August 2021: Art School and Humility
I know one woman who is so humble that she does not care if she comes off as boastful. Chicago winters are brutal, and one December, I hopped into her old car, of course, to enjoy ice cream at our local custard shop. I noticed how her bright orange earrings complimented her blue eyes and remarked, "You look so pretty today!" She smiled, looked into the rearview mirror, and said, "You're right! I do look really good today."
I remember being taken aback by that comment. Aren't we supposed to say, "Oh really? Gosh, I got around in ten minutes today," or "Awwwww, thanks, you too"? On several other occurrences, I noticed she'd either agree with me or say, "Oh, I know" after I complimented her. I've known her for years and vouch that it was not her pride that made her say those things but sweet, naïve humility.
Can someone be so humble that they do not think to try to look humble? Can a person be so humble as to surrender a need to defend their image? Thomas Merton's description of humility similarly parallels this interaction I had with my friend,
If you were truly humble, you would not bother about yourself at all. Why should you? You would only be concerned with God and with His will and with the objective order of things and values as they are, and not as your selfishness wants them to be. Consequently, you would have no more illusions to defend. Your movements would be free. You would not need to be hampered with excuses which are really only framed to defend you against the accusation of pride – as if your humility depended on what other people thought of you! A humble person can do great things with an uncommon perfection because they are no longer concerned about incidentals, like his own interests and his own reputation, and therefore he no longer needs to waste his efforts in defending them.
Merton invites us to consider how our lives may be different if we weren't so preoccupied with trying to appear humble. Maybe I would be more present. Maybe people would feel like they could open up to me more because they relate to my flaws. Or maybe others would feel free to admit the good things about themselves too.
Often people quote C.S Lewis's comment, "Humility is not thinking of yourself as less, but less often." But additionally, I'm learning that humility does not exclude honesty about oneself. It was true; my friend did look good that day! Why would she disagree if it was true? I think that is the main element of what we call "false humility." It is pride in disguise because it directly goes against the truth that humility allows. Someone can be both very humble and say, "I am the fastest runner in my class."
On a similar thought, I was once in my sister's office sniffling about how I struggled with insecurity. It was self-pity; but my sister sought to build a little self-confidence in me. She said, "You know, I realized that I am amazing. And I am really fun to be around. And Emma, this is the humblest I've been in my life because I'm not proud not to admit it!" It was in those interactions that God started to show me my preoccupation with false humility.
In 2020, I moved to Florence, Italy, to attend a drawing and painting art school. Our days consisted of three hours in the morning working from a model, three hours in the afternoon working from cast sculptures, and two more hours in the evening for an elective. Most of the students came from other art schools or undergraduate programs. I had practiced art on the side during my time in college but had limited experience.
When I think of that fall, it reminds me of a hurdles race. This past summer, my family and I watched the Olympics. There was one race where all the runners lined up, and when the gun blew, one of the female runners tripped on the first hurdle. She crashed into the ground, and I'm sure embarrassment, frustration, and self-loathing poured over her. I had to look away from the T.V as I could relate to her experience. Granted, I was no olympian blowing it on a major race. But if the school year was that hurdles race, then I was that runner, falling on her first hurdle and barreling onto her face.
Day after day, I drew, crashing over each hurdle right into the gravel. Instead of scratches and bruises, I ended up with a collection of drawings that barely resembled a human figure. I looked around to see my classmates all hurdles ahead of me, sometimes giving me a look of pity as they rounded the corner to overlap me. I had a few classmates who were sympathetic to me, giving me extra tips on how to sharpen my pencil or set a plumb line. I felt humiliated in my abilities and faked the confidence I needed to show up to attempt each drawing.
Gritty work. But after months of it, I improved. When I returned home and told the story of my first year at the academy, I did not want to start with, "I was very humbled." Mainly though because I did not want people to think I needed to be humbled. I was already very humble. Yikes.
Am I more concerned with appearing humble than I am about being humble? Yes, absolutely. When I talk about falling flat on my face in the first months in Florence, it is not for false humility's sake. It is the truth of the situation.
It goes both ways. Humility and truth free us to share our most vulnerable moments and our very best ones. It allows us to accept the moments we fly our ego flag high because there are rivers of grace flowing from our Creator. How can accepting the worst parts of ourselves lead to change? If we accept our imperfection, or specifically, pride, it is all the more opportunity for God's grace to shower over us. That’s the danger of false humility. The more grace, the less we can take credit for anything.
My friend's beauty? Grace. My sister's fun-loving spirit? Grace. My ugly drawings? Grace. My helpful classmates? Grace. The late Brennan Manning titled his memoir "All is Grace." I think I'll try to camp there for a while.