The term Everyman, originating from the 15th-century English morality play, has become a significant cultural symbol, embodying the universal human experience. As the Encyclopedia Britannica explains, the play allegorically addresses themes of death, judgment, and the fate of the soul. Everyman is summoned by Death to account for his life, and in his attempt to justify his existence, he is confronted by various personified virtues and vices. The simplicity and solemnity of the play give it a timeless quality, but it is the vividness of the characters that infuses the narrative with energy, making it more than just an allegorical sermon. The concept of Everyman transcends its medieval context, resonating deeply with the human condition in every era.[1]
Over time, Everyman has worked its way into the culture, evolving into a term that signifies the "common man"—someone who represents all of humanity, embodying the struggles, virtues, and failings that we all share. The term has come to symbolize the idea that everyone, no matter their status or position, must eventually confront life’s most profound realities: mortality, moral responsibility, and the search for meaning. In modern usage, Everyman no longer refers to a literal figure but to the relatable, ordinary individual who faces the challenges of existence with a blend of vulnerability and courage.
Culturally, the Everyman concept has evolved beyond its theological roots, finding a home in literature, film, and even politics. In literature, characters described as "everyman" figures are typically those with whom audiences can easily identify—people who, despite their ordinariness, reflect the deeper truths of human life. This archetype serves as a mirror to the audience, reminding us of our own humanity, flaws, and potential.
In contemporary storytelling, an Everyman figure is often portrayed as a flawed but fundamentally decent character, caught in situations that test their values and force them to grow. Think of figures like George Bailey from It’s a Wonderful Life or John Proctor from The Crucible—characters who represent the moral struggles we all face.
The term has also been used in social and political contexts, representing the "average" citizen whose experiences reflect broader societal dynamics. In this sense, Everyman has taken on new layers of meaning, becoming shorthand for the universal human experience across different strata of life. Yet, as culture has evolved, so too has the recognition that this "universal" figure needs to be more inclusive. Historically, the Everyman archetype was rooted in a male perspective, but in recent times, the concept has expanded to embrace a more nuanced understanding that includes an Everywoman figure.
The rise of the Everywoman concept reflects the growing awareness that the human experience is diverse and multifaceted. Just as Everyman embodies the universal struggles of existence, Everywomanrepresents the female experience in this broader narrative. This shift reflects cultural progress in recognizing gender diversity and the unique challenges women face. Everywoman, much like Everyman, is a symbol of the everyday person, but she carries with her the particular burdens and triumphs that women navigate, from societal expectations to personal identity and empowerment.
The cultural evolution of Everyman into Everywoman signals an important shift in how we understand universality. It acknowledges that while the human condition is shared, the ways in which individuals experience life—based on gender, culture, race, and other factors—are unique and must be honored. Characters in contemporary literature, film, and media are increasingly written to reflect this expanded understanding.
Figures like Katniss Everdeen from The Hunger Games or Offred from The Handmaid's Tale represent Everywoman in the same way traditional characters like Hamlet or Holden Caulfield might represent Everyman. They are figures whose struggles, hopes, and failures speak to a wider truth, yet they bring the female experience into focus, making room for a more comprehensive cultural narrative.
In both Everyman and Everywoman, we see the tension between the ordinary and the extraordinary—the idea that while each of us walks a common path, that journey is deeply personal. As culture continues to evolve, the term Everyman—and its counterpart Everywoman—will likely continue to adapt, representing the universal human experience in increasingly diverse and inclusive ways. Ultimately, these figures remind us that, in our shared humanity, we are called to account for the lives we live, and it is in this accounting that we find meaning.
1 Kings 19:9
"He came to the cave there and spent the night there. Suddenly the word of Yahweh came to him and asked him, 'Elijah, what are you doing here?'"
