The Social Element of Humor

<p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gShWGvyvdZ4/YIl43VR3bjI/AAAAAAABTZA/1B53frpt7x8GLPeXN407SBQMxLpwFWHbACLcBGAsYHQ/s1200/Jan%2BMatejko%2B-%2BSta%25C5%2584czyk.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="898" data-original-width="1200" height="478" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gShWGvyvdZ4/YIl43VR3bjI/AAAAAAABTZA/1B53frpt7x8GLPeXN407SBQMxLpwFWHbACLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h478/Jan%2BMatejko%2B-%2BSta%25C5%2584czyk.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><em style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Jan_Matejko,_Sta%C5%84czyk.jpg">Stańczyk</a> </em><span style="text-align: left;">by Jan Matejko, (public domain - Wikimedia Commons)</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><p></p><div><hr /></div><p><em><strong><br /></strong></em></p><div style="text-align: center;"><em><strong><em><strong>“Among those whom I like or admire, I can find no common denominator, but among those whom I love, I can: all of them make me laugh.”</strong> </em></strong></em></div><p></p><p></p><div style="text-align: right;"><em>— W.H. Auden, 1963 </em>[<a href="https://ctt.ac/W0d9e">Tweet this quote</a>]</div><br /><p></p><div><hr /></div><p><br />Has anything funny happened to you in the past week?</p><p>Maybe it was a video you watched online, something a friend said to you, or even something about yourself that you laughed about.</p><p>But consider this: how much of that laughter occurred in the company of others?</p><p>Humor, like air, cannot exist in a vacuum. It needs fellow humans to exist. Even if you laugh at a pet, you may be reacting to a certain human-like expression or quality you perceive in it.</p><div class="preformatted-block"><label class="hide-text" contenteditable="false"></label><pre class="text"> </pre></div><p>Henri Bergson, in his book <em><strong><a href="https://amzn.to/3gSuliW">Laughter: An Essay on the Meaning of the Comic</a></strong></em>,  makes the case for humor as a shared experience:</p><div class="preformatted-block"><label class="hide-text" contenteditable="false"></label></div><blockquote><p>“A man who was once asked why he did not weep at a sermon, when everybody else was shedding tears, replied, “I don’t belong to the parish!” What that man thought of tears would be still more true of laughter. However spontaneous it seems, laughter always implies a kind of secret freemasonry, or even complicity, with other laughers, real or imaginary. How often has it been said that the fuller the theater, the more uncontrolled the laughter of the audience!”</p></blockquote><div class="preformatted-block"><label class="hide-text" contenteditable="false"></label><pre class="text"> </pre></div><p>That secret society—that tacit shared experience—gives us a sense of security, a feeling of relief that our fellow members and friends understand why we’re laughing. More than that, they understand <em>us</em>.</p><p>And we all want to be <a href="https://lnns.co/1fQqrZem7Fo">understood</a>.</p><p><br /><iframe frameborder="0" height="300px" loading="lazy" scrolling="no" src="https://www.listennotes.com/embedded/e/ab69ef164a094967b9b80d86029f3df8/" style="min-width: 100%; width: 1px;" width="100%"></iframe></p><p class="button-wrapper" data-attrs="{"url":"https://lnns.co/1fQqrZem7Fo","text":"Timeless Leadership: Understanding","class":null}"><br /></p><p></p><h2><strong>Don’t Make Me Laugh</strong></h2><p>Have you ever tried to stifle your laughter when you were in a social situation that required solemnity? In a classroom, in church, or maybe <a href="https://youtu.be/TJny78bpsgo">at a funeral service</a>?</p><p>Invariably, you were with other people. People with whom you had a shared affection and who could understand why you might be laughing.</p><p>Throughout the pandemic, we’ve experienced various degrees of social isolation. Some have been cut off from members of their family for long periods of time. Many have been working from home. And this isolation means we don’t have the same opportunity to love and laugh together.</p><p>Video calls have provided a modicum of solace for that communal feeling, but the digital doppelgangers we see on the screen are merely bits and bytes masquerading as their carbon counterparts. Not to mention the inevitable screen fatigue we’ve experienced.</p><p>In short, we need to be in each other’s company again to experience the laughter and joy that was once taken for granted.</p><div><br /><hr /></div><p style="text-align: center;"><em><strong><br />“Well, humor is the great thing, the saving thing, after all.”</strong></em></p><p></p><div style="text-align: right;"><em>— Mark Twain</em></div><em><br /></em><p></p><div><hr /><br /></div><h2><strong>Humor at Work</strong></h2><p>There’s a place for humor at work. We don’t need to be serious constantly.</p><p>Being funny at work isn’t as much about a quip or witty remark as it is about lightheartedness. When we find shared moments of levity, we develop a closer bond with those who are with us.</p><p>However, humor doesn’t work when it is directed at someone else like an individual or a group of people. A cutting remark that uses someone else as the punchline or the target of a joke is not a joke at all.</p><p>One of the shared values at Ford in my time there was:</p><h4 style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Enjoy the journey and each other; have fun—<em>never at others’ expense</em>.”</span></h4><div class="preformatted-block"><span style="font-size: medium;"><label class="hide-text" contenteditable="false"></label></span><pre class="text" style="text-align: center;"> </pre></div><p>When someone says something offensive and others react with shock or horror, you may have witnessed the knee-jerk, self-protective reaction: “It was a joke!” or “Can’t you take a joke?”</p><p>If you have to explain that something is a joke or you criticize the reaction to it, it’s not a joke.