Chapter 12 Pride in Christian Philosophy and Theology Kevin Timpe and Neal A. Tognazzini INTRODUCTION To reflect systematically on the concept of pride is a complicated task. It is complicated in part because the concept has been interwoven with Christianity for most of its history,1 and in part because pride is thought of variously as a positive emotion, a negative emotion or a vice. There is also a sense of 'pride' involving social movements in the context of social marginalization, such as the 'Disability Pride' or 'Gay Pride' movements, though we will have very little to say about that sense here.2 Pride is not unique in having a number of different meanings, some of which seem to be at odds with each other. A comparable complexity can be seen, for instance, in reflection on envy, which is sometimes taken to be an emotion, sometimes a helpful source of motivation and sometimes a vice.3 Pride is also on the list of 'seven deadly sins'4 and, as we illustrate later, has been understood in one dominant strand of Christian theology as the root of all the sins. But as Michael Eric Dyson notes, 'Of all the deadly sins, pride is most likely to stir debate about whether it is a sin at all'5 because of the positive senses of pride – for example, taking pride in one's own successes or the accomplishments of one's children. In this chapter, our primary aim will be to outline the roles that pride has historically played, and continues to play, in Christian theology and philosophical theology. We begin by distinguishing multiple varieties of pride and discussing how they are related to each other. We then explore the role that the negative emotion and the vice have played in the history of Christianity, with particular attention to a number of influential figures. We conclude by exploring how pride intersects with two other central issues in Christian theology, namely love and faith. Although our focus will be on pride in individuals, much of what we have to say will also have application to what it means AuQ134 16028-0057d-1pass-r02.indd 211 08-07-2017 14:10:37 212 Chapter 12 for social groups to be proud. And though we will not have time to explore the connection in this chapter, the objects that an individual takes pride in will correlate with those of their social groups or political communities; for instance, an Australian national is more likely to take pride in the accomplishments of the Australian rugby team than is someone who does not have a connection with that nation.6 Even though our focus in this chapter will be primarily on individuals taking pride in facts about themselves, it should not be taken as an endorsement of an atomistic conception of human traits which denies these social dimensions of pride. KINDS OF PRIDE We begin by delineating a number of different varieties of pride. This is particularly important because some kinds of pride are positive and some are negative. By 'positive' here we mean morally appropriate to feel or experience (or at least not morally problematic) – for example, when a parent tells a child 'I'm proud of you for being brave' or when persons 'takes pride in their work'.7 Other instances of pride have a morally negative valence insofar as the person is an appropriate target of moral criticism for feeling or experiencing them. One kind of negative pride is a morally problematic kind of emotion, such as that captured in the saying 'pride goes before a fall'.8 Another negative kind of pride is the capital vice. (While there is a close connection between these two negative senses of pride, we nevertheless think it is important to keep them distinct, for reasons we will discuss later.) But despite their diversity, all the kinds of pride are unified in that they focus on one's evaluation of the worth or status of an individual or some other object related to the self and its status or worth. According to Gabriele Taylor, that concern is always for the self: 'pride in all its forms concerns the status of the self. The different forms of pride can be explained and related to each other by reference to the view the agent takes of himself and his standing'.9 However, as we will see later, there is at least one kind of pride that one can take in the worth of others. Pride as Positive Emotion We consider first what we shall refer to as the positive emotion of pride. Gabrielle Taylor has one of the most insightful discussions of the emotion of pride that we are aware of – many details of which we will have to ignore for present purposes. For Taylor, pride is an emotion whereby one 'values [oneself] highly on account of [one's] rank, position, or possessions'.10 And while in the next section we will consider instances of the emotion that are morally 16028-0057d-1pass-r02.indd 212 08-07-2017 14:10:37 Pride in Christian Philosophy and Theology 213 problematic, we do not think that all of them are. We will address what makes instances of the emotion positive or negative after a further investigation of the nature of the emotion in general. Taylor's analysis of pride draws on Hume, who thinks that 'everything related to us, which produces pleasure or pain, produces likewise pride or humility' (emphasis in original).11 Taylor explicates Hume as follows: In Hume's view, pride is itself a feeling of pleasure which is parasitic on another feeling of pleasure derived from the perception or contemplation of some object which strikes the agent as agreeable in some respect. . . . This is how the self enters the analysis as part of what Hume calls the 'cause' of pride: whatever I am proud of must be 'related' to me. The self features again in the analysis as the 'object' of pride, as that towards which my pride is directed. So pride on this account can be summed up as consisting of a self-directed pleasure based on a distinct pleasure deriving from something which is also mine.12 This last element allows one to take pride in things other than one's self. To return to an example we mentioned earlier, parents might be proud of their child for acting bravely in the face of something that they find scary. The parents might be equally impressed with an unknown child acting in exactly the same way in a parallel situation. But insofar as the parents do not have a personal connection with the child, the admiration that they feel for the child's action will not include pride.13 Taylor does, however, distance herself from Hume's view on one point. As she understands Hume, the individual must actually bear a particular relationship to the object of pride. But this, she thinks, is too stringent; it is not a matter of whether the individual actually stands in such a relationship, only that the individual believes that they do. The proposed necessary conditions for feeling pride now read: if a person feels proud of something then he must believe this thing (person) to be in some respect desirable or valuable, and he must believe that the relation of belonging in one of its various forms holds between him and it (him, her). We can add to the second requirement: or he must believe that he is at least partially responsible for bringing it about.14 For Taylor, a person feels the emotion of pride when she believes her worth or status to be increased in some way as a result of some kind of goodness in the object of her pride, which she believes she is appropriately related to. The earlier description aims at characterizing pride as an emotion. But, as indicated earlier, this emotion can have morally good and morally problematic instances. While we explore negative instances of the emotion of pride 16028-0057d-1pass-r02.indd 213 08-07-2017 14:10:37 214 Chapter 12 in the next