Haughtiness

A recent interview with actress Maria Fabriela de Faria, in Global Heroes from The Wall Street Journal, perfectly reveals our culture of self-centered individualism.

When asked, “What is one good choice that everyone can make to improve the world around them?” She answered, “Look for your own truth, LIVE your own truth instead of repeating anyone else’s.” She explained: “What’s crucial to me is to make my audience . . . [question] old beliefs.” She counsels her fans to engage in a daily practice of asking, “What do I need today?” because “the only person who will know what works for you, is you.”

Paul Piff, a professor at University of California, Irvine, studies how money influences humans' relationships with one another. His striking conclusion is that money makes us mean. Piff describes one of his experiments involving two individuals playing a rigged game of Monopoly.

We randomly assigned one of the [players] to be a rich player in a rigged game [of Monopoly]. They got two times as much money. For example, when they passed "GO," they collected twice the salary. As the game unfolded, we saw very dramatic differences emerge … The rich player started to move around the board louder, literally smacking the board with their piece … we were more likely to see signs of dominance and displays of power among the rich players. The rich players actually started to become ruder toward the other person, less and less sensitive, and more and more demonstrative of their materials success.

Quotes from rich players included: "I have money for everything ... you're going to lose all your money soon ... I have so much money, I'm going to buy out this whole board ... I'm pretty much untouchable at this point ... "

Piff has conducted similar experiments with real-life wealthy individuals and discovered identical results. His experiments have tested individuals' willingness to stop for pedestrians at crosswalks, cheat in a game, share a monetary gift with strangers, and even take candy from a jar clearly labeled as being for children. In every experiment, higher incomes were correlated with "mean” behavior!

"What we've been finding ... is that as a person's level of wealth increases, their feelings of compassion and empathy go down, and their feelings of entitlement and self-interest increase."

Possible Preaching Angles: Of course it doesn’t have to be this way. In and through Christ, the rich can grow in gentleness and kindness, but it will take the power of the Holy Spirit.

A 1961 research project asked ordinary people to send extremely painful electric shocks to a stranger. (Unbeknownst to the participants, the fake shocks were only delivered to an actor.) A staggering 65 percent of the subjects obeyed. Most of us are confident we would have been in the 35 percent who refused to go along with this program.

But in his essay, "You're Not as Virtuous as You Think," Nitin Nohria, the Dean of the Harvard Business School, has a name for this "gap between how people believe they would behave and how they actually behave." He calls it "moral overconfidence." Nohria insightfully notes our need for repentance and confession:

In the lab, in the classroom and beyond, we tend to be less virtuous than we think we are. And a little moral humility could benefit us all. Moral overconfidence is on display in politics, in business, in sports—really, in all aspects of life … There are political candidates who say they won't use attack ads until, late in the race, they're moral overconfidence is in line with what studies find to be our generally inflated view of ourselves. We rate ourselves as above-average drivers, investors, and employees, even though math dictates that can't be true for all of us. We also tend to believe we are less likely than the typical person to exhibit negative qualities and to experience negative life events: to get divorced, become depressed, or have a heart attack.

In "The Era of the Narcissist," Aaron Kheriaty points out the self-absorption of our era:

Of all the amazing features of the medieval cathedrals, one feature stands out as very strange to the modern mind: We have no idea who designed and built them. The architects and builders did not bother to sign their names on the cornerstones. People today might ask, Why build the cathedral of Notre-Dame de Chartres if you can't take credit for it? No lasting fame? No immortalized human glory? We're perplexed by the humility of these forgotten artists who labored in obscurity. Do and disappear? This is not how we roll in the America of the twenty-first century.

All this humility and anonymity began to change during the Enlightenment. For example, when Jean-Jacques Rousseau's wrote his book Confessions in 1789 he dedicated it "to me, with the admiration I owe myself." The book opens with these lines: "I have entered upon a performance which is without example, whose accomplishment will have no imitator. I mean to present my fellow-mortals with a man in all the integrity of nature; and this man shall be myself."

