The humility of greatness

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The writer is a Professor of Physics at the University of Karachi

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During my years in Gothenburg, Sweden, there lived a gentleman not far from my home by the name of Arvid Carlsson. He was affiliated with a medical university, while I made my daily journey to Chalmers University in connection with my own work. Our routes almost coincided. I would board the tram at one stop, and he would join at the next. His destination came one stop before mine, and thus began a brief but regular companionship.

Before long, this routine tram acquaintance developed into a warm and pleasant friendship. All I knew about him was that he was a physiologist with a remarkable interest in science, culture, literature, and ideas. He was a man of exceptional courtesy. His conversation was rich in knowledge, yet entirely free of display; there was dignity in his demeanor, but no trace of arrogance. Above all, there was a gentleness about him - a quality not always encountered among those who occupy positions of distinction.

One morning he appeared on the tram dressed more elegantly than usual. When I asked the reason, he smiled and said that he was heading to Chalmers University to deliver a lecture at a conference. We disembarked together, and noticing that there was still some time before the proceedings would begin, I invited him to my office for a cup of coffee. We spent some time in conversation and then went our separate ways.

When he was with me, several senior professors greeted him warmly. Curious, I remarked on his apparent popularity, but he brushed it aside with characteristic humour, saying that people recognised him simply because he was old. Only after he had left did a few senior professors tell me, to my astonishment, that my quiet tram companion was none other than Professor Arvid Carlsson, recipient of the 2000 Nobel Prize in Physiology or Medicine. Despite his immense scientific stature and his groundbreaking work on dopamine, he had never once hinted at his distinction, wearing greatness with a humility that made it all the more remarkable.

The next morning, unable to contain my curiosity, I asked him even before saying good morning, "Are you a Nobel Prize winner?" With perfect calm he replied, "Yes." When I asked why he had never told me, he smiled and said, "You never asked." Then he added a sentence that has stayed with me for over two decades: "It is not necessary to know a person only through his professional achievements or honours. Human relationships and friendship stand far above our accomplishments."

Whenever I recall those words, a certain stillness descends upon my heart. Knowledge, if it does not make one humble, remains mere information. Greatness, if it does not soften the soul, becomes little more than fame.

Professor Arvid Carlsson possessed the Nobel Prize, yet he never made it the opening line of his identity. In a profound sense, he was greater than his achievements, because his humanity exceeded even his scholarship.

In our part of the world, one occasionally encounters individuals whose academic stature may be modest, yet whose shadows appear disproportionately large. A paper title, a questionable aura of importance, a limited command of knowledge, and still a manner suggesting that the keys to the universe reside exclusively in their possession. In such moments, one remembers people like Arvid Carlsson: truly great individuals who never felt compelled to appear great.

Born on January 25, 1923 in Uppsala and passing away on June 29, 2018 in Gothenburg, Professor Arvid Carlsson left behind not merely a distinguished scientific legacy but cherished memories. Each June, his anniversary brings back thoughts of those tram rides, shared cups of coffee, and above all, the unforgettable words of wisdom that revealed the humility behind the Nobel laureate.

He taught me that achievements deserve admiration, but humanity deserves reverence.