Humbles

Humility is a virtue that deeply fascinates me. The part of it that I have understood the longest is also the part with which I struggle most – the part that C. S. Lewis describes as ‘not thinking less of oneself, but thinking of oneself less.’ I understand it; it makes so much sense to me because I do not always think well of myself, but I am so blasted self-conscious that my attitude might as well be pride as embarrassment – the same result is produced. By which I mean to say that I cannot love others so well or do my duty so well or love my God so well because my mind and heart are all taken up with thoughts of myself and my own feelings. A heart that is taken up with prideful self-satisfaction and a greed for glory will not have room for empathy or love – but neither will a heart taken up with bashful self-hatred and fear of others’ judgement. The fear of negative judgement is as much of a barrier to love as the craven lust for positive judgement. Both translate as pride – both bar the way to true communion with God and true fellowship with others. But how much happier you would be if you only knew that these people cared nothing about you! How much larger your life would be if your self could become smaller in it; if you could really look at other men with common curiosity and pleasure; if you could see them walking as they are in their sunny selfishness and their virile indifference! You would begin to be interested in them, because they were not interested in you. You would break out of this tiny and tawdry theatre in which your own plot is always being played, and you would find yourself under a freer sky, in a street full of splendid strangers. - G. K. Chesterton

Lately I have come across a practice of the virtue of humility that is easier for a sinful beginner – not so pleasant as humility-that-is-self-forgetfulness, but easier. The first kind of humility is a thing one must reconstruct slowly into oneself, by a painful and gradual letting-go – you cannot practice it all at once unless you are very, very young and not yet damaged into self-consciousness – or you are mature and wise and healed enough to gracefully let go of yourself. This different humility is a kind I thought couldn’t be – it was both too close to and too far from the doctrine of self-love that our culture preaches with endearing desperation. This new practice of humility comes when I have done something wrong – something shameful or embarrassing or I have neglected to do a right thing. My heart, my wild, foolish heart, wants to forget about my shame – or to wallow in it luxuriantly. Humility is learning to see the bad thing – the foolish irksome part of myself – and to acknowledge it calmly and quietly and then turn it over to God immediately, recognising and owning my wrong and then letting time and the forgiving love of God wash the wound that it has made in my soul. It is difficult, but it is easier than the first (and more important) kind because it involves a once-off action and choice for each wrong-doing, rather than a perpetual struggle of being.