</p><p>Humor works best when it is shared. [<strong><a href="https://ctt.ac/GAE7R">Tweet this</a></strong>]</p><p><br /></p><div><hr /></div><p><em><strong><br /></strong></em></p><div style="text-align: center;"><em><strong><em><strong>“To understand laughter, we must put it back into its natural environment, which is society, and above all must we determine the utility of its function, which is a social one.” </strong></em></strong></em></div><p></p><p></p><div style="text-align: right;"><em>— Henri Bergson, 1900</em></div><em><br /></em><p></p><div><hr /><br /></div><h2><strong>Misplaced Humor</strong></h2><p>Earlier this week, the CEO of Basecamp posted <strong><a href="https://world.hey.com/jason/changes-at-basecamp-7f32afc5">a memo aimed at internal culture</a></strong> (posted publicly for all to see) that has since come under fire. On the surface, it seems to be representative of the debate about corporate “wokeness”.</p><p>However, <strong><a href="https://www.theverge.com/2021/4/27/22406673/basecamp-political-speech-policy-controversy">according to a deeper investigation</a></strong>, it goes beyond the political and edges into humor: employees say the founders’ memos unfairly depicted their workplace as being riven by partisan politics, when in fact the main source of the discussion had always been Basecamp itself.</p><p>It started with a list of “funny” customer names in 2009. Fast forward to today:</p><blockquote><p>“More than a decade later, current employees were so mortified by the practice that none of them would give me a single example of a name on the list…Many of the names were of American or European origin. But others were Asian, or African, and eventually the list — titled “Best Names Ever” — began to make people uncomfortable.</p></blockquote><div class="preformatted-block"><label class="hide-text" contenteditable="false"></label><pre class="text"> </pre></div><p>Life in 2021 is different than it was in 2009, and there are forms of behavior, in the workplace as well as in social life, that are less acceptable or tolerable than they once were.</p><blockquote><p>“In a response to Hansson’s post, one employee noted that the way we treat names — especially foreign names — is deeply connected to social and racial hierarchies… The point was that dehumanizing behavior begins with very small actions, and it did not seem like too much to ask Basecamp’s founders to acknowledge that.”</p></blockquote><div class="preformatted-block"><label class="hide-text" contenteditable="false"></label><pre class="text"> </pre></div><p>Our smallest actions indicate our deepest beliefs. When we think something isn’t important or we use the emotional write-off “it’s just a joke,” we’re denying the dignity of others.</p><p>Always remember the golden rule of humor in the workplace:</p><p>Never at others’ expense. [<strong><a href="https://ctt.ac/0D3z6">Tweet this</a></strong>]</p><p><br /></p><div><hr /><br /></div><div class="preformatted-block"><label class="hide-text" contenteditable="false"></label><pre class="text"></pre></div><h1><strong>Coming Up</strong></h1><p>If you’re not yet subscribed to <em><strong>Timeless & Timely</strong></em>, here's your chance: right now, <a href="https://www.timelesstimely.com/subscribe?coupon=93b84ca0" target="_blank">Premium membership is FREE for 60 days</a>.</p><div class="preformatted-block"><label class="hide-text" contenteditable="false"></label><pre class="text"> </pre></div><p>Tomorrow, in the live recording of <em><strong><a href="https://pod.link/timeless">Timeless Leadership</a></strong></em>, I’ll be chatting with <strong><a href="https://www.keepingithuman.com">Kathy Klotz-Guest</a></strong> on the topic of <strong>Humor</strong>.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JdGHPbAz3rw/YIl620Vz8II/AAAAAAABTZI/IWmHZbOQwn8XABhXuBoUUi9ICLKvGAEzQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2000/This%2BWeek%2Bon%2BTimeless%2BLeadership%2B-%2BHumor.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="2000" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JdGHPbAz3rw/YIl620Vz8II/AAAAAAABTZI/IWmHZbOQwn8XABhXuBoUUi9ICLKvGAEzQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h320/This%2BWeek%2Bon%2BTimeless%2BLeadership%2B-%2BHumor.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p>We know humor when we see it, but it’s one of the most difficult forms of communication out there. We need to have fun together in the workplace, and Kathy is well-positioned to help us understand how to make it happen.</p><div class="preformatted-block"><label class="hide-text" contenteditable="false"></label><pre class="text"><br /></pre></div><p>Join us at <strong>12 pm EDT</strong> on <strong>Thursday, April 29</strong> on <strong><a href="https://firesidechat.com/scottmonty">Fireside Chat</a></strong>.</p><div class="preformatted-block"><label class="hide-text" contenteditable="false"></label><pre class="text"> </pre></div><p>If you can’t make it to the live show, then please hit the subscribe button on the podcast player of your choice to <a class="button primary" href="https://pod.link/timeless">Subscribe to Timeless Leadership</a>.</p><div class="preformatted-block"><label class="hide-text" contenteditable="false"></label><pre class="text"> </pre></div><p>Thanks, and I’ll see you on the internet.</p><p><br /></p><div><hr /></div><p><br /> 👉 Premium Members receive an additional related essay, plus curated links and stories, and audio and book recommendations every Friday. And now, we're adding more audio content to the list! Join the club by signing up below: </p><p style="text-align: center;"><iframe frameborder="0" height="320" scrolling="no" src="https://www.timelesstimely.com/embed" style="background: white; border: 1px solid #EEE;" width="480"></iframe></p>

The Social Element of Humor

Stańczyk   by Jan Matejko, (public domain - Wikimedia Commons) “Among those whom I like or admire, I can find no common denominator, but amo...

