Now, whenever some high-profile character, be they in business, media, politics, or sports, commits a quasi-suicidal and entirely self-inflicted professional act, my first reaction is to ask how they could possibly do this?
Dante famously characterized pride, or hubris, as “excessive love of self.” This gives us a bit of clue. But I want to focus on something more insidious and potentially caustic to all our souls: The gentle, softly creeping seduction of self-delusion.
David Carr, a thoughtful veteran media observer at The New York Times, adds his perspective in his regular weekly column today.
I wrote a book some years back about the nature of memory and the stories we tell ourselves and others. Stories tend to grow over time and, if they are told often enough, they harden into a kind of new truth for the teller. […]
It’s useful to note that Mr. Williams initially reported the story fundamentally as it had happened — although the soldiers on hand say he exaggerated the danger to himself even then — and over time, as he retold it, he moved into the middle of it, so that the story became something that happened to him. All those 1 percent enhancements along the way add up and can leave the teller a long way from the truth.
The evolution of his account was evident in a 2013 appearance on the “Late Show With David Letterman.”
“We were in some helicopters. What we didn’t know is we were north of the invasion,” he said. “Two of our four helicopters were hit by ground fire, including the one I was in, R.P.G. and AK-47.” […]
As the evening news anchor, Mr. Williams possesses a rare combination of fame and trust, with each feeding off the other. But fame is slippery, morphing into infamy very quickly, as Mr. Williams discovered in four days of sustained pounding. Everyone loves a story about seeing the mighty fall, even if they are as fundamentally likeable as Mr. Williams.
Stories can take on lives of their own: Beneath the innocent “it happened just so” veneer of that phrase can be an uglier scene by far. When we turn over that rock—or when the world does it to us, far more likely—snakes, or green shoots of spring flowers, may appear. It’s within our control. Many of us are, by all wordly appearances, successful, accomplished, in full possession of ourselves. And by extension of the world.
Actually, the world tends to catch up with reality—even our innermost. Have you turned over any rocks inside yourself lately?
