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

THE second degree of humility, says St. Bonaventure, is a desire to be held cheap by others—“love to be unknown and counted for nothing’”—ama nesciri et pro nihilo reputari—a desire that others shall neither know you nor esteem you, nor make any account of you. If we were well grounded in the first degree of humility, we should have gone a long way towards gaining the second. If we really held ourselves cheap, we should make no great dificulty about others’ likewise holding us cheap, rather we should be glad of it. Would you see that? says St. Bonaventure. We are all naturally glad when the rest of the world falls in with our opinion and feels as we do. Now if that is so, why are we not glad that others should hold us cheap? Do you know why? It is because we do not hold ourselves so; we are not of that way of thinking. On those words of Job: J have sinned, and really offended, and have not received the punishment that I deserved (Job xxxiii. 27), St. Gregory says: “Many they are that speak ill of themselves with their lips, saying that they are some thus, and some that, but they do not believe it, for if anyone tells them the same things, or even less, they cannot bear it.” These people, when they speak ill of themselves, do not speak with sincerity. They do not think so in their heart, as Job thought when he spoke as above in the text. Job said this in all sincerity from his heart; but these people, says St. Gregory, only humble themselves with their lips exteriorly, but in their heart they have no humility. They wish to appear humble, but have no mind to be so; for if they desired it in sincerity, they would not feel it so much when another rebuked them and admonished them of some fault; they would not excuse themselves, nor stand on their defense as they do, nor be troubled as they are troubled.

Cassian relates how there came a monk to the Abbot Serapion, who in his habit, demeanor, and words made great show of humility and self-contempt, and never came to an end of speaking ill of himself, how he was such a great sinner and so wicked as not to deserve this common air or the earth on which he trod. He would not sit down except on the ground, much less would he consent to their washing his feet. The Abbot Serapion after dinner began to speak of spiritual things, according to his custom, and the guest came in for his share. He gave him some good advice with great love and tenderness, telling him that ‘since he was young and strong, he should contrive to live in his cell and work with his hands to gain his bread according to the rule of monks, and not go wandering idle round the cells of others. So much did that monk resent this admonition and advice that he could not dissemble his feelings, but showed them externally by the look he put on. Then the Abbot Serapion said to him: “How now, sonny, to this moment you have been telling us so many serious evil things of yourself, matter of much discredit and ignominy, and now on one gentle plain piece of advice like this, which contains in it nothing insulting, or any affront, but much love and charity, you have got indignant and changed countenance so that there is no mistaking your feelings. Were you waiting, perchance, upon these evil things that you said of yourself, to hear from our mouth: The just is the first accuser of himself (Prov. xviii. 17) ; that is why he speaks ill of himself? Did you want us to praise you, and take you for a just and good man?”

Ah, says St. Gregory, how often it is this that we are aiming at with our pieces of hypocrisy and pretended humility; we want to appear humble, which really is great pride. We humble ourselves to get praise. Otherwise, pray, why do you say of yourself what you do not want others to believe? If you say it from your heart and are acting honestly, you must want others to believe you and take you for what you say you are; if you do not want that, you show clearly that you have no mind for humiliations. The Wise Man says: There are some who humble themselves in pretense, and there in the depths of their heart they are full of pride and deceit (Ecclus. xix. 23). For what greater deceit can there be than to seek after the honor and esteem of men by means of humility? And what greater pride can there be than to aim at being made much of as a humble man? To seek praises for humility, says St. Bernard, is not the virtue of humility, but a perversion and undoing of the same. What greater perversion could there be than that! What could be more unreasonable than to wish to be thought better for putting on a worse appearance? From the evil that you say of yourself you wish to appear good and be regarded accordingly. What course could be more unworthy and more irrational! St. Ambrose in reprehension of this says: “Many have the appearance of humility, but have not the virtue of humility; many seek it in external appearance, but inwardly contradictit.”

