It is perhaps ironic that, with all the crazy things going on in the world this year, the thing that has most shaken my faith in humanity is the news of yet another messy Hollywood divorce. It wasn’t even high-profile or particularly tabloid-worthy; if it hadn’t been for Google News’ creepily detailed knowledge of my tastes I might not even have found out (edit: it’s getting wider attention now, so I definitely would have found out, but anyway).
Why are all my childhood heroes terrible people?
It’s not like I have that many of them. I am a staunch believer in the fact that nobody’s perfect, and that getting caught up in hero-worship isn’t good for anyone involved. Even so, it is hard to avoid the occasional dalliance with the idea that a few chosen people must just be… special. Blessed by whatever gods that be with a magic touch, able to create or achieve magnificent things beyond the ken of mere mortals like myself.
Nor is it that I am indiscriminate in my tastes. Nobody is terribly surprised when a flaky reality TV star turns out to have cheated, or the Kardashians end up on the front of another tabloid paper. The culture of celebrity attracts narcissists like flies to honey, and the result is eminently predictable. Instead, my heroes have been people who achieved great things first, often repeatedly, before (if ever) being swamped by their fame. Indeed, retaining a sliver of normalcy and control over their personal life despite increasing fame is often one thing that endears me to them further.
The wheels of justice grind slowly, but grind they do. Eventually, it seems, all of my heroes will be brought low in one way or another, and every time it happens my faith is shaken.
From the outside view, there are a couple of conclusions we can draw. First, that I am just generally terrible at judging people’s character. It doesn’t seem to matter how confident I am that you’re a good person, I’m probably wrong. I’m sorry.
Second, and more importantly, outward behaviour seems to be no guide to character (this would explain why I’m such a terrible judge). It doesn’t matter how many years of service, how many excellent speeches, how many awards won; inevitably it seems that the truth will out: people are scum all along. The longer their time in my good graces, the better they were at hiding and pretending to be something else, nothing more.
It is said that power corrupts, and that absolute power corrupts absolutely. Perhaps that is all that is going on here, but if so then I must ask a more difficult question: am I any better? My self-image believes strongly in my own moral character, but that is an inside view. Since at this point it seems no human being is immune to the corrupting influence of power, the outside view suggests that neither am I.
The moral question then becomes: would you rather be good, or strong?