By Abbot Marion Nguyen

In an age of influencers and ‘likes,’ we’re told that self-expression and being ‘in the know’ are the keys to a good life. But what if these virtues are actually vices in disguise? Jesus’ parable today is about humility—not as weakness, but as truth: the ability to see ourselves rightly before God and others. He warns against grasping at the places of honor, against the quiet scramble for status and recognition. In a world that measures worth by prestige, likes, and winning, this is a radical teaching.

Saint Benedict, who wrote his rule in the 6th century, places humility at the very heart of monastic life, yet his wisdom speaks directly to our restless modern culture. Centuries later, Saint Bernard of Clairvaux, reflecting on Benedict, gives us a sobering counter-image: the ladder of pride—twelve steps that lead not up to glory, but down toward alienation from God. Among these, three stand out because our culture often mistakes them for virtues: curiosity, singularity, and self-justification.

1. Curiosity – “I need to know everything.”

Bernard warns: the very first step down the ladder of pride begins with curiosity. Today, curiosity often appears harmless—even virtuous. Bernard’s curiosity is like a fast-food appetite—it’s restless, it fills us with empty calories, and it leaves us wanting more. The wonder that leads us to God, however, is a slow, savoring hunger, like a good meal shared with friends. It nourishes the soul and leads to gratitude, not consumption. He speaks of the restless appetite to know what is not ours to know: gossip, scandals, social media oversharing. It is the spirit behind FOMO—the fear of missing out, of not being “in the know.” It makes us restless and enslaved to every passing impulse.

This hunger for other people’s secrets distorts the image of God within us, turning us from contemplation to consumption. Instead of receiving reality with gratitude, we devour it for control. Saint Benedict describes such souls as “gyrovagues”—wanderers who are never still. They may not roam physically, but their minds are always in flight (RB 1:10-11).

The remedy? Silence and recollection. Instead of prying, cultivate interior stillness. Ask: What is God showing me about my own heart? Replace, What are they doing? with, Lord, what are You asking of me?

2. Singularity – “You do you.”

Bernard places this at the fifth degree of pride: the desire to stand out, to be different for its own sake. Our culture packages this as authenticity: be yourself at any cost. But in the Gospel—and in Benedict’s vision—true selfhood is found in communion, not isolation.

The “you do you” mentality erodes humility because it makes the self the final measure of truth. In the monastery, Benedict warns against acting apart from the common rule, even in good things. Singularity whispers: God made me unique; I have to be true to myself. While partially true, it can easily become an excuse to reject the gift of community and accountability.

The remedy? Bernard calls us back to the common life. Obedience to shared decisions is not servitude but harmony. The antidote to singularity is shared rhythm, shared burden, shared prayer—the humility to say, I need others to become my true self.

3. Self-Justification – “I’m always right.”

By the eighth degree of pride, Bernard describes a soul entrenched in its own narrative: never wrong, always ready to explain away fault, to twist truth. Sound familiar? This attitude is on full display in our public discourse, where a person’s ‘feelings’ are often presented as irrefutable facts, and an apology is seen as a sign of weakness. It’s like living in a house of mirrors where every reflection agrees with you.

This attitude erases the image of God, because God is Truth, not opinion. When we manipulate reality, we close ourselves to grace. Self-justification turns confession—the medicine of the soul—into an impossibility.

The remedy? Bernard points to confession and personal accountability. To admit fault is not weakness; it is strength rooted in God’s mercy. The humble person can say, I was wrong. Forgive me. That simple act restores the image of God more than any self-defense ever could.

Jesus gives us the true ladder—not the frantic climb of pride, but the downward path of humility. It is a ladder on which we descend, not into weakness, but into the profound joy of a life lived in truth. (cf. Phil 2:6).