The Dangers of Awakening

 

The Dangers of Awakening

To awaken someone is no light matter. It is a task of profound responsibility. The parable of the sower warns us of this very danger: seeds may fall on rocky soil, spring up quickly, but wither under the scorching sun because they have no root (Mark 4:5-6). Awakening someone to joy, to truth, or to purpose risks this very outcome. If they are not prepared to endure the pain that comes with joy, they may recoil — and in some cases, become worse off than before.

Joy and pain are inseparable. To awaken someone to the beauty of life is to open them up to the fullness of suffering as well. As Hebrews 12:2 declares, Jesus endured the cross "for the joy set before him." Joy often leads directly into pain, and the two are woven together in a way that cannot be untangled.

When a person has spent their life numbing pain — whether through addiction, distraction, or sheer resignation — they are also numbing their capacity for joy. Numbness cannot be selective; it is all-encompassing. The choice to feel again is the choice to feel everything — both the sharp edges of sorrow and the soaring heights of joy. This is why awakening often drives people to relapse — not merely after moments of despair, but after moments of triumph. Great joy opens the heart, but in doing so, it makes that heart vulnerable. Joy expands the soul’s capacity to suffer, just as pain expands the soul’s capacity to experience joy.

Luke 14:28 cautions those who would follow Christ to "count the cost" before beginning. Jesus knew that to begin the journey without preparation is to risk calamity — to start building a tower and run out of stones halfway through. Those who begin the journey of awakening must be prepared for what follows: the weight of painful memories unearthed, the grief of relationships strained by their newfound awareness, and the ache of seeing the world with clearer eyes.

This was the plight of the Hebrews when they left Egypt. Though freed from Pharaoh’s tyranny, they wandered the desert still longing for "the melons of Egypt" (Numbers 11:5) — the comforts of their former slavery. Until they were willing to let go of the falsehoods and cruelty of Pharaoh entirely, they were not worthy of entering the promised land. Awakening had drawn them out of captivity, but they could not experience true freedom until they surrendered the illusions that bound them.

Joseph Campbell's "hero's journey" describes this challenge as "the call to adventure." Yet those who answer this call soon encounter what he called "the abyss" — a descent into trial and suffering that forges the hero's character. The path to enlightenment is not a pleasant stroll; it is a crucible that destroys what is weak so that what is strong can emerge.

In The Matrix, Morpheus warns that they "don't usually wake adults up" — not because adults cannot learn, but because the life they’ve built is often woven tightly with lies. Awakening risks unraveling everything they thought was secure.

This is the burden of anyone who seeks to awaken others. What good is it to draw someone into the light if you cannot teach them how to stand the pain of seeing? What good is it to unlock their longing for joy without teaching them how to endure or let go of the drudgery of work, the misery of conflict, or the weight of their past mistakes? What good is the capacity to feel if all they feel is the fear of poverty and isolation and death? To awaken someone is to ask them to carry a cross — the price of a fuller, richer life.

The practitioner of rebirth must tread carefully. Before awakening another, they must assess: Is this person willing to suffer? Are they prepared to let joy lead them into pain? Without that willingness, awakening may only leave them stranded — yearning for the joy they once glimpsed, yet too afraid to reach for it again.