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The Role of Wisdom: Information or Transformation?

<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--3UooeSkOGk/YIBQjhwY7ZI/AAAAAAABTSo/KXEgojVkab0gvb22cMibzKDLkEfgvrYhACLcBGAsYHQ/s1280/Raphael%2B-%2BSchool%2Bof%2BAthens%2B%2528cropped%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="836" data-original-width="1280" height="418" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--3UooeSkOGk/YIBQjhwY7ZI/AAAAAAABTSo/KXEgojVkab0gvb22cMibzKDLkEfgvrYhACLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h418/Raphael%2B-%2BSchool%2Bof%2BAthens%2B%2528cropped%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:%22The_School_of_Athens%22_by_Raffaello_Sanzio_da_Urbino.jpg" target="_blank">School of Athens</a></i>, fresco by Raphael, 1511 (public domain - Wikimedia Commons)</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p><br /></p><hr /><p><br /></p><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b>“Experience is not what happens to a man; it is what a man does with what happens to him.” </b></i></div><p></p><p></p><div style="text-align: right;"><i>— Aldous Huxley, 1932</i></div><br /><p></p><hr /><p><br /></p><p>How do you define wisdom?</p><p>For thousands of years, wisdom has served as a topic of philosophical discussion. Like other complex and nuanced terms, it’s less easily defined than it is recognized.</p><p>That is, we can better understand wisdom when we see examples of it.</p><p>When we look to leaders to be examples to us, we’re tacitly seeking evidence of their wisdom through their decisions and communication. We then relay those anecdotes to others to share that wisdom and build confidence in our leaders.</p><p>Mitch Albom did this extraordinarily well in his bestseller <i><a href="https://amzn.to/3v6ZjYH" target="_blank">Tuesdays With Morrie</a></i>. He reconnected with an old professor of his, Morrie Schwartz, who was dying from ALS.</p><p>In a series of discussions over the course of less than a dozen visits, Morrie conveyed wisdom to Mitch in his observations about life and his ability to focus on what mattered. And Mitch shared those profound lessons with us in his book.</p><p>In that spirit, I came across an example that helps to convey wisdom. It’s from my friend and colleague Tom Morris, a public philosopher.</p><p>I’m not a philosopher myself, although I was philosophy-adjacent as a classics major. We dabbled in enough philosophy to get us by. So I respect and admire the work of true philosophers like Tom.</p><p>Tom posted something last week that I thought was a fine example of wisdom, and I asked his permission to share it here:</p><p> </p><h1 style="text-align: left;"><b>Tuesdays with Morris</b></h1><p>I once had a student who got really mad at me. He was a top schoolteacher who had won a prestigious grant from the National Endowment for the Humanities to come and study with me for a month, in the company of fourteen other carefully selected classroom legends from around the country.</p><p>Two weeks into the intensive seminar on “Faith, Reason, and the Meaning of Life,” he wrote me a very angry letter. It went something like this:</p><blockquote><p>“Professor Morris: We’re halfway through our time in your seminar on the meaning of life, and for some reason you won’t tell us the answer. Why are you withholding such an important thing? It’s not fair. It’s actually evil. Are you doing this for the sake of pedagogical drama? Is it a mind game thing? Do you want us to feel even more deeply dependent on you than we already are? Please stop with the keeping of secrets and just tell us the answer. We deserve to know.”</p></blockquote><p>I went right off to his dorm room and we talked for two hours, just the two of us. At the outset of our chat, he was extremely irate. By the end, he was not.</p><p>I used to be puzzled at why the famous epic poem <i>The Odyssey</i>, which is supposed to be about Odysseus and his ten-year attempt to get home after the Trojan War, opens up and spends maybe its first hundred pages on a story about his son Telemachus, back home in Ithaca instead of launching right into the main event.</p><p>The war itself took ten years. And now we’re approaching that length after it ended and still Odysseus still isn’t back home. Telemachus is afraid his father is dead. But he wants to know for sure.</p><p>The goddess Athena appears to him in disguise. She’s a good friend of Odysseus and knows everything that’s going on with him and his troubles in his ongoing efforts to reach home. She knows in particular that he’s alive. Telemachus asks her for the answer to this question.</p><p>But instead of telling him, she suggests he might get his answer if he goes on a dangerous trip to visit some other kings who know his father. They might have the answer he seeks. But of course she has that answer already.</p><p>So why does she suggest this hazardous trip instead of just giving him the answer he wants?</p><p>After reading this captivating tale at least a half dozen times, I came to a realization. Telemachus wants <b><i>information</i></b>. Athena knows he needs <b><i>transformation</i></b>.</p><p>So she sends him on a trip that will likely transform him from the young man he is, of little experience or confidence, into a seasoned adventurer, full of skill and assurance. This will make him capable of joining his father as a warrior and partner in new combat (remember: Odysseus returned from his wanderings and had to deal with an army of hostile suitors who sought the hand of his wife and have been devoured the wealth of his home and farms; they claimed he was dead and laid siege to her affections).</p><p>People who pay attention to Plato’s <i>Dialogues</i> featuring Socrates are often surprised at the endings of these stories. Socrates comes across someone who thinks he knows something important and is actually very confident in that purported knowledge.</p><p>The philosopher then begins to question him and dismantle his certainty. The man is led to realize he doesn’t know what he thinks he knows. What he believed to be true is false. But what is the relevant truth?</p><p>The dialogue typically ends without Socrates discovering what is true and revealing it so that it can be believed instead of the falsehood that has been unmasked.</p><p>Why?</p><p>Is reason after all just destructive and not constructive? Surely that can’t be the lesson we’re to learn.