section, in the remainder of the present section we focus briefly on the morally good15 (or what we have called 'positive') instances of the emotion. We think that positive instances of the emotion of pride can be easily found. Such an emotion, and exclamations of it, can be readily found among parents. Consider, for example, the father whose daughter has struggled for weeks, often to the point of frustration and exasperation, to learn to tie her shoes. The first time she succeeds and looks to her father for affirmation she is likely to hear something akin to, 'Oh, that's great! I'm so proud of you for finally doing it!' Such a claim of pride, either in the achievement of another or even of oneself, need bear no negative moral connotation and in fact can be quite positive, especially when the achievement to which it points is excellent or difficult. C. S. Lewis refers to this as a 'warm-hearted admiration'.16 Focused on others, it can involve a desire to emulate the other for one's own improvement. When focused on the self, it can be a sign of self-confidence or self-respect.17 Very briefly, we think that the positive emotion of pride is at the heart of some political pride movements. These movements often presuppose the positive emotion of pride. In such movements, one celebrates a particular quality that one thinks is positive18 for a particular social group, whether or not one shares the trait that marks out the group being celebrated.19 But insofar as members of that movement see the trait in question as positive, whether or not they each have that trait, they still see themselves as standing in a positive relationship to those who have the trait and wanting to foster social support and acceptance for them. Pride as Negative Emotion Even if pride can sometimes be a positive emotion in the way described earlier, it can also be morally problematic. Robert C. Roberts has an excellent discussion of how pride is often competitive, and thus can damage one's relationships with others: Pride cuts a person off from fellowship with others. It isolates him and, however little he may recognize the fact, degrades him. . . . Invidious, competitive pride is most likely to manifest itself in relationships in which the two individuals are close enough to equality in worldly terms to feel themselves competitors. . . . It is not difficult to see why people who lack humility are spiritually bankrupt. Their capacity for human relationships-the spiritual ones that are the most important for their lives-is poisoned by the tendency to climb to eminence at someone else's expense. The proud person is one who feels good about himself only if he has somebody who compares disadvantageously with himself.20 AuQ135 16028-0057d-1pass-r02.indd 214 08-07-2017 14:10:37 Pride in Christian Philosophy and Theology 215 More recently, Roberts describes invidious pride as the emotion with the following content: [I]t is important for me to have the personal worth that is established by my being or appearing to be equal or superior to R in respect X; I have that personal worth in some abundance because I am or appear to be superior to R in respect X.21 In both of these characterizations, Roberts understands pride as an emotion based on a problematic concern with one's own value – and problematic because it sees one's value or excellence as intrinsically connected with superiority of (or at least, equality with) another. But it seems that pride need not be competitive in this way. An individual might take pride in an object without that pride having an intrinsic connection to a comparison with others. Taylor agrees: It is, however, possible to interpret 'superior position' as resting not on a comparison with others, but on a comparison of standards. A person may be proud in that, for instance, he will not accept help from others who are better off than he is. He does not necessarily think of himself as being superior to others at all; he merely accepts certain standards the lowering of which he would regard as a threat to his self-respect. . . . The person feeling proud need not, of course, regard his norm of expectations as in any way superior, nor need he thinks he normally lives up to what is generally expected in some area of activity.22 By way of an example, suppose that Magdalen loves both Legos and the Little Mermaid, and constructs without plans or blueprint a life-size model of Ursula the Sea Witch's underwater lair, complete with vanity mirror and hidey-holes for her twin moray eel minions. Upon completion, Magdalen collapses, exhausted from the effort, beholding the lair in all its Danish plastic-y goodness. She may experience an emotion of tremendous self-worth about such an accomplishment, even if she does not think that she is better than all those others who have attempted a similar feat. Others' accomplishments with Lego construction need not even enter into her considerations at all. In fact, she need not be aware that any others have attempted such a feat to feel the emotion in question. So why think that this example is an instance of a negative emotion rather than a positive? Not because of the object. We think that the object of positive pride could be the very same object of negative pride, even within the same individual.23 Insofar as the value Magdalen recognizes in herself for her most excellent stronghold is not warranted by her construction, and indeed reflects a profoundly misguided way of valuing, it will be a negative moral valance. AuQ136 AuQ137 AuQ138 16028-0057d-1pass-r02.indd 215 08-07-2017 14:10:37 216 Chapter 12 We are suggesting, then, that what makes an instance of the emotion of pride negative rather than positive is not necessarily that it involves a comparison of superiority with others, or that it has a particular object. Rather, there are various ways that emotions can be morally problematic. It might be because the emotion is unfitting in that it does not accurately represent the world (e.g., if Dan were to take pride in his amazing basketball skill despite not being able to make a lay-up), or because it has a morally problematic object (e.g., if Manuel were to take pride in his ability to defraud his colleagues without detection). But it could also be because one feels a disproportionately excessive amount of pride towards the object.24 Pride as Vice We have argued that pride can be understood as an emotion having either a positive or a negative normative valence. In addition to having such an emotion, an agent can also be disposed towards having that emotion. Though there is considerable disagreement about how the nature of a virtue is best understood, even within the virtue tradition, we will assume here that virtues are relatively stable, fixed and reliable dispositions of action and affect informed by right reason.25 Similarly, we will proceed on the assumption that vices are relatively stable, fixed and reliable dispositions of action and affect that are not in accord with right reason. So, if an individual has a disposition, so described, to feel the negative emotion of pride or to excessively feel the positive emotion of pride, we will take that person to have the vice of pride. Within the history of Christianity, the vice of pride has been understood as a privation of the virtue of humility. According to Schimmel, 'Humility is a uniquely Christian value, not taught by the pagan philosophers'.26 However, there is considerable debate about the exact nature of humility. On some accounts, to be humble is to have a low estimation of one's own worth.27 On others, to be humble is not to positively underestimate oneself but rather to be relatively unconcerned with