This tension between the universal and the deeply personal also echoes powerfully in Elijah's experience in the cave. Just as Everyman and Everywoman represent the ordinary person's journey through life's trials, so too does Elijah stand as a prophetic figure who is not immune to the struggles that all of us face. In interacting with verse 9 theologically, Alexander MacLaren’s insights help us frame the significance of the cave in a rich context[2]. The use of the definite article—the cave—connects Elijah’s experience at Horeb with Moses’ earlier encounter with God in that same place. For many scholars, not all, this is not merely any cave, but a very particular sacred space where a previous divine encounter occurred. Our minds would, if that is the case, want to “connect the dots” between what had happened there prior and what was taking place now, with Elijah. All of this then signals, from a canonical perspective, the continuity in God’s dealings with His prophets and His people.
Elijah, much like Moses, finds himself in a place of existential solitude and confrontation with Yahweh, and in the darkness of the night, this becomes the setting for revelation. The associations with Moses underscore that Elijah’s journey is not random but part of a larger prophetic tradition where God meets His servants at the deepest moments of vulnerability.
Just as Everyman and Everywoman reflect the shared yet unique nature of our human experience, Elijah's time in the cave reflects that we are all called into places of solitude, where we confront both ourselves and God, searching for meaning in our times of deepest need. Here, we can draw on Kierkegaard’s insight:
“The formula that describes the state of the self when despair is completely rooted out is this: in relating itself to itself and in willing to be itself, the self rests [or, has its ground] transparently in the power that established it.”[3]
In On the Edge of Hope, I open up about my own dark season from 2007 to nearly 2011, a time marked by extreme anxiety, insomnia, despair, and depression. Those years were profoundly disorienting, and one of the most painful aspects was the gradual and agonizing loss of self-perception. During that extended season, I found myself disconnected from my own identity, no longer able to see myself as I once did or as others saw me. This is why Kierkegaard’s insight into despair and the self resonates so deeply with Elijah’s experience—and with mine.
Elijah’s struggle in the cave reveals that his self-perception had been fragmented by fear and despair. He was fleeing not only from Jezebel but from his own identity as a prophet of God. In that moment, Elijah, much like I did during my season of anguish, found it impossible to rest in the power of God that had established him. The same prophet who had stood boldly on Mount Carmel, confronting the prophets of Baal, now cowered in a cave, consumed by fear and despair, cut off from the source of his identity and strength.
In my own experience, the disconnection from my sense of self was one of the most painful aspects of the journey. When anxiety and depression take hold, they distort your internal compass. The familiar landmarks of who you are—your calling, your gifts, your very identity—seem to disappear, leaving you feeling lost in a fog of afflictive thoughts and emotions. Elijah, too, was disoriented in his despair, unable to see the larger picture of God’s ongoing work or the community of believers who still remained faithful. His fear had narrowed his perspective, leading him to believe that he was utterly alone.
For me, as for Elijah, it was essential to have a close friend or mentor who could reflect back to me who I truly was, reminding me of the person they knew me to be. In my book, I talk about the significance of that kind of friendship during my protracted dark season. There were moments when I couldn’t recognize myself, when all I could see were my fears, my failures, and my inadequacies. It was during those times that trusted friends and mentors became mirrors, reflecting back the truth of my identity even when I couldn’t see it myself. They reminded me of my calling, of the gifts God had placed within me, and of the person I was becoming through the crucible of suffering.
Unlike my experience, Elijah chose to leave his servant behind at Beersheba, isolating himself further as he made the 40-day journey to Horeb. He arrived at the cave totally alone—physically cut off from human support, which magnified the depth of his despair. In the narrative, God is present to Elijah in a spiritual sense, but not physically. The absence of his servant underscores Elijah's profound sense of isolation and contributes to his belief that “I alone am left.”
This detail, that Elijah had no companion with him, highlights a key difference between his journey and my own. While I had friends to remind me of my identity, Elijah had to confront his fractured self-perception in solitude. He had no one to reflect back to him who he truly was, which further disoriented him in his despair. This makes God’s eventual instruction to seek out Elisha even more meaningful, as it will be Elisha who helps restore the relational and spiritual balance that Elijah so desperately needed. But at this moment in the cave, Elijah’s isolation only deepens his sense of loss, fear, and disconnection.