In contrast, the 4th century Christian thinker Augustine's Confessions (Rousseau ripped off Augustine's title) gives all glory to God, as in his opening line from the Book of Psalms: "Great thou art, and greatly to be praised." As much as we might admire Augustine's humility, Rousseau's language sounds more familiar. "To me, with the admiration I owe myself" is a dedication that would look right at home today on social media.

According to the National Geographic website (their kids' version that is) the Pufferfish can inflate into a ball shape to evade predators. Also known as blowfish, these clumsy swimmers fill their elastic stomachs with huge amounts of water (and sometimes air) and blow themselves up to several times their normal size … But these blow-up fish aren't just cute. Most pufferfish contain a toxic substance that makes them foul tasting and potentially deadly to other fish. The toxin is deadly to humans—1,200 times more deadly than cyanide. There is enough poison in one pufferfish to kill 30 adult humans, and there is no known antidote.

Like Pufferfish, human beings can blow themselves up with pride and arrogance to make themselves look bigger than they are. And this pride can become toxic to a marriage, a church, or a friendship. No wonder the late Bible scholar John Stott once said, "Pride is your greatest enemy, humility is your greatest friend."

An article in the New York Times observes how "humility is not what it used to be." As a matter of fact, it may be the exact opposite of what it used to mean:

Lately it's pro forma—possibly even mandatory—for politicians, athletes, celebrities, and other public figures to be vocally and vigorously humbled by every honor awarded, prize won, job offered, record broken, pound lost, shout-out received, "like" copped and thumb upped.

Diving at random into the internet and social media finds this new humility everywhere. A soap-opera actress on tour is humbled by the outpouring of love from fans. Comedians are humbled by big laughs, yoga practitioners are humbled by achieving difficult poses, athletes are humbled by good days on the field, Christmas volunteers are humbled by their own generosity and holiday spirit.

And yet none of these people sound very "humbled" at all. On the contrary: They all seem exceedingly proud of themselves, hashtagging their humility to advertise their own status, success, sprightliness, generosity, moral superiority, and luck. When did humility get so cocky and vainglorious?

In a question and answer period after one of his lectures, C.S. Lewis was asked which of the world's religions gives its followers the greatest happiness. Lewis paused and said, "While it lasts, the religion of worshipping oneself is best."

Possible Preaching Angle: In other words, if you want instant, but very short-term happiness, create a religion that focuses on worshipping you.

The Walk is the 2015 motion picture, and true story, about high-wire artist Philippe Petit. In 1974 he fulfilled his dream of walking between the World Trade Center towers, but in an early scene from the film he's in a Big Top circus in France tying a rope to a beam. Philippe says, "So [my mentor] Papa Rudy let me travel with his troupe. Of course I never did any performance. But any time the big top was empty, I would practice on the wire."

In the next scene, Philippe is high up just under the tent's ceiling and balancing himself on a wire with a pole. Papa Rudy enters the tent and looks up at Philippe, who was walking carefully but confidently across the thin wire. He hesitates as he is about to reach the platform and then takes a more assertive forward step. But suddenly Philippe and his wire start shaking precariously. He falls to the side, grabbing on to the wire with both hands, barely avoiding falling to his death as the pole plummets to the ground.

As he hangs onto the wire with both hands, the ground a great distance below, he slowly works his way to the platform. Breathing heavily and making his way down the ladder he faces Papa Rudy who tells him, "Most wire walkers, they die when they arrive. They think they have arrived, but they're still on the wire. If you have three steps to do, and you take those steps arrogantly, if you think you are invincible, you're going to die."

Editor's Note: This scene starts at Chapter 5 at 25:29 and runs to 27:02.