one's own self-worth.28 And on still other views, to be humble is to be aware of and disposed to respond to one's own limitations.29 This is not the place for an evaluation of these competing views but hearing them stated briefly gives us a sense of how they might be used in thinking about the vice of pride. In fact, each of the views of humility just mentioned gets a good deal of its plausibility from how easily it matches up with a natural account of pride. If we think of humility as a matter of underestimating one's own worth, then the vice of pride will be a disposition to overestimate one's own worth. Or if we think of humility as being relatively unconcerned with one's own self-worth, then the vice of pride will be a disposition to be overly concerned with one's own self-worth. And if we think of humility as being aware of and disposed to respond to one's own limitations, 16028-0057d-1pass-r02.indd 216 08-07-2017 14:10:37 Pride in Christian Philosophy and Theology 217 then the vice of pride will be the disposition to be unaware of, or perhaps insufficiently responsive to, one's limitations.30 Again, we will not evaluate these proposals here, but we simply wish to point out that the philosophical literature on humility is growing rapidly at the moment, and theorists interested in pride will find much of value there.31 PRIDE IN THE HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY While the earlier discussion of the vice of pride does not presuppose any particular theological framework, within the Christian tradition such an approach has typically been used to understand humans' relationship to God their Creator and the nature of sin.32 The vice of pride has historically played a central role in much of Christian theology. For much of the Christian tradition, the first (or primal) sin is taken to be rooted in pride.33 Aquinas, for example, writes that pride 'denotes a turning away from God, because from the fact that man wishes not to be subject to God, it follows that he desires inordinately his own excellence in temporal things'.34 And the fall of the devil is often understood in the same way.35 Furthermore, pride has traditionally been understood as one of the capital vices.36 The capital vices – sometimes erroneously referred to as 'the seven deadly sins'37 – are understood as vices which direct a person towards a negative end and encourage the development of other vices in a person to achieve that end. The term 'capital' here is derived from the Latin caput or 'head', a metaphor which can be seen in the description of these vices as the principal and director of other vices. Sometime pride has been understood as the root of the capital vices and sometimes as one of them.38 But even on the latter understanding, pride is often taken in the Christian tradition as being 'the central problem of morality'.39 For reasons that we will see later, this is – in part – because it is in direct opposition to one's proper relationship with God. The list of capital vices appears to first have been recorded by Evagrius of Pontus, a fourth-century monk and ascetic.40 Evagrius listed eight such vices and did not attempt a systematic treatment. Evagrius's disciple, John Cassian, would begin systematizing the list. Like Evagrius, Cassian listed eight vices, and ordered them (in order of increasing badness) from the most carnal to the most spiritual: gluttony, lust, avarice, wrath, gloominess, sloth, vainglory and pride.41 While all of these are linked, Cassian thinks that pride and vainglory are nevertheless unique: But the two remaining faults; viz., vainglory and pride, are connected together in a somewhat similar way as the others of which we have spoken, so that the growth of the one makes a starting point for the other (for superfluity of AuQ139 AuQ140 16028-0057d-1pass-r02.indd 217 08-07-2017 14:10:37 218 Chapter 12 vainglory produces an incentive to pride); but they are altogether different from the six former faults, and are not joined in the same category with them, since not only is there no opportunity given for them to spring up from these, but they are actually aroused in an entirely different way and manner. For when these others have been eradicated these latter flourish the more vigorously, and from the death of the others they shoot forth and grow up all the stronger: and therefore we are attacked by these two faults in quite a different way.42 Furthermore, Cassian thinks that, of the vices on this list, only pride and vainglory can arise without any role of the body. Despite the close connection between vainglory and pride, Cassian also thinks that pride plays a unique role among the eight insofar as it is 'first in terms of origin and is the source of all sins and misdeeds. . . . [Pride] is the destroyer of all the virtues together'.43 This is because pride, for Cassian, involves usurping for oneself God's role as ultimate arbiter of value.44 Cassian thinks pride is illustrated as the object of Jesus' third temptation in the wilderness (described in Matthew 4:1–11). In contrast, for Cassian, vainglory involves the inordinate desire for praise, recognition or honour. And in fact, Cassian thinks that there is a particular kind of vainglory which, while vicious, can still be extrinsically useful. He writes: [I]n one matter vainglory is found to be a useful thing for beginners. I mean by those who are still troubled by carnal sins, as for instance, if, when they are troubled by the spirit of fornication, they formed an idea of the dignity of the priesthood, or of reputation among all men, by which they may be thought saints and immaculate: and so with these considerations they repel the unclean suggestions of lust, as deeming them base and at least unworthy of their rank and reputation; and so by means of a smaller evil they overcome a greater one.45 Though Cassian's comment here is specifically about vainglory, one might make a similar point about pride. The desire for moral excellence, even if problematic in a number of ways, might be such that it provides needed motivation for resisting other temptations to sin. Cassian can be seen, then, as making conceptual space for the positive emotions of pride and glory-seeking. Dating to nearly the same time in the fourth century, Augustine of Hippo's work also shows the central place the vice of pride has often played in Christian theology. In his magisterial City of God, Augustine gives pride a central role in differentiating the citizens of the City of God from those of the City of Man. The former love and enjoy God above all else, while the latter value themselves more than the value God. For Augustine, this is a manifestation of pride: 'These are the two loves: the first is holy, the second foul; the first is social, the second selfish; the first consults the common welfare for the sake 16028-0057d-1pass-r02.indd 218 08-07-2017 14:10:37 Pride in Christian Philosophy and Theology 219 of a celestial society, the second grasps at a selfish control of social affairs for the sake of arrogant domination'.46 Pride, for Augustine, consists in an appetite for a perverse kind of elevation. . . . It is a perverse kind of elevation . . . to forsake the foundation upon which the mind should rest, and to become and remain, as it were, one's own foundation. This occurs when a man is too well pleased with himself; and he is too well pleased with which he ought rather to have been pleased than with himself.47 As such, pride is not only the first sin but also at the root of all sins,48 which he understands as rebellion against the sovereignty of God. In the sixth century, Gregory the Great further cemented this approach. 