Hillary Clinton said something during the second presidential debate that demands fact-checking. Referring to her senatorial victory in 2006, she claimed: “67 percent of the people voted to re-elect me when I ran for my second term, and I was very proud and very humbled by that.” It’s not the percentage of the vote I doubt—it’s the ability of anyone to be simultaneously humbled and proud.
Clinton’s statement is one of the more glaring instances of Americans using the word humbled strangely. The Oxford English Dictionary defines the transitive verb as “to render humble or meek in spirit; to cause to think more lowly of oneself.” The American Heritage Dictionary defines it as “to cause to feel humble” or “to cause to have a lower condition or status; abase.” Earlier editions of that dictionary are even more forceful: “to curtail or destroy the pride of; humiliate.” Yet time and time again, celebrities, athletes, and politicians are using the word to describe things that should make them proud.
Award recipients and nominees often describe themselves as “humbled.” The actress Jennifer Lawrence, using a common formulation, said that she was “beyond grateful and humbled by” her nomination for an Oscar earlier this year. Athletes are following suit. Barry Bonds, after being fired as hitting coach for the Miami Marlins, said he was “grateful and humbled” to have been given the job. Both of these examples seem only half appropriate: if Lawrence feels less of herself for being nominated, she should spare herself some embarrassment and skip the show itself; Bonds’s use of “humbled” applies better to being fired than hired.
A headline earlier this year declared, “Steph Curry humbled after becoming NBA’s first unanimous MVP.” What happened—did he lose a three-point shooting contest to an elementary school student? Not quite. In his speech, Curry thanked the people who voted for him, praised his wife and family, and encouraged his teammates to finish the season strongly. Contrary to the headline, then, he was humble, not humbled.
This trend says a lot about how we currently understand both pride and humility. The frequent pairing of grateful and humble, for example, reflects a common—but not constant—connection between thankful and being humbled. When someone helps change a tire, for example, our expression of thanks implies humility, because we couldn’t have accomplished the task without help. That’s not quite what’s happening in these cases, though: giving an award to or voting for someone is not a favor, but an expression of confidence or a recognition of excellence. It should make the recipients feel better about themselves.
Perhaps people resort to saying they’re humbled because of how we perceive pride. Pride is associated with arrogance and hubris, and the proud always get their comeuppance: “Pride goes before a fall” and all that. Not even actors want to seem arrogant. But if that’s the only way we view pride, we’re not giving it enough credit. Appropriate pride can lead to virtuous behavior, move us to action, or even help other people feel good about themselves.
When you express pride in an award, you compliment the people who gave it to you by making clear that their opinion matters, that their recognition carries weight. There’s no need to pull a James Cameron and declare yourself King of the World; but Sally Fields’ “you like me! Right now, you like me” clearly (though awkwardly) compliments the people whose respect she earned. Besides, there are better ways to convey humility than to basically declare outright, “I’m humble!” or “Please note my lack of arrogance!” These sentiments are better seen than heard.
So Ms. Clinton should have felt no shame for expressing her pride in being reelected, and she may have added that she was grateful for the support of the voters. But saying she was both proud and humbled? That sort of inconsistency could get her into trouble one of these days.
Christopher J. Scalia is a writer in Washington, D.C.
