“You can have no greater sign of confirmed pride than when you think you are humble enough”. – William Law
It is with the greatest sincerity and, of course, with the utmost humility, that I admit that, for me, the most gratifying pursuits are not always the right ones. When we do good or, God forbid, make a sacrifice, it is often not without bemoaning what earthly gain we may have lost. Then when we ourselves receive divine intervention in our darkest hour, our initial gratitude transitions to a fleeting memory, once the adversity passes. Eventually, our perception of reality tells the heroics of our strength that, with our tenacious attitude, we were able to supersede the impossible limitations thrust unto us. That is until our next struggle.
The theological necessity of hardship after the Fall of man in Genesis, is another pillar of the Christian faith in itself, but the focus of this essay remains on the cause of the cycle described above. Our seasons of isolation and failure are among our deepest sorrows. So why then do we struggle to think of others when our own hearts are full and hands are filled? Although we grapple with trials similar to our fellow man, when we find victory, we often fall prey to believing that we are beyond struggling as others do because we are divinely blessed and they are not.
Now, on this issue of spiritual arrogance, the nonbeliever will be let off easier than the confessing Christian. Speaking directly to the believer: how do we respond in crises? With grace amidst suffering? With joy in the face of persecution? All of us at some point (or at a lot of points) do not handle hardship quite as gracefully as we would like to admit. But on the off chance that for a season we lean into Jesus, giving Him what is left of our broken heart and shattered dreams, our resolve to trust in Him grows. And for those of us less aware of ourselves, the seeds of a sense of superiority also grow.
This pretentious tendency escalates, and it is a pattern that I recognize in my own walk with Christ. I view my tendency to seek Jesus in an attempt to withstand affliction as salutary—as I should, as it is an objectively fruitful response. But the devil is clever when he whispers. The problem begins when, in that view, the boundary blurs between perceiving the act as superior during a difficulty, into a view of myself as superior. Therein lies the paradoxical nature of spiritual pride: it thrives off of our best intentions and even successes in the faith. Because “Hey, look at me! I must have been blessed because of my dedication and uniqueness.”
But as C.S. Lewis warns, “It would be even worse to think of those who get what they pray for as a sort of court favorites, people who have influence with the throne,” adding that “the refused prayer of Christ in Gethsemane is answer enough to that.” It is impressive, really, that somehow we can manage to make even His divine aid about us, casting the shadow of sin over something wholly good.
Pride finds its confirmation here, masquerading as humility. We are not humble enough. We can never be. We are created beings, creatures gifted with a desperate need of God’s completing love—created at His behest because He wants to love us and, therefore, we need Him to. Our very existence depends on Him, we are, quite literally, the derivative of Him—even those who deny or run and especially those who chase (because deep down everyone is chasing) Him.
Yet even though 83% of Americans believe in a God or universal spirit, there has been a steady decline in adults identifying as Christians. As of the early 1990s, about 90% identified as Christians comparable to the now 62%. While I remain in the realm of speculation, it seems safe to say that spiritual arrogance is not merely a private danger for the believer but a public stumbling block for those around us. Our lives inevitably speak, and when what they speak is pride disguised as holiness, the effect is damaging. Few things drive others away more effectively than the sense that Christians see themselves as individually superior, and yet that is what unchecked spiritual arrogance communicates.
Even more troubling is that Christians risk losing the very thing we take pride in. Indeed, it is foolish for me to be arrogant enough so as to believe myself above another person at the sole reason that I pitifully, albeit honestly, attempt to lean into God during trials; it comes at the expense of the very close relationship with the Lord that I laud as assuredly, solidly, unquestionably mine.
And as for the arrogance in our assumptions, we “had better not draw hasty conclusions to our own advantage,” Lewis continues, for if “we were stronger, we might be less tenderly treated. If we were braver, we might be sent, with far less help, to defend far more desperate posts in the great battle.”
