There's Pride. And then there's Pride.

An extended reflection on arrogance and dignity in light of a friend's article.

My colleague and friend Dr.

Shane J. Wood

wrote a piece recently on Pride that reflects the state of my mind the last few years. I started this piece as a comment on his work. Once it eclipsed 1,000 words, well… here we are.

It seems to me part of the problem in our attempt to distinguish pride from pride may be etymology.

When it comes to pride, we’re stuck trying to tease out the dignity of the individual from the distain of others — our collective distain of an individual who has writ themselves large upon society, who has made themselves of more import than any other or even of the symbols they represent or the office they are supposed to be stewarding. The former comes from a word meaning “worthy” or “grandeur” and has that cognate “deign.” The later literally means “dis-deign” — as in a refusal to condescend to give, even despite an affront to one’s dignity; a refusal to esteem worthy, worth notice.

Condescend itself meaning “to come down with us.” Related, philosophically, to incarnation, to beggar kings, all of that. “Tabernacled among us” and whatnot.

So keep that all in mind for a moment as we look at pride.

Because when we get to “pride,” we start with the Latin “prodesse” which is something of value, move to “prode” meaning useful, and into the Old French “prod, prud” which is brave or gallant. That gets us to “prytung” and “pryde” of Old English. Potentially. But the umlaut in “pryte” and “prytian” might hint that the word is older indeed. Because by Old English, “prud” and “prut” mean “proud, haughty, arrogant.” We might compare the Old Norse “prýði” for “ornament, gallantry, bravery.”

This juxtaposition of pride and pride, to me, indicates one of two things:

Either…

We have a situation like in my poem where I wrote “Sounds sound out from sound boats sounding sounds.” In this poem’s case, four to five words spelled and pronounced identically in English have four to five radically different meanings from four to five radically different etymological histories. In the instance of pride, there’s pride and then there’s pride, which look like identical twins, but couldn’t be more different because they come from Nordic culture and Latin culture, respectively. The f-word similarly has an identical twin ancestor represented in the name of a modern bird, whose meaning isn’t the f-word — as I’ve rehearsed that in the same ode where the four “sounds” line occurs. That poem’s currently on submission, so I won’t rehearse that difference here, though it is possibly the most extreme example. That f-word twin also would have tickled both Lewis and Tolkien. Tolkien because he delighted in words that looked identical, but had different histories. Lewis because of his article On Four Letter Words in Selected Literary Essays.¹

Or…

People are responding to “pride” with the symbolism hidden in classic Medieval stories about hypocrisy, masks, and personification (stories that compare the heart to the outward appearance): those things that are gallant, brave, valuable that look on the surface as if they’re worthless or vain or disgusting or unpopular contrasted with those things endowed merely with the ornamentation of office that have lost their valor, their gallantry, their bravery, their value. Kings in all but crown verses kings in crown alone. Consider for a moment not pride, but beauty in La Belle et la Bête. An “ugly” witch curses a “handsome” prince until he learns courtesy and real beauty, after which he becomes handsome once more and she, the witch, reveals herself as truly fair. A similar move may distinguish pride from pride: the cloak that hubris wears when it pretends to be more than it is compared to the valor and virtue of the true knight who deserves the cloak, but walks homeless or naked or outside the city gates. Or consider the nine kings of men corrupted in their addiction to power to serve Sauron. Children walking around in their parents’s clothing, in other words like most sociologists these days acting as if they know even the most basic things about metaphysics. Compare the nine Nazgûl in black to Aragorn in black in the corner of the Inn of the Prancing Pony. Both are kings, both have the trappings of kings on their person. The nine are great, but only Aragorn is good.

