From the early years since I counted myself as having been saved, I’ve always been intrigued by the concept of humility. It’s not just because I realised how proud I was and am, but that there’s this very beautiful quality to it. Even seculars oppose the proud. Yet all we can have that appears to approximate humility – and doesn’t even come close to doing so – is modesty. Thus, there is much value in taking time to think about what exactly differentiates humility from modesty. The interesting thing about humility is that it almost seems as if it’s a quality that cannot be pursued. One author described it as a butterfly that will always elude your grasping fingers; and perhaps only in sitting still may we have a chance of it landing on our shoulders. As much as I looked into humility in my younger days, I was sure that I never got closer to it. Books and descriptions of it were always only rightful and biblical definitions of humility. Even so, getting an elementary sense of what humility is has given me much reminders of what it isn’t. And for sure, it isn’t modesty.
What I have learnt from Chinese culture about humility is that it is a denial of the self. This is not necessarily too far away from humility; but it’s not humility. Mere modesty denies any external validation but claims in totality, all the prize for our pride. It says, “oh no, I was lucky,” or “oh it’s nothing,” but we try our best to keep our faces straight. Perhaps I’m too used to such a culture. One day, after hearing a story from a good brother of mine, I said, “wow, I really admire you for that!” I expected an awkward silence or a change of topic – which is perhaps, how I would typically respond. Or you know, he could do the Chinese move (even though he isn’t Chinese) and find a polite way to deny such an accolade. But he simply said, “thank you!” That took me slightly aback. He took it all in. But knowing him and his character, he didn’t seem to revel in pride. I know him fondly to be a man after God’s heart. He did something godly, and he was encouraged. To me, it was him saying: thanks for encouraging me to be more like Christ.
Maybe encouraging humility also means we should also learn to pay the right compliments. Rather than say, “thank you pastor for your brilliant sermon.” We could try, “thank God for your sobering message, pastor.” Maybe we’d be better able to escape from modesty and find our true position before God if we would praise each other’s growth in Christ-like character rather than their external qualities. This lesson I remember vividly from writing the post titled: Soul-crafts, something something I can’t remember. To appreciate the soul is to say I admire your humility in spite of your intelligence, your patience in spite of your difficult circumstance. If this makes sense, then modesty is merely an external denial of praise, but an internal delight in our magnificence. It is to dissemble our true thoughts, a mere misdirection – to make you look one way or think a certain way while we do something else. We cannot count on culture to teach us humility.
As usual, I’m not going to write some treatise on what humility means. It’s not only because I’m not qualified to do so, but also because I believe the bible has given us sufficient directions that point to a perfect portrait of humility – a familiar image of emptying, submitting, counting others more significant. Yet, it doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t think about it. And I just feel that perhaps thinking more about it, as I have, helps me to peel away the layers of falsehoods, revealing to me what humility is not. And my hope is that it may provide fresh insights that may get us closer to identifying ourselves solely in Christ.
If you agree that humility is vastly different from modesty, then we have established the part about what we are or are not. For receiving and giving praise is part of affirming our qualities and who we are. But there are so many other facets to humility. It seems that the quality of humility, or dwelling on what humility really means serves as a suitable point of reference – an archimedean point, if you will – of understanding the saving grace of God, man’s true identity, and Christian growth in general. Humility is one thing that cannot be willed. It is a quality that is most difficult to consciously cultivate. We could endure something difficult, with much patience. Yet, we could endure it with pride, or endure it with humility. In other words, one might come away from an incident with the external quality of “being patient”. Yet, for that external appearance of patience, we may have endured it with arrogance – with a view that we are kind to be condescending; or, we may really have been patient in humility – enduring because we see others as more significant than ourselves.