'Pride', Gregory writes, 'is the root of all evil, of which it is said, as scripture bears witness: "Pride is the beginning of all sin." But even principal vices, as its first progeny, spring doubtless from this poisonous root'.49 He further explains the nature of the vice of pride and its relationship to the capital vices as follows: Pride is the commander of the army of the devil, and its offspring are the seven principle vices. All the vices that assail us are invisible soldiers against us in a battle of pride which rules over them; of these, some precede as leaders, others typically follow as the army. For not all vices take possession of the heart with equal effect. Rather, after a few great faults enter a neglected soul, countless lesser vices pour into the soul in waves. For pride itself is the queen of the vices, which, once it has completely seized and vanquished the soul, hands the battle over to the seven principle vices, as to its commanders. After these leaders of the army follow troublesome multitudes of vices, which undoubtedly arise from them. We will understand this better if we enumerate these leaders and their armies as we are able. Truly pride is the root of all evil. . . . Her first progeny are the seven principle vices, which proceed from this venomous root, and they are: vainglory, envy, anger, sorrow, greed, gluttony, and lust.50 Gregory differentiates four subspecies of pride: Some people consider themselves to be the cause of their achievements and talents. Others, though acknowledging that these qualities are from God, believe that they deserve them. Then there are those who boast of qualities they do not even possess. The fourth group despise others who lack the quality they possess-they want to call attention to their uniqueness.51 Gregory's understanding of sin shaped much of what many of the later medievals would say about sin. We consider here only the influential thirteenthcentury theologian Thomas Aquinas, though a full study would include others. 16028-0057d-1pass-r02.indd 219 08-07-2017 14:10:37 220 Chapter 12 Aquinas draws heavily on both Augustine and Gregory in his treatment of the sin of pride: Pride [superbia] is so called because a man thereby aims higher [earlier] than he is; wherefore Isidoresays (Etym. x): 'A man is said to be proud, because he wishes to appear above (super) what he really is'; for he who wishes to overstep beyond what he is, is proud. Now right reason requires that every man's will should tend to that which is proportionate to him. Therefore it is evident that pride denotes something opposed to right reason, and this shows it to have the character of sin, because according to Dionysius (Div. Nom. iv, 4), 'the soul's evil is to be opposed to reason'. Therefore it is evident that pride is a sin.52 Elsewhere he refers to pride as an 'inordinate desire for preeminence'53 and 'inordinate self-exaltation'.54 Like all sins, for Aquinas, pride involves the inordinate desire for a genuine good, here the 'excellence of honor and glory'.55 But he thinks that this particular inordinate desire has a vicious priority over the others: Wherefore aversion from God and His commandments, which is a consequence as it were in other sins, belongs to pride by its very nature, for its act is the contempt of God. And since that which belongs to a thing by its nature is always of greater weight than that which belongs to it through something else, it follows that pride is the most grievous of sins by its genus, because it exceeds in aversion which is the formal complement of sin.56 Because pride involves exalting the self as higher, or more important, than God, it has a particular theological understanding for Aquinas (like all vices do in Aquinas's view, actually).57 Aquinas endorses Gregory's fourfold distinction of species of pride58 and endorses two further Augustinian themes regarding pride: that it takes one's own value as its object and that it is the source of other vices. But these two aspects of pride involve the vice as a special sin and more generically, respectively: The sin of pride may be considered in two ways. First with regard to its proper species, which it has under the aspect of its proper object. On this way pride is a special sin, because it has a special object: for it is inordinate desire of one's own excellence, as stated (1, ad 2). Secondly, it may be considered as having a certain influence towards other sins. In this way it has somewhat of a generic character, inasmuch as all sins may arise from pride.59 It is in the first sense, as a special sin, that Aquinas understands pride to be a capital vice.60 And while he does not think that every sin originates in pride, he thinks that any kind of sin is 'naturally liable to arise from pride'.61 AuQ141 AuQ142 AuQ143 16028-0057d-1pass-r02.indd 220 08-07-2017 14:10:38 Pride in Christian Philosophy and Theology 221 A full treatment of pride in Christian theology would obviously consider a host of other figures.62 Nevertheless, these figures provide a representative sample of how much of Christian theology has tended to understand the nature and importance of the vice of pride.63 PRIDE AND OTHER ISSUES IN CHRISTIANITY In closing, we would like to consider the relationship between pride and two facets of Christian life whose successful pursuit seems to require, if not the elimination of pride, at least an active commitment to fight against it. We have in mind love and faith. Love Insofar as love is an other-centred attitude and pride is a self-centred attitude, it perhaps goes without saying that pride can be an obstacle to love, and thus an obstacle to fulfilling the commandment to love our neighbours. (Of course, self-love is also possible, and not necessarily self-centred in a pejorative sense, so even this seemingly simple point is complicated.64) But we do not have the space to explore the complexities of love or the Christian commandments to love, so instead we want to look at one particular way that love for our neighbours can manifest itself, namely as non-judgementalism. At various places throughout the New Testament we are urged not to judge others. There is a puzzle here about just how we could possibly refrain from judging others and yet take sin seriously – after all, we who pray the Lord's Prayer assert an intention to forgive others their trespasses, and giving up moral judgement altogether would be to take things one step too far into the realm of excuse rather than forgiveness. (See Watson (2013), for a nice articulation of this puzzle, who worries that some of the rhetoric of antijudgementalism might lead to a 'loss of moral nerve'.) But even assuming that particular puzzle can be resolved, there is still the question of why exactly we ought to refrain from judging others. A natural answer is that judging can easily poison interpersonal relationships, creating distance instead of intimacy and encouraging defensiveness rather than reform. But another answer suggested by the New Testament is that our pride makes us ill-suited to act as judges. To get a sense of what we have in mind, consider the famous verse about the mote and the beam, or the speck and the log: Do not judge, so that you may not be judged. For with the judgment you make you will be judged, and the measure you give will be the measure you get. Why AuQ144 16028-0057d-1pass-r02.indd 221 08-07-2017 14:10:38 222 Chapter 12 do you see the speck in your neighbor's eye, but do not notice the log in your own eye? Or how can you say to your neighbor, 'Let me take the speck out of your eye,' while the log is in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your neighbor's eye.65 Nothing in