There’s a marked difference between the mythos of the pride of a fallen angel who, as the story goes, wants to be God (though he isn’t) and the pride of God who, as the story goes, is willing to condescend to become man (though he’s qualitatively, infinitely more). A God proud enough of man to become one in the teeth of a fallen angel’s pride: who, as the story goes, meant it when at the dawn of the universe he said, “It is good.” Bad pride is the external career ladder. The “positional leader” as some say, the hunger for control. Good pride is the internal reality that needs no brass, no Oscars ceremony, no 40 under 40, no ranking of wealthiest or even pay raise, no position, no follower or mailing list count, who could even take or leave carnal pleasure. The internal reality posits itself for the sake of those lesser than it. The external mask posits others as lesser than it for the sake of itself. This is not to say that the internal reality of worthiness cannot use those proximate goods, such as a salary raise to ensure his kids and the kids of others do not starve. Or a political appointment to build better roads and give healthcare to the poor. It’s simply to say that they aren’t needful. Bad pride, however, may well see any one of them as ends in themselves.

But especially money and power, which it may dress up in words like “blessing” and “influence.” Or perhaps “scalability” and “impact.” It’s all the same crap, though.

Those two states of being — arrogance and humility; hubris and deference — could not be more diametrically opposed as definitions of pride. No worries. A similar thing has happened to some words like avocation, literally, lust, etc.

Certainly there are plenty of people who hold high office in matters of state and matters of local community engagement whose very arrogance sullies said office. We dis-deign them. We don’t condescend to give them much of anything. We shame them, publicly, for sullying their oath, their office, their ornamentation, their decor. In some cases, we merely ignore these people or cut them out of our lives. Incorrigibility, after all, is terribly difficult to purge, as any counselor or therapist who has ever diagnosed a b-cluster personality disorder will tell you. As any child or relative of someone with borderline personality disorder or antisocial tendencies will tell you. These are the kinds of people who either scream, literally or figuratively, directly or indirectly, “I’m the boss.” They’re those who constantly belittle their peers and subordinates, mock everyone, criticize everything, proselytize sarcasm, tear other folks down, even those they perceive to be already beneath them, triangulate, form themselves as the sole arbiters of praise and rebuke without an ounce of encouragement, criticize waiters for petty violations — waiters whom they only interact with once and who rely on slave wages, flaunt their cynicism, give unsolicited advice, found closed family systems based on control rather than forge open family systems based on trust, “divide and conquer,” refuse to see every person as their fellows on some level, talk of “alphas and betas” all the time (which, again, don’t even exist), broker information as if hoarding information were any sort of path towards intimacy (in contrast: some of the most intimate couples I know actually know less about one another than their parents and are quite comfortable in silence), and who pray the narcissist’s prayer:

That didn't happen.
And if it did, it wasn't that bad.
And if it was, that's not a big deal.
And if it is, that's not my fault.
And if it was, I didn't mean it.
And if I did, you deserved it.

— The Narcissist’s Prayer

But.

There are also those whom we must encourage to not have toxic shame. For we are legion. I use “we” because of how I grew up and went to college around many, many prideful people. I had to learn this kind of shame in my late teens and early twenties because of how at rest I had been in my own person. My father instilled this in me, my father who had many, many faults, but got that right. Yet college culture taught me toxic shame: shame for my poverty, shame for my convictions, shame for my skillset, shame for the cultures I enjoyed that radically differed from almost everyone else attending. Afterwards I began the long road of unlearning that albeit recently acquired toxic shame and remembering my early confidence that was never arrogance. Far too much toxic shame spreads around our society, which is a serious problem, because it keeps us from confronting bad pride. For those who, like me, struggle with this, I recommend John Bradshaw’s Healing the Shame that Binds You, originally recommended to me by Kyle Welch. Healing the Shame that Binds You is one of maybe ten books I feel confident recommending to literally anyone. We should value what is good, what is brave, what is valiant, but especially within ourselves. To those with toxic shame we say, both to children and adults, “you should be proud of yourself. I respect you. I have confidence in you. There’s no one like you in the world.” This is true. This is the point of Mr. Rogers’s entire career. Dr. Wood should be proud of himself. So should I: in the Latin sense of value, in the old sense of the valor and bravery behind the regalia. The substance behind the costuming. The real circumstance behind whatever pomp the big band plays. We ought to have dignity. We ought to hold our heads high.

