Life often feels like being under siege, with simultaneous attacks from two flanks. On the East, ‘impostor syndrome’, which refers to an internal experience of believing that you are not as competent as others perceive you to be. While this definition is usually narrowly applied to intelligence and achievement, it has links to perfectionism and the social context. On the West, the ‘Dunning-Kruger effect’, a type of cognitive bias in which people believe that they are smarter and more capable than they really are. As Charles Darwin wrote in his book “The Descent of Man”, ignorance more frequently begets confidence than does knowledge. Somewhere in between that psychological crossfire we need to find our balance, targeting a life that strives for both, determination and humility. Erring on the side of excessive humility eats away a person’s ability to make any impact in the world. Overplaying determination, on the other hand, risks a foolish commitment to the wrong agenda.
The determined-but-humble combination we are after is palpable in key historical actions by two Russian men from the Soviet era: Vasily Arkhipov and Valery Legasov. Arkhipov was a navy officer credited with standing up to his submarine’s captain, thus preventing a soviet nuclear strike and, presumably, all-out nuclear war during the Cuban missile crisis of 1962. Ten years younger than Arkhipov, Valery Legasov is best known for his role in the aftermath of the Chernobyl nuclear catastrophe of 1986. Incurring grave danger to his own life –at a time when compliance with party hierarchy decisions weighed far more than any individual’s attachment to the truth–, Legasov took many important actions informing both his government and the wider community of the situation in the disaster area, the safety risks of the destroyed plant, and the imperative need for immediate evacuation of the entire population of the nearby city of Pripyat.
The determination embedded in these acts is immediately obvious. But where do we see the humility, one may fairly ask? If not directly observable from the times when their brave stands crystallised entire lives’ work into single moments, we are still left with came after. Miles away from the modern-day humblebrag faux standard, both men accepted and lived with the painful consequences of their actions. In the case of Arkhipov, he was faced with disgrace from their superiors, infuriated with the failure to follow the strict orders of secrecy after finding out they had been discovered by the Americans. And when we turn our eyes to Legasov, the story is even grimmer. Valery Legasov committed suicide the day of the second anniversary of the nuclear plant accident, hanging himself. Historians have reported on his being ostracised, closely monitored by the KGB with designated operatives monitoring his every activity. Also, on his bitterly disillusionment with the failure of the authorities to confront the detected design flaws.
Both historial figures, I think, provide real inspiration that we can all profit from.
