The View from the Summit

I was scrolling through Twitter recently when I came across a thought that stopped me in my tracks. It was a passage by René Daumal:

“You cannot stay on the summit forever; you have to come down again. So why bother in the first place? Just this: What is above knows what is below, but what is below does not know what is above. One climbs, one sees. One descends, one sees no longer, but one has seen. There is an art of conducting oneself in the lower regions by the memory of what one saw higher up. When one can no longer see, one can at least still know.”
— René Daumal

There is something deeply thought-provoking about this.

We spend much of our lives trying to climb—to move higher in our careers, earn more, gain influence, acquire status, or simply become better than who we were yesterday. We often imagine that reaching the “summit” is the ultimate objective.

But Daumal offers a different way of looking at it.

Perhaps the real value of reaching the summit is not that we remain there forever. It is that we get to see something from up there that cannot be seen from below.

Once we have seen it, we carry that knowledge with us—even after we descend.

And perhaps that is what makes the climb worthwhile.

There is another layer to this thought that I find equally interesting. Positions of power and status are temporary. The boss eventually retires. The professor eventually leaves the classroom. The senior executive eventually leaves the organisation. The person who once gave instructions may one day find himself in a position where nobody is obliged to listen.

What then remains?

Imagine a boss who has retired or moved to another organisation returning to his former workplace. Should he expect the same obedience from the employees that he once received? Perhaps some of his old colleagues or juniors may still indulge him out of affection or respect. But the newer employees have no such history with him.

How should he conduct himself?

Should he expect to be treated differently because of the position he once occupied?

I think not.

There is something dignified about being able to return to the lower ground without demanding that everyone remember the height from which you once looked down.

My own experience has given me a small glimpse of this.

For a few years, I worked as an Assistant Professor in an engineering college in Guwahati. During those years, I taught, mentored and guided many undergraduate students. There was a certain social position attached to being a teacher. Students looked up to you. They listened when you spoke. You could give instructions and, for the most part, expect them to be followed.

There was, inevitably, a certain kind of authority that came with the role.

When I eventually left teaching and moved into a more technical and corporate-oriented career, I experienced a noticeable change.

Suddenly, telling people what to do was no longer enough.

I had to coordinate with different stakeholders, understand competing perspectives, negotiate, persuade and build consensus. People were not students, and I was not their teacher. They had their own expertise, responsibilities and priorities.

The nature of influence had changed.

Looking back, I think that transition taught me something that perhaps I could not have understood while I was still standing on that particular “summit.”

Authority and influence are not the same thing.

One can have authority because of a position. But influence has to be earned.

And perhaps this is what Daumal means by “the art of conducting oneself in the lower regions by the memory of what one saw higher up.”

The experience of being “above” can change the way we conduct ourselves when we are no longer there.

Throughout history, human endeavour has perhaps always involved an aspiration to rise higher. We want to climb—to achieve greater status, wealth, knowledge, recognition, power or career progression. There is nothing inherently wrong with this aspiration. In fact, much of human progress has probably been driven by it.

We climb because we want to see what lies beyond our present horizon.

But the danger lies in confusing the summit with the destination.

A position is temporary. A designation is temporary. Authority is temporary. Even the admiration and attention that accompany success are temporary.

What is not necessarily temporary is what the climb does to us.

What did we learn when we were up there?

Did we gain perspective?

Did we become more empathetic towards those below?

Did we understand how the system actually works, how difficult the climb can be, or how dependent our own success was on people who stood at different levels?

And most importantly, when we eventually come down, what do we do with what we have seen?

Perhaps that is the real test of having reached the summit.

Because anyone can behave with confidence when everyone around them is expected to listen.

The harder thing is to retain that confidence without arrogance when nobody is obliged to listen anymore.

Anyone can be gracious when they are being respected.

The greater test is whether we can remain gracious when the privileges attached to our position disappear.

Maybe the purpose of climbing higher is not to stay there.

Maybe it is to see more clearly.

And once we have seen more clearly, to return to wherever life takes us—and live differently because of it.

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