His Human Love For Admiration

 

A flush of colour sprang to Holmes's pale cheeks, and he bowed to us like the master dramatist who receives the homage of his audience.  It was at such moments that for an instant he ceased to be a reasoning machine and betrayed his human love for admiration and applause.  The same singularly proud and reserved nature which turned away with disdain from popular notoriety was capable of being moved to its depth by spontaneous wonder and praise from a friend.--Dr. Watson, "The Adventure of the Six Napoleons"

Even though I've been reading it for twenty years,  I'm still interested when I read near the end of SIXN of Holmes's capability to be moved by praise from a friend. Watson goes so far as to say Holmes is not quite the reasoning machine we think he is; in fact, Holmes is human enough to have "a human love for admiration and applause." I like it when Holmes lets the more vulnerable parts of his humanity be on display. I can relate to the rarely seen vulnerable parts of his personality more than I can relate to the "reasoning machine."  I would like to be more of a reasoning machine, a machine without need for admiration, applause or praise. Sadly, I am also betrayed by my human love for admiration and applause.

The need for praise is something I think about often and I try to push back against it. The thoughtful Scott Monty once posted a quote from Epicteus  I can't quite get out of my head:

If you are ever tempted to look for outside approval, realize that you have compromised your own integrity. If you need a witness, be your own. 

I believe Holmes understood the power of being his own witness, the power of being centered in his thinking, the power of not needing to be understood; he knew how to function from a position of self-management, for better or for worse. He might have had a human love for admiration but he didn't have a need for it. How else could he say:

I cannot agree with those who rank modesty among the virtues. To the logician all things should be seen exactly as they are, and to under-estimate oneself is as much a departure from truth as to exaggerate one's own powers.

How freeing it must be to not feel the need for external praise. The love for admiration and praise is especially in my thoughts this week, several days on from having received Doylean Honors in Fiction for my book, The Genius of the Place. The time I spent writing the book was important to me and I am delighted others found meaning in the work and enjoyed reading it. I think every writer wants their work to be read and acknowledged. I am also delighted to receive public praise  for the book. However, I don't want to fall into the trap of thinking the work and therefore me only have value if praised. I don't want to be lusting after praise.

I use the word lusting because a part of a poem from Wendell Berry also lives in my head, and it makes itself known quite often:

...To the sky, to the wind, then,

and to the faithful trees, I confess

my sins: that I have not been happy

enough, considering my good luck;

have listened to too much noise;

have been in attentive to wonders;

have lusted after praise...

I don't think Holmes lusted after praise but he allowed himself to like it from time to time. I hope to be the same way someday. Today is not that day but I'll keep trying. Meanwhile, I'm damn well happy to have that little certificate. Ha! I am human after all.