The Institutes 12.29–12.33

And to sum up more briefly what has been said about this kind of pride, gathering as far as we can some of its signs, so that we may in some way depict its features from the movements of the outer man for those who thirst to be taught about perfection, I think it necessary to repeat the same things in a few words, so that we may recognize more concisely by what signs we can discern and detect it; so that the roots of this passion, laid bare and brought to the surface and detected as deadly with our own eyes, can more easily be torn up or avoided. For this pestilent disease can be wholly avoided only when we do not take up a late watchfulness against its deadly heats and harmful onsets when it already rules, but, recognizing, so to speak, its preceding outlines, we forestall it with provident and shrewd discernment. For, as we said before, the state of the inner man is recognized from the movement of the outer. By these signs, then, the carnal pride we have spoken of is revealed. First, there is loudness in its speech, bitterness in its silence, loud and unrestrained laughter in its merriment, unreasonable gloom in its seriousness, rancour in its answers, glibness in its talk, words bursting out at random without any seriousness of heart. It is without patience, a stranger to love, bold in inflicting insults, faint-hearted in bearing them, difficult to obey except where its own desire and will have gone before, implacable in receiving exhortation, weak in cutting off its own will, most stubborn in submitting to others, always striving to establish its own opinions but by no means yielding to or agreeing with another's; and so it comes about that, made incapable even of wholesome counsel, it trusts its own judgment in everything rather than that of the elders.

Rolled down by these steps of decline, the one whom it has once possessed now shudders at the very discipline of the coenobium; and, as though he were held back from perfection by the company of the brothers and called away from the good of patience and humility by the fault and hindrance of others, he desires to live in a solitary cell; or at least, as though he were going to win many others, he hastens to build a monastery and gather those whom he is to teach and instruct, having become from a worthless disciple a more detestable master. For when he has fallen through such elation of heart into the most deadly and harmful lukewarmness, and has become neither a true monk nor a layman, he even promises himself perfection — which is worse — from this very wretched state and way of life.

Therefore, if we wish the summit of our building to rise perfect and pleasing to God, let us hasten to lay its foundations, not according to the will of our own desire, but according to the discipline of gospel strictness. These can be nothing other than the fear of God and humility, which comes from gentleness and simplicity of heart. But humility can by no means be gained without nakedness. When nakedness is absent, neither the good of obedience, nor the strength of patience, nor the tranquillity of gentleness, nor the perfection of love can be attained; and without these our heart cannot be a dwelling of the Holy Spirit at all, as the Lord declares through the prophet: "On whom shall my Spirit rest but on the quiet and humble and one who trembles at my words?" Or, according to the copies that express the Hebrew truth: "But to whom shall I look, except to the poor one, and the contrite in spirit, and one who trembles at my words?"

Therefore the athlete of Christ, who, contending lawfully in the spiritual contest, desires to be crowned by the Lord, should hasten by all means to extinguish this most ferocious beast too, as the devourer of all the virtues, certain that while it dwells in his breast he not only cannot be free of every kind of vice, but even, if he seems to have any virtue, it will perish by its poison. For the structure of the virtues can by no means rise in our soul unless the foundations of true humility have first been laid in our heart, which, laid most firmly, can bear the summit of perfection and love. That is, as we have said, we must first show true humility to our brothers with the inmost feeling of our heart, by no means consenting to sadden or hurt them in anything. We shall by no means be able to fulfil this unless true renunciation, which consists in being stripped of all possessions and in nakedness, has been founded in us for the love of Christ; and then unless the yoke of obedience and submission has been taken up with a simple heart and without any pretence, so that apart from the abbot's command no will at all lives in us. This cannot be kept in any other way than if one judges himself not only dead to this world but also foolish and a fool, carrying out without any discussion everything commanded him by the elders, believing it sacred and given by God.

For those who stand firm in this quality, that truly tranquil and immovable state of humility will certainly follow, so that, judging ourselves inferior to all, we bear most patiently everything inflicted on us, even if it is injurious, saddening, or harmful, as though it were inflicted by our superiors. These things will not only be borne by us most easily but will even be judged small and of no account if we continually recall in our mind the sufferings of our Lord or of all the saints, considering that we are attacked by injuries as much lighter as we are farther from their merits and way of life; and also thinking that we shall shortly depart from this world and, by the swift end of this life, soon be their companions. For this contemplation is deadly not only to pride but to all the vices in general. Then after this let us most firmly keep this same humility towards God. This will be fulfilled by us if we recognize that we can accomplish nothing that pertains to the perfection of the virtues without his help and grace, and truly believe that even this very understanding we have been granted is his gift.