Blinded by the Spectacle: Why We Choose the Wrong Leaders — and How Faith Can Save Us 05-03-2025
The Paradox of Leadership
Humanity longs for leaders. We always have. From Moses parting the sea to Marcus Aurelius ruling with stoic virtue, history is studded with figures who rose to lead in times of need. But history is also littered with a darker pattern: crowds cheering Nero as Rome burned, Weimar citizens voting away their freedoms, modern electorates falling for slogans over substance.
Why do we so often choose leaders who exploit rather than serve, who dazzle rather than govern?
The answer lies in the collision of psychology, cultural decay, and spiritual hunger. The problem isn’t just political—it’s human. And if the disease is deeper than politics, so must be the cure.
Fear Creates a Hunger for Certainty
In times of crisis—real or imagined—we don’t just want leadership; we crave control. Fear scrambles our judgment, blurring the line between bold leadership and dangerous bravado. The Great Depression, the upheavals of the 1960s, the economic disorientation of our own age—all reveal the same temptation: to trade prudence for promises.
Cognitive science confirms what history already knows—an anxious mind clings to certainty, even if it’s false. “I alone can fix it” outsells “This will take time and sacrifice.” Tragically, leaders who thrive on fear often deliver chaos disguised as control.
The strongmen of the 1930s rose not merely because of failed systems, but because they exploited fragile souls. They offered certainty where there was confusion, enemies where there was pain, and spectacle where there should have been service.
Appearance Over Substance
Machiavelli famously claimed that appearing virtuous matters more than being virtuous. Today, that’s not just a cynical observation—it’s a campaign strategy. Politics has become performance art: the viral soundbite, the staged outrage, the carefully curated image of strength.
The 1960 Kennedy-Nixon debate marked a turning point. Those who listened on the radio thought Nixon won on substance. But those who watched on TV? Kennedy, calm and charismatic, stole the show. Ever since, style has increasingly overshadowed substance. In the age of spectacle, governing takes a backseat to going viral.
We no longer just elect leaders—we cast them like celebrities. And we suffer the consequences when the spotlight proves brighter than their character.
Simple Answers to Complex Problems
True leadership embraces complexity. It requires patience, compromise, and nuance—traits that don’t fit easily on a bumper sticker. But in an age of exhaustion and information overload, we gravitate toward the fast fix, the catchy phrase.
“Build the wall.” “Defund the police.” “Just print the money.” These are not solutions. They are emotional narcotics—brief highs followed by long-term damage.
As H.L. Mencken put it, “For every complex problem, there is a solution that is simple, neat, and wrong.” And yet, we keep lining up for another dose, because simple feels safe—even when it isn’t.
The Psychological Need for Heroes
We are mythmakers at heart. We want to believe in heroes who will rescue, protect, and vindicate us. Good versus evil. Us versus them. A grand narrative where our side wears the white hats.
And so we elevate flawed leaders into saviors. Scandals become “witch hunts.” Criticism becomes “fake news.” Failure becomes evidence of a conspiracy. The leader becomes the victim—and then the redeemer.
From Stalin’s cult of personality to modern-day political messiahs, the pattern is clear: when we stop asking for truth and start asking for victory, our leaders stop serving and start ruling.
Tribalism and the Death of Truth
Politics has devolved from a clash of ideas into a clash of identities. Criticizing “our side” is no longer loyalty to truth—it’s treated as betrayal. Social media rewards outrage, drowns out nuance, and amplifies our worst impulses.
Research shows that many voters will abandon their own beliefs to stay in step with their party’s leader. Truth becomes elastic. What mattered yesterday is negotiable today—so long as it protects “our team.”
Truth doesn’t die with a bang. It dies with a repost.
The Weaponization of Media
Machiavelli had messengers on horseback. Today’s power players have bots, algorithms, and AI-generated deepfakes. Leaders no longer need to earn our trust—they just need to capture our attention.
The result is a curated reality, optimized not for truth but for engagement. Rage becomes a business model. Lies spread six times faster than facts. And in this distorted marketplace, the wise are ignored while the loud are elected.
The recent U.S. elections—and global ones, too—exposed democracy’s great vulnerability: an uninformed, distracted, and emotionally manipulated public is easy to conquer without ever firing a shot.
The Antidote: Faith as Discernment
For Christians, the answer is not to retreat from politics, but to engage it with deeper discernment—anchored in Christ, not charisma. Jesus rejected spectacle when Satan tempted Him with dominion (Matthew 4). He chose servanthood over status when He washed His disciples’ feet (John 13). He preached hard truths, even when people walked away (John 6).
This is the model of leadership we need—and the one we’re called to demand.
The Church’s role is not to baptize political platforms, but to form consciences. To teach the faithful to value integrity over image, service over self-glorification, and truth over tribalism. As St. Augustine warned in The City of God, the idolatry of power inevitably breeds tyranny.
Breaking the Cycle
History’s verdict is clear: when societies choose spectacle over substance, collapse follows. But collapse is not inevitable. Renewal is possible.
Institutions matter: a free press, independent courts, and education rooted in truth can hold the line. But formation matters more: homes and churches that teach virtue, courage, and the dignity of every human being.
The future will not be saved by perfect policies but by people formed in wisdom, humility, and hope.
And that begins with us. We must stop rewarding the loudest voices and start seeking the truest ones. We must expect more—from our leaders, and from ourselves.
Because in the end, the problem isn’t just who we elect. It’s what we worship.
Will we remain blinded by the spectacle—or will we lift our eyes toward the Shepherd who leads with wounds instead of weapons?
