Luigui Bleand: Discernment

ROME, ITALY — Almost all of us have had someone like that: a mentor, a public figure, a friend of many years, someone in the family whose words we took as a compass. Until one day you see that what they do does not match what they say. They talk about loyalty and do not practise it; they preach calm and lose their temper. And the disappointment arrives enormous, the size of the pedestal you had put that person on. Often they did not change overnight: they were always flesh and blood, and you were the one looking up at them from below.

That is what this message is about: hold on to your own discernment and don't idealise others, because when you idealise someone, you end up disappointed. I profess that I am an independent person, and I believe that leaning on someone else's discernment can end up disappointing you when you expect a person to behave the way you had idealised them. I am not talking about distrusting everyone, but about where you put your centre. So I looked into why we idealise, why the fall hurts so much, and what it has to do with the distance between saying and doing.

Idealising begins almost without our noticing. In 1977, in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, Richard Nisbett and Timothy Wilson showed 118 University of Michigan students one of two recorded interviews with the same instructor, a French-speaking Belgian with a pronounced accent, warm in one and cold in the other. On an 8-point scale, the warm version scored 5.48 for liking and the cold one 3.18. Most of those who saw him warm found his appearance and mannerisms appealing; most of those who saw him cold found them irritating. And most denied that what they felt about him had played any part. It was one instructor, one short video and a small sample, and the study is not about idealising; that connection is mine. But the halo effect is easy to recognise: one impression that shines colours everything else.

And why does the fall hurt so much? Because what we feel depends on what we expected. In 2014, in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, Robb Rutledge and his colleagues analysed 18,420 people who, in a phone game, chose between sure points and a chance play and said every few rounds how happy they felt. Points went up on average, but happiness did not: it was explained by recent expectations and, weighing more in 91 of 92 groups of 200 players, by the gap between what was expected and what came. It was a game, not dealings with other people, and the authors note that expecting little has a cost too: it lowers your mood before anything arrives. The problem, I believe, is not hope; it is the pedestal. From someone we idealise we ask for perfection, and their normal, human behaviour feels like a loss.

Now to what is said and what is done. In 2017, in Psychological Science, Jillian Jordan, Roseanna Sommers, Paul Bloom and David Rand published five experiments with short scenes, such as cheating on an exam; the first, with 619 people online. With nothing else known about someone, hearing them condemn a wrong inspired more trust than hearing them say they did not commit it. And in a United States sample, the hypocrite, who condemns what they themselves do, came off worse than someone who lied outright about their own conduct. For the authors, what bothers us is the false signal: those who admitted that they too fell short at times escaped that extra cost, though they were rated just like someone who fell short and said nothing. These were imagined scenes. But look at the first finding: that, as I read it, is how many pedestals get built, with words before deeds.

That is why I say that if you say you are green, you cannot show up blue. If what you say with your mouth is not what you do with your deeds, you are in the wrong. In 2015, in the Journal of Business Ethics, Tony Simons, Hannes Leroy, Veroniek Collewaert and Stijn Masschelein pooled 35 samples of workers in a meta-analysis of behavioural integrity: how closely, in their eyes, the words and deeds of the person who leads them match. The closer the match, the greater the trust: a corrected correlation of 0.78, a very high one. These are workplace data, almost all taken at a single point in time, and a correlation does not prove cause; the authors call their analysis preliminary. Even so, it points to what I believe: when what you say and what you do go together, others can count on you. For that you have to be brave, because that is what it is about: being mature, being an adult.

And if that is not the case, take a hard look at yourself: what you ask of others starts with you. In 1997, in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, Daniel Batson and his colleagues ran three small studies with 80 female students at the University of Kansas: each one divided a pleasant task and a dull one between herself and another participant. In one study they were offered a coin to decide: 10 of 20 flipped it, and 9 of those 10 kept the good task, far above chance. The authors called it moral hypocrisy: wanting to appear moral while still favouring yourself. The samples were tiny, with little at stake, and other researchers attribute the effect to pressures from the experiment itself. I ask myself first: what good is it for me to talk about something and say it if I am not going to do it? Before expecting someone else to live up to their word, check whether you live up to yours.

Holding on to your own discernment also means knowing why you do what you do. In 1999, in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, Kennon Sheldon and Andrew Elliot followed the goals of University of Rochester students over a semester. In the first study, with 169 of them, goals that were truly their own, not imposed by others or loaded with guilt, went with more sustained effort (a correlation of 0.24) and, through that effort, with more attainment. The effect is modest, all self-reported, and a goal of your own does not guarantee a good goal. This is how I read it: what is born in you holds up better than what you carry for others. That is why you should try to focus on something that truly promises you a result of your own, because depending on others can let you down.

None of this is cynicism or contempt. To me, being independent does not mean needing no one; it means handing no one your compass. You can admire how your boss organises a team, or what a mentor knows, without believing they are never wrong. You can follow a public figure for their work, not for a perfection no one has. You can count on a friend without leaving in their hands what is yours to do. And when someone lets you down, ask yourself whether you knew that person or only the glow of your first impression. Trust with your eyes open, seeing people as they are and not as you imagined them.

So I come back to what is simple. If you say you are green, do not show up blue; and if one day you catch yourself showing up blue, do not hide: take a hard look at yourself and get back on your road. Admire what others do well, learn from them, and ask of yourself what you ask of them, with no pedestals for anyone. Keep your compass. Let your deeds and your words travel the same road. Hold on to your own discernment and don't idealise others: look each person in the eye, as an equal, not up from below.