This month's reflection is “Ego, yet humility.” So the clear question before us today is, “Who are you, Atticus, to tell us anything about ego and humility?”
Believe me, this is a question I have struggled with for months -- not just my qualifications to speak about this topic, but about any topic at all. Here I am, metaphorically standing before an assemblage of people whom I consider to be much more spiritually advanced than I am, and claiming to have some tiny truth worth sharing to such an august group.
What an ego I must have.
Now, then:
Let me unpack what I just said, because really, everything I have to say on the subject has been illustrated by what you've already read.
Ego, yet humility.
Although this line doesn't occur in the Jedi Code, it uses the same syntax as the lines that do: [thing], yet [somewhat opposite thing]. Ignorance/knowledge. Chaos/harmony. So powerful is that single word yet that we have started with the implication that “ego” and “humility” are sort of opposite to each other. And maybe if we are sticking to the most colloquial definitions of those terms, they are in fact opposite. We use the word “ego” to signify arrogance, or conceit, or an inflated sense of self-worth -- didn't I do that myself when I remarked on “What an ego I must have”? And then we use “humility” to connote an absence of all those things. We've set these two terms up to be opposites to each other, with a net effect being that when we glide past a statement like “Ego, yet humility,” we're programmed to think of paradox. How in the world can these things logically co-exist?
We created another set of implications by using the Code syntax: [undesirable thing], yet [desirable thing]. The imperfect human thing -- emotion, ignorance, chaos -- exists, but we can get through it to the Jedi thing that counters and bests the human thing -- peace, knowledge, harmony. We can see this inherent value judgment even more clearly in the syntax of the Code's other formulation: “There is no [undesirable thing], there is [desirable thing].” But we're not just placing value judgments on the human qualities; we're also setting forth our aspirations toward something else upon which we've placed a higher value: I will strive to identify my areas of ignorance and replace such ignorance with knowledge. So viewed through this lens: ego bad, humility good. And that fits with our colloquial usage as well. Arrogance and conceit are generally qualities with which we would prefer not to be associated. Humility is seen as a virtue; inflated self-worth, not so much.
So let's do something else, just for a few moments. Let's get rid of the implications and the connotations and the value judgments, and let's see if we can get to the real meaning of these terms.
The colloquial definition of “ego” we have been working with isn't sufficient. When we strip away the value judgments and the associations with conceit, ego is nothing more than one's sense of self. It's an illusion, but a useful one -- at least to a point. We fool ourselves into believing that we are individualized organisms, so that we can make sense of our experiences. Thinking of ourselves as autonomous gives us a sense of agency, which we can harness to understand and improve.
So what is humility in these terms? So often it's easier to define a virtue by what not to do, what not to be. Don't blow your own horn. Don't be a stuck-up prick. Don't judge others without making an effort to understand who they are and what they value. Sounds like easy life advice, but does following such simple precepts really make one humble? Conversely, if I fail to follow them, does that mean I am lacking in humility?
Modesty is a component of humility, but too often what passes for modesty is merely the outward trappings, what we used to refer to as “false modesty” -- giving the outward appearance of humility while swelling with pride inside. Self-deprecation is not humility. Neither is self-loathing -- it's just as arrogant for me to believe that I am a piece of crap as it is for me to believe I am a paragon of virtue. Humiliation is not humility, either, although sometimes being humbled can lead us to become humble in turn.
Lately, I have begun thinking of humility as “a realistic view of one's own importance.” My perspective may be the only one I can readily see, but that doesn't make me the center of the universe. And yet by the same token, I have that perspective, shared by no one else because no one stands in the exact same place as me, so it cannot be said that my perspective is completely without value.
When I decry my own ability to share anything worth sharing, to write words that might have some value to another, that's not humility. I'm denying the potential for value of what I might say, or how it might be received, and at the same time I'm presuming to know the perspectives and experience of everyone who might be listening (and proclaiming myself unworthy by comparison).
Which pretty much makes me an egomaniac with an inferiority complex.
But humility is looking at these things without judgment, expressed or implicit.
The useful illusion of ego leads me to believe that I am separate from others and from everything around me, when in fact we are all connected, and the Force moves through me as it moves through everything else in the universe. One of the things I think I have come to understand since I set foot on the Jedi Path is that the thing I experience as my individual consciousness is nothing more than one of the infinite expressions of the Force. There's no boundary between what I see as “me” and everything else around me, except the artificial one created by the illusion of self. That consciousness, illusory and temporary as it may be, is the attention of the universe, focusing on a tiny corner of itself for the benefit of my spiritual growth, and graciously allowing me to believe it's “me.”
So if the question is, “Who are you, Atticus?” humility means the answer is, “I'm not the center of the universe -- I am the universe.”
As are all of you.
May the light of the Force be with you all.