</p><p>Maybe Socrates isn’t doing his intellectual skeet shooting for the purpose of ridding the world of falsehoods and disclosing instead the related important truths to his conversation partners.</p><p>It could be that his intent is not primarily about true and false statements at all, or the facts in the world under dispute. Perhaps he sees his task not as providing information, but like Athena before him, transformation. He reduces arrogance to confusion, and sometimes even to intellectual humility and the subsequent open curiosity that alone can sprout from that fertile soil.</p><p>And that brings us back to my angry student.</p><p>I found out in our talk that the day he was to travel to our seminar, he had awakened to the absence of his girlfriend, his intended partner for life, and had found a note from her on the breakfast table, stating that she was leaving and that he was not to try to follow or contact her for any further explanations.</p><p>There surely had to be one, a reason or meaning to this, but she was going to withhold it from him, for whatever reason she must have had. And yet, he had to understand the meaning of this unexpected and traumatic event. He had to make sense of it.</p><p>He was confused and disoriented, and even greatly distraught when he had come to South Bend two weeks before he left me my own note. And I never knew what he had been through. He hadn’t said anything about it.</p><p>I listened and empathized and sought to give him emotional support. And then we came to our pedagogic or philosophical topic of contention.</p><p>Why was I withholding an explanation that I could surely give? Why was I being coy and maybe mysterious about the meaning he so desperately needed?</p><p>I tried to explain to this intense young man, operating near his wit’s end, that wisdom about life’s meaning, or the meaning of any particular event within it, may not come to us or consist in a simple linguistic statement or proposition that I could either reveal or withhold at will.</p><p>Sometimes our sense of meaning, like wisdom itself, is about perspective and discernment, and our experiences along with the learning that results from them can be transformative with respect to our perspectives without giving us a simple answer in the form of a declarative statement.</p><p>And when we do try to convey what we’ve learned in such a statement, it may sound trite or trivial and seem as insubstantial as the foam atop a big frosty mug of dark beer, when it’s the beer itself that’s needed.</p><p>Sometimes, like Socrates, we have to eliminate false certainties as a prelude to enlightenment. We may have to enter confusion as a prelude to illumination.</p><p>Those of us who have made this arduous transition many times ourselves, like Athena may have to respond to someone who asks a truth of us by sending him or her to go on a journey of transformation rather than giving any particular piece of information, which is after all not what’s most needed.</p><p>And often what we best accomplish is to invite that person to join us on our own journey of humility and curiosity and existential discovery that may go far beyond what any words could ever say on any topic at all.</p><p><br /></p><hr /><br /><p>Thank you for joining me on my journey. We’ve got more coming up later this week. Subscribe below to make sure you receive it.</p><p><br /></p><p>And thanks to Tom for the wonderful lesson on wisdom.</p><p><br /></p><hr /><br /><h2 style="text-align: left;"><b>Up Next</b></h2><p>More on wisdom and attention in Friday’s newsletter for our Premium members. Make sure you don't miss it.</p><p>And in the next live recording of <b><i>Timeless Leadership</i></b>, <a href="http://www.tomvmorris.com/" target="_blank">Tom Morris</a> will join us to help us think more about wisdom.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zoqENP0PtuM/YIB8Nf7LNDI/AAAAAAABTTI/FdaomfidZ60D6l-OICn8-5w3OajBYKzEwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1500/TomMorris.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="874" data-original-width="1500" height="233" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zoqENP0PtuM/YIB8Nf7LNDI/AAAAAAABTTI/FdaomfidZ60D6l-OICn8-5w3OajBYKzEwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h233/TomMorris.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>Throughout history, people have looked to leaders as fonts of wisdom. Sometimes the accolade is warranted, sometimes it's a false promise.</p><p>Why is wisdom important, and how is it different from knowledge? Can we ever make a claim to wisdom? How can we recognize wisdom in others?</p><p>Join the live show and participate in the discussion on <b><a href="https://firesidechat.com/scottmonty" target="_blank">Fireside Chat</a></b> on <b>Thursday, April 22</b> at <b>12 pm EDT</b>. Here’s <a href="https://calendar.google.com/event?action=TEMPLATE&tmeid=MDY5OG9ucG52M3Y1Z2IxMWxsaXVpNzk2YmIgc2NvdHRAc2NvdHRtb250eS5jb20&tmsrc=scott%40scottmonty.com" target="_blank">a link to put it in your calendar</a>.</p><p>If you can’t follow along live, you can get the <a href="https://smonty.co/timelesspod" target="_blank"><b><i>Timeless Leadership</i></b> podcast</a> wherever you typically listen.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_iBYmnvyfuw/YIB8pUuHI0I/AAAAAAABTTQ/1aXEFbOa2bEobiychBqEvJwo74Ub2eP2gCLcBGAsYHQ/s2000/Timeless%2BLeadership%2BBold.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="2000" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_iBYmnvyfuw/YIB8pUuHI0I/AAAAAAABTTQ/1aXEFbOa2bEobiychBqEvJwo74Ub2eP2gCLcBGAsYHQ/w320-h320/Timeless%2BLeadership%2BBold.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p>Thanks, and I’ll see you on the internet.</p><p><br /></p> <hr /> <p style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">👉 Premium Members receive an additional related essay, plus curated links and stories, and audio and book recommendations every Friday. And now, we're adding more audio content to the list! Join the club by signing up below:</p><div class="captioned-image-container" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><figure><p style="text-align: center;"><iframe frameborder="0" height="320" scrolling="no" src="https://scottmonty.substack.com/embed" style="font-family: verdana, geneva, sans-serif; max-height: 450px; max-width: 100%;" width="480"></iframe></p></figure></div>

The Role of Wisdom: Information or Transformation?