This, I believe, is one of the most profound lessons we can draw from Elijah’s time in the cave. His self-perception was so fragmented by fear that he could no longer rest in the power of God that had called him. He needed that divine voice, that question from God—“What are you doing here?”—to begin the process of reorientation. In my own dark season, I, too, needed to hear that question, not as a rebuke but as an invitation to rediscover my true self in God. The support of those who mirrored back to me who they knew me to be was crucial. Without their reflection, the journey through that dark valley would have been even more isolating and disorienting.
When you are trapped in that kind of emotional and spiritual cave, it becomes almost impossible to rest “transparently in the power that established” you, as Kierkegaard describes. The storm of afflictive emotions distorts everything, leaving you feeling disconnected from the very ground of your identity.
What are you doing here?” is not just a simple inquiry but one loaded with implications. This was not a divinely ordained journey but one driven by Elijah’s own despair and exhaustion. Yahweh’s question highlights that Elijah’s flight to Horeb was self-determined, prompted by his disillusionment and weariness. Elijah was seeking something—perhaps vindication, an end to his suffering, or simply a place to hide. Yet, in God’s condescending love, He accommodates Elijah’s human frailty, meeting him there in his brokenness.
Elijah’s despair is already evident under the broom tree, where he begs God to take his life, saying, “It is enough!” At this moment, Elijah’s perspective is so depleted that he can’t see any way forward. This aligns with the psychological concept of emotional exhaustion, which Herbert Freudenberger and Gail North describe as a critical component of burnout, leading to feelings of helplessness and entrapment[4]. Elijah’s emotional state, marked by deep exhaustion and despair, mirrors the kind of burnout that leaves one unable to make clear decisions or retain a sense of hope[5].
Under the broom tree, Elijah’s emotional collapse signals the fragmentation of his identity, which Viktor Frankl would see as more than just a pathological breakdown. Frankl, in his work on existential despair, challenges the notion that despair is always something to be treated as a mental or emotional illness. Instead, he differentiates between what is pathological and what is profoundly human. Elijah’s collapse—after his triumph at Mount Carmel—does not necessarily indicate a psychiatric condition but rather a deep, human crisis of meaning. His isolation only compounds this sense of disconnection from himself and his purpose, but this crisis, as Frankl suggests, is not pathological. It is the result of Elijah’s struggle to find meaning after what appears to be a failure in his mission.
Frankl argues that “we should stop divinizing psychiatry and start humanizing it,”[6] pointing out that the quest for meaning, or even questioning the existence of meaning, is a deeply human pursuit. Elijah, in this moment, exemplifies that very quest. Having seen the miraculous at Carmel, Elijah expected a transformation in the hearts of the people, yet here he finds himself fleeing for his life, unable to see the fruits of his labor. This creates the existential despair Frankl speaks of—a despair born not out of mental illness but from the apparent meaninglessness of his efforts. Elijah’s collapse under the broom tree is, in Frankl’s terms, a manifestation of his humanness. It is not sickness but the natural result of a man who has reached the limits of his capacity to make sense of his circumstances.
Frankl’s challenge to Sigmund Freud’s notion that “the moment one inquires about the sense or value of life, one is sick”[7] speaks directly to Elijah’s state. Elijah’s inquiry—What was the point of it all?—is not a sign of sickness, but rather a reflection of his profound humanness. Elijah is not mentally ill; he is confronting the deep existential questions that arise when life’s purpose seems to vanish. Frankl argues that such questioning is “a human achievement,” and Elijah’s despair is precisely that—a deeply human confrontation with the seeming futility of his mission.
In light of Frankl’s insights, Elijah’s experience under the broom tree becomes more than an emotional breakdown—it is an existential crisis, a necessary confrontation with the apparent meaninglessness of his situation. This is where the fragmentation of Elijah’s identity is most evident. He had expected one outcome after his bold stand at Carmel, but what he faces instead is isolation, fear, and a sense of failure. Yet, as Frankl would argue, this crisis is not a sickness to be cured but an invitation to rediscover meaning—one that Elijah is just beginning to wrestle with as he makes his way toward Horeb.
