Yūgen and the Art of Suffering
When my brother told me we were hiking Mt. Bierstadt, I didn’t think twice about tagging along. Although the thought of climbing 14,000 foot mountains was never a huge appeal to me, I’m not one to turn down an adventure.
We had an alpine start, awake at 1:30 a.m. and on the trail before 4. It was a relatively clear night, and the sliver of a crescent moon smiled down on us from above the shadowy silhouette of the mountain. Our packs full of water and snacks moved quietly against our backs as we led ourselves by the light of our headlamps along the trail. The air was cool but the trek made us sweat, and if we stopped too long for a water break we would freeze.
As we got closer to the top, the trail got harder. Every thought became only about the next step; the lack of oxygen made it hard to think about much else. By the time the summit was within eyesight, the sun was rising and we were scrambling over boulders, holding our heads high to suck in what air we could.
And then, after hours of going up and telling ourselves there was no other option but to get there, suddenly we were. Every step we took in the last couple hours brought us to a place above everything else around it, and we could see the impossible expanse of the landscape toward every surrounding horizon. The air was cold and our bodies were exhausted, but the views were too great to dismiss. The plains in the east stretched far beyond what the eye could see, and the mountains to the west rose mightily above them.
After suffering through the ascent and willing every step forward, absorbing the world in such a view makes one feel incredibly tiny. The massiveness of the surrounding terrain is almost terrifying to take in; how insignificant it feels to be human.
And yet, such experiences call into being some of the most significant and profound emotions that a person can feel in this life.
There is a concept in Japanese aesthetic philosophy known as yūgen. Its exact translation depends on the context, but it generally means feeling a profound and mysterious sense of beauty for the universe. A beauty so deep, a wonder so powerful, an awe so big that it goes beyond the description of words.
While descending Bierstadt after having summited its peak, I felt this sense of yūgen. Because most of the ascent was done in the dark, I could finally see what we had spent all morning climbing through. The cliffs on either side of the valley, the various wildflowers that dotted the green hillside, the grandness of the surrounding mountains. I felt a most powerful sense of awe at the pure massiveness of the world that surrounded me, and the only feeling I can compare it to is falling in love.
Japanese aesthetic ideals heavily derive from Buddhist philosophy. In the Buddhist tradition, there is only the present moment. Because of the suffering involved with climbing a 14er, one is forced to exist in the now. The challenge of a 14er is not so much a physical one as it is a mental one: if you focus on getting to the summit, you’ll never reach it. You have to bring your mind to exactly where you are in the present, because it is only this step that will get you to the next one. Bearing the misery of anything requires one to be mindful, and holdfast to the present with the knowledge that every step forward is a step toward the future. It is a true exercise in mindfulness, and a humbling but confidence-inspiring reminder that you are in control of your now.
Since hiking Mt. Bierstadt almost two weeks ago, I’ve climbed three more 14ers. I attempted Mt. Evans earlier this week, but was forced to sacrifice the summit in order to protect me and my mom’s dog Dozer’s life. Dozer walked ahead of me, maybe 25 feet, with less than a quarter mile left to the summit. Our trek had been quiet and undisturbed, and we were the only ones on the mountain that morning so far. Although I didn’t see anything along our path at first, Dozer was suddenly barking with a frightening fury that sent chills down my spine. Seven adult mountain goats emerged from behind the rocks, and I quickly saw the three babies behind them.
I moved toward Dozer and he moved toward me at the same time the goats moved toward us. I reached for the leash dangling from the strap of my pack, and tried for several seconds to get it on Dozer while keeping my eye on the goats. I took too long, however, and with every second that I didn’t move away, papa goat inched closer. He got on a tall rock less than three meters from me, and bucked his head up and down to show me his horns. My seconds to make a decision were dwindling, and I could feel my heart in my throat. I ditched the leash, and told Dozer to run.
He listened, and when it was safe enough to do so I stopped and looked at the herd. They kept their eyes on me the entire time, and it wasn’t until I moved up the ridge line hundreds of meters away that they finally turned to their own business. Unfortunately, they were located so perfectly and inconveniently on the path that there was no good way around them. I waited for a while to see if they would move, but they didn’t. Eventually I couldn’t take the wind and cold anymore, and decided the summit would be there another day.
Although I was really bummed, I was also secure in my decision to forgo it that day. I really didn’t want to get bucked off the side of a mountain by a protective mountain goat, mostly because that’s kind of an embarrassing way to go, but also because I have more 14ers to climb. It’s never a good feeling to leave something behind after you set out to accomplish it, but sometimes the right decision is one that doesn’t involve injury or death.
As I descended the mountain, staving off the disappointment that would come in fuller force later, I realized that not every summit is going to be successful. In climbing mountains just as in life, sometimes our efforts don’t get us all the way to the end. Sometimes that’s within our control, and sometimes it isn’t. The only thing we can ever do is our best, and even if we don’t reach the peak we were aiming for, setting out on the journey at all makes us stronger and better than we were before. It is the the accompanying suffering of a challenge that builds us and grows us. Whether or not we succeed is relatively unimportant to the more valuable pursuit of being challenged at all.
It is this sense of yūgen that will keep me chasing after sunrises and summiting the peaks of impossibly grand mountains. The sense of beauty so profound that it tingles the soul is exactly the mystery of existence that makes existence worth experiencing. And even though I will not be successful every time, failure itself does not detract from the pursuit of wonder and awe. In fact, failure often enhances it, because it shows us how immensely powerful this world can be.
And when we do reach the summit, when we do descend the mountain with the sense of accomplishment after having set out to conquer it, when we do succeed…
It shows us how immensely powerful we can be.
