I distrust simple explanations, but I have also started to distrust complicated ones.
A sophisticated explanation can be an excellent hiding place. It enables us to talk at length without necessarily revealing anything about ourselves. We use it to explain our failures through circumstances, our weaknesses through our childhood and our indecision through complexity.
Sometimes these explanations are accurate. Other times, they are merely more flattering than the truth.
It is easier to construct a theory about our behaviour than to admit that we were afraid, lazy, envious, or simply unwilling to make a difficult choice.
I wonder how often intelligence serves not to reveal our motives, but to give them respectable names.