Keeping Humble

If I asked you to describe your idea of a typical college president, I doubt that the word “humility” would be among the first adjectives that come to mind.

But let me tell you a story.  

One day the phone rang in the president’s office, and it was a reporter from the school newspaper. She said that the community wanted to know more about the president; specifically, what the president did during his leisure time. The president was intrigued by this idea and invited her to come by his office the following Sunday afternoon. It turns out that this president was an avid fisherman, and he kept a rowboat at a lake 45 minutes from campus.  Sunday arrived and the two of them drove to the lake, went out on the boat, and the reporter observed as the president cast his line, which immediately caught on some floating debris. The reporter rolled her eyes, thinking, “some fisherman,” until the president handed her the fishing rod, stepped out of the boat, walked on top of the water, disentangled the line, walked back on top of the water, and climbed into the boat.  The rest of the afternoon was uneventful.  

The story about their little fishing trip was due to appear in the school paper the next morning and the president excitedly went out to the lobby of his office as soon as the papers arrived.   There it was — a three-word headline in bold, large print: PRESIDENT CAN’T SWIM.

In other words, a presidency, as is the case with many other high-profile jobs, can be much more humbling than you might imagine.

Nonetheless, in any leadership position, it is always helpful to have friends and family who keep you grounded — reminding you not to succumb to the fanfare and to instead constantly work toward personal and professional improvement. And for me, religious observance can be the most humbling of all.

People of deep faith discover so much joy at houses of worship — friendship, inspiration and serenity are just three of the things that congregants embrace. But what I love more than anything else is the sense of humility I find each Shabbat. I look around at the other regulars and I am awe-struck with how they are able to pray so much better than I can; I listen to the clergy and lay leaders provide a d’var torah that analyzes the weekly parsha and offers a deeper insight than I could have ever attained on my own; and despite my ongoing language studies, I struggle each week to translate the texts with my disappointingly rudimentary Hebrew.  

But at the same time, I almost always leave synagogue with an enhanced confidence in myself and in humanity.  I feel empowered to try to do something that might help repair our broken world.  But does a boost in confidence necessarily come at the expense of humility?  I think not.

Believing in oneself doesn’t mean you have to be self-important. To the contrary, it can instill in us the responsibility to serve. One of the most memorable lines I ever heard from a commencement speaker came at Williams College in 2006, from the choreographer and teacher of African dance, Chuck Davis. In a magnificent commentary about arrogance and service, he said that the only time it is acceptable to look down on someone is when you are reaching out your hands to lift that person up.

C. S. Lewis said, “Humility is not thinking less of yourself, it is thinking of yourself less.” We should go through life confident about our talents, but never believe that the world revolves around us.

The writer and theologian C. S. Lewis said, “Humility is not thinking less of yourself, it is thinking of yourself less.” I love those words. We should go through life confident about our talents, but never believe that the world revolves around us.

Judaism provides an exquisite roadmap to fulfillment.  It teaches us to take pride in our abilities, without being arrogant.  It challenges us to give back to the community, but not out of a sense of superiority.  It reminds us to be thankful for the joys in our lives, rather than take them for granted.

May we all approach life with humility, with a deeply ingrained desire to serve, and with an abiding gratitude.

Morton Schapiro is the former president of Williams College and Northwestern University.  His most recent book (with Gary Saul Morson) is “Minds Wide Shut:  How the New Fundamentalisms Divide Us.”