School of Athens , fresco by Raphael, 1511 (public domain - Wikimedia Commons) “Experience is not what happens to a man; it is what a man do...

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Finding Hope

<p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EhZcM3cpDU0/YHc7Ys8GJ0I/AAAAAAABTI0/BkumzpDD4Dcx0NhfG70FApUKvXiPoqFuACLcBGAsYHQ/s1024/Friedrich%2BJustin%2BBertuch%2B-%2BA%2Bdepiction%2Bof%2Ba%2Bphoenix.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="809" data-original-width="1024" height="506" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EhZcM3cpDU0/YHc7Ys8GJ0I/AAAAAAABTI0/BkumzpDD4Dcx0NhfG70FApUKvXiPoqFuACLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h506/Friedrich%2BJustin%2BBertuch%2B-%2BA%2Bdepiction%2Bof%2Ba%2Bphoenix.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><em style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Phoenix_(mythology)#/media/File:Phoenix-Fabelwesen.jpg">A depiction of a phoenix</a></em><span style="text-align: left;"> by Friedrich Johann Justin Bertuch, 1806 (public domain - Wikimedia Commons, </span><a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/" style="text-align: left;">CC BY-SA 3.0</a><span style="text-align: left;">)</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table></p><div class="captioned-image-container" data-pm-context="[]"><figure><figcaption class="image-caption"><br /></figcaption></figure></div><div><hr /></div><p><em><strong><br /></strong></em></p><div style="text-align: center;"><em><strong><em><strong>“Afflictions sent by Providence melt the constancy of the noble minded but confirm the obduracy of the vile. The same furnace that hardens clay liquefies gold.”</strong> </em></strong></em></div><p></p><p></p><div style="text-align: right;"><em>— Charles Caleb Colton, c. 1820</em></div><em><br /></em><p></p><div><hr /></div><p><br />I just returned from a week in Phoenix. Some time away in the land of perpetual sun gave me an opportunity to reflect, amid early morning walks in the desert.</p><p>Yet it wasn’t until my return yesterday that I found the red thread for the week.</p><p>Arriving home last night, I realized that today is April 14. A day that always affects my mood.</p><p>As a student of history, I’m acutely aware of events of the past. And April 14 marks two solemn occasions less than fifty years apart: the assassination of Abraham Lincoln, who was shot on the evening of April 14, 1865 at Ford’s Theater, and the sinking of the <em>Titanic</em>, which struck an iceberg in the North Atlantic at 11:40 pm on April 14, 1912.</p><p>Every year, I reflect on the events that led up to and resulted from each of these two tragedies, feeling a sense of sadness and loss, but also contentment and hope in their aftermaths.</p><p>How is it possible that the tragic death of one of America’s greatest presidents and of more than 1,500 souls could be something to evoke any kind of positivity?</p><p>In short, there is hope and positivity in nearly everything, <strong><a href="https://www.timelesstimely.com/p/look-for-the-helpers">if you are willing to look for it</a></strong>.</p><div class="preformatted-block"><label class="hide-text" contenteditable="false"></label><pre class="text"> </pre></div><h2>The Chickens Knew</h2><p>In <em>On the Banks of Plum Creek</em>, the fourth book in Laura Ingalls Wilder’s <em>Little House on the Prairie</em> series, the family was beset by a plague of grasshoppers. As they fell from the sky, the grasshoppers enveloped everything on the ground, and began eating their way through trees and wheat fields.</p><p>Yet there was a glimmer of hope: the chickens, who normally were used to chasing grasshoppers around the yard and not catching them. But in the deluge, they simple stretched out their necks and consumed insect after insect.</p><p>Laura’s mother managed to see the silver lining in the cloud of grasshoppers:</p><blockquote><p>“Well, we won’t have to buy feed for the hens,” said Ma. “There’s no great loss without some gain.”</p></blockquote><p><br /></p><div><hr /></div><p><em><strong><br /></strong></em></p><div style="text-align: center;"><em><strong><em><strong>“The disaster takes care of everything.”