Hubris

    Okay, I guess it is time to write about hubris. At one point in college, I looked through the Canisius library for a book about pride. Yeah, my love-life was non-existent, and I was super analyzing the void. There was definitely something wrong with me, and of the seven deadly sins, I had determined that pride was my worst – and I wanted to understand it and figure out how to fix that. All these many years later, I still do not know how to get rid of my pride – but I sure do know it is still a devil-on-my-shoulder part of my life.

     Anyway, I actually found an ancient book about pride on a shelf in the Canisius library. I'm not sure if hubris was in the title or if it was the whole title, but the book was about the hubris kind of pride. I had never heard the word hubris before, and not much since then until more recently, and now I think the word hubris is overused and perhaps even misused.

     My interpretation of hubris from the reading of the book way back then is that hubris is a pride that is too too much – the kind of pride that causes one to fall, the tragic flaw, an arrogance that offends the gods, sometimes even the arrogance where one plays god!

     Is there a kind of pride that is okay? I don't think that question got answered, unless it is an obvious no – no amount of pride is okay.

      I had a reputation at the time of being negative about myself in an effort to not appear proud, and yet that gave off negative vibes of pride to everyone around me. And when I wasn't being negative about myself, I was too proud – and truth be told – insufferable. And truth be told, I still am.

     The hubris book had a list and explanation for the three kinds of people who had the most hubris – the proudest people of all – the ones with the most tragic flaw of the worst of the seven deadly sins. And I remember well, even after all these years, those three kinds of people.

     Number three on the list – the third worst offenders of the sin of pride – are the people who suffer from constipation! Think about it. People with constipation are so unwilling to give of themselves that they actually have trouble moving their bowels! They don't want to share – they hold it all in. Making the connection between generosity and pride might be a stretch – I realize now that I cannot explain it well in words, but I sure can feel the truth of it! Next time you are constipated, ask yourself, are you in a mood such that you want to be alone – are you not wanting to share your space, your time, or even the content of your bowels with the world?

     Number two on the list – the second worst offenders of the sin of pride - writers! Writers can create a world from nothing. They bring life to characters, and they decide who lives and who dies. Writers are basically playing God! What greater act of hubris could there be?

    There is a book I read a long time ago, probably when I was in junior high. Mom had belonged to a book club years earlier, and the books sat tantalizingly on the shelves where I would read the titles in my grade school days, and I would fantasize about when I would be old enough to read the books myself. And of them all, the only one I remember ever eventually reading was one called The Feast by Margaret Kennedy. 

     The story takes place at a hotel on a mountain. The characters in the book were the guests and employees at the hotel. At one point, some of the people were going on a picnic near a cliff on the mountain, and it became apparent that some natural disaster was about to occur. I was very excited as the story moved closer to the disaster– some of the characters were delightful, some not so savory – and with the impending disaster, there were those I was hoping would survive, and there were others I was thinking should die. But it was the author who decided the life or death of the characters! That discovery was so cool!

     I wanted that kind of power – I wanted to write! After reading the hubris book – it all became clear – why I had wanted to write, and why deep-down it felt kind of wrong (aside from my lack of natural writing talent).

     So I was a constipated writer wannabe – two of the three worst kinds of people guilty of hubris – the worst kind of pride to have.

     And what was number one on the list? Who was the worst offender of the sin of pride according to the hubris book, and was I going to fit into that category also?

     Number 1 on the list? Virgins.

     Sigh.

     Damned if I do, and, apparently, damned that I didn't.

     (This is one of those common sense moments again, isn't it?)

     But, you see, I thought I was a virgin, not necessarily by my choice, but because no one liked me enough to want to be with me. But perhaps the real reason was I was keeping them away? Perhaps my expectations, my judgmental nature, my outright obvious blatant unlovability – kept everyone away. The desire to not want to be less than perfect built a wall around me. Pride kept me, and keeps me, from sharing.

     A while ago, someone asked me if there are any books that I can say actually changed me after having read them? It took me years to come up with a list. And it is a short list, but The Feast, and the hubris book – are both on it.

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