this passage suggests that there is anything inherently wrong with being concerned about the speck in our neighbour's eye, only that there is something wrong with being concerned about the speck while we ourselves have a log. But why exactly should my log preclude me from being allowed to point out your speck? Or consider this similar passage from the gospel of John, in which Jesus is being quizzed about the adultery laws: Early in the morning [Jesus] came again to the temple. All the people came to him and he sat down and began to teach them. The scribes and the Pharisees brought a woman who had been caught in adultery; and making her stand before all of them, they said to him, 'Teacher, this woman was caught in the very act of committing adultery. Now in the law Moses commanded us to stone such women. Now what do you say?' They said this to test him, so that they might have some charge to bring against him. Jesus bent down and wrote with his finger on the ground. When they kept on questioning him, he straightened up and said to them, 'Let anyone among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her.' And once again he bent down and wrote on the ground. When they heard it, they went away, one by one, beginning with the elders; and Jesus was left alone with the woman standing before him. Jesus straightened up and said to her, 'Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?' She said, 'No one, sir.' And Jesus said, 'Neither do I condemn you. Go your way, and from now on do not sin again'.66 Again, a straightforward reading of this passage suggests not that Jesus disagrees with the judgement of condemnation or thinks it unfitting, but rather that the scribes and Pharisees are not in a position to make it, given their own sinfulness. But why exactly should their sin preclude them from being able to point out the sin of someone else? Here are three proposals for understanding these passages, though surely there are others: (1) perhaps hypocritical moral address of this sort is just wrong in itself, violating some fundamental principle of morality (see Wallace (2010)); (2) perhaps hypocrisy generates (or is a symptom of) an epistemic deficiency of some sort, so that the hypocrite is unable to see the faults of others with enough clarity to be confident that he is seeing them correctly; (3) perhaps hypocrisy indicates something else about one's character that disqualifies one from holding the position of judge, not necessarily because one's judgements would be inaccurate or morally inappropriate but rather because one's judgements would be out of order. There is no clear consensus 16028-0057d-1pass-r02.indd 222 08-07-2017 14:10:38 Pride in Christian Philosophy and Theology 223 on how exactly to spell this last suggestion out – in the literature it is usually discussed under the rubric of the 'standing' to blame – but it is not hard to think of attitudes or behaviours that would render blame out of order in this way, with hypocrisy being the most natural candidate (see Coates and Tognazzini (2014, section 2.2)). But one might wonder about the deeper character flaws revealed by hypocritical address, and it does not take too much imagination to think that pride is probably going to play a role here. Consider, for example, how you might avoid the charge of hypocrisy. One way to avoid it would simply be not to blame at all, but another would seem to be to blame more – in particular, to blame oneself in addition to the other. Supposing that I acknowledge my own similar wrongdoing and have resolved to do better, would I still be a hypocrite to blame you? Perhaps I still would, but at least it seems less clear in this case that my blame would be out of order in quite the same way. To blame without acknowledging my own status is to arrogate to myself the position of judge, a position that arguably requires, if not a clean moral record, at least a checking of one's moral record at the door (and hence an acknowledgement of it before one takes the bench). And what is it that keeps me from seeing myself clearly, as a sinner among sinners? What but pride? This connection is rendered even more vivid if we conceive of pride as in some sense the opposite of humility, and if we conceive of humility as a matter of owning one's own limitations. The hypocritical blamer is precluded from the position of judge because they have failed to own their own limitations, because they have a deficiency of humility, because they are prideful. Of course, we do not mean to suggest that owning one's own limitations will ipso facto render one suitable to take the position of judge. What seems more likely is that a humble recognition of one's own sinfulness will make one give up one's aspiration to be a judge in the first place, and one's interpersonal relationships will be dominated less by blame and more by advice. A recognition of my own sinfulness may lead me to remain silent in the face of wrongdoing by others, of course, but it need not. Especially when those others are my intimates, my love for them may still prompt me to want to help them see the error of their ways.67 But love and humility can here work as partners in loving exhortation, avoiding the extremes of spineless condonation and arrogant condemnation. There's an additional point to make here in connection with a different love command. Not only are we told to love our neighbours – part of which seems to involve not presuming to stand in judgement over them, given our own sinfulness – but we are also told to love our enemies (Matthew 5:44). If our enemies are also our neighbours, then presumably the comments we have just made would apply to the case of loving our enemies as well. But the case 16028-0057d-1pass-r02.indd 223 08-07-2017 14:10:38 224 Chapter 12 of loving one's enemies certainly poses unique psychological obstacles, and once again it is pride that provides a plausible explanation. To see what we have in mind, consider Gary Watson's (2004) famous discussion of the murderer (and potential psychopath) Robert Alton Harris, whose crimes were heinous enough to cause outrage but whose childhood was tragic enough to cause pity. Watson insightfully explores this ambivalence in his paper, and we cannot reproduce that exploration here. Nevertheless, we wish to draw attention to one point that Watson makes about our ambivalence towards criminals like Harris who are also victims of their circumstances (Watson 2004, 245): However, what is arresting about the Harris case is not just the clash between sympathy and antipathy. The case is troubling in a more personal way. The fact that Harris's cruelty is an intelligible response to his circumstances gives a foothold not only for sympathy, but for the thought that if I had been subjected to such circumstances, I might well have become as vile. What is unsettling is the thought that one's moral self is such a fragile thing. One tends to think of one's moral sensibilities as going deeper than that (though it's not clear what this means). This thought induces not only an ontological shudder, but a sense of equality with the other: I too am a potential sinner. Watson is here pointing out that it is a humbling experience to acknowledge the various aspects of one's own life that have not been under one's control but which have nevertheless shaped who one is. And, just as above, there are two ways of responding to the recognition of constitutive moral luck: one could draw the conclusion that it undermines blameworthiness across the board and cease to blame anyone, or one could simply use that recognition as a mirror to see oneself more clearly and, in particular, to see that many facts