</strong> </em></strong></em></div><p></p><p></p><div style="text-align: right;"><em>— Maurice Blanchot, 1980</em></div><em><br /></em><p></p><div><hr /><br /></div><h2>Two Tragedies, One Lesson</h2><p>Similarly, with President Lincoln’s assassination, his fame and accomplishments only grew stronger in death. That he was able to sign the Emancipation Proclamation, get Congress to sign legislation outlining the 13th Amendment, and give such powerful and timeless speeches—the <a href="https://millercenter.org/the-presidency/presidential-speeches/november-19-1863-gettysburg-address">Gettysburg Address</a>, his <a href="https://millercenter.org/the-presidency/presidential-speeches/december-1-1862-second-annual-message">Second Annual Message to Congress</a>, and his <a href="https://millercenter.org/the-presidency/presidential-speeches/march-4-1865-second-inaugural-address">Second Inaugural Address</a>—all in the span of four short years, make his towering achievements all the more impressive.</p><p>His death shocked the nation, but out of his was born greater attention to the timeless virtues he helped us consider.</p><p>With the <em>Titanic</em>, we witnessed the terrible result of man’s vanity—the audacity to fly in the face of nature (“God himself could not sink this ship,” Captain Edward J. Smith brazenly declared.)—when greeted with the reality of an iceberg and a poor design.</p><p>In the aftermath of the 1,500 deaths in the frigid ocean that night, hearings uncovered a sad fact: that the ship was designed according to all laws and regulations of the day; but those rules hadn’t kept pace with technology.</p><p>The tragedy resulted in new regulations requiring ships to carry enough lifeboats for all passengers, and engineers redesigned the watertight compartments of the Titanic's sister ship.</p><p>Each of these situations, and hundreds of others we can probably conjure up, can leave us with feelings of sorrow and hopelessness. And while it’s important to <strong><a href="https://www.timelesstimely.com/p/good-grief">acknowledge our grief</a></strong>, it’s just as important to determine how we move forward.</p><p>A leader’s job is to find the way forward and to encourage others along. To look for the glimmers of hope and resultant lessons that emerge from unfortunate events.</p><p>Like the phoenix, the mythological bird that rose from the ashes of its predecessor and gave its name to the city at the cent of the Valley of the Sun, we have an opportunity to shine brightly in the aftermath of calamity.</p><p>We just need to seek out the positive.</p><div class="preformatted-block"><label class="hide-text" contenteditable="false"></label></div><p><br /></p><div><hr /></div><p><em><strong><br /></strong></em></p><p></p><h1><strong>Additional Reading</strong></h1><p>Recommended: these three previous newsletters in which some of the above topics were covered.</p><p><strong><a href="https://www.timelesstimely.com/p/renewal">Renewal</a></strong> (springtime, holidays, the Apollo moon landing, and thoughts on the pandemic)</p><p><strong><a href="https://www.timelesstimely.com/p/humility-or-futility">Humility or Futility</a></strong> (a great read on the anniversary of the sinking of the <em>Titanic</em>)</p><p><strong><a href="https://www.timelesstimely.com/p/exposing-our-imperfections">Exposing Our Imperfections</a></strong> (a look at the power and danger of vanity)</p><div class="preformatted-block"><label class="hide-text" contenteditable="false"></label><pre class="text"> </pre></div><p>Thanks, and I’ll see you on the internet.</p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></p><div><hr /></div><div class="captioned-image-container"><figure><br /></figure></div><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">👉 Premium Members receive an additional related essay, plus curated links and stories, and audio and book recommendations every Friday. And now, we're adding more audio content to the list! Join the club by signing up below:</span></p><div class="captioned-image-container"><figure><p style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: center;"><iframe frameborder="0" height="320" scrolling="no" src="https://scottmonty.substack.com/embed" style="font-family: verdana, geneva, sans-serif; max-height: 450px; max-width: 100%;" width="480"></iframe></p></figure></div>

