Why Do People Follow Blindly?

By Maq Masi

Why do people surrender their judgement to someone who claims to know what they cannot know? Why do they continue following religious leaders, political movements and ideologies even when the consequences become harmful? And why, when one authority loses its credibility, do people so often seek another rather than question their need for authority itself?

These questions are not new. Nearly four centuries ago, Thomas Hobbes examined the relationship between human fear, belief and political power in his remarkable work Leviathan, published in 1651. Having witnessed the English Civil War and the destructive consequences of competing religious and political authorities, Hobbes understood something about human behaviour that remains uncomfortable today. People do not necessarily submit because they are convinced by reason. Sometimes they submit because uncertainty is more frightening than obedience.

What interests me most about Hobbes is not simply his defence of political authority, but his explanation of how authority becomes possible in the first place. Before someone can govern our actions, they must acquire some influence over our judgement. And before we surrender our judgement, something must persuade us that another person possesses knowledge, wisdom or power that we lack.

Hobbes begins with a surprisingly ordinary understanding of power. In Chapter 10 of Leviathan, he describes it as a person’s present means of obtaining some future apparent good. Physical strength, intelligence, wealth, reputation and influential relationships are all forms of power. None is inherently evil. Power is necessary for human cooperation, security and organised society.

But power has a peculiar characteristic. It attracts more power. A person who becomes influential attracts followers, and the presence of followers makes that person appear even more influential. Reputation generates authority, authority attracts loyalty, and loyalty reinforces reputation. What begins as an individual’s capacity gradually becomes a collective force.

I find this observation particularly relevant to modern society. We frequently mistake popularity for credibility. A person followed by thousands appears more trustworthy than someone speaking alone, even when neither has provided evidence. Numbers become a substitute for reasoning. The crowd does not merely follow authority; by following, it helps manufacture that authority.

The more interesting question is what makes people willing to follow in the first place.

In Chapter 11, Hobbes identifies two deeply human tendencies: curiosity about causes and anxiety about the future. Unlike other animals, human beings continually search for explanations. We want to understand why illness occurs, why misfortune strikes, why one person succeeds while another suffers, and what might happen tomorrow.

Yet our desire for explanation is much greater than our knowledge.

When the cause of an event is unknown, the human mind does not necessarily remain silent. It imagines possibilities, accepts explanations from others or attributes events to invisible powers. Uncertainty becomes fertile ground for belief.

Hobbes expresses this in Chapter 12 with extraordinary clarity: “The fear of things invisible is the natural seed of that which every one in himself calleth religion.”

This is perhaps one of the most revealing observations in Leviathan. Religion, in this account, does not begin necessarily with deliberate deception. It begins with an ordinary human condition: fear combined with ignorance of causes.

A frightened person wants an explanation. An explanation offers psychological relief, even when it cannot be verified. Once accepted, that explanation can become a belief, and repeated belief can gradually acquire the appearance of truth.

Here, however, I would distinguish my own argument from Hobbes’s. Fear may explain why a person seeks answers, but it does not establish the truth of the answers received. The psychological need to believe and the evidential justification for believing are two entirely different matters.

A person may sincerely believe that an invisible force controls their destiny. Another may sincerely claim to understand that force. Sincerity alone does not establish knowledge. Yet when both accept the claim, a relationship of authority can emerge without either possessing evidence that the claim is true.

This is where belief becomes politically significant.

Hobbes observes that some people take the natural seeds of religion and cultivate them into organised systems of laws, rituals and obligations. In doing so, they can make religious belief useful for governing others.

I would take this argument further. The most effective form of domination is not always physical coercion. It is the ability to make people regulate their own behaviour according to an authority they no longer think to question.

A ruler who relies entirely on force must continually enforce obedience. But an authority that persuades people that obedience is sacred, morally necessary or essential to their future security may find that people enforce obedience upon themselves.

Fear creates the demand for reassurance. Belief provides reassurance. Authority claims the right to interpret belief. Obedience then becomes a duty.

This process is not confined to religion. Political ideologies, charismatic leaders and even supposedly rational institutions can reproduce it. Whenever a claim is protected from examination by the prestige of its source, authority begins to replace evidence.

One of the most fascinating aspects of Hobbes’s analysis concerns the instability of religious authority. If belief provides such a powerful foundation for obedience, why do religions divide? Why do new sects emerge from old traditions, frequently claiming to possess the truth that their predecessors have supposedly corrupted?

Hobbes offers a practical explanation. Religious authority depends partly upon its reputation for wisdom, sincerity and concern for those it governs. When religious leaders contradict themselves, behave hypocritically or pursue visible personal advantage, their credibility deteriorates.

The authority that once appeared sacred begins to look human.

But the collapse of one authority does not necessarily produce intellectual independence. People may simply transfer their confidence to another interpreter who promises a purer doctrine, a more authentic tradition or a better understanding of divine intention.

