Have you ever wondered why people willingly cheer for leaders they know are corrupt? Why the same public that demands justice will turn around and idolize someone who openly breaks the rules? It's not just a political curiosity.
It's a psychological warning sign. One that says more about us than the leaders we choose. Take former Malaysian Prime Minister Najab Razak, accused of embezzling $4.
5 billion from the State Fund. Despite overwhelming evidence, supporters defended him as a patriot who prioritized national development over Western style accountability. In Italy, millions poured into the streets chanting Mussolini's name as he abandoned democratic principles and centralized power.
We've witnessed this phenomena across continents and eras. Leaders who don't hide their corruption, but flaunt it and are celebrated for it. This isn't just ancient history.
Harvard and University of Chicago researchers studying voter behavior in regions where politicians with criminal records consistently win elections made a startling discovery. 40% of voters knowingly supported corrupt candidates. their justification.
Sometimes you need someone willing to break the rules and they get things done when others can't. Welcome to philosophy coded. Today we're exploring Nichch's controversial insights into this psychological phenomenon.
And this isn't merely political analysis. These same mechanisms explain everything from toxic relationships to cult followings. From our celebrity obsessions to why business titans often face no consequences for their actions.
Have you ever caught yourself admiring someone despite knowing they've crossed ethical lines? Or wondered why societies repeatedly elevate leaders with obvious character flaws? By the end of this video, you'll recognize these patterns in your own decision-making and understand what Nichzche knew about human nature that many of us are still reluctant to admit.
Imagine standing at the edge of a precipice. Below you stretches the unknown, chaotic, unpredictable, potentially threatening. According to Nze, this isn't just a physical scenario.
It's the fundamental human condition. We exist in a universe with no inherent meaning or structure, facing uncertainty at every turn. How do we respond?
Nichch's insight was what he called the will to power. Not simply domination over others, but mastery over existence itself. My idea is that every specific body strives to become master over all space and to extend its force, its will to power, he wrote.
This isn't abstract philosophy. It's practical psychology. Humans don't primarily seek happiness or pleasure.
We seek control. We desperately want to feel that we understand our world and can navigate it effectively. When personal control feels impossible during economic instability, social upheaval, or personal failure, we become susceptible to anyone who offers us a share in their apparent power.
Look at modern political rallies where thousands chant a leader's name despite knowing of their ethical transgressions. These supporters aren't ignorant. They're finding vicarious power through association with someone who appears to master chaos.
Social psychologist Jennifer Witson discovered something fascinating about this dynamic. In a 2008 study, participants deprived of control were 40% more likely to see illusory patterns and endorse conspiracy theories. Similarly, they gravitate towards leaders who project absolute certainty even when that certainty requires ethical compromise.
When was the last time you admired someone for getting results using methods you'd personally consider wrong? This contradiction reveals something profound about our relationship with power. During times of uncertainty, our standards often shift without our conscious awareness.
What is good? All that heightens the feeling of power, the will to power, power itself in man. This provocative statement from the antichrist introduces Nichzche's controversial theory of moral psychology.
Nichza identified two competing moral frameworks that exist throughout human history. Master morality values strength, achievement, dominance, and excellence. It defines good as whatever demonstrates power and bad as whatever reveals weakness.
Slave morality, which Nichzche believed emerged among oppressed peoples, prizes humility, empathy, equality, and compassion. It labels the powerful as evil and the humble as good. Modern democratic societies officially embrace slave morality.
We publicly praise equality, compassion, and fairness. Yet beneath this consensus lies a fascinating tension. Many people secretly admire displays of unapologetic power.
They condemn exploitation Monday through Friday, but binge watch succession on weekends, secretly thrilled by ruthless corporate maneuvering. This isn't merely hypocrisy. It reveals a deeper psychological reality that shapes our relationship with the leadership.
Napoleon Bonapart, though responsible for wars that killed millions, inspired devotion not despite his conquests, but because of them. His admirers didn't say he's a good man despite his flaws. They said he's a man of destiny who transcends ordinary moral boundaries.
