Written by: Dana Grakov
It was nighttime, and I was walking down my friend’s driveway. I had just spent the evening like I spend every Tuesday evening — hanging out with friends over supper and Bible study. I always enjoy these occasions; however, this time something felt distinctly different. As I reflected, it occurred to me that the entire evening I had been content and carefree to an extent I had not experienced before. I was mystified.
This Tuesday had proceeded like every other Tuesday; absolutely nothing extraordinary had happened. Why then should I feel so complete and lighthearted? As I stood in the blackness, fumbling for my keys, my eyes were attracted to the only light source nearby — a string of fairy lights illuminating the deck where some friends were still gathered. I paused to admire the scene as I continued puzzling over the evening.
Then an odd realization struck me: That moment on the driveway was the first time I had been conscious of myself all evening. Until then, I had been too busy to think about myself. I had completely forgotten to wish I was the one who had made the clever comeback during our dinner conversation. I had completely forgotten to kick myself for not offering to pick up everyone’s trash when I threw out my own. I had completely forgotten to wonder why one of my friends failed to greet me. By total accident, my existence as an ego had temporarily slipped from my mind.
Although the next few months of my life were preoccupied with the pressures of duties here on campus, I never completely forgot the strangeness of that night. What had happened? As I attempted to process that experience, the word “humility” persistently presented itself to my mind. I could not understand why.
Most of us recognize humility as a cardinal virtue and prerequisite for Christlikeness. And yet, deep in the recesses of our minds, many of us are also uncomfortable with the idea of lowering ourselves below others and considering ourselves less significant than those around us. So long as we are not conceited, humility may even seem unnecessary and perhaps illogical.
However, this cramped view of humility is incomplete and inaccurate. Humility is not the reverse of pride, nor is it self-abasement spawned by self-deprecating behavior that results in a constricted sense of self. Humility is self-forgetfulness produced by losing sight of our egos when we focus on something greater than ourselves.
Why portray humility as self-forgetfulness? Should not Merriam Webster’s definition of humility as “freedom from pride or arrogance” be adequate? The man we would all consider proud and arrogant is the sort of man who paints a picture and then looks over at his neighbor’s painting but cannot enjoy it because his mind is full of the perceived superiority of his own painting. By all standards, this man lacks humility. But what about the other sort of man, who, in looking over at his neighbor’s painting, is unable to enjoy its beauty because his mind is full of the perceived inferiority of his own work? Although he would not be called hubristic, this man, too, lacks the humility to enjoy his neighbor’s work.
Consequently, it is logical to conclude that the antithesis of humility is not merely pride but rather any manifestation of self-centeredness.
Who then can we call truly humble? It is the man who can enjoy his neighbor’s painting as thoroughly as if it were his own and in spite of his own.
In “Mere Christianity,” C.S. Lewis succinctly depicts the humble man as a person who is not “thinking about humility” and who, in fact, is not “thinking about himself at all.” This person is so completely unconcerned with his ego that he is unconscious of the need to indulge in any sort of self-referential bias.
Experiencing self-forgetfulness for an evening, as I did, may be enlightening; however, a happy accident is not a lasting virtue. So, then, the big question must be: “How does one find humility? How do we remember to forget?” The answer is to find someone bigger than ourselves and attempt to become like them by focusing on them.
If we are trying to “just be ourselves,” as popular wisdom dictates, it is irresponsible and implausible to forget ourselves. But if we are endeavoring to be like someone else, what we do is no longer of ultimate importance. What matters now is what they do. And if that person happens to be all-mighty, all-knowing and all-encompassing, He is guaranteed to be big enough and able to fill us so completely that there will not be room for our egos anymore.
Simply put, the only way to solve the paradox of humility — learning to forget — is to find someone bigger than ourselves to lose ourselves in.