In an NPR interview, David Brooks, author of The Road to Character, observes how differently we deal with promoting our own success. Brooks said:

The day after Japan surrendered in 1945 and World War II ended, singer Bing Crosby appeared on the radio program Command Performance. "Well it looks like this is it," he said. "What can you say at a time like this? You can't throw your (hat) in the air—that's for a run-of-the-mill holiday. I guess all anybody can do is thank God it's over."

I was really struck at this supreme moment of American triumph that they weren't beating their chests. They weren't super proud of themselves; they were deeply humble. And I found that so beautiful and so moving. And I thought there's really something to admire in that public culture.

Shortly after studying about what happened after World War II, Brooks watched a pro football game. He observed something very different:

A quarterback threw a short pass to a wide receiver, who was tackled almost immediately for a two-yard gain. The defensive player did what all professional athletes do these days in moments of personal accomplishment. He did a self-puffing victory dance, as the camera lingered. It occurred to me that I had just watched more self-celebration after a two-yard gain than I had heard after the United States won World War II.

There's nothing wrong with thinking that you're smart. You probably are pretty smart, and we commend your healthy esteem and belief in yourself. But healthy self-esteem has its limits. Those limits were pushed a couple years ago, when dating website OkCupid revealed how thousands of its users had answered one particular question in a survey to measure partner compatibility: Are you a genius?

Amazingly, according to OKCupid's blogger Christian Rudder, two in five people (and nearly half of all men!) said yes to that question. Rudder said, "2 out of 5 think they are one in a thousand." Now, as there's no single scientific definition of "genius," Rudder's "one in a thousand" is kind of arbitrary. But to qualify for most high IQ societies—"genius clubs" like MENSA—you usually need to have an IQ at least in the 98th to 99th percentile. That's about one in a hundred. So there's something seriously wrong when 50 percent of men think they are geniuses.

January 1969, two great quarterbacks faced each other from opposite sidelines in Super Bowl III. Both Johnny Unitas and Joe Namath were raised in the steel towns of western Pennsylvania. But they had grown up a decade apart and lived in different moral cultures.

Unitas grew up in the old culture of modesty and humility. His father died when he was five and his mother took over the family coal delivery business. Unitas weighed 145 pounds while playing quarterback for his high school team, and he took a beating during every game. He went to church before every game, deferred to the authority of his coaches, and lived a football-obsessed life. After college he had a brief tryout with the Pittsburgh Steelers but was cut. Then he got a long-shot call from the Baltimore Colts. He made the team and spent many of his early years with the Colts steadily losing. Unitas was not an overnight sensation in the NFL, but he was steadily ripening, honing his skills, and making his teammates better.

He was a deliberately unglamorous figure with his black high-top sneakers, bowed legs, stooped shoulders, and a crew cut above his rough face. He was loyal to his organization and to his teammates. In the huddle he'd rip into his receivers for screwing up plays and running the wrong routes. Then, after the game, he'd lie to the reporter: "My fault, I overthrew him" was his standard line. Steve Sabol of NFL Films captured Unitas' character: "He was an honest workman doing an honest job." Unitas came to embody a particular way of being a sports hero.

In sharp contrast, Joe Namath was the flamboyant star, with white shoes and flowing hair, brashly guaranteeing victory. Broadway Joe made himself the center of attention, a spectacle off the field as much as on it, with $5,000 fur coats, long sideburns, and playboy manners. He openly bragged about what a great athlete he was, how good-looking he was. "Joe! Joe! You're the most beautiful thing in the world!" he shouted to himself in the bathroom mirror as a reporter looked on.

He created an early version of what we would now call the hook-up culture. He told a reporter, "I don't like to date so much as I just like to kind of, you know, run into something, man." He embodied the autonomy ethos that was beginning to sweep through the country. "I believe in letting a guy live the way he wants to if he doesn't hurt anyone. I feel that everything I do is okay for me and doesn't affect anybody else, including the girls I go out with. Look, man, I live and let live. I like everybody."

Possible Preaching Angles: Namath or Unitas—two great quarterbacks, two very different ways to live your life. They represent two different ways to approach humility, teamwork, service, or the use of our talents.