A 2019 study in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology confirmed this contradiction. Researchers found participants who claimed to value equality still rated dominant power- seeking individuals as more charismatic and effective leaders. We tell pollsters we want ethical leaders, but our actual behavior often rewards dominance displays.
Think about how you respond when someone successfully breaks rules that constrain everyone else. Do you feel outrage or a twinge of admiration when supporters defend a corrupt leader's actions by saying at least they're strong? They're not making an error.
They're revealing the master morality values that operate beneath their conscious egalitarian principles. Perhaps Nichze's most illuminating concept for today's political landscape is what he called resentiment. This French term describes more than simple resentment.
It's a festering psychological condition born from perceived powerlessness, suppressed vengeance, and redirected rage. Man would rather will nothingness than not will at all. Nze wrote, "In simpler terms, humans would prefer destructive action over feeling completely powerless to affect their world.
This explains why people sometimes support leaders who tear down institutions rather than feeling they have no influence at all. Imagine a community devastated by factory closures and economic decline. For years, residents watch their town deteriorate while feeling ignored by mainstream institutions.
Then a charismatic figure arrives who does something no one else has done, acknowledges their suffering, and promises retribution against those responsible. Even if this figure engages in corrupt practices themselves, they often gain fervent support. Why?
Because addressing corruption takes a backseat to the psychological relief of having one's pain recognized and avenged. When people feel their values undermined, their economic security threatened, or their status diminished, they don't just want solutions. They want vindication.
Political scientist Katherine Kramer's field research in Wisconsin revealed exactly this dynamic. Rural residents supported policies that sometimes worked against their economic interests because those policies punish the urban elites they blamed for their marginalization. The emotional payoff of seeing perceived enemies suffer outweighed material concerns.
This helps explain why struggling communities sometimes rally behind leaders who objectively damage their material interests. These communities aren't miscalculating. They're choosing emotional vindication over practical benefit.
Have you ever supported someone not because they helped you, but because they hurt someone you felt had wronged you? This impulse, which we all share to varying degrees, becomes particularly dangerous when manipulated by corrupt leadership. Freedom is the will to be responsible for ourselves, wrote Nichza.
This simple statement contains a profound insight. True freedom carries with it the heavy burden of responsibility. When we make our own moral choices, we can no longer blame others for the outcome.
In thus spoke Zarathustra, Nitz describes three spiritual transformations that humans can undergo. First comes the camel that dutifully carries burdens imposed by others. Next is the lion that fights for freedom from those burdens.
But only the third stage, the child, can create new values and meaning. Most people niche observed remain camels throughout their lives, preferring the weight of external authority to the terrifying freedom of creating their own meaning. Psychologist Eric from later expanded on this insight in his book, Escape from Freedom, arguing that the anxiety of moral responsibility drives people toward authoritarian systems that relieve them of decision-making burdens.
Think about facing a complex ethical dilemma with no clear right answer. Which feels more comfortable? Making the decision yourself and bearing all responsibility for the consequences or having a strong authority figure simply tell you what to do.
For most of us, the latter provides profound relief. This psychological mechanism helps explain why corrupt but decisive leaders often gain support during times of complexity and uncertainty. When a charismatic figure confidently proclaims, "I alone can fix it," or "The solution is simple," they're offering liberation from the existential burden of figuring it out ourselves.
During Germany's chaotic Vimar period, many citizens embraced leadership that offered clear narratives and decisions despite mounting evidence of corruption. The psychological relief of not having to navigate moral complexity themselves outweighed concerns about integrity. Ask yourself, when was the last time you deferred a difficult moral choice to an authority figure?
That comfort you felt, that relief of not deciding for yourself connects directly to how societies sometimes embrace corrupt but decisive leaders. The shest way to corrupt a youth is to instruct him to hold in higher esteem those who think alike than those who think differently. This observation from Nichzche's the dawn captures a fundamental aspect of human psychology.
Our deeply social nature. Humans evolved as tribal creatures. Our ancestors survived not through individual strength but through group cohesion.
This evolutionary heritage makes us instinctively seek safety in collective identity and consensus. What NZ called the herd instinct. This instinct serves many positive functions.