Finding Hope

A depiction of a phoenix  by Friedrich Johann Justin Bertuch, 1806 (public domain - Wikimedia Commons,  CC BY-SA 3.0 ) “Afflictions sent by ...

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Humility Can Seem Soft When Problems Are Hard

<p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Et4xlk6TZEk/YG1d9Ay7EtI/AAAAAAABSqQ/OWVfv-JUIO4fnDX7tKo0ch8zXERPo6snQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Caravaggio%2B-%2BDavid%2Bwith%2Bthe%2BHead%2Bof%2BGoliath%252C%2B1610.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1314" data-original-width="1600" height="526" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Et4xlk6TZEk/YG1d9Ay7EtI/AAAAAAABSqQ/OWVfv-JUIO4fnDX7tKo0ch8zXERPo6snQCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h526/Caravaggio%2B-%2BDavid%2Bwith%2Bthe%2BHead%2Bof%2BGoliath%252C%2B1610.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/David_with_the_Head_of_Goliath_(Caravaggio,_Rome)#/media/File:David_with_the_Head_of_Goliath-Caravaggio_(1610).jpg" style="text-align: left;">David with the Head of Goliath</a><span style="text-align: left;"> by Caravaggio, 1610 (public domain - Wikipedia, <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/1.0/">CC by 1.0</a>)</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div class="captioned-image-container" data-pm-context="[]"><figure><figcaption class="image-caption"><br /></figcaption></figure></div><div><hr /></div><p><strong><br /></strong></p><div style="text-align: center;"><strong><strong>“</strong><em><strong>Humility is attentive patience.</strong></em><strong>”</strong><em> </em></strong></div><p></p><p></p><div style="text-align: right;"><em>— Simone Weil (1940)</em></div><em><br /></em><p></p><div><hr /></div><p><br /></p><p>Humility is often considered a “soft” trait. Like kindness, vulnerability, empathy, and other non-quant skills.</p><p>But to categorize soft skills as not hard is missing the bigger picture. Such virtues are much more difficult to master, as they require not only behavioral change, but a deep understanding of oneself and, more importantly, of others.</p><p>The flip side of humility is hubris or pride. In a previous issue of <em><strong>Timeless & Timely</strong></em> (“<strong><a href="https://smonty.co/humility">Humility or Futility</a></strong>”), we acknowledged the slight difference in the definition of the terms: hubris meaning arrogance that gives offense to the gods, as the ancient Greeks believed, and pride being offensive to others.</p><p>And humility is a trait that is observed by others. It’s certainly not something about which a leader can brag. Leaders demonstrate humility in what they say and do, and in what they choose <em>not</em> to say and do.</p><p>It’s what is visible about you.</p><p>Whether it’s as CEO, head of a department, or even a first-time manager, a leader is only as good as their team. We expect that they bring a certain level of technical knowledge to the job; perhaps they’re a respected engineer, marketer, or financial wizard. But running an effective organization means tapping into the powers of others.</p><p>Every human being on this earth has a limited set of knowledge. Our brains have a limited capacity to know only so much. Humility is when we realize that.</p><div class="preformatted-block"><label class="hide-text" contenteditable="false"></label><pre class="text"> </pre></div><h3><br />George Washington, Most Humble and Obedient Servant</h3><p>By the time the drafters of the Constitution chose George Washington as the first president, he was an accomplished man. A military leader who had a career spanning three decades, including member of the Virginia House of Burgesses and Commander in Chief of the Continental Army.</p><p>And yet, he was still haunted by insecurity. Really, who can blame him? The leadership roles he took on were unprecedented; he was setting out an a path never trodden before. His words and deeds (including stepping down after two terms as president), show him as a leader, who despite his considerable success, was still humble.</p><p>Nancy Lemann writes:</p><blockquote><p>“One endearing thing about the father of our country was his propensity for self-effacement. Every time they drew him to a post, he would agonize and ultimately accept but essentially stand up and say, 'I just want it on the record that I do not consider myself equal to this task.’</p><p>“That was his basic position on everything. Showing that even the great have self-doubt. Maybe only the great. His professions of unworthiness continued to the end. In his farewell address to the nation after serving two terms as president he said he hoped that his many forms of incompetence would be consigned to oblivion.</p><p>“It sometimes seems a cliché to commend George Washington, but 'intellectual humility’ is associated with the capacity to maintain convictions, according to a recent scientific study, and I think it is one quality that must characterize an incorruptible man. If only because such a man is capable of admitting his mistakes. He knows he is fallible, and his self-doubt expands the potential of his mind, allowing him to understand that there are better ways than his, and that they can and must be searched for.” (“<a href="https://www.laphamsquarterly.org/scandal/exquisite-scandal">Exquisite Scandal</a>,” <em>Lapham’s Quarterly</em>)</p></blockquote><div class="preformatted-block"><label class="hide-text" contenteditable="false"></label><pre class="text"> </pre></div><p>That sounds similar to what we know about <strong>emotional intelligence</strong> (more on that shortly), in which a leader is self-aware.</p><p>But more than being acutely aware of their own potential, shortcomings, and emotions, humble leaders understand that there are others who know more than us, and—more importantly—know <em>differently</em> than us.</p><p><br /></p><div><hr /></div><p><strong><br /></strong></p><div style="text-align: center;"><strong><strong>“</strong><em><strong>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 underestimate one’s self is as much a departure from truth as to exaggerate one’s own powers.</strong></em><strong>”</strong><em> </em></strong></div><p></p><p></p><div style="text-align: right;"><em>— Arthur Conan Doyle, 1893</em></div><em><br /></em><p></p><div><hr /></div><p><br /></p><p>Admitting shortcomings or acknowledging we don’t know everything doesn't equate to being timid or modest; humble leaders can still display confidence. The difference is that when we recognize our colleagues and their contributions, we show that we see them, appreciate their talent, and value working together. And that’s at the heart of leader humility.</p><p>It gives root to our ability to work together, serving as the foundation of relationships. If I don't see you and you don't see me for who we are, then there's no relationship there.</p><p>Simply put, our dignity demands it.</p><p><br /></p><div><hr /></div><p><strong><br /></strong></p><div style="text-align: center;"><strong><strong>“</strong><em><strong>Leader humility is a tendency to feel and display a deep regard for others</strong></em><strong>’</strong><em><strong> dignity.