GEN1373 R. Levitas of Yavneh said: Be very, very humble in spirit, for the anticipation of man is the worm. … For tikvah (the hope of) man is rimmah (the worm). Pirkei Avot IV:4   One of the most poignant and telling statements in all Torah literature, this dictum must be pondered and applied with care.   First of all, R. Levitas would seem to want each individual to consider this thought about himself. Who am I? What is my strength, and what is my righteousness, that I should be so pound and so haughty? Every human existence is precarious, fraught with vulnerability. And the body in which the spirit dwells the body that a person will present so vainly, in the expectancy of such great attention and regard,   -- is destined to molder in the earth, as food for maggots and worms.   What inherent, implicit right can a human being have to arrogance or vanity? But these powerful words belong in our thinking also as we relate to others. So much in our human relations can be offensive and irritating. We can often, easily be led to anger at another person. Before you give vent to rage, stop and think: Should you really get angry? At someone destined to rot in the grave? Is rage ever justified ultimately, or worth while?   Bear in mind these words of R. Levitas, and it will be easier to remain humble, tolerant, and charitable in living with others.   Again, the word rimmah may suggest its meaning as a verb: to deceive; and we can drive the thought: Man’s hope, the end to which he can look forward, is “deceit,” the disillusioning realization that much if not all of his life has been a deception. A little boy dreams and hopes for a bicycle. It is the be-all and end-all of his yearnings. When he receives it, he is delirious with joy, and he rides it continuously, dah after day. But then, one day he sees something else, and in a moment the bicycle is forgotten, to be thereafter neglected. Now he wants a fountain pen. Today that is his life’s ruling passion.   If only he had such a pen, be believes, he would be the happiest lad in the world. And soon after he received that, he loses interest in it. His attention has been caught by a watch; and after that, by something else. Are our adult lives very different? Ambitions burn strong, and we seek our goals with demonic intensity. And when a goal is achieved, disillusion is sure to follow. Somehow, what we have gained and achieved does not mean so much, now that we have it. It does not bring us the happiness of Paradise; it doe not solve any deeper problems. The dreams of childhood, the yearning of youth, the ambitions of yesteryear—the hopes of all our yesterdays—do not lead to inner fulfillment. Inevitably, the anticipation is greater than the realization. Then, if all our hopes eventually bring disillusion and disappointment, why be so proud, so vaunting with ambition and importance?  The Hebrew word tikvah has another meaning: it can betoken a thread or string. With this rendering, R. Levitas teaches us that life is like one long stretch of string; and the end of the line is the worm. One thing should be obvious: If R. Levitas added these words as the impelling reason why a person should be humble, he means a sincere, thorough-going humility that others will recognize and acknowledge. He does not mean a pretense or a fatuous self-delusion of humility. The story is told of a man who decided that everyone should know of his sterling character. And so he put a large sign in front of his home reading, “Here lives the most humble man in town.” We can be outrageously generous in judging ourselves. We many be utterly convinced that we are quite modest and humble, while our friends and neighbors have surprising different opinions.   R. Levitas doubles his adverb: m’od, m’od. Then be doubly humble: both in your knowledge of yourself, and in others’ awareness of you. Be humble so that others too perceive your qualities.   In the ethics of Judaism, there is one clear, unequivocal view about humility as opposed to arrogance and pride. Throughout Scripture and the teachings of the Sages, humility is praises as one of the basic virtues, while arrogance is detested and condemned. Virtues in general, writes the Rambam, are “Human qualities and acquired characteristics which are midway between two bad extremes, one being excessive and other other deficient.” [Rambam, Sh’monah ‘p’rakim (the eight Chapters, introduction to his Commentary on Avoth), iv., beginning).   And so, like Aristotle (Nicomachean ethics, ii 6) he advocates the “golden mean.” However, when it comes to humility and pride, he rules in his great Code of Law that the extreme of humility is to be adopted Rambam, Yad haHazakah, hilcholth de’oth ii 3) (Most people, though, seem to have an over-abundance of conceit and excessive self-esteem).   Yet a human being cannot live in total self-abasement. A person cannot efface himself until he has no place in the sun. A certain amount of self regard is essential for psychological health. And in this vein the Talmud requires a scholar to have one eighth of an eighth of pride Talmud, Sotah 5a – on sixty-fourth, or about one and half percent – a slight amount indeed. Still, some of our great rabbis were distrustful of even this much pride. The noted Gaon of Vilna interprets “One eighth of an eighth” in this way: The eighth sidrah or weekly portion of Scripture read in the synagogue on Saturday  is vayyishlach: and its eight sentence begins, “I have grown small through all the kindnesses…” [this verse].  This is the only expression of arrogance permitted a scholar. SINAI2 35-7