Are we cultivating a harmonious passion for fundraising?
Neil Rudenstine’s Story at Harvard University
One of the privileges of now having recorded 350+ unstructured conversations with fundraisers has been the opportunity to confirm how important it is that we rely on what psychologists refer to as a harmonious passion. Throughout my career, I have encountered fundraisers who, for whatever reason, stuck with this career path despite the fact that who they were did not align with what the work demands. Choosing instead to rely on an obsessive passion, these fundraisers miss the opportunity to find more meaningful work in a space where the demands of the job better align with whom they are as human beings. I’m a big believer in the work we do; however, I have never been shy about suggesting to a fundraiser or their employer that perhaps this isn’t a good fit.
While researching The War for Fundraising Talent, I happened upon a story that is unfamiliar to many of today’s fundraisers and a perfect example of where trying to push a square peg through a round hole is never a good idea. What many of my readers found most telling about this story is that it happened at one the most prestigious institutions on the planet.
Rhodes Scholar Neil Rudenstine was President of Harvard from 1991 to 2001. Rudenstine earned a BA from Princeton and a PhD from Harvard (in English literature). Rudenstine spent 20 years at Princeton as an English professor and administrator. Not exactly the profile of someone we would expect to make fundraising history. When Rudenstine began his tenure at Harvard, there was a $42 million deficit—another $5 million worse than the prior year. He needed to rectify this and build confidence in his leadership.
After planning for two years, Rudenstine launched the largest Ivy League capital campaign to date. It surpassed its goal by half a billion dollars. He grew the university’s endowment so much it positioned Harvard as the world’s second-largest nonprofit (behind only the Roman Catholic Church). However, this remarkable achievement came at a cost that overshadows his legacy as one of Harvard’s greatest fundraisers.
While president there, Rudenstine created a “private time distribution formula” to keep his priorities straight. He would devote no less than half his time to the intellectual life of the institution—academic planning, faculty searches, tenured appointments—and no more than a third to fundraising. The rest of his time was to be dedicated to administrative duties. “If I went through a week where I hardly had a chance to think about academic planning, then I would make a very powerful correction the next couple of weeks,” Rudenstine explained.
You needn’t be a friend of Rudenstine’s, nor a nonprofit executive, to understand what happens when people tie themselves to this kind of system. Leaders like Rudenstine experience a sense of regret over being pulled away from the mission, and yet are aware the mission obligates them to do so. The mission itself, then, becomes a double-edged sword that compels them to repeatedly carry out tasks they’d prefer not to perform.
In late 1994, Harvard officials announced that Rudenstine was suffering from “severe fatigue and exhaustion of unknown origin. Disappearing for three months of rest and relaxation, Rudenstine found himself on the cover of Newsweek, above the headline “EXHAUSTED.” The article noted, “After three years of intensive nonstop toil in a hypermetabolic climate, Rudenstine hit the wall. His life was devoured, his sleep habits scrambled, his waking minutes assaulted by a hail of never-finished tasks.” Medical tests, not surprisingly, indicated his exhaustion was a result of overwork and not enough sleep. Rudenstine’s condition was due in large part to the stress associated with the campaign—and his self-imposed time formula.
Rudenstine resigned in 2001, just as the university began considering another capital campaign. As he left, he expressed regret for not having had the flexibility to get to know the school better during his tenure. Despite his fundraising achievements, The New York Times choose to point out, “…[U]ndergraduates said they rarely saw him between a welcome handshake freshman year and commencement.” Others criticized him for failing to take advantage of his platform as a steward of the nation’s oldest and most prestigious university. The president of The Crimson, the university newspaper, noted Mr. Rudenstine “was clearly a brilliant fund-raiser, but to most students, that’s all he was, Harvard’s fund-raiser.''
Rudenstine’s experience at Harvard resembles what psychologists refer to as an obsessive passion—a stubborn side of passion that insists on its own way and demands a disproportionate part of a person’s life. This obsessiveness doesn’t necessarily get in the way of goals. However, if this is the primary passion driving people, once goals are achieved, they almost always experience burnout. Obsessive passion often demands that people force themselves into an identity that doesn’t align with who they are. As admirable as the financial outcomes were, Rudenstine’s identity was in harmony with that of: 1) a professor with his students; and 2) a renowned scholar of English literature and poetry—not that of a remarkable fundraiser. Rudenstine may have spent the first half of his career envious of a role he eventually took on only to discover it was nothing like he’d imagined.
Rudenstine‘s story reflects many fears nonprofit executives have about fundraising, beyond the fear of asking for money. Those who are determined to change the world don’t want to be known as “just fundraisers,” any more than they want to become the poster child for the overworked executive. They fear betraying the mission by prioritizing money over relationships. Or they fear losing control of the organization. When they assumed their senior post, they never imagined that fundraising could define their own success or failure as a leader.
Passion can fuel motivation, enhance well-being, and provide meaning in everyday life. However, passion can also arouse negative emotions; lead to inflexible persistence; and interfere with achieving a balanced, successful life. So is passion only good or only bad?
We all have to learn how to make better sense of not one but the two kinds of passion, harmonious and obsessive, and be able to recognize how they differ. When we freely engage in an activity because it is important to us—not because we anticipate rewards (such as potential income)—we’re embodying harmonious passion. There’s no external pressure or obligation; we participate in the activity voluntarily. Harmonious passion can occupy a significant part of our identity, but it doesn’t create an imbalance in other areas of our lives.
Obsessive passion, on the other hand, means we’re responding to pressure to meet expectations beyond our control. It very quickly demands a disproportionate part of our identities and causes conflict with other meaningful areas of our lives. This kind of passion doesn’t contribute to satisfaction with our work; instead, it raises the likelihood of burnout—or worse. Many of us are familiar with the stories of leaders whose determination to change the world has wreaked havoc in their personal and professional lives.
As I have listened to hundreds of fundraisers share their professional stories, I have been able to discern whether they, like Rudenstein, are relying on a forced passion to do their work. In contrast, I have also been able to recognize when a fundraiser is driven by a harmonious passion; the kind that aligns itself with their identities and well-being without conflict. It’s much more promising when it comes to staying the course. Let’s face it, our sector has what I often refer to as Fundraising’s Passion Predicament. To resolve this—and to ensure long-term employment and commitment to the field— we must ensure that our professional community is cultivating a harmonious passion for fundraising.
If your organization wants to develop the capacity to raise extraordinary levels of support by way of meaningful relationships and higher expectations, our team at Responsive would welcome the opportunity to help you do that. If you’re interested in learning more, email me and/or our managing partner, Michael Dixon. We will be happy to volunteer an hour to get to know you and to explore with you what a partnership with us team might look like.