The irony of this is that every little boy and girl who becomes a prideful, arrogant, tyrannical mess is someone who hasn’t been very proud of themselves on the inside for a very, very long time. If that pings something in your soul, consider this: there’s a chance for you to seek cognitive behavioral therapy and admit along with the first step of CoDa that you’ve become “powerless over others – that your life has become unmanageable.” Perhaps consider investigating whether or not you might be codependent and, if it applies, find a meeting?

Also consider admitting there’s a serious problem to a therapist and asking — curiously — whether you might have a b-cluster personality disorder.

There’s a warning there for each of us when we feel that toxic shame, that shame bomb, that unwanted obtrusive thought. Because those who have gone untreated with the dignity hole in their heart long enough end up worrying about the trappings of dignity rather than the authentic article. These become folks who, having not deigned themselves, are disdained, who are cloaked in their own shame so deeply they export it onto others, often onto small children or any weaker souls onto whom they can export their emotional regulation and shame, rather than grow into the kind of folks content to be themselves. Those in my lives who have become absolute tyrants? Those motivate me towards good pride within myself: I don’t ever want to become like them. And I also hope they heal, for evil, as Boethius said, is a sickness. And, per my namesake, I always prefer to lance the boil.

You see the etymology of that Latin word prodesse is pro-esse. Esse as in the present active infinitive of sum: I am. To be.

As Bradshaw would say: you’re not a human doing. You’re a human being.

You have naught to do but to be.

So that kind of valuable pride is to offer your unique service — “You can have my bow.” “And my axe.” But on a much, much deeper level, valuable pride proffers your very self, your very being. To put yourself forward. To put yourself on the frontline. To put yourself in the position of prominence so that others don’t have to risk rotten tomatoes thrown at them. To put yourself in place of or on behalf of someone else who is guilty or struggling. To put yourself prior to any others when the criticism starts rolling in. To bring yourself out into the open clearing to be shot while those you protect hide in the shadows. You make the hard phone call. You agree to having a mediator for reconciliation, even if calling someone’s bluff means you wait literal years for them to simply say “okay, let’s do it.” You bring what little you have to feed the hungry, fishes and loaves. You bring yourself to bear upon this hurting world, even though insecurities tell you someone else should hold the torch. Like the father and son in The Road: we’re not cannibals who eat other people. We set our hearts on pilgrimage for canned foods and humanity.

We’re the good guys.

We carry the fire.

This is why I believe to my core that good, deeply human artists make the best leaders: once they get over their toxic shame, they make ten times the leaders that society’s control freaks make. There’s actually something of substance within their hearts because they know true power isn’t coercion, manipulation, or playing politics with other people’s lives. This is why I’ve devoted my life to counseling, rearing, encouraging, and teaching discipline to artists:

There’s a corollary: the biggest healing I’ve seen in b-cluster personality disorders comes when they make a work of art they’re proud of internally and that involved no other collaborators. Something extremely vulnerable and self-expressing that they release into the world.

Artists know that true power is making the possible into the actual. They take an internal idea and manifest it into the world as a manual art, an applicable art, a productive art, or a fine art. A work of art released into the world, come what may.

That’s true power.

That kind of pride, actually, is humility and takes an incredible kind of courage. For it is becoming: to bring into being your essence. Come-to-be. Prodesse.

To become you-i-er as Ortberg said.

To stand as tall as you can stand in the teeth of the dragon, but no taller.

To refuse to give an inch unto the artistic theft of Large Language Models.

Chesterton once said when you go on vacation, don’t enjoy yourself. That’s bad pride. Rather it is your self that enjoys a waterfall, a sabbath, or a song. That’s good pride. Lewis in the great debate with E.M.W. Tilyard said that a poem isn’t about the poet, but rather about what the poet is looking at — this includes metafiction, which is about the nature of fiction making per se, not the solipsism of the self-inserted author. (I can’t speak for self-insert pornographic fanfic, having neither read nor written any, but I have a hunch that this assumption holds true for them as well: being not about the nature of creativity, self-insert fanfic porn instead grows solipsistic — the key to understanding this is Dante, whose self-insert Virgil fanfic comedy was about his personal spiritual journey). Even Stephen King’s Dark Tower asserts the selflessness of metafiction, being as confessional as it was. To enjoy as yourself whatever phenomenon you’re encountering is to be pro-self in the good way, not at the expense of others, but to serve others in the place, quality, quantity, position, relation, time, space, condition, actions, and passions that you and you alone can.