When the angel offers Elijah food baked on hot stones, this act carries deep semiotic and typological significance. The bread is a form of divine sustenance, akin to the manna provided in the wilderness for the Israelites. Typologically, this bread is meant to sustain Elijah for a journey that he has not yet fully realized he is on. Yet Elijah’s response to the angel’s provision reveals his deep exhaustion. He falls back asleep after eating only part of the meal, a sign of just how depleted he truly is. This aligns with research by psychologists such as Maslach and Leiter, who emphasize that severe exhaustion can impair even the basic ability to engage with restorative practices, such as eating and sleeping.
When the angel says, “The journey is too great for you,” it reflects Elijah’s profound disconnection from his own limitations. He is out of sync, out of strength, and unaware of how deep his despair has taken him. In Man’s Search for Meaning, Viktor Frankl explains that in moments of existential crisis, individuals often lose sight of their limitations, believing they can push through on their own strength. Elijah’s belief that he can press on by sheer willpower is undermined by his complete physical, emotional, and spiritual exhaustion.
Elijah’s retreat to the cave carries significant mythological and psychological weight, particularly when viewed through the lens of Carl Jung’s work on archetypes and the collective unconscious. Jung explores the symbolism of caves in his analysis of dreams and myths, noting that caves often represent places of transformation, where the individual undergoes a process of inner change. As Jung describes in Man and His Symbols,
“When the saint leaves the cave and walks down the road (descending from the heights toward the valley), he enters a second cave with rough-hewn benches and chairs, which reminds one of the early Christians’ places of worship and refuge from persecution. This cave seems to be a healing, holy place—a place of meditation and of the mystery of transformation from the earthly to the heavenly, from the carnal to the spiritual.”[8]
Elijah’s journey into the cave is not just a physical retreat but a psychological one, mirroring what Jung describes as the descent into the depths of the self. The cave, in Jungian terms, symbolizes a womb-like space where deep introspection occurs and where the individual confronts hidden aspects of the psyche. For Elijah, this cave represents his withdrawal from the world in the face of despair, exhaustion, and fear. Like the saint in Jung’s dream, Elijah is entering a space that holds the potential for healing and transformation. It is a place where the carnal—his human fears and frailties—can be transformed into something spiritual, where his identity can be reoriented in the light of divine encounter.
Jung’s insight that caves are places of meditation and mystery aligns with Elijah’s experience, where his physical isolation reflects a deeper need for spiritual and psychological renewal. This cave becomes a place where Elijah’s fragmented sense of self can begin the process of integration. The Jungian process of individuation involves confronting the shadow—the parts of the self that are repressed or unacknowledged—and for Elijah, this confrontation happens in the darkness of the cave, where he is forced to face the fears and doubts that have driven him into isolation.
In Jung’s framework, such retreats are not escapes from reality but necessary passages toward a more integrated self. Elijah’s retreat to the cave, I would argue is not a rejection of his prophetic identity but an unconscious movement toward healing, where he will eventually emerge with a renewed sense of purpose and calling. The cave thus serves as both a place of refuge and transformation, a liminal space where the earthly and the heavenly meet, and where Elijah’s psyche can be realigned with his divine mission.
Elijah’s retreat into the cave in 1 Kings 19 takes on profound significance when viewed through the lens of Joseph Campbell’s exploration of the cave motif in The Hero with a Thousand Faces. In one of his examples, Campbell recounts a dream of a patient he learns of in relation to their psychoanalytic experience:
“I stood before a dark cave, wanting to go in, and I shuddered at the thought that I might not be able to find my way back.”[9]
This captures the deep ambivalence we often feel when confronted with the cave as a symbol—a space of uncertainty and potential transformation but also of existential fear.