No matter what, it always circles back to our view of ourselves, and the belief in what we are meant to do and who we are meant to be. With that, let me make a segue into one part of a story in the Lord of the Rings, where Sam takes the ring from his master Frodo whom he thought had been killed by Shelob. This passage details his struggles with the seductive power of the ring:
“As Sam stood there, even though the Ring was not on him but hanging by its chain about his neck, he felt himself enlarged, as if he were robed in a huge distorted shadow of himself, a vast and ominous threat halted upon the walls of Mordor. He felt that he had from now on only two choices: to forbear the Ring, though it would torment him; or to claim it, and challenge the Power that sat in its dark hold beyond the valley of shadows. Already the Ring tempted him, gnawing at his will and reason. Wild fantasies arose in his mind; and he saw Samwise the Strong, Hero of the Age, striding with a flaming sword across the darkened land, and armies flocking to his call as he marched to the overthrow of Barad-dûr. And then all the clouds rolled away, and the white sun shone, and at his command the vale of Gorgoroth became a garden of flowers and trees and brought forth fruit. He had only to put on the Ring and claim it for his own, and all this could be.”
Sam had that one opportunity to see his wildest fantasies come true. And we all have fantasised a little about what a “successful” life would look like for us based on the paths we have chosen. Sometimes we dream them from the stories we hear of other people, of the pictures of glamour that we see online. And then we ask ourselves, “what would I do if I had…” because we want to imagine our own versions of that same life. On good days, however, we may try to limit these daydreams and snap out of it. Yet ever and anon even some that we consider as good Christian brothers and sisters deliver a great conditional: you know, it’s not mutually exclusive. What they mean of course is that there’s nothing wrong with pursuing these things with ambition and yet serve God all the same.
Certainly, there’s nothing wrong with giving our utmost to work and spend our time buried in books so that all the best institutions welcome us with open arms and strain their ears to hear our wisdom. Certainly there’s nothing wrong to know how invest with prudence and see our wealth and stock grow by leaps and bounds. Yet, we should always be careful with these conditionals, especially in dishing them out as advice. For they might well be mutually exclusive to some – or even most. In fact, I would venture to say that these conditionals are often rationalisations and we only stand unruffled in our strongest moments. But how often are our strongest moments? How do we glorify God with our ambitions when we are already so self-absorbed in the first place?
Perhaps C.S. Lewis’ quote here – which has got us really far – , will not help us further. Again, he says that humility is about thinking less about ourselves, but thinking of ourselves less. But this does not work if we are used to thinking of ourselves, aren’t we? If our problem is narcissism, then how would ignoring ourselves really help? The solution must surely be something else. The solution is to stare at God.
“In that hour of trial it was the love of his master the helped most to hold him firmly but also deep down in him lived still unconquered his plain hobbit-sense: he knew in the core of his heart that he was not large enough to bear such a burden, even if such visions were not a mere cheat to betray him. The one small garden of a free gardener was all his need and due, not a garden swollen to a realm; his own hands to use, not the hands of others to command.”
Sam delivers to us an important lesson of humility. He had an intimate knowledge of his own weaknesses, and sobered up after remembering what a “good life” meant to him. He reminded himself of his true identity and his lot, and what would really give him joy – even if it means just gardening a small plot of land. The Lord of the Rings is a story of humility. The ring is not destroyed by a race of deserving stature and honour. In fact, the ring is probably fashioned to prevent that – it brings out our greatest lusts and fantasies (which are not always inherently bad). And only great races have such high reveries. The small folk do not. The highest form of humility could only be found in the rejection of ring: Aragorn would refuse to take the ring knowing he would yield to it; and the hardest task of destroying it had to be done by the most unlikely person. The title almost beckons: who is the true lord of the rings? Not me, if I already know what a good life means.
If this is true, that humility is not modesty, then it should mean also that humility is also not harping on our weaknesses – to have some kind of inferiority complex. Perhaps it’s simply to remind ourselves of what we ought to be satisfied in: to have a hobbit complex. This is not to say we do not do our best and set goals. It is to say that our goals do not define us, they do not chart the trajectory of our joy, neither do they measure our success. It’s to have small thoughts – hobbit thoughts – about our own glorification. It is to know of the true and abiding possession that we already have in Christ. Perhaps it’s manifest in the willingness to take ourselves to the end of our days. Perhaps I may die a poor man, not worthy of any remembrance; perhaps I die a pauper and am mistaken to be a sluggard. Perhaps I have nothing worthy of boasting and I have no feat worth mentioning. But I think it is fine. It must all past, it must all past. Just tend my garden faithfully. This is my lot; this is my need and due; this is my wish. As the soul pants for streams of water so my soul pants for you O Lord.
Signing off,
Fatpine.
fatpine 