Humility or Humiliation?

For most of my life I hated the idea of humility. For me humility was synonymous with humiliation, it meant saying, “I don’t know” or “I’m wrong.” I’ve always hated being wrong, so I would work hard to either be perfect so no one could find fault with me, or find rationalizations to explain my mistakes away. I also pride myself on my intelligence so I hate admitting that there are things I don’t know.

But the truth is human beings are limited creatures. I have limited knowledge. I have limited abilities. I have limited understanding.

Humility just means the willingness to acknowledge my limitations, to face the truth of just how much there is that I don’t know.

The oracle at Delphi named Socrates the wisest man in Athens. Socrates rhetorically asked, “How can I be the wisest man in Athens if I know nothing?” The answer, of course, was that Socrates was the only man in Athens who knew he knew nothing—and thereby knew more than the rest of the population! Socrates had humility.

When we’re insane we’re unaware of our limitations: we’re ignoramuses. Webster’s dictionary defines “ignoramus” as: a vain pretending to knowledge. We’re not ignoramuses when we admit to our ignorance, that is, when we’re humble and acknowledge the objective fact of our limitations. We’re ignoramuses when we believe and/or act as though we know when we don’t know.

In a Three Stooges episode Curly Howard sits down at a formal dinner table, notices the small crystal finger-bowl at his place setting, exclaims with delight, and proceeds to use it for an eye cup, merrily rinsing both eyes in front of his astonished fellow diners. A person who was aware of his ignorance, who was uncertain of the purpose of the fingerbowl, would have asked for help or waited and watched for a clue. Ignoramuses like Curly plow boldly ahead in the self-delusion that they know what they’re doing.

In an online dictionary I found these synonyms for humility: docility, fawning, inferiority complex, lowliness, self-abasement, servility, subservience, and timidity. Our language seems to show that I’m not alone in having a low opinion of humility.

Our culture values pride; we’re taught to have self-esteem in school; meekness is scorned while self-confidence is worshiped.

G. Spencer Brown wrote about the negative consequences of this fixation on pride in an appendix to his classic work of mathematics and philosophy, Laws of Form: “In our system of education, we are taught to be proud of what we know and ashamed of what we don’t know. This is doubly corrupt.”

The truth is, humility is empowering. When I say, “I don’t know” I’m open to learning.

I have found a good way to start being humble is just to question everything the mind spits out. “Do I really know that?” “Is that really true or is it just my opinion?” I try to remember to say, “In my humble opinion…” and actually mean it!

Humility has had a powerful impact on my life. In the past, because I felt like I needed to be perfect to be accepted, I couldn’t laugh at myself. I took myself very seriously, and, when I made a mistake, was quick to hide it or rationalize it. Now I am almost always able to laugh at myself and admit my flaws and faults to others, which makes me much less stiff and formal.

I also used to think I knew how others should live their lives, and was always ready with unsolicited advice and/or unspoken criticism. I believed I knew what was best for their lives, and if they didn’t follow my advice I would get angry at them! Now I recognize that I have only a narrow idea of what it is like to be them. My understanding of their inner motivations and the pressures they endure (both internal and external) is necessarily limited and not the absolute truth. As a consequence, I have stopped thinking and acting like I know better, and the space I am now giving to the people in my life has resulted in closer relationships with them.

I don’t say things like, “I understand what you’re feeling” any more, because I can’t ever fully understand another (I don’t fully understand myself!). I say, “I think I understand,” and that little word “think” makes all the difference.