So great is our pride, and the inclination we have to be regarded and esteemed, that we seek out a thousand means and invent a thousand contrivances to this end. Directly sometimes, at other times indirectly, we are always trying to draw the water to our mill. St. Gregory says that it is the way of the proud, when they think that they have said or done anything well, to ask others who saw or heard them to tell them of their faults, that they may speak well of them. This asking to be told these faults has the look of humility, but it is no humility at all; it is pride, because their only aim therein is to attract praise to themselves. At other times a man starts finding fault with what he has done, declaring himself much dissatisfied with it, hoping to draw his hearer thereby, and get him to excuse the performance, and say: “Really it was very well done, and you have no reason for dissatisfaction.” A very grave and spiritual religious man used to call this sort of humility, “humility with a hook,” for with this hook you are seeking to extract praise from your companion. A preacher has just come down from the pulpit, very well satisfied and pleased with his sermon; and asks a friend to tell him his faults. All this is a piece of pretense and hypocrisy. You do not think that there were any faults; your object is that they may speak well of the sermon and fall in with your idea of it; and that you listen to right willingly. But if it happens that your friend tells you plainly of some fault, you have no stomach for that; on the contrary you defend yourself; and sometimes it goes so far that you judge your candid friend to be wanting in understanding, and not to be one who should have any say in the matter—because he quarrels with what you take to be a foregone conclusion. All this is pride and love of reputation; that is what you want to extract from these pretended acts of humility. At other times, when we cannot cover up our fault, we acknowledge it plainly, that the honor which we lose by the fault, we may recover by this humble confession. At other times, says St. Bernard, we exaggerate our faults, and say even more than is true, that others seeing that it is neither possible nor credible that the thing should be so bad as that, may think that there cannot have been any fault in the matter at all, and may put it all down to our humility; thus by exaggerating and saying more than is true we think to cover up what is true. With a thousand artifices and intricacies we contrive to disguise and cover up our pride under the cloak of humility.

Herein by the way you will see, says St. Bernard, what an excellent and precious thing humility is, and how base and hideous is pride. See what a lofty and glorious thing humility is, since pride itself seeks to avail itself of it and cover itself therewith. And see what a base and shameful thing is pride, since it dares not walk abroad with face uncovered, but must go disguised and covered up under the cloak of humility. How angry and hurt you would be, if your neighbors understood that you were aiming and desiring to be esteemed and praised! They would take you for a proud man, which is the worst light in which you could be placed, and therefore you aim at covering up your pride under a show of humility. But why are you willing to be what you are ashamed to appear? If you would be ashamed and angry at others’ understanding that you sought to be praised and made much of, why are you not ashamed of yourself for seeking it? The evil that there is therein lies in your seeking it, not in others’ understanding that you seek it. And if you feel shame at men’s understanding it, why do you not feel the same at God’s understanding and seeing it? Thine eyes, O Lord, have beheld mine imperfection (Psalm cxxxviii. 16).

All this befalls us because we are not well grounded in the first degree of humility, and so are so far from the second. In this matter we must fall back upon first principles. The first thing required of us is a knowledge of our own misery and nothingness. From that profound self-know]ledge there must arise in us a very low conceit of ourselves, a disparaging and making small account of ourselves; and that is the first degree of humility; thence we have to ascend to the second degree. Thus it is not enough that you make small account of yourself; it is not enough that you speak ill of yourself, even though you so speak sincerely and from your heart and really mean it; you must contrive to get so far as to rejoice at others’ also thinking of you exactly what you think and say of yourself, and their running you down and making smail account of you. St. John Climacus says: He is not humble who disparages himself and speaks ill of himself, for who is there who will not take things well from himself? But he is humble who in peace and composure rejoices at being disparaged, and illtreated by others. It is good that a man should always speak ill of himself, saying that he is a proud fellow, lazy, impatient, negligent, and careless; but the better thing would be for him to keep those things back for others to say them. If you desire that others should think the same and hold you in that rank and under that figure, and you rejoice at hearing these things when occasion offers, that is true humility.