At the root of all human sin is pride.
In Psalm 10:1-4 we read,
Why, O Lord, do you stand far off? Why do you hide yourself in times of trouble?
In arrogance the wicked persecute the poor—let them be caught in the schemes they have devised.
For the wicked boast of the desires of their heart, those greedy for gain curse and renounce the Lord.
In the pride of their countenance the wicked say, “God will not seek it out”; all their thoughts are, “There is no God.”
Notice the characteristics of the wicked: they are arrogant, and they devise schemes against others, particularly the poor. They are focused on their own desires and deny the value of other people. Their pride leads them to renounce God’s judgment, even his existence.
Some theologians have used the Latin term incurvatus in se—humanity “curved in on itself”— to express this state of pride. In more colloquial terms, we might call this “navel gazing.” We don’t look outward to God or other people because we’re too focused on ourselves. From a spiritual perspective, we are curved inward, and we can’t gain perspective on the goings-on around us.
A beautiful and sometimes painful illustration of humanity curved in on itself is the storyline of The Regime, a recent limited series on Max. It is a funny, dark, and cynical satire, full of brilliant acting and aesthetics. [Warning: spoilers ahead!] The story is set in a fictional central European country with a government on the edge of collapse. The two main characters are Chancellor Elena Vernham, played by Kate Winslet, and Corporal Herbert Zubak, played by Matthias Schoenaerts. Both are interesting, occasionally winsome, deeply flawed figures. When they get together, things happen, mostly bad.
Winslet’s Elena is a hypochondriac who goes through spells in which she is terrified of breathing in mold, germs, or practically anything else. She alternates between an iron will and insecurity. She has moments of compassion but can quickly turn cruel. Elena is haunted by her dead father, whom she visits and speaks to as he lies in a glass coffin in some isolated wing of her palace. The dominant characteristic of Elena’s character is self-absorption. She is thoroughly narcissistic. She cannot see the grave danger to the country and people she claims to love because she is fixated upon herself. At times she does seem to feel real affection for others, but her obsession with the self consistently draws her back to her own desires. With Herbert, she comes closer to real love than with anyone else, but when push comes to shove, self-preservation and the desire for power win out.
Schoenaerts’s Herbert is a vicious ideologue. He is a soldier, pejoratively called “the butcher” because of his involvement in the shooting of striking miners. Herbert is a Marxist and wants land reform. He wants to take from the rich and give to the poor, and if the rich die in the process, so be it. His ideals don’t come from a place of compassion (as the incident with the miners shows), but from a fiery furnace of resentment. Herbert is a large, powerful man and always seems to be on the brink of rage. At times that rage explodes, such as when he beats mercilessly and publicly a wealthy friend of Elena’s who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was Elena who had offended Herbert, but her wealthy friend bore the brunt of his wrath. Like Elena, Herbert wants power. He lurches toward it at every opportunity. His love/lust for Elena is emblematic of this. To his mind, she is the very essence of power.
Another element of the story is that both characters are easily manipulated. Elena is manipulated by flattery or the threat of humiliation, Herbert by Elena and the promise of power. Had these characters thought to look up for a moment, to take account of what was really going on around them, they might have avoided all kinds of trouble. They might have avoided becoming such easy marks for those who wished to manipulate them. Neither character is dumb. To the contrary, both are canny in their own ways. It is not their intelligence that fails them, but their lack of perspective. Their worldview is shallow and self-centered. They represent humanity incurvatus in se.
Here in the real world, we are no strangers to narcissism and rage. These vices go unchecked in our age of social media, particularly in the world of politics. In fact, social media thrives on them. It calls them forth from the human heart, and, to be honest, this isn’t very hard to do. We humans are bent toward sinning. Like the characters in The Regime, we, too, can be curved in on ourselves. We want what we want. And yes, this happens even in the church. The appearance of righteousness does not always equate to inward righteousness. A position of Christian leadership may be a facade for dark and selfish motives. As God says to Cain, “Sin is lurking at the door; its desire is for you, but you must master it” (Genesis 4:7). But Cain does not do so. Such is the condition of unredeemed humanity.
Christian maturity, by contrast, is a process of turning outward toward God and neighbor. As we grow in Christ, we are no longer curved in ourselves. Our posture toward the world is one of receptiveness to God and generosity toward others. We learn to to love—to “will the good of the other,” as Thomas Aquinas puts it. In The Regime, this is what neither Elena nor Herbert can do. There are moments when they come close, but in the end, self-will, pride, and rage win the day. Elena and Herbert may glance in the direction of love, but both are too chronically curved inward for real love to stand much of a chance.
To be fair, real love is not easy. It is far easier to remain curved inward. In fact, following Christ in the way of love can seem impossible because of the radical change it demands in us. For example, Christ taught us,
You have heard that it was said, “An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.” But I say to you, Do not resist an evildoer. But if anyone strikes you on the right cheek, turn the other also; and if anyone wants to sue you and take your coat, give your cloak as well; and if anyone forces you to go one mile, go also the second mile. Give to everyone who begs from you, and do not refuse anyone who wants to borrow from you (Matthew 5:38-42).
In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus sets an impossibly high standard. Do not resist an evildoer? Turn the other cheek? Our natural inclination is quite the opposite of these. Give to all those in need? Do not refuse those who wish to borrow from you? If we are curved in on ourselves, we can never live in this way—not consistently, at least. We can never be the kind of person Jesus calls us to be. But with God’s help, we can turn our gaze upward and outward. We can straighten out and begin to will the good of the other. Sin may lurk at the door. Its desire may be for us, but now we can master it. God gives us that power.
Elena and Herbert are tragic figures. [Ok, really: serious spoiler alert here!] At the end of the series, Elena has gotten what she wanted. She is beloved by her people and is more powerful than ever. Herbert is dead, a sacrifice to Elena’s ambition. Neither is redeemed. But the good news is, we can be.
Another outstanding and perceptive post thank you. I am reminded of C S Lewis’ The Great Divorce picturing hell as an insignificantly small but ever expanding space. The reason for the paradox was the inhabitants were continually distancing themselves from each other by their mindsets and behaviour.
Thank you! A great take on humanity being "curved in on itself", which I have always seen as our tendency to worship and serve the creation—ourselves—rather than God. Narcissism we still shun, pride occasionally, but all their worst effects still come in through "self-esteem", a much discussed and highly recommended Trojan horse in post-Christian society. It's fascinating that a biblical image for the faithful is shining stars (Dan. 12:3, Phil. 2:15). Stars are forever collapsing under the force of gravity, but are prevented from doing so by the "pressure" of light flowing outward from the core. When their natural fuel is exhausted, and they fail to shine, they collapse on themselves—the largest into black holes and inescapable darkness.