Poetry, Politics, Pride and Self-Concept

Two poems today that I’d like to talk about:

The first one is “Richard Cory” by Edwin Arlington Robinson:

Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.
And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
“Good-morning,” and he glittered when he walked.
And he was rich—yes, richer than a king,
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.
So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.

The second is “Ozymandias” by Percy Bysshe Shelley:

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said:—Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shatter’d visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamp’d on these lifeless things,
The hand that mock’d them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
“My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!”
Nothing beside remains: round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

Reflecting upon both of these classics, it’s fascinating how perceptive they are to the human condition. As the result of some careful soul searching the past two weeks or so, it has occurred to me how as post-Genesis 3 humans, we have the seemingly paradoxical yet uncanny dual-capacity for pride and insecurity. I was having a discussion with my father and we were talking about some of the latest SBC politics and I was quietly noticing to myself the pervasive, blatant pride and insecurity in so many prominent figures while at once realizing how I have just as much of a problem as they do, only without the public spotlight with which to make such faults known to the masses.

Two very prominent figures long ago were overcome by pride with the simple assurance of a serpent that they would “be like God.” Such pride gave way to the pursuit of an empty promise of false glory. But only moments later they were found hiding amidst bushes because they were terrified and ashamed as a result of the failure of their pride to deliver on that promise.

Any pursuit that does not glorify God glorifies Satan. It’s far too easy to look at others and think they’ve got it figured out while you’re a miserable, worthless stain on the face of human existence. Of course, it’s just as easy to have the exact opposite view and think yourself to be great because of your own achievements or the press clippings with your name in the headlines.

My mother happens to be a fount of wisdom and insight. Something she recently told me while discussing these very issues is worth repeating here: It’s easy to have a low view of ourselves and a high view of others because we know ourselves better than we know others. You know your own sin. You don’t know the sin of the great men of God who speak at the conferences or have popular ministries, or write tons of books. If you did, you’d likely have a worse view of them than you would yourself. Why? Because you’re sick with pride. I know this because I’m talking about myself. This happens when we downplay sin in others.

Likewise, it’s easy to have a high view of ourselves and a low view of others when we downplay sin in ourselves.

Comparing ourselves to others and hoping for glory from men is a wicked means to an evil lie. It will only end in despair, emptiness, and alienation. We must never forget who we are, where we have come from, and where Christ takes us apart from any contribution on our behalf.

Don’t think you’re above this just because you’re not a denominational glad-hander, or a popular pastor, etc. Don’t think that you’re not just as susceptible as a seminary student, as a gas station clerk, as a friend, as a homemaker, or whatever.

If you forget who you were and who Christ is making you, along with every other co-heir, then you’ve lost perspective.

John Calvin echoed these timeless truths gracefully:

So long as we do not look beyond the earth, we are quite pleased with our own righteousness, wisdom, and virtue; we address ourselves in the most flattering terms, and seem only less than demigods. But should we once begin to raise our thoughts to God, and reflect what kind of being he is, and how absolute the perfection of that righteousness, and wisdom, and virtue, to which, as a standard, we are bound to be conformed, what formerly delighted us by its false show of righteousness will become polluted with the greatest iniquity; what strangely imposed upon us under the name of wisdom will disgust by its extreme folly; and what presented the appearance of virtuous energy will be condemned as the most miserable impotence. So far are those qualities in us, which seem most perfect, from corresponding to the divine purity. (Institutes, I.I.2)

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