The “victimhood” associated with Islam’s animus against the West is
nothing more than dejection resulting from frustrated pride or
arrogance.
It is a remarkable fact that the Hebrew word anav,
usually translated as “humble” or “meek,” is the only adjective used in
the Bible of Israel to describe the man Moses. The noun form of anav is anava. The word appears in Numbers 12:3. “Now the man Moses was very humble (anav), above all the men that were on the face of the earth.” Strange that the Torah uses
no other adjective to characterize a man as extraordinary as Moses.
Although he was supremely humble, Moses has also been called the wisest
man that ever lived—and not only by Jews. Yet we find in the Torah not
the lofty adjective “wise” but only the lowly anav to characterize mankind’s greatest teacher and law-giver.
One might conclude that humility ranks above wisdom in the Torah order of values. What makes this problematic is that such words as “humility” or “modesty” fail to capture the meaning of anava, a concept that radically distinguishes Judaism not only from Christianity, but also from Islam and the entire philosophic tradition.
Christian humility is rooted in “original sin,” a concept foreign to Judaism. In contrast, Muslims are distinguished not by humility but by pride—really arrogance, a quality hateful to the God of Israel but not to Allah. As various scholars have observed (e.g. Bernard Lewis and Yehoshafat Harkabi), Islamic literature is replete with examples of self-glorification—to which we may add a denial of personal responsibility for misfortune, given the Islamic concept of predestination. From this follows today’s pathetic but contradictory notion of “victimhood” propagated by Muslim leaders against the United States and the West.
This pathetic notion of “victimhood” would be despised by the philosophers of classical antiquity such as Aristotle, who extols rational pride, or rather “magnanimity” (megalopsychia), as the adornment of the virtues. By the same token, those who bandy the term “victimhood” to win support for the Muslim cause are engaged in the art of deception: posing as the innocent and injured party in the conflict between the so-called Palestinians and Israel.
Now consider the modern attitude toward humility. The first systematic treatment of the subject will be found in Spinoza’s most important work, the Ethics. He approaches the problem of humility by way of the emotions, specifically, the emotion of “dejection.” For Spinoza, “Humility is not a virtue, or does not arise from reason” (Prop. LIII). Humility is pain accompanied by the idea of one’s weakness or one’s power of activity being checked. Inasmuch as “pain,” according to Spinoza, “is a transition of a man from a greater to a lesser perfection” (Prop. LIX, Def. III), humility, far from being a virtue, is an emotional barrier to human perfection.
This perhaps startling but logically unavoidable conclusion may also be deduced from Spinoza’s conception of what he calls “self-approval.” “Self-approval may also arise from reason …” (Prop. LII). It is “pleasure arising from a man’s contemplation of himself and his power of action” (ibid., Proof). This may be called “non-rational” pride because Spinoza defines pride as “pleasure arising from man’s overestimation of himself” (Prop. LVII, Proof). But given his definition of pleasure as “the transition of a man from a lesser to a greater perfection,” it follows that non-rational pride or arrogance is conducive to human perfection!
In fact, Spinoza goes so far as to say, “Self-approval is in reality the highest object for which one can hope. For … no one endeavors to preserve his being for the sake of any ulterior object, and as self-approval is more and more fostered and strengthened by praise … fame becomes the most powerful incitement to action …” (Prop. LII, Note). Viewed in this light, humility is contrary to human nature, that is, to what is truly human. Conversely, Muslim arrogance, hence non-rational pride or self-glorification is the highest virtue!
These paradoxical conclusions require for their clarification some understanding of Spinoza’s conception of virtue and of human nature. Like Machiavelli, whom he admired, Spinoza identifies virtue with power. “By virtue (virtus) and power I mean the same thing; that is … virtue, in so far as it is referred to man, is a man’s nature or essence, in so far as it has the power of effecting what can be understood by the laws of that nature” (Def. VIII). For Spinoza the most fundamental law of nature is self-preservation.
“The effort for self-preservation is the first and only foundation of virtue” (Prop. XXII, cor.). Accordingly, “the more a man endeavors, and is able to preserve his own being, the more endowed with virtue, and, consequently in so far as he neglects his own being, he is wanting in power” (Prop. XX). For Spinoza, preserving one’s own being means more than physical self-preservation. He has in view nothing less than the contemporary notion of self-actualization. Thus was developed the philosophic doctrine of egoism, which accords with Islamic arrogance, but which is utterly opposed to anava and to its superficial renderings such as humility or modesty.
It should now be clear why Spinoza regards the dejected man as very nearly akin to the proud man. “For inasmuch as his pain arises from a comparison between his own infirmity and other men’s power or virtue, it will be removed, or, in other words, he will feel pleasure, if his imagination be occupied in contemplating other men’s faults …” (Prop. XVII, Note) —precisely the self-inflating attitude of Muslims toward “infidels” in general and Jews in particular. Humility and “victimhood” may therefore be understood as pained or aggravated pride, which means there is no such thing as genuine humility, and that the “victimhood” associated with Islam’s animus against the West is nothing more than dejection resulting from frustrated pride or arrogance.
