The Sword of Humility: Forging the Will to Humor

“He who laughs at himself never runs out of things to laugh at.” ~Epictetus

After the reckoning, after the revelations, after the uninitiated ego has been dragged through the abyss of its own Dark Night (ego death) and into the wholeness of the initiated soul, after the human umbilicus has been strongarmed across the bridge by the Overman, there is an even deeper abyss disguised as a summit.

To the prideful eye, hung up on its power and hope and only seeing what it wants to see, it is an arrival, a destination met, a high hill conquered. To the humble eye, seeing things clearly for what they are, it is a forge for further sharpening. It is a cocoon for continued healthy annihilation. It is a Phoenix nest.

It took the Will to Power to get you here, sure. But, conqueror beware, it is also the Will to Power that will prevent you from seeing that this forge is a journey disguised as a destination. It is not a crown jewel; it is a bear trap. The “bear” just happens to be your pride, your feeling of “having made it,” your self-importance disguised as self-overcoming.

But, conqueror rejoice, there is a seed veiled in the ashes of your comeuppance. Hidden in the reinforced egoism of your conceit is a terribly beautiful Phoenix egg. But there is only one thing hot enough to crack it open.

The hottest thing in the universe: The Will to Humor.

So, conqueror of conquerors, it is time for your ego to balk. It is time to be taken aback despite your victories, despite your accolades, despite having reached the “summit.” It’s time to laugh and laugh hard. To finally feel the cosmic joke—balls to bones, ovaries to marrow. The kind of laughter that rises like a sun on a new shore. The kind of laughter that differentiates the differentiated like a black or white dot on a Yin Yang. The kind of laughter that transmutes lead into gold. Yes! A golden laughter, a Nietzschean laughter that a Will-to-Power-Nietzsche could not savor.

Lest your journey come to an end, lest you faulter at merely having gained power, it’s time to turn your newfound power inward. It is time get power over Power itself. It’s time to sacrifice your hubris on the pyre of humor. It is time to will your power into humor.

Take all your crowns, all your looted gold, all your demons turned diamonds, all your slain dragons, all your conquered labyrinths, all your dethroned emperors, all your overthrowing, all your overcoming, all your eternal recurrences, and toss them into the hottest fire in the universe. Take even your little moth heart and surrender it to the heat of High Humor.

Stand spellbound, soul-shocked, ego-crushed, beautifully annihilated, as the warm forge (cocoon) of the Phoenix egg washes over you. Feel the soft shell of hungry humility stick fast to your soul’s longing for wholeness. Bear witness as all the shiny things gained on the path of your will to power melt into the molten Mettle of your own Will to Humor.

Here, it is mettle, not metal, that is forged. Power is melted down. Pride is vivisected like the petty animal it is and properly cooked. The brittleness of Control itself is shredded into flecks of kindling. The self-importance of having gained some precious thing is tossed like the One Ring into the molten vortex of Mount Doom. Even God is slow roasted into infinite interconnectedness with all things.

And your Will to Power is a crumpled thing in the corner of Plato’s Cave, reeking of outdatedness and parochial one-upmanship. You realize now, in the heat of the forge, that it was only ever false armor. Even though it got you through the thick of things. Even though it compelled you to take a leap of courage out of the lemming herd. Even though it gave your little sheep heart sharpened teeth. Even though it propelled you out of fear and into fearlessness. Even though it helped you over the bridge from ape to man to Overman. You see now how it was only ever procrastinating compost, a crutch for an Overman, sure, but alas, still merely a crutch in a long line of crutches. Fit only for the forge.

But conqueror be honored, do not begrudge your Will to Power its whetstone. It was necessary to sharpen you into an instrument powerful enough to pull the Sword of Humility from the forge. For only a man-turned-Overman could ever have see the Phoenix egg hiding in the forge disguised as a destination. Only one already forged in the lesser fire of the Will to Power could even fathom the greater fire of the Will to Humor.

And so here you stand, stripped of false armor, all your crutches burnt to ashes, all your jewels and gold and accolades melting into nothingness, all your gods drowning, the invulnerability of your Will to Power eating its own tail. You are left with utter nakedness, complete openness, absolute vulnerability. But behold, you now wield the Sword of Humility: the sharpest thing in the universe.

You are now free to cut a smile into the face of the void.

Image source:

Malice Aurelius by Forgotten Realms

About the Author:

Gary Z McGee, a former Navy Intelligence Specialist turned philosopher, is the author of Birthday Suit of God and The Looking Glass Man. His works are inspired by the great philosophers of the ages and his wide-awake view of the modern world.

This article (The Sword of Humility: Forging the Will to Humor) was originally created and published by Self-inflicted Philosophy and is printed here under a Creative Commons license with attribution to Gary Z McGee and self-inflictedphilosophy.org. It may be re-posted freely with proper attribution, author bio, and this statement of copyright.