Epictetus, The Handbook 46: Right Humility

. . . In your conversation avoid frequent and disproportionate mention of your own doings or adventures; for other people do not take the same pleasure in hearing what has happened to you as you take in recounting your adventures. . . .

—Epictetus, The Handbook, Chapter 33 (tr Matheson)

I’m grateful that I have rarely felt the need to be at the center of attention, and for most of my life I have managed to blend unobtrusively into the woodwork. I am conscious, however, that my way of explaining something is oftentimes quite anecdotal, probably because I haven’t mastered more refined teaching tools, and I will quite regularly ask myself: how much of this am I offering to help someone else understand, and how much of this is just about basking in my own experiences?

I think of all the great storytellers I have known through the years, and I remind myself what it was that made them great. It was the motive that always made the difference, and that, in turn, shaped the context. What were they trying to point out to their listener or reader? Was it about inspiring or about glorifying?

I had a wonderful history professor who had served in WWII, and he would often describe, in colorful detail, the exploits of the members of a B-24 bomber crew. Some were humorous, and they always helped me to picture the camaraderie of these men. Others were terrifying, and they always helped me to admire their courage. Over the years, I felt like I had gotten to know these fellows personally. I realized one day that he had never mentioned very much about the bombardier. When I asked him about that, he just brushed it aside. “That fool couldn’t hit the side of a barn door!”

It then occurred to me that he, of course, had been the bombardier, and it was only years later, after he had passed away, that I was ever told about his own remarkable service record, including how he had been decorated for saving the life of the crew’s navigator. He had shared all those stories about his friends, had placed himself there as a sort of observer, but he never drew deliberate attention to himself.

Having eccentric tastes, I am very much aware that the things that interest me will not always be of interest to others. If I do wish to share something about my own thoughts or experiences, I try not to just think about what centers around my own benefit, but what might be of use for someone else’s benefit. I have a whole storehouse of tales and exploits I will most likely never share with anyone, and that is because I can’t really think of a way that they could truly inform, assist, or amuse.

That one about the Lebanese café owner, my suede safari hat, and a large jar of curry powder is going to have to stay locked away until I can think of a good moral to go with it.

I don’t think of humility as deliberately putting oneself down, because that can just be another way of puffing oneself up. I think of it as being able to use whatever gifts I may have to serve, instead of being served. 

Written in 2/2012