Originally this wasn’t one of my monastic values nor is it among those I’d counted as my personal values in a previous post, and I wasn’t going to talk about it. But I think I should discuss humility anyway.
When people speak of “humility,” what often comes to mind is self-abasement. Although self-abasement is strongly associated with certain forms of monasticism, usually in the pursuit of suffering as one’s gods have suffered, that’s not what I’m talking about. To be humble means to be weak in many people’s eyes, and so they shun humility. However, becoming a doormat serves no one — not the gods, not your community and not yourself. Our gods do not necessarily want fawning sycophants giving Them praise and worship night and day. They want folk who are aware of their own worth — for if we have no worth of our own, our devotions, offerings and prayers are likewise worthless. One can have faith and a deep devotion to the gods without becoming a hapless yes-man, and humility is the key to that.
Indeed I would argue that having humility rests on having a clear-eyed view of oneself (there’s our old friend mindfulness again). Devaluing your own worth or pretending that it is less than it is does not mean you are really humble. It means you’re either plagued with low self-esteem or are trying to manipulate those you perceive as your betters, neither of which is useful for a monk or nun whose life is given over to full-time devotion. There is a fine line between not letting one’s pride and ego get in the way and being too self-negating, and exactly where that line lies is different from person to person. But there are some things that might be said to apply to all.
True humility is the ability to keep things in perspective. It means being aware that no matter how exalted you are, your feet are still made of clay. It means accepting that pretending you never make mistakes fools no one. It means being willing to accept constructive criticism when necessary without compromising one’s beliefs for the sake of acceptance. And it means not taking yourself too seriously. All of the people I know who have real humility also possess the ability to laugh at themselves as well as enough honesty to admit when they have been wrong. One need not be a monastic to be humble or to find that useful and good, but for monastics, humility is a vital way to keep from letting one’s failings get in the way of service to the divine.
Some things that might impede a monastic’s ability to have humility include:
- Acting humble before your superiors (including the gods) but arrogant and rude to others you consider beneath you.
- Making a show of devotion for the sake of impressing other people with your holiness.
- Accepting and even encouraging unfair treatment of yourself because you feel you deserve it.
- Refusing to do what needs to be done because you are too important to bother with such lowly pursuits.
- Being jealous because other people’s ways of serving the gods win them more attention or recognition from others.
Lest this come off as smugly accusatory, I won’t lie and say I’m never prone to any these less-than-charming behaviors myself. That last one in particular has been a stumbling block for me. I have the good fortune to be acquainted with some Pagans who write a lot of books, give workshops, and are often paid to share their expertise. While I don’t relish being in the spotlight myself, sometimes it’s hard not to feel that my own work is far less important than that of, say, my housemate the shaman, or another good friend who is my mentor in priestcraft, both of whom are well-known in Northern Tradition circles. How can writing an intermittent blog or a few poems compare with being paid to travel around the land lecturing and teaching and blowing people’s minds? Do Loki and Hela not believe I’m capable of doing anything more…well, impressive? Am I less valuable to Them?
I have to remind myself that it’s not a question of other people necessarily being more intrinsically worthy than I am. It’s about what the gods want and what other people need, which may include things that my friends themselves cannot provide, but which I can. I have to remember how much I hate public speaking and would cringe at the idea of addressing a ballroom full of people, and that my gods do not push me to write a stream of books or academic papers so that I’m often awake far into the night banging away at the keyboard. And I have to remember that the rewards I do get from the service I give and the shape of my own devotion are as satisfying to me as the rewards my friends get from their service and devotion are to them. Humility, in my own case, is about valuing myself and my work for what it is rather than what it is not.
Some things which I feel might help a monk or nun with staying humble are:
- Having real joy in one’s love and devotion to the gods and spirits, and sharing that joy with others.
- Treating your “inferiors” with courtesy and graciousness.
- Being willing to lend a hand or take on a job even when the work is dirty, unglamorous and/or monotonous.
- Recognizing that no one is under any obligation to treat you differently because you’re a monk or nun (unless your religious tradition demands that).
- Remembering that we are part of something larger than ourselves, and that no matter what roles we inhabit, we are dependent on each other, even if only in a global sense.
I’ll close by saying that I don’t necessarily believe humility’s antithesis is pride or even arrogance. I believe it to be entitlement. Being humble helps us remember that we are not entitled to anything. We earn what we have, or we are given it at the discretion of others, or we are the happy beneficiaries (or unfortunate victims) of chance. In some religions, such as Catholicism or Buddhism, monks and nuns are indeed entitled to a certain amount of material support from their congregations — food to eat, a place to live, a habit to wear. But that isn’t the kind of entitlement I’m talking about (although I’d have a hard time refusing a place in a Pagan monastary, were it offered to me.)
Possibly the hardest thing for a Pagan monastic to accept is that devoting one’s entire life to the service of the gods (or the community, for that matter) does not mean one is entitled to recognition of that fact, even if there are other people about who do seem to get feedback from the Holy Ones and/or praise from other people. Even if a person is god-touched, there are no guarantees. Mother Teresa certainly seemed to be so, from all accounts I’ve read, yet she also spent years without the light of Christ’s presence in her life. She had to share His love and compassion with her fellow humans by virtue of her faith alone. Some of you will shudder at the thought, while others will nod sadly and say, “I know.”
There are other, excellent reasons to become a nun or a monk than “because the gods told me to,” as well — because you wish to serve, because you want to devote yourself to theology, because you seek spiritual understanding within a community, because you feel called to do something with your life other than work for the Man and accrue credit card debt. Humility is one thing that bridges the gap betwene god-touched folks and those who are doing it purely out of love and faith with no expectation (but ever the hope) of acknowledgement from the Holy Ones. I consider it a privilege to know religious people who do what they do regardless of not having been commanded to by the spirits, because their faith, dedication and will is apparently so much stronger than mine. I am not at all certain I would have become a nun were it not for hearing the gods’ voices and experiencing Their direct influence upon my life. Knowing that makes me feel very humble indeed.
