Volume II, Treatise III, Chapter XIII

Of the Second Degree of Humility, and in What It Consists

Tne second degree of humility consists in our being glad that we are despised. “Love to be unknown,” says St. Bonaventure, “and to be contemned.”—(Proces. 6. Rel. c. 22.) If we were well established in the first degree of humility, we should have but a little way to get to the second. If we truly had a contempt for ourselves, we should not be concerned that others had so too; but, on the contrary, we should be glad of it. Will you have a proof thereof, says the same saint? Is it not true that we are naturally glad to have others of our opinion? If so, why are not we glad to have them slight us? Is it because we do not indeed slight ourselves, but have too good an opinion of ourselves. St. Gregory, upon these words of Job, “I have sinned and indeed done amiss, and have not yet received the punishment which I deserved,” (Job 35:27) says, that many express as much with their lips, and speak with contempt of themselves; but when others repeat the very same things which they have heard them say of themselves, or even far less, they cannot bear with it. The reason is, because ‘when they speak ill of themselves, they speak not in the spirit of truth, and according to the sentiments of their heart, as Job did, and because they have only the exterior of humility. They would fain be thought humble, but in reality they are not; for if they were really humble, they would not, when reprimanded, show so ntuch resentment as they do, nor take such great care to excuse and defend themselves, nor would they show so much trouble and uneasiness.

Cassian tells that an abbot called Serapion had one day a visit paid him by a hermit who, in his dress, his countenance, and his discourse, was very humble, and who seemed to have a great contempt of himself. He was continually saying that he was a great sinner, that he deserved not to breathe the air, and that he was unworthy the ground should bear him, nor would he sit down anywhere but upon the floor, nor let any one wash his feet. The abbot introducing, after dinner, some discourse which related to a spiritual life, and desiring to entertain his guest with some good counsel, told him, with a great deal of sweetness and charity, that as he was young and healthy, he would do better to remain in his cell, and to live there upon the work of his hands like the other hermits, than to be going here and there as he was. The hermit took this advice so very ill, that he could not help changing colour upon it; whereupon Serapion said—what! friend, just now you did nothing but speak ill and show contempt of yourself; yet you cannot take in good part a simple advice given you with all imaginable charity and sweetness. Did you not understand that what you said against yourself obliged us to apply to you that sentence of the wise man—“the just is the first accuser of himself?” (Proverbs 18:17), or did you aim at nothing but praise by your despising yourself? ‘‘ Unhappy that we are,” says St. Gregory, ‘all that we aspire to by our hypocrisy and dissimulation is ordinarily the esteem of the world; what appears humility in us, is sometimes great pride, and we often seem to stoop before men, that we may be the more extolled and praised by them.” If this were not so, why should you say that of yourself, which you would not have others believe of you. If you say it from the bottom of your heart, and in testimony of the truth, you should be glad that you are believed; but if you are angry at it, it ia a sign that, by humbling yourself, you have no other design than to gain the esteem of men, It is this the wise man teaches us when he says, “there is one who humbleth himself wickedly, and his interior is full of deceit.” (Ecclesiasticus 19:23) What greater hypocrisy and deceit can there be than to seek the esteem of men by the means of humbling and despising ourselves? And what greater pride is there than that of desiring to pass for humble? St. Bernard says, that “the desire to acquire by humility the praise of being humble, is no virtue, but it is the overthrowing of virtue; for what is more corrupt and unworthy than to desire to appear better by the very way whereby thou appearest worst of all?’’—(Ser. 16, sup. Cant.) To desire that the ill which thou sayest of thyself should only serve to make others think well of thee, St. Ambrose, speaking of such persons, says, ‘several have the image of humility, without having the real virtue—they show it without, but contradict it within.””—(Lib. 7, Ep. 44.)