Elijah’s entry into the cave echoes this ambivalence. The cave is not simply a place of refuge; it’s a threshold, a space where Elijah must confront both his internal crisis and the divine presence that awaits him. Just as Campbell’s account of a psychoanalytic patient who wrestled with the fear of being lost in the cave, Elijah, too, faces the possibility of being consumed by his despair and disconnection. The cave represents the unknown, a place where one confronts their deepest fears, the shadow of the self, and the challenge of rediscovering meaning amidst chaos. Elijah’s journey into the cave mirrors the archetypal hero’s journey in which the cave or underworld is a place where the hero must descend to confront death—metaphorically or literally—before emerging transformed.
Campbell’s work helps us understand that caves are often associated with pivotal moments in a hero’s journey, and they are places of transition between the earthly and the spiritual. This is further illustrated in the apocryphal Abrahamic narrative that Campbell recounts, where Abraham's mother, seeking refuge from the tyranny of King Nimrod, gives birth to Abraham in a cave. The cave becomes a place of divine intervention and transformation. As Campbell recounts:
“The whole cave was filled with the light of the child’s countenance as with the splendor of the sun, and the mother rejoiced exceedingly.”[10]
This moment, where the cave is transformed into a space filled with light and hope, resonates with Elijah’s experience. Elijah’s retreat into the cave reflects not only his fear and desire to escape but also the possibility of encountering God in that very place of despair, where light can enter the darkest spaces.
Elijah’s cave experience, then, is not merely about running away from Jezebel’s threats. It is about entering a space where the deeper transformation of his prophetic identity can take place. In Campbell’s terms, the cave is where the earthly self confronts the spiritual, where the hero—or prophet, in Elijah’s case—must reckon with the existential crisis at hand.
God’s question—“What are you doing here?”—carries with it an implicit rebuke but also an invitation. Elijah is out of sync with his calling, out of step with God’s purpose, and out of strength to continue on his own terms. Yet even in this self-imposed journey, God meets him, gently probing his motives and creating space for Elijah to confront the deeper issues that have driven him into this place of isolation.
Elijah’s journey speaks to Everyman and Everywoman in those moments when we, too, feel lost in the caves of life. His struggle is a reminder that our fears and despair, while real, do not define us. And just as Elijah had to be reminded of his prophetic identity, we too must sometimes rely on the voices of others—those who can see us clearly when we cannot see ourselves—to remind us of who we truly are in God.
Kierkegaard’s words speak to the root of Elijah’s turmoil. In this moment, Elijah is not resting transparently in God’s power—he is disconnected from himself and his calling. Yet God’s question, “What are you doing here?” is an invitation for Elijah to reestablish that connection, to relate rightly to himself by returning to his grounding in the One who established him. Like Everyman and Everywoman, Elijah must come to a place where he confronts his despair and learns to rest his identity, transparently and fully, in the God who called him.
Consider the words of Alexander McLaren:
The associations of the place are marked by the use of the definite article, which is missed in the Authorized Version,—‘the cave,’ that same cleft in the rock where Moses had stood. Note, too, that the word rendered ‘lodged’ is literally ‘passed the night,’ and that therefore we may suppose that the vision came to Elijah in the darkness.[11]
MacLaren points out the significance of "the cave" by drawing attention to the use of the definite article, which ties this specific location to the sacred history of God's encounters with His prophets. Elijah is not just in any cave—according to McLaren, he is in the same cleft of the rock where Moses once stood when God passed by (Exodus 33:22). This association is significant because it connects Elijah’s despair and quest for divine assurance with Moses’ similar experience of needing reassurance. Elijah, like Moses, is encountering God in a moment of crisis. Theologically, this shows that God meets His servants in their moments of deepest need, at significant, sacred spaces—places not just of physical refuge but spiritual refuge as well.
MacLaren also brings attention to the fact that the word lodged is more accurately translated as "passed the night," which leads him to suggest that Elijah’s vision came in the darkness. This is crucial: the darkness of the cave reflects the inner darkness that Elijah is experiencing. Theologically, night and darkness often symbolize a time of trial or testing in Scripture, and Elijah’s emotional and spiritual state mirrors this metaphor. This dark night of the soul is something deeply relatable to Everyman and Everywoman. It reminds us that we, too, often experience God's voice most powerfully in our times of deepest need and darkest despair.