</strong></em><strong>”</strong><em> </em></strong></div><p></p><p></p><div style="text-align: right;"><em>— Marilyn Gist, 2020</em></div><em><br /></em><p></p><div><hr /></div><h3><strong><br />D-I-G-N-I-T-Y, it’s essential and this is why</strong></h3><p>Dignity is a fundamental aspect of what it means to be human. When you disregard or even violate the dignity of others, you make them feel like nonentities.</p><p>What’s a violation of dignity? Name-calling, bullying, cutting people off, stereotyping, taking credit — anything that shows you don't appreciate someone’s unique contribution. </p><div class="preformatted-block"><label class="hide-text" contenteditable="false"></label><pre class="text"> </pre></div><p>Remember that tale about Alan Mulally always demurring when praised, responding instead with “It's an honor to serve”? It’s a lesson in sharing credit.</p><p>A leader who is comfortable with their position doesn't need to take credit. When you’re saddled with a boss who needs to soothe his ego constantly, it’s exhausting. And it results in a lot of taking credit and doling out blame.</p><p><br /></p><div><hr /></div><p><strong><br /></strong></p><div style="text-align: center;"><strong><strong>“</strong><em><strong>The Greeks… saw that the unpardonable sin is insolence or presumption, an overweening pride of passion or reason, a failure to be mindful of the Nemesis that lies in wait for disproportionate self-assertion. Humanism, no less than religion, enjoins the virtue of humility.</strong></em><strong>”</strong><em> </em></strong></div><p></p><p></p><div style="text-align: right;"><em>— T.S. Elliot, 1929</em></div><em><br /></em><p></p><div><hr /></div><h3><strong><br />The Harm of Hubris</strong></h3><p>Think back to <em>The Odyssey</em>, in which Odysseus and his men find themselves trapped in a cave with Polyphemus, the deranged, man-eating, sheep herding, one-eyed beast. Odysseus hatches an ingenious escape plan: they wait for the cyclops to fall asleep and then stab him in the eye with a sharpened log. Enraged and blinded, Polyphemus staggers to remove the stone he had rolled in front of the entrance of the cave, which frees Odysseus and his men.</p><p>It’s brilliant and, best of all, Odysseus, never having given the cyclops his real name, is off scot-free. But then, just out of reach of the bleeding, angry, shouting cyclops, he turns back and taunts:</p><blockquote><p><strong>“Cyclops! If any mortal asks you how<br />Your eye was mutilated and made blind,<br />Say that Odysseus, the city-saker,<br />Laertes’ son, who lives in Ithaca,<br />Destroyed your sight.”</strong></p></blockquote><p>Odysseus just couldn’t help himself. He wanted the credit. And he stupidly forgot that Polyphemus’ father was Poseidon. You don’t maim the son of the lord of the sea and take an ocean voyage without expecting some divine retribution.</p><p>This moment of hubris cost Odysseus something like ten years of his life, as Poseidon threw up countless obstacles, one after the other, between Odysseus and his wife, Penelope, back home in Ithaca. It’s a lesson that many people have heeded (and plenty of others have painfully forgotten) ever since.</p><p>History and literature are rife with examples of hubris, or excessive pride and arrogance.</p><ul><li><p>Ajax, title character of Sophocles’ play of the same name, thinks he does not need Zeus’ help due to hubris. </p></li><li><p>Oedipus thinks he can outrun his destiny.</p></li><li><p>In Mary Shelley’s <em>Frankenstein</em>, Victor Frankenstein thinks he can control life.</p></li></ul><div class="preformatted-block"><label class="hide-text" contenteditable="false"></label><pre class="text"> </pre></div><p>It seems that more often than not, the ego-driven, ambitious, obsessive visionaries — call them what you will — are celebrated and rewarded. And to a certain degree that’s true. For without drive, ambition, and self-confidence, it’s hard to stand out.</p><p>But there's a sense of <a href="https://amzn.to/2LdnVcQ">entitlement and control</a> that individuals like this bring to the table. And it’s damaging to everyone around them, including the entity they're trying to build.</p><p><strong>Entitlement </strong>says, “I deserve this by virtue of who I am, not what I did.” The dignity-robbing “And you don’t” follows logically.</p><p><strong>Control </strong>says “My way or the highway,” and drives away the very people who might be in the best position to help.</p><p>We can let go of our ego when we recognize that the key to success is in <em><strong>working together</strong></em>.</p><p>Alan Mulally brought this spirit of working together to Boeing and Ford. Really, it’s a business philosophy and management system:</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dUf2h4M_3aU/YG1fHA1BO6I/AAAAAAABSqY/68w8NfAIQ-MKlb5UI-kZwaMY-Soj9l5XACLcBGAsYHQ/s1280/Alan%2527s%2BWorking%2BTogether%2BManagement%2BSystem.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dUf2h4M_3aU/YG1fHA1BO6I/AAAAAAABSqY/68w8NfAIQ-MKlb5UI-kZwaMY-Soj9l5XACLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h360/Alan%2527s%2BWorking%2BTogether%2BManagement%2BSystem.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>You can see the humility this takes and the dignity it bestows on the team. It grants responsibilities and demonstrates a leadership team that cares about them.</p><p>Emotional intelligence, empathy, dignity, humility: these are leadership virtues that show your care and concern for others. Simply put, it's selflessness.</p><p><br /></p><div><hr /></div><p><em><strong><br /></strong></em></p><div style="text-align: center;"><em><strong><em><strong>“Humility is not thinking less of yourself; it’s thinking of yourself less.”</strong> </em></strong></em></div><p></p><p></p><div style="text-align: right;"><em>— C.S. Lewis, 1952</em></div><em><br /></em><p></p><div><hr /></div><p><br /></p><p>What could be more powerful and deserving of loyalty than serving others?</p><p>A soft skill, indeed. But needed more in difficult times than ever.</p><div class="preformatted-block"><label class="hide-text" contenteditable="false"></label><pre class="text"> </pre></div><div></div><p>Thanks, and I’ll see you on the internet.</p><p><br /></p><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><hr /><br /></div><p style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">👉 Premium Members receive an additional related essay, plus curated links and stories, and audio and book recommendations every Friday—except this Friday, we'll be hosting a special video AMA. Be sure to reserve your seat by becoming a paid subscriber:</p><div><br /></div><div class="captioned-image-container"><figure><br /></figure></div><p class="button-wrapper" data-attrs="{"url":"%%checkout_url%%","text":"Subscribe now","class":null}"><br /></p>

Humility Can Seem Soft When Problems Are Hard

  David with the Head of Goliath  by Caravaggio, 1610 (public domain - Wikipedia, CC by 1.0 ) “ Humility is attentive patience. ”   — Simone...

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