It enables cooperation, builds communities, and creates shared meaning. But it becomes dangerous when a corrupt leader successfully positions themselves as the voice or protector of the group. When this happens, our instinct for conformity can override our individual moral judgment.
The psychological cost of standing apart from our social group often feels greater than the cost of compromising our ethics. We see this dynamic clearly in how whistleblowers are treated, even when they expose clear wrongdoing. Consider the Enron scandal.
When Sharon Watkins warned CEO Kenneth Lei about accounting irregularities, she was marginalized and faced career threats despite being proven right. Our social programming runs so deep that we often punish those who challenge group cohesion, even when they're objectively right. The power of this herd instinct intensifies when corrupt leaders deliberately stoke tribal identity by framing criticism as an attack on the group rather than on their actions.
They transform accountability into betrayal. The social cost of breaking from the group becomes so high that many people will defend increasingly corrupt behavior rather than face exclusion. Social psychologist Jonathan height observed this dynamic in his research.
When sacred values are threatened, we become intuitive theologians rather than intuitive scientists, defending our group's beliefs regardless of evidence. Where in your life have you felt pressure to support something you privately question simply to maintain group belonging? This tension between our social nature and our individual moral compass shapes our relationship with all forms of leadership.
God is dead proclaimed Nichzche's madman in the gay science. With this famous declaration, he wasn't simply making a statement about religious skepticism, but announcing a profound psychological crisis. Without divine authority, who or what provides meaning and moral guidance despite the decline of traditional religion in many societies, Nichze observed that our psychological need for something to worship remains unchanged.
In thus spoke Zerahustra, he offered a warning that resonates today. Beware that a statue does not crush you. We can see this hero worship impulse in how we discuss certain leaders and innovators in our culture.
She's playing 4D chess. He sees around corners. They're 10 steps ahead of everyone else.
These aren't descriptions of capable humans. They're modern mythmaking. A corrupt leader who understands this psychology doesn't present themselves as merely competent.
They cultivate an aura of exceptionalism and destiny. Their corruption becomes reframed not as a character flaw but as evidence of their extraordinary nature. Normal rules don't apply to great men and women.
History is made by those willing to break conventions. Take Vladimir Putin. Despite widespread reports of corruption and vast personal wealth, many of his supporters reframe these as signs of strength and necessity for Russia's resurgence.
His lavish lifestyle is not seen as mere greed, but as a symbol of national pride. By linking personal power to patriotic narratives, Putin turns what might otherwise be condemned into something some Russians defend as part of their national identity. The cultivation of a cult of personality isn't just vanity.
It's strategic psychology. When we elevate leaders to heroic or even quasi religious status, we become invested in defending their mythic image rather than evaluating their actual behavior. Psychologist Dan McAdams discovered something remarkable in his research.
Supporters of controversial leaders often integrate their personal identity with narratives about the leader's greatness. Abandoning the leader would require reconstructing their own identity, making criticism feel like self- betrayal. Do you have heroes whose flaws you find yourself defending or minimizing?
Our need for idealized figures is deeply human, but it's also a vulnerability that corrupt leaders readily exploit. And thus spoke Zerahustra. Nze introduces two opposing human archetypes that illuminate our relationship with leadership.
The uber mench, often translated as Superman or overman, and the last man. The Uber Mench represents Nichzche's ideal, someone who creates their own values, embraces life's challenges, and takes full responsibility for their choices. The last man by contrast seeks only comfort, security and the absence of difficulty.
They have left the regions where it was hard to live for one needs warmth. Nze writes, one still loves one's neighbor and rubs against him for one needs warmth. This vivid description helps explain another paradox of leadership.
We often support leaders who promise to protect us from life's hardships and complexities. This is particularly dangerous when distinguishing between populist leaders addressing genuine grievances and corrupt leaders exploiting them. The FIFA corruption scandal provides a perfect example.
Many football fans knew FIFA officials were corrupt, but supported them anyway because they delivered what fans wanted, exciting tournaments and national pride without demanding difficult changes to the sports economics or governance. Imagine two political speeches. One says, "The challenges we face are complex and will require difficult choices and sacrifices from all of us.