In fine, our vanity is so great, and our desire of being esteemed is so violent, that we find out a thousand expedients to gratify our pride; and whether it be by direct or indirect means, we still endeavour to turn all to our own praise. The proud, says St. Gregory, when they think they have succeeded in anything, request to have their faults pointed out in order to make others say they have done well. One would think that it were humility in them to desire that: their faults should be shown them; but it is not humility, it is pride; because they have no other aim therein but to attract praise to themselves. There are others who find fault with what they have done, and express how discontented they are therewith, which is only to-extort the approbation of others, and to have the pleasure of hearing that nothing could be done better, and that they are to blame not to be satisfied therewith. A grave religious used to call this sort of humility, humility with a hook; for as we sometimes make use of a hook to pull things to us which we cannot otherwise reach, so this false humility is used to hook in, as it were, the praise which we could not otherwise attain. A preacher, for example, will come out of the pulpit fully persuaded that he has done marvellously well, and then will ask some of his friends to tell him, in charity, wherein he failed. To what end is all this dissembling? For you do not believe you have failed in anything, nor is it your intention to be found fault with, but to be praised, and to have others of the same opinion with yourself, it is that which you seek, and that which tickles your vanity. But if any one more sincere than the rest happens to hint to you some small fault, you are not pleased thereat, but warmly defend the point, and often judge that he who has told you of this same fault, has no judgment, and understands nothing at all; whereas he blames what seemed to you to be a very good thought, and extremely well expressed. Nothing, therefore, but pride and vanity move you, and the praise of men is all you seek by this affected humility. It is also with the same spirit that we sometimes confess frankly the faults which we cannot hide; yes! we wish, by acknowledging these faults, to regain what we have lost in the opinion of the world by committing them. At other times we exaggerate them beyond what they are,’that the world, seeing it impossible that they should be so great as we say, should conclude that we accuse ourselves of what we have not done, and so attribute it to an excess of humility, and thus by magnifying what is not, we endeavour dexterously to hide what is. In fine, we make use of every artifice and invention to hide our pride under the cloak of humility.

Thus you may judge, says St. Bernard, how excellent and sublime humility is, and, on the contrary, how shameful and despicable pride is. “For certainly humility must be a thing of great value, since even pride seeks to deck itself therewith, lest it should become contemptible.”——(De grad. humil.) As, onthe contrary, pride must needs be a very shameful thing in itself, since it dares not appear naked, and is forced to hide itself under the veil of humility.—For in fine, you would be ashamed to have it known, that you seek to be esteemed and commended; because you would pass for a vain and weak person, which is the meanest opinion one can have of a man; and therefore it is, that you try to disguise pride under an apparent humility. But why would you be what you are ashamed to appear to be? And why are not you ashamed to hunt after praise, since you are ashamed to be thought to hunt after it? The mischief is not that any one believes this of you, but it is really true, and since you would be ashamed that men should know it, why are not you ashamed that God should know it, ‘‘ whose eyes behold all our imperfections?”

The reason of all this, is, that we are not well established in the first degree of humility, and consequently that we are at a great distance from the second. We must undertake this business at the source; we must begin to know our misery and nothingness, that, when this knowledge shall have produced in us a contempt of ourselves, which ia the first degree of humility, we may arise ourselves afterwards to the second. It is not enough, therefore, to have a contempt of yourself, and to speak ill of yourself even from your heart, you must endeavour to attain the point of being willing that others should think and say of you, what you think and say of yourself, and be content that they effectually despise you. To contemn and speak ill of one’s self, says St. John Climachus, is not to be humble; for who is there, that suffers not every thing from himself with patience? But to receive joyfully the scoffs and ill treatment of the world, is to be truly humble. It is good to speak ill of ourselves; to say we are proud, slothful, impatient, negligent, and inconsiderate; but it would be better to reserve that acknowledgment till others reproach us with these faults. If, indeed, you sincerely desire that others should entertain this opinion of you, and that they should occasionally make known this opinion, you are truly humble.

Caen coed

About ReligiousBookshelf.com · A Supernerd Media project