Recently, my wife and I became fascinated with documentaries about mountain climbers. It started with Free Solo, which tells the story of Alex Honnold and his ascent of one of the most difficult rock faces in Yosemite National Park — without any ropes! We watched awestruck at what Honnold accomplished and, at the same time, appalled by the risks he took. What would drive a man to that?

Next, The Alpinist landed in our playlist. The film kept us on the edge of our seats as it followed Marc-André Leclerc’s obsession with solo climbing America’s most dangerous peaks. Leclerc’s longing to experience the highest heights eventually led to his tragic death.

Other tales of alpinism followed, and after watching scores of people ante up their lives to summit the loftiest peaks on the planet, my wife asked the obvious question: Where does that desire come from? Why do mountains so mesmerize us?

Curious Cravings

Now, you may not feel the allure of the alpine aesthetic as keenly as Honnold or Leclerc — or me. You may not ache to ascend the roof of the world or thirst for a glimpse of mountain majesty. But the practice of discerning desires — the ability to interrogate where your desires come from and where they lead to — sits right at the heart of wisdom (Proverbs 20:5).

As the Puritans were fond of pointing out, desires reveal the shape of the soul. Often man’s deepest longings — though they may attach to the wrong objects — unveil what God made us for. To paraphrase Chesterton, Every man who walks into a brothel is unconsciously looking for God. Can the same be said for everyone who walks up mountains? What does this desire reveal about your soul and mine?

Where Heaven Touches Earth

In the early 2000s, the United Nations declared 2009 “International Year of Mountains” and dedicated it with the slogan, “We are all mountain people.” Whatever the UN meant, that phrase summarizes well the role mountains play in Scripture. From start to finish, the story of the Bible swirls around mountaintops, and the people of God truly are mountain people. Let me explain.

In the beginning, God created everything, including mountains (Psalm 90:2; 95:4; 104:8). God made man, gave him dominion, and placed him in the garden of Eden on God’s holy mountain (Ezekiel 28:14). This Edenic peak is paradigmatic of all other noteworthy mountains in Scripture because here God dwelt with man. On the mountain, heaven touches earth. However, man’s stay on these blessed heights was short-lived. He chose death, and down he went from paradise.

Throughout the rest of God’s story, mountains grant a foretaste of when heaven and earth will be renewed — God and man together again. Noah, Abraham, Moses, and Elijah all met God on the mountain. The temple and tabernacle, both modeled after Eden, had their own mini-mountains in the form of the altar. And Zion towered over all other rival heights as “the mount that God desired for his abode” (Psalm 68:15–16).

Jesus regularly sought God on the mountain (Matthew 14:23; Mark 6:46). But more than that, Jesus was God on the mountain. He met man there in thunder and cloud (Mark 9:2–8), reuniting heaven and earth. All the alpine cords of Scripture climax in Christ. He calls his own to join him on the mountain (Mark 3:13), and from the mountaintop he commissions his new humanity to mediate his dominion to the ends of the earth (Matthew 28:16–20). And one day, those kingdom subjects will climb further up and further in to dwell with God on the Mountain forever (Revelation 21:10).

In Scripture, mountains stand as metaphors in stone. They are the place where heaven meets earth, where God descends to man. They are monolithic reminders of the enormous bliss of Eden.

Anatomy of the Ache

Given the prominence of peaks in Scripture, we should not be surprised that the human soul longs to climb. But can we say more about this desire? What is the anatomy of the alpine ache? In the allure of the mountains, we can identify at least five longings God placed in the human soul.

1. We long to exercise dominion.

In 1923, shortly after geographers identified Everest as the tallest mountain on earth, a reporter asked explorer George Mallory why he was hell-bent on summitting the peak. He famously replied, “Because it’s there.” Mallory died the following year attempting to be the first man to put Everest under his feet. Here we find the ancient drive to take dominion.

On the original mountaintop, God commanded man to subdue the earth (Genesis 1:28). The word subdue means to subjugate, to conquer, to take mastery over. I cannot help but imagine God issuing this commission with a smile. It was almost a dare. Knowing the very-goodness of the world he made, knowing the soaring heights and unsounded depths, knowing the waves and winds, knowing the wonders of water and the charms of snow, surely God delighted to invite man to explore this cosmic playground!

He sealed this desire for dominion in his image bearers, especially in the hearts of men. The urge to set foot on the highest heights in the most dangerous ways and direst conditions testifies to this hunger.

