Wilderness and the Sacredby Willi Unsoeld Editor's note: Willi quickly drafted the following article in October, 1978 in response to a request to put into writing some of his spoken wisdom. When was the last time you encountered the sacred? I mean when last did your soul tremble with the indubitable awareness that it was being flooded with a numinous presence? I remember as a small Episcopalian boy being so shaken by the power and mystery of the communion. I even remember trying desperately to cling to this awareness as I entered my mid-teens. But the harder I tried to induce such feelings, the faster they slipped away. At about the same time I had my first wilderness experience, and for a period of years there was considerable competition in my life between attending church and attending to the mountains. Finally I was forced to admit that despite the tremendous sweep of Christian history, the power of its faith, the testimony of its martyrs, and the witness of its Book (as an Episcopalian, I would also add the symbolism of its architecture and its vestments, and the mystery of its rituals), for me God was no longer to be found in traditional steeple houses, but rather seemed to dwell more vividly among the bare austerities of Earth's high places. As I continued to study such matters, I became especially sensitive to the charge of "fuzzy-minded nature mysticism." So I was forced to thrash about in search of arguments in defense of my apparent fall from traditional grace. The most promising line of development I ran across was in the writings of Rudolf Otto. In his small classic, The Idea of the Holy, Otto attempts an analysis of those qualities of the sacred of which we have been traditionally aware. It is only fair to say, of course, that the tradition which gave rise to such awareness is clearly the Western, Christian tradition. This historical orientation has ultimately come to create problems for me as I have become more aware of Eastern religious traditions, but by the end of this paper I hope to have at least suggested some sort of rapprochement between the two apparently differing views of nature and the sacred. For now, however, let's just admit that we're Westerners and see what sort of light Otto's category of the numinous might throw on our experience of wilderness. The key to Otto's analysis is his Latin phrase "mysterium tremendum et fascinosans." "Tremendum" refers to the power of the sacred. The Old Testament has many examples of this dimension. For example, the ecstatic dancer who stumbles while celebrating a Hebrew victory and comes in contact with the Ark of the Covenant. The blast from Jahweh which shrivels the unfortunate dancer testifies to the overwhelming power which invests the sacred. This air of power -- of dangerous power -- of power of which a mere mortal can never be entirely certain -- is the origin of that "fear of the Lord which is the beginning of wisdom." One can simply never be completely at ease in the presence of the sacred. The potency is too great for our miniature circuits to bear with ease. And of course, such potency is inherent in the wilderness scene. In the face of the storm, the avalanche, or the power of the sea, the strongest human is keenly aware that he or she is simply no longer in charge of her destiny. When one is acted upon with such towering finality, one is literally forced to say with Job that "my mouth is stopped with dust and ashes" and "I am dust in Thy sight." For me the "mysterium" seems to flow directly from the tremendum. The power is so marked -- of such a different dimension -- that it comes across as "wholly other" from our ordinary experiences. The element of mystery is intrinsic to the sacred. It is not a matter merely of not yet knowing all the answers -- of simply waiting for the further research results to get clear about what we are dealing with. It is rather a basic principle of "hiddenness" -- of sacred realms and dimensions, which must by their very nature remain forever beyond our limited grasp. In the wilderness such mystery abounds. Starting with such elementary questions as "Will it go?" (one of the climber's favorites), one moves easily on into deeper mysteries when the puzzles of organic development are contemplated. The miracle of progression from the acorn to the oak -- the incredible puzzle of specific tissue differentiation in slow preparation for some ultimate function. I hasten to add that further researches in the subtle function of RNA and DNA molecules will in no way diminish this miracle. The proposing of increasingly complex "how" answers does nothing at all to answer prior "why" questions. And finally the ultimate puzzle of the sheer fact of brute existence itself. While contemplating the vast periodicities of nature, the question presses home with increasing insistence -- "Why anything at all? Why not just nothing?" Thus mystery lies at the very heart of nature itself and gently sucks one into the maelstrom of the search for ultimate meaning. Now in the face of a devastating power which is, in principle, unknowable -- and which might at any moment flash forth from its mysterious center with annihilating power -- which is chancy and unpredictable -- and unhealthy to humans in even slight doses -- I say, in the face of such an unstable (from my standpoint) phenomenon it would seem the better part of even minimal wisdom to shun it. Stay as far away from the sacred as possible. At the first incipient quiver which heralds its approach, to turn away with all possible speed. But Otto's last characteristic is the "fascinosans." Whatever else may be the case with the sacred, it is unquestionably the most fascinating experience of our lives. It draws us almost against our will. We continue to seek it out as the moth does the flame. In the midst of our primal fear and our agony at its alien tone, we draw near in fearful ecstasy. Which is why, I feel, that people climb mountains -- and continue to do so long after they should have "learned better." Or run rivers, or sail the seas, or simply go for a walk in the woods. The ripple of the hairs on the back of your neck or the simple eager expectation with which you approach the next wilderness corner testifies to the eagerness with which an encounter with the sacred is sought. Now what about the Eastern view of nature as a smooth and flowing extension of our everyday being. No sense of stress here. Mystery and fascination, definitely. But danger and struggle are usually ignored and the effort is made to simply merge with the natural currents. The common thread which I see in these two apparently very different approaches lies in the agreement over what constitutes the greatest obstacle to an adequate performance. If you ask a Taoist sage, a Hindu sadhhu, a Buddhist monk, or a Christian saint what constitutes the greatest obstacle to her form of enlightenment, each of them will answer, "It is ultimately my sense of self which prevents me from attaining enlightenment." So in both the Eastern and the Western belief systems, it is of paramount necessity that the fixation on one's own ego be overcome. The feeling tone towards wilderness may be completely different in the two cases, but the obstacle to be overcome remains the same. Humility might be seen as at least the first step to be taken upon this arduous path -- as a necessary preparation for subsequent more powerful adjustments like "total ego-loss" and "non- attachment." Indeed, it might be argued (as in East vs. West) that the path is not arduous at all, but merely a matter of learning to relax and stop struggling. But whatever the emotional set which accompanies the process of pursuing enlightenments, the separation from fixation on self seems to be integral to it. So once again I refer you to the wilderness experience as a natural path to self-abnegation. In the face of the power, mystery, and fascination of the natural scene, the concerns of self evaporate as the flakes of summer snow flurry before the intense rays of the summer sun. Willi Unsoeld was an educator and mountain climber. Thanks to Jolene Unsoeld for providing us with this lecture and the permission to print it.
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