about one are not exactly something one can congratulate oneself about, since it is not as though anyone creates their own self. In other words, facing up to the phenomenon of constitutive moral luck can make one aware of one's pridefulness, one's failure to acknowledge one's own limitations. And to the extent that one is humbled in this way, perhaps it will be a bit easier to love even one's enemies. Faith Finally, we want to make a few tentative suggestions about what pride may have to do with faith, specifically religious faith. In particular, we think that recent work on the nature of faith, which emphasizes its non-cognitive aspects, has the resources to explain quite naturally how pride can be in competition with faith. Given the preoccupations of twentieth-century analytic epistemology, it is no surprise that questions about the rationality of faith were mostly treated as AuQ145 16028-0057d-1pass-r02.indd 224 08-07-2017 14:10:38 Pride in Christian Philosophy and Theology 225 questions about the rationality of religious belief, where the sort of belief in question was conceived of as a type of assent to propositions expressing religious theses or doctrines. And while inquiry into the justification of religious beliefs is important, recent work has moved away from this purely cognitive framework, inspired by a recognition that faith is a rich and complex phenomenon that goes beyond (and may not even necessarily include) belief. In the Christian tradition, no doubt this recognition is fuelled in part by that familiar passage in the book of James (2:19): 'You believe that God is one; you do well. Even the demons believe-and shudder'. Faith must be more than detached assent to a proposition. But what more is it? This is not the place for a survey of accounts of faith, but a representative example of recent work is the account of propositional faith offered by Daniel Howard-Snyder, according to which faith that p involves '(i) a positive evaluation of p, (ii) a positive conative orientation toward p, (iii) a positive cognitive stance toward p, and (iv) resilience to new counter-evidence that p' (2013: 370). A few points about this account are worth noting. First, it is only intended as an account of having faith that a proposition is true, and it is not necessarily straightforward to convert it into an account of having faith in a person. (Nevertheless, if even propositional faith involves a variety of positive attitudes, how much more will faith in a person?) Second, positivity plays a key role here, and this is part of what distinguishes faith from the sort of mere belief that even the demons have. Third, the language used to state the account is intentionally vague because Howard-Snyder thinks, for example, that various types of conative orientation or cognitive stances might satisfy conditions (ii) and (iii). In particular, Howard-Snyder argues that belief that p is not necessary for having faith that p. Instead, it might be enough to assume that p or accept that p, where each of these is a cognitive stance distinct from belief. And it is not hard to imagine accounts of faith that weaken the cognitive stance requirement further,68 so that perhaps even a seeming can count – or, even more radically, accounts of faith that require no particular cognitive stance at all. In fact, on some accounts of religious faith, the very attempt to cognize God gets in the way of faith. Take the Kierkegaardian pseudonym Johannes Climacus, for example, who writes that faith is 'the happy passion' in which 'the understanding sets itself aside and the paradox gives itself' (Kierkegaard 2009, 128). (The 'paradox' at issue here is the Incarnate God.) Or consider Johannes de silentio, the pseudonymous author of Fear and Trembling, who writes that 'faith begins precisely where thinking leaves off' (p. 46). These are the sorts of passages that might lead one to classify Kierkegaard as a fideist, though we are inclined to think that categorization is too hasty. That debate aside, however, what we want to emphasize here is that the extent to which one's account of religious faith features non-cognitive AuQ146 AuQ147 AuQ148 16028-0057d-1pass-r02.indd 225 08-07-2017 14:10:38 226 Chapter 12 components is the extent to which one can explain the platitude that pride can get in the way of faith – indeed, that pride and faith are in some sense opposite orientations. Consider, for the purposes of illustration, the contrast between belief and doubt. These too seem to be opposite attitudes, at least in some sense. Perhaps doubting that p does not entail disbelieving p, but it certainly seems to entail not believing p and perhaps even being inclined to disbelieve p.69 (So belief and doubt seem like contraries – hence opposites – even if there is a possibility of having neither one nor the other.) But there also seems to be an asymmetry with respect to how our own agency is involved in these two attitudes. In the case of belief, especially beliefs formed on the basis of mechanisms like perception or memory, we simply find ourselves believing – that is to say, beliefs are states with respect to which we are often passive. But that does not seem to be the case with doubt. To doubt that p is, so it seems, to take some sort of stance with respect to the truth of p – perhaps not to stand directly against it, but at least to stand along those who would bet against it. In other words, doubting seems to be a state with respect to which we are to some extent active.70 If there is this sort of asymmetry between belief and doubt, then that seems to indicate another asymmetry. When we believe, we need not have any opinion about the evidence we have or about whether that evidence is up to snuff. We often just believe. But when we doubt, we bring our reflective selves into the picture. We consider a proposition more or less consciously, consider the evidence we take ourselves to have for it, consider the standards we think one ought to apply to such evidence, and judge that the evidence we have falls short of the standards we think are appropriate. (Descartes is the famous case, of course, but even non-strategic and less explicit doubt seems to involve something like an opinion about standards and an evaluation of whether those standards have been met.) This suggests that whereas belief merely requires us to have an opinion about the world, doubt requires us to have an opinion about ourselves. And now you can perhaps begin to see how pride will be brought into the mix. Part of what seems to be motivating the Kierkegaardian disdain of the 'understanding' and of 'thinking' is precisely the active, self-oriented aspects of those activities, insofar as they involve a commitment to certain standards of evidence – or, perhaps better, a commitment to one's own opinion about the standards of evidence. But these sorts of commitments are plausibly non-cognitive orientations, of precisely the sort that might well preclude the non-cognitive orientations that many contemporary theorists argue are partly constitutive of faith. And though these non-cognitive orientations can surely originate in various ways, it is not implausible to suppose that pride will sometimes be at their root. 16028-0057d-1pass-r02.indd 226 08-07-2017 14:10:38 Pride in Christian Philosophy and Theology 227 Perhaps it would be fruitful to make one final connection to Kierkegaard. In The Sickness unto Death, pseudonymous author Anti-Climacus is concerned to elucidate the various ways that human beings can fail to have faith – each of these ways is a form of what Anti-Climacus calls 'despair'. The simpler and more common forms of despair consist in not even