The only possibility to have a knowledge of both the Earth's

Reinhold Messner, the great mountaineer, speaks as one who has stood on the edge of the abyss and returned with wisdom carved into his very soul: “The only possibility to have a knowledge of both the Earth’s nature and our own internal nature is through traditional climbing when you go on your own, far from safety, and encounter the unknown.” In this declaration lies a truth that reaches beyond the mountains. For he teaches us that to understand both the world and ourselves, we must step into the wilderness of uncertainty, where no rope of comfort binds us, and face the mystery that waits in silence.

The ancients would have called this the trial of the hero. To remain in safety is to live in shadows, never truly knowing the measure of one’s spirit. But to venture into the unknown—into the storm, the wilderness, the high peaks—this is to meet both the Earth as it truly is, and oneself as one truly is. Messner did not climb with armies of porters or with the security of technology; he chose the path of traditional climbing, stripped bare of guarantees, where the mountain either accepts you or rejects you. This is not recklessness but reverence, for only in vulnerability do we encounter reality as it is, unsoftened, unmediated, and unyielding.

History itself offers us examples of such truth. Recall Odysseus, who longed for home yet was hurled into uncharted seas. Far from safety, he encountered monsters, gods, and his own weaknesses. Each trial revealed not only the nature of the world—its cruelty, its beauty, its strangeness—but also the nature of his own heart: his cunning, his pride, his endurance. So too with Messner and the climber’s path: to ascend the mountain is not merely to learn of stone and ice, but to strip the soul bare and test what lies within.

Messner himself proved this when he became the first to climb Everest without supplemental oxygen. Alone with the mountain and his breath, he faced the brink of human possibility. The air was thin, the body screamed for relief, yet he pressed on. In that crucible, he met both the nature of the Earth—its fierce indifference, its raw majesty—and the depths of his own internal nature, his endurance, his will, his humility before forces far greater than himself. This is the union of outer discovery and inner revelation that his words proclaim.

For us, though we may not climb Everest, the lesson is the same. Comfort lulls us into forgetfulness, but the unknown awakens us. Each time we step beyond safety—into new challenges, into struggles that strip us of certainty—we come face to face with truths about the world and about ourselves that no book can teach. The mountain is not only of rock and snow; it may be a new path in life, a risk in love, a test of faith, a calling to serve. In all these, when we go “far from safety,” we find knowledge of both Earth and soul.

Thus, the practical actions are clear. Do not hide forever in comfort. Seek the places that challenge you, the endeavors that strip away illusion. Walk into the wilderness of the unfamiliar, whether in nature, in learning, or in the trials of life. When fear whispers, listen but do not yield, for fear is the sign that you are standing on the threshold of discovery. Like Messner, choose sometimes to climb without the extra rope of security, so that you may truly know who you are.

Children of the future, remember this teaching: to know the Earth, you must walk upon it in its rawness; to know yourself, you must meet yourself in the silence of trial. Do not fear the unknown, for it is the teacher of all wisdom. Climb your mountains, whatever they may be, not for conquest, but for understanding. And when you return, you will carry in your heart the secret Messner shared—that the outer journey into the Earth is also the inner journey into the soul.