From the preceding, one may conclude that the mere existence of Israel is the ultimate cause of Islamic dejection. But this suggests that Muslims nurture an inferiority complex vis-à-vis the Jews, and it is this feeling of inferiority that is the root cause of Islam’s vow to wipe Israel off the map.
Benedictus Spinoza
One might conclude that humility ranks above wisdom in the Torah order of values. What makes this problematic is that such words as “humility” or “modesty” fail to capture the meaning of anava, a concept that radically distinguishes Judaism not only from Christianity, but also from Islam and the entire philosophic tradition.
Christian humility is rooted in “original sin,” a concept foreign to Judaism. In contrast, Muslims are distinguished not by humility but by pride—really arrogance, a quality hateful to the God of Israel but not to Allah. As various scholars have observed (e.g. Bernard Lewis and Yehoshafat Harkabi), Islamic literature is replete with examples of self-glorification—to which we may add a denial of personal responsibility for misfortune, given the Islamic concept of predestination. From this follows today’s pathetic but contradictory notion of “victimhood” propagated by Muslim leaders against the United States and the West.
This pathetic notion of “victimhood” would be despised by the philosophers of classical antiquity such as Aristotle, who extols rational pride, or rather “magnanimity” (megalopsychia), as the adornment of the virtues. By the same token, those who bandy the term “victimhood” to win support for the Muslim cause are engaged in the art of deception: posing as the innocent and injured party in the conflict between the so-called Palestinians and Israel.
Now consider the modern attitude toward humility. The first systematic treatment of the subject will be found in Spinoza’s most important work, the Ethics. He approaches the problem of humility by way of the emotions, specifically, the emotion of “dejection.” For Spinoza, “Humility is not a virtue, or does not arise from reason” (Prop. LIII). Humility is pain accompanied by the idea of one’s weakness or one’s power of activity being checked. Inasmuch as “pain,” according to Spinoza, “is a transition of a man from a greater to a lesser perfection” (Prop. LIX, Def. III), humility, far from being a virtue, is an emotional barrier to human perfection.
This perhaps startling but logically unavoidable conclusion may also be deduced from Spinoza’s conception of what he calls “self-approval.” “Self-approval may also arise from reason …” (Prop. LII). It is “pleasure arising from a man’s contemplation of himself and his power of action” (ibid., Proof). This may be called “non-rational” pride because Spinoza defines pride as “pleasure arising from man’s overestimation of himself” (Prop. LVII, Proof). But given his definition of pleasure as “the transition of a man from a lesser to a greater perfection,” it follows that non-rational pride or arrogance is conducive to human perfection!
In fact, Spinoza goes so far as to say, “Self-approval is in reality the highest object for which one can hope. For … no one endeavors to preserve his being for the sake of any ulterior object, and as self-approval is more and more fostered and strengthened by praise … fame becomes the most powerful incitement to action …” (Prop. LII, Note). Viewed in this light, humility is contrary to human nature, that is, to what is truly human. Conversely, Muslim arrogance, hence non-rational pride or self-glorification is the highest virtue!
These paradoxical conclusions require for their clarification some understanding of Spinoza’s conception of virtue and of human nature. Like Machiavelli, whom he admired, Spinoza identifies virtue with power. “By virtue (virtus) and power I mean the same thing; that is … virtue, in so far as it is referred to man, is a man’s nature or essence, in so far as it has the power of effecting what can be understood by the laws of that nature” (Def. VIII). For Spinoza the most fundamental law of nature is self-preservation.
“The effort for self-preservation is the first and only foundation of virtue” (Prop. XXII, cor.). Accordingly, “the more a man endeavors, and is able to preserve his own being, the more endowed with virtue, and, consequently in so far as he neglects his own being, he is wanting in power” (Prop. XX). For Spinoza, preserving one’s own being means more than physical self-preservation. He has in view nothing less than the contemporary notion of self-actualization. Thus was developed the philosophic doctrine of egoism, which accords with Islamic arrogance, but which is utterly opposed to anava and to its superficial renderings such as humility or modesty.
It should now be clear why Spinoza regards the dejected man as very nearly akin to the proud man. “For inasmuch as his pain arises from a comparison between his own infirmity and other men’s power or virtue, it will be removed, or, in other words, he will feel pleasure, if his imagination be occupied in contemplating other men’s faults …” (Prop. XVII, Note) —precisely the self-inflating attitude of Muslims toward “infidels” in general and Jews in particular. Humility and “victimhood” may therefore be understood as pained or aggravated pride, which means there is no such thing as genuine humility, and that the “victimhood” associated with Islam’s animus against the West is nothing more than dejection resulting from frustrated pride or arrogance.
From the preceding, one may conclude that the mere existence of Israel is the ultimate cause of Islamic dejection. But this suggests that Muslims nurture an inferiority complex vis-à-vis the Jews, and it is this feeling of inferiority that is the root cause of Islam’s vow to wipe Israel off the map.
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