Published in  
February 10, 2016


Humility is not merely admitting that the world doesn’t spin around us.

Owning up to this still preserves, in small doses, the idea that we are apart from the world, instead of what the world is doing. Humility is recognizing that we are the world’s spin, the dizziness of things. As such, aloofness, independence or aloneness – whether it takes on the varieties of religious piety, scientific perspicuity, genetic purity, political in/correctness or incurable activism (or resistance by any other name) – is impossible.

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We are not alone. Everything is compromised. And though we might like to think it so, fixing the world is more complex than getting our act together. We are a troubling congealment of an ongoingness without a name – and we are spread out in a boundaryless play of co-becoming. In this way, humility is being called to be witnesses to the strange voices that respond when we call out ‘is there anybody home?’