realizing that one has been created to be able to forge commitments to certain goals and reject the pursuit of others, to be able to take an active role in shaping one's own life. But the more complicated forms of despair are more reflective and incorporate pride: one is to realize that you ought to be shaping your life to be oriented towards God but to be pridefully embarrassed at the various ways you continually fail at that task, and the other is to realize that God wants you to be shaping your life to be oriented towards God but to be pridefully defiant, identifying with your weaknesses rather than being embarrassed about them. For Anti-Climacus, faith requires a humble recognition of one's dependence on God, which helps one to resist both (1) the temptation to simply give up in the face of difficulty, bemoaning one's own weakness and 2) the temptation to refuse to ask for help and instead identify with one's weakness (see Kierkegaard 1983, especially pp. 60–74). Of course, as we pointed out earlier, Kierkegaard seems to have a radically non-cognitive view of faith, but even for contemporary theorists who want to retain some cognitive components, the recent shift towards incorporating non-cognitive components means that the relationship between pride and faith is ripe for further exploration. If religious faith requires some noncognitive orientation of openness towards or dependence on God, as seems plausible, and if pride is a self-oriented assertion of one's own independence, as also seems plausible, then pride may well be one of the major obstacles to living a life of religious faith. And thinking of pride in terms of illegitimate self-assertion also fits nicely with the portrait of pride sketched previously, since to think we are not dependent on God would be to think more highly of our excellences than is fitting. CONCLUSION Faith and love are not the only virtues that will connect closely with pride, and of course there are also a number of other related vices. We do not intend this discussion to be exhaustive, particularly if Aquinas is correct, as mentioned earlier, that every vice is 'naturally liable to arise from pride'.71 Aquinas discusses pride as part of his discussion of intemperance.72 He also mentions that presumption (which is a form of immoderate hope) arises directly from pride,73 as does vainglory.74 More recently, Taylor mentions vanity, conceit and arrogance as manifestations of pride.75 And Roberts lists other related AuQ149 16028-0057d-1pass-r02.indd 227 08-07-2017 14:10:38 228 Chapter 12 vices as 'vanity, arrogance, conceit, egotism, hyper-autonomy, grandiosity, pretentiousness, snobbishness, impertinence (presumption), haughtiness, self-righteousness, domination, selfish ambition, and self-complacency'.76 While not all these connections can be explored here, we hope that we have accomplished our primary task, which is to give a sense of the roles that pride has historically played within Christian philosophy and theology, as well as seen how different senses of pride are interconnected.77 NOTES 1. Most of our discussion focuses on Western Christianity in particular rather than the Eastern church, which historically has not dwelt on pride to the same extent; the focus of the Western church is indebted to Augustine, whom we discuss later in the chapter. 2. For a discussion of Pride movements, see Barnes (2016, chapter 6) and Dyson (2006, chapter 5). 3. See, for instance, Timpe and Perrine (2014, 225–44) and Protasi (2016). A similar discussion can also be found at http://www.prindlepost.org/2016/02/ envy-always-malicious-part-two/. 4. See DeYoung (2009, 34–35) for an explanation of why the description 'seven deadly sins' is wrong. See also (Schimmel 1997, 24ff and 32f). 5. See Dyson (2006, 1). The other six deadly sins (or, more correctly, capital vices) are envy, wrath, sloth, greed, gluttony and lust. All of these are discussed in DeYoung (2009) and Timpe and Boyd (2015). For a discussion of how envy has both negative and positive senses, see Timpe and Perrine (2014). 6. See Roberts (2009). 7. We do not mean to deny that instances of these kinds of pride can be morally problematic (e.g., as when a parent is proud of a child for being a bully or the work in which one takes pride is itself immoral); rather, the point is that in general there can be instances where it is good and right to take pride in positive qualities or actions. 8. See Proverbs 16:18. 9. Taylor (1985, 43). 10. Ibid., 16. 11. Treatise, book 2, part 1, section VI, 291. 12. Taylor (1985, 20); see also Baier (1978). Also, it may be important that Hume does not think that all excessive emotion of pride is vicious; see Taylor (1985, 47 and 50). 13. Saying what it means for a relationship to be 'appropriately close' for the admiration felt to be pride is a tricky question; see the discussion in Taylor (1985, 21) and Roberts (2009). 14. Taylor (1985, 32). 15. Or morally neutral. We drop this clarification in what follows. 16. Lewis (2015, 128). Proper admiration of this sort will aligned with right reason; see Boyd (2014). 16028-0057d-1pass-r02.indd 228 08-07-2017 14:10:38 Pride in Christian Philosophy and Theology 229 17. Aristotle calls this 'proper pride' in his Nicomachean Ethics, IV.3. See also the discussion of proper self-love in books VIII and IX. 18. Or at least non-negative. 19. For a discussion of the Disability Pride movement along these lines, see Barnes (2016, chapter 6). There may be other understandings of pride movements which do not presuppose the positive emotion of pride in the sense mentioned here, but instead are merely attempting to mobilize against marginalization or oppression. On Barnes's understanding, both aspects are involved. 20. Roberts (2007, 85f). The larger context includes a discussion of how asymmetric friendships need not involve competitive pride when the two individuals identify closely with the good of the other, rather than seeing their good as competitive. See also Roberts (2013, 144ff). C. S. Lewis claims that the vice of pride is 'essentially competitive-is competitive by its very nature-while the other vices are competitive only, so to speak, by accident' (2015, 123). For reasons that will become clear later, we do not think that all instances of the vice of pride are competitive. And one of us has argued elsewhere that the capital vice of envy is itself comparative by nature; see Timpe and Perrin (2014). 21. Roberts (2013, 144). 22. Taylor (1985, 45). 23. That is, positive and negative pride might be aimed at the same object, though the former will differ from the latter insofar as its manner of expression is disordered. In fact, the very same individual could have both sorts of pride to the very same object, though not at the same time. Could I have emotion X directed at a particular object ordinately and also have an inordinate instance of X towards the same object at the same time? We are inclined to think not. 24. To put the point in a way that it is often made in much of the virtue tradition, the emotion here would be 'contrary to right reason'. For a discussion right reason as it relates to pride, see Boyd (2014). 25. For a further discussion of this understanding, see Timpe and Boyd (2014, 3–5). 26. Schimmel (1997, 41). 27. See, for example, Driver (2007). 28. This view is associated most closely with Roberts and Wood (2007). 29. See Whitcomb et al. (2015). 30. See Roberts (2009), for a nice discussion of the vice of pride and some suggestions about its connections to humility. 31. A good place to start would be Nadelhoffer et al. (forthcoming). 