"As soon as enough people give you enough compliments and you're wielding more power than you've ever had in your life, it's not that you become … arrogant … or become rude to people, but you get a false sense of your own importance and what you've accomplished. You actually think you've altered the course of history."

—Actor Leonardo DiCaprio

Nik Wallenda is an American follower of Christ who has become the most-watched high wire artist and daredevil in the world. His two most recent feats were seen by a billion people across the world. In 2012 Wallenda walked a tightrope across Niagara Falls. In 2013 Wallenda became the first person to high-wire walk across the Grand Canyon.

Wallenda knows that he will be tempted by pride, so after the huge crowds and the media fade away he engages in a simple spiritual discipline: he walks where the crowds have just stood and quietly picks up trash. Wallenda recently wrote,

My purpose is simply to help clean up after myself. The huge crowd left a great deal of trash behind, and I feel compelled to pitch in. Besides, after the inordinate amount of attention I sought and received, I need to keep myself grounded. Three hours of cleaning up debris is good for my soul. Humility does not come naturally to me. So if I have to force myself into situations that are humbling, so be it …. I know that I need to get down on my hands and knees like everyone else. I do it because it's a way to keep from tripping. As a follower of Jesus, I see him washing the feet of others. I do it because if I don't serve others I'll be serving nothing but my ego.

Jason Matthews, a 30-plus year CIA veteran, shared how he and fellow "case workers" convinced people to betray their country and share secrets with the United States. First, the CIA agent has to earn the trust of the asset. Second, the agent must assess the target's aspirations, fears and desires. "You must know what motivates the potential recruit so that you can better exploit his vulnerabilities and, in the end, put him in the right frame of mind for your 'pitch.'"

In particular, ego or pride is one of those vulnerabilities that an agent must learn how to exploit. Matthews writes:

The agent motivated by ego is a blessing and a curse. Properly stroked, he can be responsive, motivated, and focused. But once the stroking starts, you cannot stop: He will be needy, moody, demanding. Ego is one of the most powerful human motivators ….

A case officer also looks for prospects among individuals who seem to be in search of an ego, their spirits stamped flat by purges, cultural revolutions, or [government harassment]. In the late 70s, one agent with abysmal self-esteem and a nervous disposition was told (falsely) by his case officer that his intel tidbits had been reported to the White House to rave reviews. His shriveled ego flowered: He now had people who counted on him and admired him! That's all it took for the meek little man to ignore his fears and begin bringing out classified documents—all in the belief that he was personally spying for [President] Jimmy Carter, God help him.

Ramez Attalah, general director at The Bible Society of Egypt, attended an international conference (the Lausanne Conference) for Christian leaders in 1974. He was thrilled to be with top-notch leaders from around the globe—sharing and reading interesting papers on important subjects—but the most meaningful insight actually came to him on the flight home:

It was a long flight back to Canada, and I had many papers to go through. I had taken a lot of business cards from all sorts of [important global Christian leaders] that I had met. We all know we collect these cards, put them in our pockets, and often forget about them. As I looked through my cards from Lausanne, I noticed one that was not very well printed, and I looked at it carefully. I still get emotional when I remember this story. It broke me.

At Lausanne we had small groups every night. About ten of us met in our dormitory rooms to pray and share together. The first night we introduced ourselves: president of a seminary, pastor of a church with 2,000 people, and so on. Everybody was showing how great they were. I said I led the InterVarsity movement in the province of Quebec. It was actually a very small ministry, but it sounded good. One African man who was with us said, "I'm a pastor in Kenya." During the week we all listened to each other. I didn't pay much attention to the pastor from Kenya; I wanted to get close to the important people. But I was moved by the Kenyan pastor's stories of how God had touched him as a school teacher during the African revival and changed his life. I thought he was a deep man. I pictured him working in a humble little village in Africa.

