"Beauty Will Save the World"

It is through the virtue of humility that we attain spiritual gifts. Humility is the acknowledgment that God has saved us, forgiven us and desires that we should do the same. God does not force us to do so, we must be willing. If we are not willing to be humble, the world will humiliate us. The humble person cannot be humiliated, for humiliation is nothing but a blow to our pride. The one who has no pride escapes such suffering. Your Father in Christ, + Bishop JOSEPH

I read the quote above earlier today and it reminded me of the discussion that a few of my friends and I have been having on the blog under this post 'growing innocence' in regards to humility.

Let me be clear that I am not writing from the perspective of an expert in regards to humility. In fact, it seems to tear against some of the very foundational elements of my being. Still, even in my limited life experience, there is also a deep part of me which is drawn to be a learner of this virtue.

This subject has been on my mind quite a bit lately, in part because I recently (finally) finished The Idiot (once I got back on the 26 -- sorry, inside joke). Long story short: the novel centers upon the events surrounding the main character, Prince Myshkin, and his collision with Russian upper-class society.

The novel was a difficult read. I literally had to force myself through several passages. Dostoevsky himself considered the novel something of an artistic failure. Nevertheless, his concept behind the story was high,

"For a long time now I've been tormented by a certain idea, but I've been afraid

to make a novel out of it, because the thought is too difficult and I'm not

ready for it, though it's a thoroughly tempting thought and I love it. The idea
is - to portray a perfectly beautiful man. Nothing, in my opinion, can be more

difficult than that, especially in our time" (Dostoevsky, quoted in the

introduction to The Idiot, translated by Richard Pevear and Larissa
Volokhonsky).

Prince Myshkin himself asserts in the novel that "beauty will save the world." The Prince is not making an egotistical statement. Rather, he has a radical humility that seems to border on naivety: the Prince seems incapable of seeing obvious flaws in others (indeed, he sees God in each person) and repeatedly apologizes for his own behavior, even when it is clear he is not to be blamed or faulted. From the perspective of the reader this attitude seems at best simplistic, and at worst, just plain stupid in a society that conspires against him.

I have wondered, is humility supposed to "make sense" to us? In what way should it "make sense?" Humility, isolated in a temporal and external perspective, might look like foolishness to some, as it did to Prince Myshkin's contemporaries in mid 19th-century Russia.

In discussing the subject of humility with different friends, they have made welcome clarifications between humility and false humility in certain circumstances. Still, I wonder how the unseen reality of eternity might factor into this discussion? If nothing else, it gives us pause to consider that our temporal existence may not be an end in and of itself. Ultimately, I believe humility breaks through the plane of our temporal existence (not worthless or without value, but finite and limited nonetheless) with an infusion of eternity. This is an abstract concept that is difficult to objectify.

Perhaps an answer of sorts can be found in another of Dostoevsky's novels, The Brothers Karamavov, and artist Fritz Eichenberg, whose engravings I have admired for their visceral embodiment of melancholic emotion. One of the engravings that I am most drawn to is Eichenberg's depiction of the famous scene in The Brothers Karamazov, "The Grand Inquisitor." In the scene, Christ reappears on earth during the time of the Spanish Inquisition. He is arrested, sentenced to death and brought before the Grand Inquisitor for questioning. The Grand Inquisitor's argument against Christ is long, detailed and quite convincing.

Both the argument postulated by the Inquisitor and the specific outcome of this story is quite profound but it does not concern the subject of this posting (you can read it yourself if you haven't already). Suffice it to say that perhaps the Inquisitor succeeds in building an effective argument against Christ. However, at what cost? At the end of the story he is left alone with his bitterness and despair, willingly shut-off from the comfort of Christ's presence.

Perhaps this is a gross oversimplification, but I wonder if there is parallel that can be drawn between my own lack of humility, no matter how justified it may seem, and that of Dostoevsky's Inquisitor? I wonder if in the trusting humility of Prince Myshkin, he looks to eternity and finds the abiding presence of Christ, sharing with him in his sufferings?

The life led by Prince Myshkin may be better understood in light of the Grand Inquisitor. Perhaps we live our lives traveling somewhere between these two polar opposites found in literature, never fully acheiving the beautified perfection that Dostoevsky sought to depict in Prince Myshkin or becoming fully enveloped in the isolated bitterness of the Grand Inquisitor.

Of course, humility is not a guarantee that I will avoid suffering. Neither is it a guarantee that I will always feel God's presence. At times He may feel absent or even silent. Still, I feel the longing and desire to pray that the wisdom of eternity may be found in my heart.