2. We long to see beauty.

Several years ago, my wife and I bought a van, converted it to a camper, and toured the South Island of New Zealand. I was a kid on a country-sized playground. I climbed every hill, cliff, crest, and mountain we could drive to. On those heights, I encountered beauty that could pierce like an arrow, seize like a vice, and brand like hot iron — majesty that kindled delight and awakened desire. I will never forget some of those moments, but not because of the marvels in front of me. Those experiences are etched in my mind because I know in my bones that I played on the border of what I was made for — to see Beauty.

“In Scripture, mountains stand as metaphors in stone. They are the place where heaven meets earth, where God descends to man.”

The psalmist knew this stab of longing well. Beauty pierced him through, and the ache would never leave. It dominated him. Like Captain Ahab, he had one all-consuming pursuit: to gaze upon the beauty of the Lord (Psalm 27:4). We were made to “behold the king in his beauty” (Isaiah 33:17). Our souls will be satisfied with nothing less than basking in “the perfection of beauty” shining in the face of Jesus Christ (Psalm 50:2).

The perilous majesty of mountains whets this appetite — by God’s design. All the wonders of lesser mountains remind us of the mountain of God. “His holy mountain, beautiful in elevation, is the joy of all the earth, Mount Zion, in the far north” (Psalm 48:1–2).

3. We long to participate in glory.

Still, don’t we want more, so much more than simply to see beauty? We want to be swallowed up in the beauty. We don’t just want to behold; we want to become. To touch is not enough; oh, we want to be transformed! We want to join the great dance. We want in.

To put it another way, we want glory; we seek it (Romans 2:7). We yearn to participate in the glory we were made for — the glory we even now restlessly reflect (Romans 8:29–30). Which of us would not trade all to hear on the lips of our Lord, “Well done! Enter into the joy of your Master”? This divine approval meets our deep desire for glory. As C.S. Lewis explains, “Glory means good report with God, acceptance by God, response, acknowledgment, and welcome into the heart of things. The door on which we have been knocking all our lives will open at last” (The Weight of Glory, 41).

That knocking reverberates from mountain walls and echoes from the highest peaks. One caption translates all the countless selfies taken on the world’s summits: “Is this not enough? Let me in!” When asked why he takes such climbing risks, Honnold replied, “If you succeed, everybody celebrates you as a big hero.” Honnold, like all made in the image of God, wants glory, but he is knocking at the wrong door.

4. We long to savor fear.

Have you ever wondered why so many people enjoy scary movies? Or why the very risk that makes extreme sports hazardous also makes them wildly attractive? Or why “danger tourism” draws so many? In part, the answer lies in our longing to savor fear.

There is something uniquely thrilling about fear. Yes, the pleasure is a sharp one. It boasts a razor edge, but it remains, nonetheless, a genuine pleasure. Thus, Nehemiah admits that the servants of God delight to fear him (Nehemiah 1:11). They worship in fear and rejoice in trembling (Psalm 2:11). They fall before God in awestruck adoration. We were made to fear.

Therefore, we seek out what Rudulf Otto calls numinous experiences. Encounters that make us feel small. Occasions that make us aware that we are mere creatures in the presence of a Creator wholly other. The alpine aesthetic preeminently grants this experience. Describing the magnetism of the mountains, Leclerc explained, “One of the coolest feelings a human can experience is to feel so small in a world that’s so big.” The wonder of mountains scratches this itch. It both feeds and fuels our desire to fear.

5. We long to dwell with God.

Here we come to the principle of our longing. The Bible shapes our imaginations to see the mountain as a place where the divine touches the dust. At the top, the physical world waxes translucent, and the presence of God peeks through. The winds that blow from the high country thrum with the hope that one day we will leave the shadowlands behind and ascend to the homeland we long for. The promise of the sunrise will burst upon us in the light of the Lamb.

Mountains awaken this sweet desire. We want to dwell with God. The booming invitation of Aslan to “Come further up! Come further in!” leaves us breathless. Shakes us to the soul. We ache to ascend to Eden — but better.

Massive granite arrows, mountains point beyond themselves to Someone far higher and more thrilling — to the One where all the beauty comes from. If we mistake them for the God they beckon us to know, they become stone idols, dragging their worshipers down. But if we heed their call to climb, we may admit with Lewis, “All my life the God of the Mountain has been wooing me” (Till We Have Faces, 87).