What Feels True: The Fall, The Wire, and the Power of Integrity
What Feels True: The Fall, The Wire, and the Power of Integrity
How The Fall and The Wire reveal the danger of performative goodness — and why integrity, small acts of care, and living with a clean feeling matter more than appearances.
The Dickensian Aspect, The Fall, and the Simple Power of Integrity
Lately I’ve been reading The Fall and, by happenstance, rewatching The Wire — as I’ll do every two or three years. There seem to be some big themes in the two that overlap, coincidentally.
Both stories expose something uncomfortable about human nature: how easy it is to perform goodness, and how difficult it is to actually live it.
The more I thought about The Fall’s brooding, self-judging narrator, and Season 5’s newsroom and serial killer circus, the more I saw the same thread:
👉 we want to be seen as good.
👉 we’re tempted to perform virtue instead of practicing it.
👉 we often hide that gap from ourselves.
And if that’s the pull — how do we fight it? How do we stay rooted in real care, not ego or image?
That’s where Bubs comes in — and where I think the Air Force definition of integrity offers a way forward.
The Dickensian Aspect
If you’ve watched The Wire Season 5, you know the phrase that floats through the newsroom:
"the Dickensian aspect."
It’s a sly way of saying:
→ Find the story that tugs the heartstrings.
→ Make poverty feel tragic but noble.
→ Don’t get too deep in the systemic rot — just give people a tale they’ll want to read.
It’s a performance of concern, not an honest confrontation with injustice.
And once the homeless serial killer story takes off, the whole machine joins the game:
Templeton fabricates details to chase a Pulitzer.
Carcetti seizes the story for political leverage — his little “hmm… homelessness” moment says it all.
McNulty, burned out and bitter, invents the killer in the first place — convincing himself the ends justify the means.
By the midpoint of the season, everyone is chasing the appearance of goodness — not goodness itself.
The Fall: The Personal Version
Camus’ The Fall hits this same theme, but on the individual level.
Jean-Baptiste Clamence was a well-known Paris lawyer who loved seeing himself as moral.
He helped old ladies cross the street. Defended the innocent. Basked in admiration.
Then one night, he hears a woman jump off a bridge — and does nothing.
That moment shatters him.
He realizes much of his goodness was ego-driven — about being seen as good, not about actually being good.
He spirals into guilt, and eventually into a new kind of performance: endlessly confessing and judging others to avoid facing himself.
It’s another version of the Dickensian aspect — public moral theater, private emptiness.
Why We Do This
Why is this instinct so strong?
Because it feels good to be seen as good.
It feeds the ego. It gives us a comforting story about ourselves.
It’s much harder to do quiet, uncelebrated acts of care — especially when no one’s watching.
And it’s everywhere:
Nonprofits that market compassion but chase donations.
Corporations that posture about values while cutting corners.
Politicians who sell concern as a brand.
Social media virtue signaling — perform for the algorithm.
We all feel the pull.
And as Norman Wilson puts it — half laughing, half disgusted —
“Everybody’s getting what they need behind some make‑believe.”
That’s the trap of the Dickensian aspect.
The spectacle buys everyone something — a budget, a headline, a political edge, a clean conscience — while the truth and integrity get lost in the shuffle.
What Feels True
One of the best lines in The Wire comes from Gus Haynes, the city editor trying (and mostly failing) to keep the paper honest in Season 5:
"Tell the story in moments. Tomorrow, get back in the shelters and soup kitchens and just be with folks. I don’t even care if you file copy on it. Just spend the day being with people. I’m not interested in what can be quoted — I’m interested in what feels true."
That line hits hard because it’s about integrity — not just in reporting, but in how we approach life.
The Dickensian aspect chases spectacle. But real life — and real goodness — happens in the small moments, off the record:
Sitting with someone when they’re struggling.
Taking the time to listen instead of rushing to the next task.
Scrubbing dishes without needing credit.
Choosing the right thing when no one will know.
Small Moments That Matter
That same instinct — to let things feel true, not manufactured — shows up again when Gus’ advice leads the reporter to Bubs.
Bubs takes him to a homeless camp. The reporter tries to pay him for the help.
Bubs waves it off:
"Nah, it ain’t about that. Just write it like it feels."
That’s it. No transaction. No performance. No Dickensian aspect.
Just a man who’s fought hard to live with honesty — one small act at a time.
And that’s the core of it, really.
Integrity is about living with a clean feeling. Looking in the mirror and liking the person that stares back at you each day.
My Own North Star
When I think about this tension — between performance and integrity — I come back to something I was taught in the Air Force:
👉 Integrity is doing the right thing when no one is looking.
That’s it.
That’s the North Star.
Not virtue for applause. Not goodness as a brand. Just doing the right thing when no one sees it — because it’s right.
Bubs finds his way back to that.
Clamence never does.
McNulty barely escapes the wreckage of his own ego.
And the rest of us?
We get to choose — every day, in small ways.
One Last Thought
The Fall ends with Clamence trapped in self-judgment, still performing.
The Wire ends with Bubs quietly climbing the stairs toward a new life.
I know which path I want to take.
And it starts, again and again, with doing the next small right thing — no Dickensian aspect required.
Because in the end, it’s not what can be quoted — it’s what feels true.
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