflections lead us naturally into the consideration of how Elijah encounters God in silence. This silence, as Maggie Ross often explores, is not simply an absence of sound, but a deeper apophatic space where one moves beyond language and into beholding. Ross, in her work on silence, invites us to consider the encounter with the Divine Presence as an experience that goes beyond discursive thought. In her interaction with Ephrem the Syrian’s hymn on the pearl, she highlights how the apophatic images of light and purity move us into the liminal space of contemplation.

Ephrem writes:

"I beheld within it hidden chambers that had no shadows, for it is the daughter of the luminary. In it types are eloquent, though they have no tongue; symbols are uttered without the help of lips."

This verse illustrates how, in beholding the pearl, the mind moves beyond enquiry, beyond verbalized prayer, into a space where types and symbols speak without words. In this way, Elijah’s encounter with the still small voice is not only a moment of revelation but an invitation to enter a space of silence where words, symbols, and prayers merge into one continuous stream of divine communion.

As Ross notes, silence “moves the mind from the discursive into the liminal and so into beholding.”^[11]This is precisely what happens to Elijah: the great wind, earthquake, and fire—all dramatic events—give way to the quiet whisper. This silence does not offer a straightforward answer to Elijah’s despair but invites him to behold God’s presence in a way that surpasses language, offering no assurances of ease, only the promise of God’s quiet yet persistent call.

Elijah’s journey to the cave, as Berrigan and Ross suggest, is one of revelation through struggle. The crisis brought on by Jezebel’s threat becomes the occasion for Elijah’s deeper initiation into his prophetic role. His dilatory will—his hesitation to step into God’s quiet calling—reflects the profound challenge of accepting the harsh burdens of life, not with the expectation of external resolution, but with the knowledge that God’s presence, even when only faintly heard, is enough.

In Part 3, we will explore Elijah’s recommissioning by God, as he moves from the silence of the cave to the next phase of his mission. We will examine how this renewed sense of purpose ties back to the theological themes we’ve explored and look ahead to the spiritual and psychological implications for the everyman and everywoman who, like Elijah, must confront their crises in the silence and emerge with a new calling.

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^[1] Ephrem the Syrian, “Nineteen Hymns on the Nativity of Christ in the Flesh,” in Gregory the Great (Part II), Ephraim Syrus, Aphrahat, ed. Philip Schaff and Henry Wace, trans. J. B. Morris and A. Edward Johnston, vol. 13, A Select Library of the Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers of the Christian Church, Second Series (New York: Christian Literature Company, 1898), 256.

^[2] Ephrem the Syrian, “Fifteen Hymns for the Feast of the Epiphany,” in A Select Library of the Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, Second Series, Vol. 13, 276.

^[3] Søren Kierkegaard, Fear and Trembling; Repetition, ed. Howard V. Hong and Edna H. Hong, trans. Howard V. Hong and Edna H. Hong, vol. VI, Kierkegaard’s Writings (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1983), 9.

^[4] Yalom, Irvin D.. Staring at the Sun: Overcoming the Terror of Death, chapter 1. Kindle Edition.

^[5] https://www.medicalnewstoday.com/articles/cognitive-distortions#types

^[6] https://www.medicalnewstoday.com/articles/cognitive-distortions#types

^[7] https://www.betterhelp.com/advice/memory/an-overview-of-selective-memory/

^[8] Yalom, Irvin D.. Staring at the Sun: Overcoming the Terror of Death, chapter 1. Kindle Edition.

^[9] Daniel Berrigan, The Kings and Their Gods: The Pathology of Power (Grand Rapids, MI; Cambridge: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 2008), 101–102.

^[10] Daniel Berrigan, The Kings and Their Gods: The Pathology of Power (Grand Rapids, MI; Cambridge: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 2008), 101–102.

^[11]  Maggie Ross, Silence: A User’s Guide, Volume Two (Eugene, Oregon: Cascade Books, 2017).