“Test everything; hold fast what is good.”—1 Thessalonians 5:21
Humanity longs for leaders. We always have. From Moses parting the sea to Marcus Aurelius ruling with stoic virtue, history is studded with figures who rose to lead in times of need. But history is also littered with a darker pattern: crowds cheering Nero as Rome burned, Weimar citizens voting away their freedoms, modern electorates falling for slogans over substance.
Why do we so often choose leaders who exploit rather than serve, who dazzle rather than govern?
The answer lies in the collision of psychology, cultural decay, and spiritual hunger. The problem isn’t just political—it’s human. And if the disease is deeper than politics, so must be the cure.
Fear Creates a Hunger for Certainty
In times of crisis—real or imagined—we don’t just want leadership; we crave control. Fear scrambles our judgment, blurring the line between bold leadership and dangerous bravado. The Great Depression, the upheavals of the 1960s, the economic disorientation of our own age—all reveal the same temptation: to trade prudence for promises.
Cognitive science confirms what history already knows—an anxious mind clings to certainty, even if it’s false. “I alone can fix it” outsells “This will take time and sacrifice.” Tragically, leaders who thrive on fear often deliver chaos disguised as control.
The strongmen of the 1930s rose not merely because of failed systems, but because they exploited fragile souls. They offered certainty where there was confusion, enemies where there was pain, and spectacle where there should have been service.
Appearance Over Substance
Machiavelli famously claimed that appearing virtuous matters more than being virtuous. Today, that’s not just a cynical observation—it’s a campaign strategy. Politics has become performance art: the viral soundbite, the staged outrage, the carefully curated image of strength.
The 1960 Kennedy-Nixon debate marked a turning point. Those who listened on the radio thought Nixon won on substance. But those who watched on TV? Kennedy, calm and charismatic, stole the show. Ever since, style has increasingly overshadowed substance. In the age of spectacle, governing takes a backseat to going viral.
We no longer just elect leaders—we cast them like celebrities. And we suffer the consequences when the spotlight proves brighter than their character.
Simple Answers to Complex Problems
True leadership embraces complexity. It requires patience, compromise, and nuance—traits that don’t fit easily on a bumper sticker. But in an age of exhaustion and information overload, we gravitate toward the fast fix, the catchy phrase.
“Build the wall.” “Defund the police.” “Just print the money.” These are not solutions. They are emotional narcotics—brief highs followed by long-term damage.
As H.L. Mencken put it, “For every complex problem, there is a solution that is simple, neat, and wrong.” And yet, we keep lining up for another dose, because simple feels safe—even when it isn’t.
The Psychological Need for Heroes
We are mythmakers at heart. We want to believe in heroes who will rescue, protect, and vindicate us. Good versus evil. Us versus them. A grand narrative where our side wears the white hats.
And so we elevate flawed leaders into saviors. Scandals become “witch hunts.” Criticism becomes “fake news.” Failure becomes evidence of a conspiracy. The leader becomes the victim—and then the redeemer.
From Stalin’s cult of personality to modern-day political messiahs, the pattern is clear: when we stop asking for truth and start asking for victory, our leaders stop serving and start ruling.
Tribalism and the Death of Truth
Politics has devolved from a clash of ideas into a clash of identities. Criticizing “our side” is no longer loyalty to truth—it’s treated as betrayal. Social media rewards outrage, drowns out nuance, and amplifies our worst impulses.
Research shows that many voters will abandon their own beliefs to stay in step with their party’s leader. Truth becomes elastic. What mattered yesterday is negotiable today—so long as it protects “our team.”
Truth doesn’t die with a bang. It dies with a repost.
The Weaponization of Media
Machiavelli had messengers on horseback. Today’s power players have bots, algorithms, and AI-generated deepfakes. Leaders no longer need to earn our trust—they just need to capture our attention.
The result is a curated reality, optimized not for truth but for engagement. Rage becomes a business model. Lies spread six times faster than facts. And in this distorted marketplace, the wise are ignored while the loud are elected.
The recent U.S. elections—and global ones, too—exposed democracy’s great vulnerability: an uninformed, distracted, and emotionally manipulated public is easy to conquer without ever firing a shot.
The Antidote: Faith as Discernment
For Christians, the answer is not to retreat from politics, but to engage it with deeper discernment—anchored in Christ, not charisma. Jesus rejected spectacle when Satan tempted Him with dominion (Matthew 4). He chose servanthood over status when He washed His disciples’ feet (John 13). He preached hard truths, even when people walked away (John 6).
This is the model of leadership we need—and the one we’re called to demand.
The Church’s role is not to baptize political platforms, but to form consciences. To teach the faithful to value integrity over image, service over self-glorification, and truth over tribalism. As St. Augustine warned in The City of God, the idolatry of power inevitably breeds tyranny.
Breaking the Cycle
History’s verdict is clear: when societies choose spectacle over substance, collapse follows. But collapse is not inevitable. Renewal is possible.
Institutions matter: a free press, independent courts, and education rooted in truth can hold the line. But formation matters more: homes and churches that teach virtue, courage, and the dignity of every human being.
The future will not be saved by perfect policies but by people formed in wisdom, humility, and hope.
And that begins with us. We must stop rewarding the loudest voices and start seeking the truest ones. We must expect more—from our leaders, and from ourselves.
Because in the end, the problem isn’t just who we elect. It’s what we worship.
Will we remain blinded by the spectacle—or will we lift our eyes toward the Shepherd who leads with wounds instead of weapons?
“Test everything; hold fast what is good.”—1 Thessalonians 5:21