MacLaren astutely notes the tone of rebuke in God’s question: “What are you doing here?” Yet, as he emphasizes, this is not merely a rebuke but a compassionate invitation. The question is meant to open the floodgates of Elijah’s heart, much like Christ’s questioning of the disciples on the road to Emmaus or God’s question to Adam in the garden, “Where are you?” God’s questions, MacLaren argues, are not for His own information but to allow the suffering person to speak, to unburden their heart[12]. This is a beautiful, theological insight into the character of God: He listens, He cares, and He invites us to speak our griefs aloud, not because He doesn’t know them, but because the act of expressing them can bring healing. It’s an invitation for Elijah to confront his own emotions—a call to self-awareness.
Here, MacLaren's observation that Elijah’s answer is incomplete highlights a significant spiritual truth: Elijah does not confess his fear of Jezebel, which was the real reason for his flight. Instead, Elijah tries to justify his presence by emphasizing his zeal for God and Israel's failures, almost blaming God for the situation. He frames himself as more faithful to the cause than God has been. MacLaren insightfully points out that Elijah’s response is selective and self-centered, as he overlooks God’s victory at Mount Carmel and Obadiah’s protection of the hundred prophets.
This selective recounting of events is typical of someone experiencing deep despondency. MacLaren poignantly describes how despondency "picks its facts"—it sees only what supports its dark narrative. Elijah’s lament, "I alone am left," reflects his distorted view of reality, where his focus on personal suffering blinds him to God’s ongoing work in Israel. This mirrors the human condition, where Everyman and Everywoman, in moments of despair, often focus on their pain and overlook the broader movements of grace at work around them. MacLaren’s insight into Elijah’s distorted perception becomes a mirror for us, revealing how afflictive emotions like fear, despair, and exhaustion can warp our perspective.
Finally, MacLaren's assessment that Elijah's solitude during the forty days of travel has done little to shift his perspective is a key theological point. It shows that mere isolation, even in a place as sacred as Horeb, cannot heal without an encounter with the divine. God’s questioning is thus a necessary step in Elijah’s emotional and spiritual healing, moving him beyond self-pity and selective memory into a deeper understanding of God’s presence and purpose.
To be continued...
[1] https://www.britannica.com/topic/Everyman-English-morality-play
[2] Alexander MacLaren, Expositions of Holy Scripture: 2 Samuel–2 Kings 7 (Bellingham, WA: Logos Bible Software, 2009), 264–265.
[3] Søren Kierkegaard, The Concept of Anxiety: A Simple Psychologically Orienting Deliberation on the Dogmatic Issue of Hereditary Sin, ed. Reidar Thomte and Albert B. Anderson, trans. Reidar Thomte and Albert B. Anderson, vol. VIII, Kierkegaard’s Writings (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1980), xvii–17.
[4] https://www.gabekwakyi.com/the-musing-mind-infographics/stages-of-burnout-at-work
[5] https://www.gabekwakyi.com/the-musing-mind-infographics/stages-of-burnout-at-work
[6] Viktor E. Frankl, The Unheard Cry for Meaning (New York, NY: Touchstone, 2024), 86–87.
[7] Viktor E. Frankl, The Unheard Cry for Meaning (New York, NY: Touchstone, 2024), 86–87.
[8] Jung, Carl Gustav. Man and His Symbols (p. 347). Random House Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.
[9] Campbell, Joseph. The Hero with a Thousand Faces (The Collected Works of Joseph Campbell) (pp. 443-444). Joseph Campbell Foundation. Kindle Edition.
[10] Campbell, Joseph. The Hero with a Thousand Faces (The Collected Works of Joseph Campbell) (pp. 443-444). Joseph Campbell Foundation. Kindle Edition.
[11] Alexander MacLaren, Expositions of Holy Scripture: 2 Samuel–2 Kings 7 (Bellingham, WA: Logos Bible Software, 2009), 264–265.
[12]Alexander MacLaren, Expositions of Holy Scripture: 2 Samuel–2 Kings 7 (Bellingham, WA: Logos Bible Software, 2009), 264–265.