It is by going down into the abyss that we recover the treasures

The words of Joseph Campbell, “It is by going down into the abyss that we recover the treasures of life. Where you stumble, there lies your treasure,” resound with the voice of myth itself. They call to us like an oracle, declaring that it is not in ease or comfort that we find the essence of life, but in descent—into shadow, into failure, into sorrow. For the abyss is the place of trial, and it is only by daring to enter it that we emerge reborn, carrying with us the gold of wisdom, the jewel of strength, the treasure of the soul.

This teaching is carved into the stories of old. Consider the hero’s journey in all its forms: Odysseus wandering the seas, Aeneas descending into the underworld, Christ fasting in the wilderness, or Buddha sitting beneath the Bodhi tree, wrestling with illusion. Each was brought low, each faced despair, each stumbled into darkness. Yet it was precisely there, in the place of trial, that they discovered the treasures that defined their destinies. Campbell, the great interpreter of myth, reminds us that where you stumble, there lies your treasure—for the very place of your weakness holds the key to your transformation.

In history we see this truth lived out. Think of Abraham Lincoln, who suffered defeat after defeat in politics, endured deep personal sorrow, and wrestled with despair. Yet out of that abyss came the strength to guide a nation through civil war, to speak words that still stir the heart: “With malice toward none, with charity for all…” Had he not walked through the valley of his own failures and griefs, he would not have carried the treasure of compassion and endurance that made him great. The abyss nearly swallowed him, yet from it he drew forth his crown.

The ancients themselves revered this descent. They spoke of katabasis, the journey into the underworld. Heroes who returned from it were forever changed, carrying secrets no mortal could learn otherwise. To go into the abyss is to shed the false self, the illusions of pride, and to wrestle with the darkness that lies within. But to emerge is to carry fire, like Prometheus who stole it from the gods, a gift to illuminate the path of humankind. Thus, the abyss is not a place of annihilation—it is a forge.

The heart of the teaching is clear: do not fear the place of stumbling. Do not despise the darkness into which life sometimes casts you. For it is there, in grief, in failure, in confusion, that you encounter the raw truth of your own soul. The treasure is hidden in the wound; the wisdom is concealed in the trial. To flee from suffering is to flee from your own destiny; to endure it, to enter it with courage, is to return with treasures no comfort could ever yield.

The lesson for us is this: when you stumble, do not curse the stone. Look down, and see that beneath it lies your treasure. When you fall, do not despair, but ask: what is life teaching me here? What gift lies hidden in this failure? What strength lies buried in this sorrow? To live well is not to avoid the abyss, but to enter it willingly, knowing that beyond the terror lies the harvest of the soul.

Practical steps follow. When hardship comes, face it fully—write down what it teaches you, do not run from it. When failure strikes, resist the temptation to call it the end; instead, see it as the turning of soil where new seeds can be sown. When grief overwhelms you, allow it to shape your heart into one that understands the grief of others. And when you stumble, rise again—but take with you the treasure you discovered at the place of falling.

Thus, Campbell’s words live as an eternal law: “It is by going down into the abyss that we recover the treasures of life. Where you stumble, there lies your treasure.” Do not fear the abyss, for it is not your grave but your womb of rebirth. The stumbling stone is not your enemy, but your hidden teacher. And the treasures of life are not found on the smooth and easy road, but in the depths where only the brave dare to go.