This morning [Actually, this morning was a month ago], while I was standing at reception, my manager approached me with sudden urgency. He came from my left side and told me something, or ordered something. Up until now, my conscience-spot was unnecessarily void. My tongue was silent and depraved of pure-see. When he approached me with that sudden urgency — for example, we can compare this with the everyday world — I experienced what I can only describe as a God-pull: my pre-cognitive extraction of latent intentionality that bypassed my conscious apparatus entirely. I became aware of everything. I felt like my every sense was the glass-ring, producing glare within my conscience. My eyes got wider first, then their pupils shrank into the unknown, flatly. My tongue was ready to spit an irrevocable-exit inside my own lung. It happens when one sees with his ears and listens with his eyes. For a fraction of seconds I got blinded — blindness not shrieked through ears and depths of perfect will. I became too aware, even I couldn’t be aware of my left side. I have never been aware of any side per se, but in that moment (such thousands of moments before or after this) something within me responded before I responded, revealing a stratification of selfhood that challenges the entire existentialist edifice built upon the primacy of conscious projection and radical freedom. I didn’t shout upon his urgency. I never did with anyone, any creature. My in-depth-projection got terrified seeing my own lost freedom. I have been aware of my own fingers tapping over my perspiring temple, continuously. This kind of self-inflection I had imagined, or more precisely felt, deep in my every resolution since my early years — ‘away from any existence.’

I was at once lost and at another moment hyper aware of unknown existence at the same time, like Sartre’s rock or Saliva-act. While I was reading Sartre in my grey bastion time, I was fascinated and at the same moment horrified by the concept of slime. He went on and on about slime-disgust-existence for pages and pages, and that reminded me of one more thing. One of our relatives used to call us Juka — the leech, the same existant as Sartrean Salive. Yes, we can somehow compare this god-pull to leech-stick-existence, but the god-pull is not always good gravity. When one is pulled without consent into another’s territory, that is simply what I call the god-pull. This inert existence of things — Sartre called it rock. I had been Rock all my existence: no projection and no ultimate possibility of freedom. When he came (this Other), my existence (thing-in-self) became suddenly aware but of no reaction, as if I was not participating in the world, and I become a leech to my own consciousness. I try to shake this leech off from my flesh but the so-called harmony of humans defends my act of acting prudently, and I push myself toward such a hideous god-pull.

What Sartre fundamentally misunderstood — and here I must be uncompromising — is that consciousness is not the sovereign legislator of its own possibilities. His famous dictum that “existence precedes essence” presupposes a subject already constituted enough to choose its essence, already present-to-itself in a mode of deliberative freedom. Have you not seen? Haven’t I tried enough to shake off this God-pull (Juka) from my Doubled-realm? But the God-pull reveals a more primordial structure: we contain pre-essential capacities that exist in a state of ontological latency, awaiting the world’s urgent summons to actualize themselves through us, often against our conscious willing. From my first book I am trying to write about this latent conception of human consciousness, and the cure from this disease provoking Abykta.

When my manager pulled this response from me — this comprehension I didn’t consciously possess — what occurred was not a Sartrean projet but something closer to what I’ll term extra-volitional emergence. This act of extra-volitional emergence is a terror. It is the same as latent urgency, but you would be afraid to see it first. You can even compare this to Camus’s Absurd transcendence. This act of god-pull, which you don’t even realize at first, is an illness sprouting from outside. Yes, like Sartre said, “Nausea is outside.” The Other’s urgency functioned as an ontological catalyst, precipitating into manifestation something that existed neither as pure potentiality (in the Aristotelian sense) nor as repressed actuality (in the Freudian sense), but rather in a third modality I’m theorizing as withdrawn presence — that which is fully real yet phenomenologically absent until interpersonal urgency enacts a kind of forced disclosure. In this state of terror even my slime gets dry and I can’t force-spit unto predators. A kind of pull I can’t resist, but I will instead stick with their assumption. A kind of attraction where you know that attraction would put you on the edge of uncertainty, the edge of the latent-less form. This attraction is not holy and not free from my Double. This kind of push/pull event — afraid to say, but — would be seen in the early stages of affection, whether it is pure love or platonic desire. That pull of courage/fear or will/domination/war between the other and I are forerunner proofs of the god-pull.

This fundamentally challenges Merleau-Ponty’s notion of the “body-subject” as well, though he comes closer to my insight than Sartre. I am not saying every attraction is negative, but some attractions are more negative. Merleau-Ponty recognized that our bodily intentionality often knows before conscious thought knows — the hand reaches for the falling glass before deliberation occurs. When I first saw Archie (Grace) come to sit beside me, it was that kind of reachness — ‘the hand reaches for the falling glass before deliberation occurs’ — I gazed at her without consequence, and some God-pulls smile better than others. But even this presupposes a unified intentional arc flowing from a centered subject. The God-pull, however, reveals something more radical: we are repositories of intentionalities that are not ours. It falls directly between ‘flowing from centered subjects’ and ‘might be,’ and these capacities belong to us ontologically but not phenomenologically until the Other’s demand extracts them into the clearing of mutual disclosure. I am not writing of my illness here, but of infection. Here the god-pull comes: that attraction pulls you toward total freedom and pushes you towards a circle from which you cannot even get out. In such a way I will suffer the venomous reality of this outside gaze.