After all, we can only offer what we have to offer. In this person’s case, art merged with physics and engineering:

And we proffer our unique selves for the sake of others. We’re pro-esse. Prodesse.

Pride.

In the good way.

As Ethan Hawke, the actor and author, said in his Rules for a Knight:

Never pretend you are not a knight or attempt to diminish yourself because you deem it will make others more comfortable. We show others the most respect by offering the best of ourselves.

Arrogance is born of insecurity. Pride is different. It is born of dignity, self-worth, and self-respect. We all see the world through the prism of our identity. If our self-worth is low, it affects everything we do. The point of life is to contribute to others, but without a certain self-regard, it is sometimes difficult to make breakfast.

A knight takes pride in his handwriting. He keeps careful track of his saddle, his boots, and his weapons. He cleans and cares for his tools, animals, and his person. He carries his own bags. The laces of his boots are strapped tight.

Always prompt, a knight is not casual with the time of others. A knight is the best kind of servant, leaving every space he enters brighter and cleaner than when he arrived. His surroundings reflect his state of mind.

Responsibility, awareness, and self-knowledge are his allies. Forgetfulness is his enemy. His mind is not in the future. He is fully engaged in what he is doing.

Be proud, not arrogant. Back straight, head high, shoulders back. Stand like you deserve to be here.

Shoot for nothing. When an archer shoots for a prize, he gets tight. When you shoot to impress, your eyes divide. You see two targets. Your skill has not changed, but the imagined prize separates you. thinking more of the prize than of his target, a knight is drained of power by the need to win. Thinking of nothing, you can let go.

When you train hard, do your best, and strike the target, pride comes all by itself.

For the communities Dr. Wood spoke negatively of in his original piece are run almost entirely on toxic shame. They’re inverted hierarchies of dis-deign.

My comfort for your loss on that front, Dr. Wood. And for my loss.

And for society’s loss.

But mostly for the loss of those little children who went so long without someone saying, “You should be proud of yourself” and “Check on the puppy: see if he’s alright after you smacked him” that they literally feel less empathy than the rest of them. I mourn for them, because society is less without their artistic vision and revocation of control and domineering and manipulation.

Yet there is a poem written for the kinds of communities that contains both kinds of pride. It’s my favorite Christmas poem of all time, so if you’ll forgive my seasonal misstep for the sake of thematic relevance, this is Chesterton’s Gloria in Profundis:

There has fallen on earth for a token
A god too great for the sky.
He has burst out of all things and broken
The bounds of eternity:
Into time and the terminal land
He has strayed like a thief or a lover,
For the wine of the world brims over,
Its splendour is spilt on the sand.

Who is proud when the heavens are humble,
Who mounts if the mountains fall,
If the fixed stars topple and tumble
And a deluge of love drowns all-
Who rears up his head for a crown,
Who holds up his will for a warrant,
Who strives with the starry torrent,
When all that is good goes down?

For in dread of such falling and failing
The fallen angels fell
Inverted in insolence, scaling
The hanging mountain of hell:
But unmeasured of plummet and rod
Too deep for their sight to scan,
Outrushing the fall of man
Is the height of the fall of God.

Glory to God in the Lowest
The spout of the stars in spate-
Where thunderbolt thinks to be slowest
And the lightning fears to be late:
As men dive for sunken gem
Pursuing, we hunt and hound it,
The fallen star has found it
In the cavern of Bethlehem.

Artists know that making the possible actual is true power. True power does what manipulation and politics and coercion and nepotism and information brokering can never accomplish: it makes all things new. Firstfruits of creation indeed:

There’s power. Then there’s power.

1. C.S. Lewis, for the record, knew more cusswords in more languages than I do as the son of four generations of blue collar carpenters.