But when I picked up that business card on the plane back to Canada I discovered that it said "Festo Olang, Archbishop of Kenya." Olang was a man who could pull rank on anybody in our group. He was a bigwig. But we didn't know it, and he didn't tell us. He did not use his position to secure his identity. He was a simple pastor who loved Jesus. I am still moved to the core when I remember this incident thirty-two years later. I said to myself on the plane, that's the kind of leader I want to be. That's leadership, Jesus-style.

Ego builds a cardboard fortress that humility must, every day, tear down.

"We're an overconfident species," contends New York Times columnist David Brooks. Brooks calls it a "magnification of the self," and he believes this glut of self-esteem is especially rampant in the United States. To back up these claims, Brooks cites an array of statistics, studies, and observations:

• When pollsters ask people from around the world to rate themselves on different traits, Americans usually supply the most positive self-ratings.
• Although American students do not perform well on global math tests, they are among the world leaders in having self-confidence about their math abilities.
• Compared to college students from 30 years ago, today's college students are much more likely to agree with statements such as "I am easy to like."
• 94 percent of college professors believe they have above-average teaching skills.
• 70 percent of high school students surveyed claim they have above-average leadership skills, and only 2 percent are below average.
• Brooks observes that a few decades ago it would have been unthinkable for a baseball player to celebrate himself in the batter's box after hitting a home run. Today it is routine.
• Similarly, pop singers wouldn't have composed songs about their own greatness; now those songs dominate the charts.
• The number of high school seniors who believed that they were "a very important person": in the 1950s—12 percent; in the 1990s—80 percent.
• According to Brooks, American men are especially susceptible to the perils of overconfidence. Men unintentionally drown twice as often as women (because men have great faith in their swimming ability, especially after drinking).

"In short," Brooks concludes, "there's abundant evidence to suggest that we have shifted a bit from a culture that emphasized self-effacement—I'm not better than anybody else, but nobody is better than me—to a culture that emphasizes self-expansion."

According to author and theologian Paul Metzger, one of his greatest living heroes is John Perkins, an African American Christian leader from Mississippi who was nearly beaten to death in the '70s for his work in racial justice. From all accounts, Perkins could enjoy the status of a Christian "celebrity," but instead he realizes the fleeting glory of fame. Metzger relates the following story about a recent conversation with Perkins:

One evening in 2007 in Portland, Oregon, I was driving the now-elderly Dr. Perkins to a benefit dinner. He was to serve as the keynote speaker at the dinner, which was raising money for an inner-city community development ministry that brought jobs and housing to ex-offenders and youth. As we drove along … I asked Dr. Perkins what it was like for him now in Mississippi. Dr. Perkins replied matter-of-factly, "I'm kind of a hero now in Mississippi. It seems that every time the state newspapers write something about reconciliation, they quote me. It's as if I created the word," he said with a laugh. There was a pause in the conversation. And then as he was looking out the window, he [said], "But when I think about how many homes my fame has built for the poor in Mississippi, I realize that my fame hasn't built any homes for the poor. So I don't put no stock in my fame."

There were no television or newspaper reporters in the car—just Dr. Perkins, his daughter Elizabeth, and his young chauffeur (me). That young chauffeur almost lost control of the car. I rarely come across such a value system—in others or in my own heart. The Christian celebrity leverages the gospel for his or her own benefit. The saint asks God to leverage his or her own life and "fame" for the gospel and for people. The celebrity wants to be famous. The saint wants to be influential so that others might meet Jesus.

A strong young man at a construction site was bragging that he could outdo anyone in a feat of strength. He made a special case of making fun of one of the older workmen.

After several minutes, the older worker had had enough.

"Why don't you put your money where your mouth is?" he said. "I'll bet a week's wages that I can haul something in a wheelbarrow over to that building that you won't be able to wheel back."

"You're on, old man," the young worker replied.

The old man reached out and grabbed the wheelbarrow by the handles. Then he turned to the young man and said, "All right. Get in."