" The other proclaims, the problems are simple. I alone can fix them without any sacrifice from you. Which consistently wins elections across cultures and time periods.
The evidence is clear. Political scientists studying voter behavior have found something revealing. During periods of economic or social stress, voters consistently gravitate toward leaders who offer simple solutions and scapegoats rather than those acknowledging complexity.
Even when they recognize the simple solutions are unlikely to work, the psychological comfort outweighs practical considerations. What comforts do you seek from leadership? What complexities are you tempted to avoid?
In recognizing our own desire for simple answers, we begin to understand our vulnerability to those who would exploit this desire. The psychological patterns we've explored aren't inevitable. Some societies have recognized these vulnerabilities and developed effective immunities against corrupt leadership.
Consider post-aparttheid South Africa under Nelson Mandela. Despite strong incentives for vengeance and exploitation after decades of oppression, the very conditions that typically fuel support for corrupt leadership, South Africa chose a different path. Mandela's truth and reconciliation commission channeled resentment toward healing rather than retribution.
By acknowledging people's pain while rejecting vengeance as a solution, South Africa created a model for transcending the psychology that typically enables corruption. Iceland's response to the 2008 financial crisis offers another example. When corrupt bankers and politicians threatened their economy, citizens launched the kitchen wear revolution surrounding parliament with ordinary people banging kitchen implements.
They forced resignations, jailed banking executives, and rewrote their constitution through direct citizen involvement. Iceland succeeded by cultivating collective efficacy, the shared belief that citizens together can reshape their circumstances. This directly counteracts the psychological helplessness that drives support for corrupt strong men.
At the individual level, resistance begins with self-awareness. Ask yourself, am I supporting a leader because they deliver practical benefits or because they satisfy deeper psychological cravings for vengeance, simplicity, or tribal belonging? The women of Liberia's Jiar Polo County offer another example.
After enduring corrupt leadership that exploited tribal divisions, women across different ethnic groups formed cross tribal councils that created new accountability systems. By deliberately building relationships across group boundaries, they neutralized the tribal psychology that corrupt leaders had manipulated. These examples share a common thread.
They don't deny the psychological forces Nichze identified. Instead, they acknowledge these vulnerabilities and build structures to channel them toward healthier expressions. The drive for power becomes democratic participation.
The need for heroes shifts to celebrating everyday citizens performing acts of integrity. Have you noticed how your own community either reinforces or resists these patterns? Our vulnerability to corrupt leadership isn't a personal failing.
It's deeply human. Our strength comes from creating communities that help us transcend these tendencies together. Nze didn't just expose our psychological vulnerabilities.
He offered a way to rise above them. Become who you are, he wrote, urging us to develop ourselves authentically rather than be shaped by the will of others. To do that, we must first understand the forces within us.
our will to power, our resentment, our fear of freedom, our hurt instinct, our craving for idols, and our longing for comfort as the last man. These aren't just abstract ideas. They're the very impulses that corrupt leaders exploit.
Nichza challenges us to embrace Amorati, a love of fate. Instead of seeking leaders who promise to rescue us from hardship, he calls on us to confront life's difficulties directly and to create our own values, not borrow them from authority. But this path demands honesty.
Why do we support the leaders we do? Is it because of reasoned judgment or because they satisfy deeper emotional needs for strength, for simplicity, for belonging or even revenge? These are not easy questions.
They threaten our self-image as rational and independent. But Nze believed we could face them and transform not by denying our instincts but by understanding and integrating them. That's how we evolve.
Man is something that shall be overcome. He wrote and maybe, just maybe, understanding why we worship corrupt leaders is the first step in that overcoming. If this exploration sparked something in you, don't keep it to yourself.
Share it with someone whose mind you respect. The conversations that follow might help us all become more conscious about who we follow and why. And before you go, tell me, which of these psychological forces do you see most clearly in yourself or society?
Leave a comment. Let's continue this conversation, not just to understand the world, but to change how we live in it. Until next time, remember the most dangerous power we can give any leader is the power to remain unquestioned.