For better understanding: Levinas approached this territory with his notion of the Other’s face making an ethical demand that precedes ontology, but he remained trapped in the language of obligation and response. When I saw my manager in such urgency, or Archie in the definite act of sitting beside me, there is no structural difference — some gazes I feel better than others — of God-pull, but it later gives me a kind of unknown relaxation to my nerve. Levinas never theorized the ‘possibility structure’ — this is only my suspicion — that makes response possible: namely, that we contain these withdrawn presences, these God-pulls waiting to be activated. He tells us we are hostage to the Other’s demand, but he doesn’t explain the metaphysical architecture that allows the Other to extract from us what we ourselves cannot access volitionally. He can’t explain Archie’s gaze and demands, and how her gaze provides me such relaxation.

Here is where my concept becomes most philosophically dangerous: if we contain capacities that only the world’s urgency can actualize, then subjectivity itself is fundamentally incomplete. Not incomplete in the sense that we’re “becoming” (Nietzsche) or that we’re “not-yet” (Bloch), but incomplete in the sense that we are ontologically perforated — riddled with zones of withdrawn presence that require external activation. Archie’s gaze puts me in perfect ‘activation’ but my manager’s gaze pulls me into his urgent validation. But why? I am still trying to solve this riddle. Even Dostoevsky couldn’t theorize it perfectly in his literature. The self is not a monad projecting itself into the world, but rather a responsive substrate that achieves provisional completion only through urgent encounter. When I go to a cafe and ask for a cup of coffee, or demand of the world ‘where did my gaze go wrong,’ my self bursts into millions of fractured monads and crumples back into my body, and it aches like thousands of spears crushing into my bones. This creates what I call the ethics of perceptual incompleteness. I try to become whole, but if I perceive you based solely on your manifest behaviors, your consciously projected choices, your Sartrean “existence,” I commit a fundamental category error. I fail to perceive the God-pulls latent within you — those capacities that the right urgency might extract. I even believe of myself that ‘I am a total disaster’ in another’s projection. To perceive someone “entirely corrected” (and I mean ‘corrected’ in the sense of made complete, not merely accurate) requires holding in tension both what they currently manifest and the withdrawn presences they harbor. Here Archie (literature, arts, or philosophy) can merely anchor my consciousness at its best, but my manager (the Other, the outside world) pushes me towards this ill-gotten God-pull.

But this, I am afraid, raises a devastating problem for phenomenology as such. Phenomenology claims to describe every experience as it appears to consciousness. Yet the God-pull, by definition, does not appear until it is pulled. I mostly cry at this step. It exists in a mode of being that phenomenology cannot access because it hasn’t yet entered the phenomenal field. I can sense the demarcation between ‘seen’ and ‘will-to-see.’ I am therefore proposing what might be called crypto-phenomenology — a phenomenology of the not-yet-phenomenal, a methodology for theorizing structures of experience that remain encrypted until the right urgency decrypts them. I am waiting for the right moment and always wait for this moment, which alone could help me rid myself of this not-yet-phenomenal. The God-pull enters right here into its play and acts as a fuel, or Agni, into my eyes.

Heidegger’s Zuhandenheit — readiness-to-hand — captures something of this, but only for tools and equipment. I’m extending this structure to the self itself: we are ready-to-hand for ourselves, containing operational capacities that we deploy without conscious access. But unlike Heidegger’s hammer, which simply awaits use, the God-pull suggests that we don’t know what tools we contain until circumstances demand them. The self is a workshop we’ve never fully inventoried.

This destroys the phenomenological commitment to first-person authority. If my manager pulled something from me that I didn’t consciously possess, then I am not the final authority on my own capacities. If Archie pulls something from me with her total innocence, which I don’t consciously compromise, then I will be in total submission to this process. But Others know me — or can know me — in ways I cannot know myself, not through superior observation but through superior urgency, and that makes a difference. The Other’s need can extract from me what my introspection never could.

When I read Sartre and saw that he would recoil at this — seeing it as bad faith, as denying responsibility by positing a hidden self that escapes conscious sovereignty — I couldn’t agree more with his concern. But I’m arguing the opposite: recognizing our God-pulls creates a higher responsibility — the responsibility to remain permeable to urgent encounter, to not fortify ourselves against being pulled, to maintain what I’ll call ontological porosity. The person who walls themselves off, who refuses to be reached with urgency, commits an ethical violation not just against others but against their own latent actualization.

This suggests that authentic existence — if we can still use that contaminated term — consists not in choosing oneself (Sartre) or in resolute Being-toward-death (Heidegger), but in maintaining responsive availability to the world’s extractive demands. We are most ourselves not when we autonomously project our possibilities, but when we allow the Other’s urgency to pull from us what we didn’t know we contained. The God-pull thus reveals a structure of selfhood that is neither substantial (a fixed essence) nor purely existential (radical freedom), but extractive — awaiting the world’s urgency to draw it forth into manifestation, creating an ethics premised not on choice but on receptivity, not on projection but on allowing ourselves to be pulled into completeness by the Other’s need.