32. According to Konkola, while 'humility was a quintessentially Christian discovery . . . its opposite, pride, had achieved recognition much earlier' (Konkola 2005, 182). See also the discussion in Schimmel (1997, 29ff). Compare, however, C. S. Lewis's claim in Mere Christianity, which suggests that pride is peculiarly Christian: I now come to that part of Christian morals where they differ most sharply from all other morals. There is one vice of which no man in the world is free; which every one in the world loathes when he sees it in someone else; and of which hardly any people, except Christians, ever imagine that they are guilty themselves. I have heard people admit that they are bad-tempered, or that they cannot keep their heads about girls or 16028-0057d-1pass-r02.indd 229 08-07-2017 14:10:38 230 Chapter 12 drink or even that they are cowards. I do not think I have ever heard anyone who was not a Christian accuse himself of this vice. . . . The vice I am talking about is Pride or Self-Conceit. (2015, 122) Augustine, for instance, is well known for his criticism of pagan virtue. What the Greeks failed to see, thought Augustine, was the centrality of human dependence on God for the theological (or infused) virtues. Insofar as he also saw the infused virtues as necessary for any true moral virtue, Augustine thought the Greeks were guilty of the vice of 'pride as a denial of dependency on God'; see Herdt (2014, 233). 33. See, for instance, Augustine City of God, 12.13 and Aquinas, Summa Theologiae IIaIIae 163.1. See also Sweeney (2002, 162f). For Aquinas, it is also the first sin in general. In addition, pride is sometimes taken to be the worst kind of sin. This is true, for example, of Dante's ranking of the capital vices in the Purgatorio. More recently, Schimmel writes that 'in traditional religious thought [pride] is the worst of the deadly sins' (Schimmel 1997, 36). 34. Aquinas, Summa Theologiae IaIIae 84.2 ad 2. 35. For a helpful discussion of Satan and pride in the Christian tradition, see Neal (2016). Pride is also closely related to the fall of Satan in Islam as well. See Arp and McCraw (2016, 7). 36. For an excellent discussion of the history of the capital vices in the Christian tradition, see DeYoung (2009, particularly chapter 1). 37. See footnote 4 above. 38. For a discussion of why pride is often seen as the root of the seven capital vices, see DeYoung (2009, 28f) and Boyd (2014, 245f). 39. Boyd (2014, 245). 40. DeYoung (2009, 27). 41. Cassian (2000, 117). See also DeYoung (2009, 28). 42. Cassian (2007, 343). For other discussions of the relationship between pride and vainglory, see DeYoung (2014) and Schimmel (1997, 32f). 43. Cassian, (2000, 257). 44. Cassian differentiates two kinds of pride: carnal and spiritual; Cassian (2000, 255). Here, he has the spiritual variety in mind. 45. Cassian (2015, chapter XII). Shortly thereafter, he also gives an example of how 'the sin of fornication is prevented by an attack of vainglory'. This positive use of vainglory and pride is, for Cassian, related to how Aristotle thinks that shame, though not a virtue itself, can be useful for education in virtue. See Nicomachean Ethics IV.9. 46. Literal Commentary on Genesis, XI.15.20, translated by Vernon J. Bourke; as quoted in Boyd (2014, 250). 47. Augustine, The City of God, XIV.131. See also XIV.14, V.18 and IX.21. 48. See, for instance, the entry on pride in Fitzgerald (2009). 49. As quoted in Baasten (1986, 77–78). 50. Moralia in Iob 31.45.87–90. 51. Schimmel (1997, 32). Aquinas endorses this fourfold division in Aquinas, De Malo VIII. 52. Aquinas, Summa Theologiae IIaIIae 162.1. In Summa Theologiae IIaIIae 162.4, he describes pride as 'immoderate desire of one's own excellence, a desire, to 16028-0057d-1pass-r02.indd 230 08-07-2017 14:10:38 Pride in Christian Philosophy and Theology 231 wit, that is not in accord with right reason'. In the reply to the first objection of article 1, Aquinas acknowledges that there is a kind of pride, consisting in simply 'superabundance' that can fail to be vicious and indeed be morally positive. 53. Aquinas, De Malo VIII.3 ad1. 54. Summa Theologiae IIaIIae 162.1 ad 2. 55. Aquinas, De Malo VIII.2. So pride is not the same as vainglory, since the latter aims only at the perception of honour and glory. 56. Aquinas, Summa Theologiae IIaIIae 162.6. In Summa Theologiae ST IIaIIae 133.1, Aquinas grants that there is a place for the positive emotion of pride, since feeling it appropriately helps one avoid the vice of pusillanimity. 57. See also Pinckaers (2002, 23–24). 58. Aquinas, Summa Theologiae IIaIIae162.4 59. Ibid., p. IIaIIae 162.2. He continues: 'It must, however, be observed that this generic character of pride admits of the possibility of all vices arising from pride sometimes, but it does not imply that all vices originate from pride always'. 60. Ibid., p. IIaIIae 162.8. 61. Ibid., p. IIaIIae 162.7 ad 2. 62. St Benedict's discussion of pride and humility in The Rule of St. Benedict are worthy of considerable attention, for instance. 63. An examination of Aristotle's megalopsychos ('who thinks himself worthy of great things and really is worthy of them', Nicomachean Ethics 1123b) and its relationship to the Christian understanding of pride is worthwhile, though not something we can explore here. Magnanimity differs from temperateness, for Aristotle, precisely because he is worthy of such great recognition: The magnanimous person, then, is at the extreme insofar as he makes great claims. But insofar as he makes them rightly, he is intermediate; for what he thinks he is worthy of accords with the real worth, whereas the others are excessive or deficient. . . . The vain person makes claims that are excessive for himself, but not for the magnanimous man. If, then, he thinks he is worthy of great things, and is worthy of them, especially of the greatest things, he has one concern above all. . . . Since the magnanimous person is worthy of the greatest things, he is the best person. For in every case the better person is worthy of something greater, and the best person is worthy of the greatest things; and hence the truly magnanimous person must be good. (Nicomachean Ethics 1123b 13–29) Even here we see that Aristotle thinks that a person can be disposed to thinking he is better than he really is, making 'claims that are excessive'. For more on the connection between pride and magnanimity, see Boyd (2014, particularly 247–51) and Herdt (1997, particularly chapter 3). 64. See Frankfurt (2004, especially lecture 3), for an exploration of some of the complications. 65. Matthew 7: 1–5, New Revised Standard Version. 66. John 8: 2–11, New Revised Standard Version. 67. For a discussion of 'fraternal correction', see Stump (2003, 328–37). 68. For further discussion, see Kvanvig (2016). 69. Cf. Howard-Snyder (2013, 359). 16028-0057d-1pass-r02.indd 231 08-07-2017 14:10:38 232 Chapter 12 70. Following Howard-Snyder (2013), we distinguish between doubting that p, on the one hand, and having doubts about whether p, on the other. Whereas the former seems active and opposed to belief, the latter is neither of those things. I can believe that there is a God despite having my doubts; but I cannot both believe that there is a God and yet doubt that there is a God. 71. Aquinas, Summa Theologiae IIaIIae 162.7 ad 2. 72. Ibid., IIaIIae. 73. Ibid., IIaIIae 21.4 74. Ibid., IIaIIae 162.8 ad 2. 75. Taylor (2006). 76. Roberts (2013, 199). 77. We would like to thank Craig Boyd, Adam Carter, Rebecca DeYoung and Emma Gordon for helpful comments on earlier version of this chapter. This publication was made possible, in part, through the support of a grant from the Templeton Religion Trust. 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