This is the contradiction that interests me most. If the original belief was accepted without sufficient evidence, why should the new interpretation be considered more reliable merely because the previous interpreter has been exposed as inconsistent?

A new sect may reject the authority of an established institution while preserving the very principle that made the old authority possible: the expectation that people should accept unverifiable claims on the assurance of someone who professes privileged knowledge.

The leader changes. The language changes. The rituals may change. Yet the underlying relationship between belief and submission can remain remarkably similar.

Of course, religious reform has sometimes challenged abuses, expanded freedom of conscience and encouraged intellectual enquiry. It would be unreasonable to treat every religious division as nothing more than a struggle for power. Nevertheless, reform should not be confused automatically with liberation. Replacing one unquestionable authority with another does not resolve the original problem.

Hobbes develops his criticism of religious domination most forcefully in Part IV of Leviathan, entitled Of the Kingdom of Darkness.

The title sounds supernatural, but his concern is largely political and intellectual. He examines how erroneous doctrines, obscure language and claims of exclusive spiritual authority can prevent people from exercising their judgement and allow religious institutions to acquire power over civil life.

His argument contains an important warning: when someone claims an exclusive right to interpret an invisible authority, ordinary people may find themselves unable to challenge the interpretation without appearing to challenge the authority itself.

The interpreter and the supposed source of truth become inseparable.

Consider the difficulty this creates. A person claims to speak on behalf of an authority that cannot be independently questioned. When challenged, the person appeals to that same authority to justify their position. The claim becomes its own evidence.

Such reasoning is circular, but it can be socially powerful. Those who question it may be portrayed as immoral, disloyal or dangerous, even when their only demand is for an explanation.

Hobbes was especially concerned about competing religious and civil jurisdictions. His solution was a powerful sovereign capable of preventing rival authorities from dragging society into conflict. In his view, divided sovereignty threatened peace because different institutions could demand incompatible forms of obedience.

I understand his historical reasoning, but I do not entirely accept his political conclusion.

Hobbes recognised the danger of competing authorities, yet concentrating authority in a sovereign introduces another difficulty. If religious leaders can exploit fear and ignorance, why should political rulers be immune from doing the same? A unified authority may prevent certain conflicts, but unity alone does not guarantee truth, justice or accountability.

The question, therefore, is not merely whether authority should be divided or concentrated. It is whether any authority should be permitted to place its claims beyond rational examination.

For me, this is where Hobbes becomes most useful, even when I disagree with him.

Human beings cannot live without trust. We depend upon doctors, engineers, scientists, judges, teachers and countless others whose knowledge exceeds our own. Society would become impossible if every individual had to independently verify every fact before acting.

But trust and blind faith are not identical.

Reasonable trust rests upon some possibility of verification, correction and accountability. A scientific explanation can be challenged by evidence. A legal judgement can be examined against established principles and, within the applicable system, appealed. A professional claim can be tested against recognised standards.

Blind faith begins where questioning is treated as disobedience and where the absence of evidence is transformed into a virtue.

This distinction matters because surrendering judgement is not the same as cooperating with others. Cooperation allows us to rely upon expertise while retaining the right to question it. Blind obedience requires us to accept conclusions because of who delivers them rather than because of the reasons supporting them.

There is another dimension to this problem. People do not follow merely because they are afraid. They also follow because belonging offers identity, companionship and social recognition. A belief shared by family, community or nation can become inseparable from a person’s understanding of themselves.

To question the belief may then feel like questioning one’s own existence within that community.

This helps explain why contradictions do not always weaken authority. Sometimes they strengthen the determination of followers to defend it. Admitting that a leader was mistaken may threaten relationships, social standing and years of personal commitment. Defending the leader can become psychologically easier than reconsidering the belief.

The greater the sacrifice already made, the harder it may become to acknowledge that the sacrifice was unnecessary.

This is not evidence of some peculiar weakness among religious followers or supporters of political movements. It reflects a broader human vulnerability. Education, wealth and intelligence do not automatically protect anyone from the desire to belong or the discomfort of admitting error.

What, then, should we learn from Hobbes?

I think the answer begins by reversing the ordinary relationship between authority and truth. We are often encouraged to believe a statement because it comes from an authority. I would rather recognise authority only to the extent that its statements withstand examination.

A claim should not become true because a million people accept it, nor false because only one person questions it. Its validity must depend upon reasons and evidence, not the social power of those who defend it.

Equally, we should ask who benefits when uncertainty is converted into fear, when fear is converted into belief, and when belief becomes an obligation to obey. The existence of a beneficiary does not by itself prove deception, but it provides a legitimate reason to examine how authority operates.

Hobbes understood that fear is deeply rooted in human nature. I would argue that our capacity to recognise and investigate fear is equally important. We are not condemned to accept the first explanation that offers comfort.

Perhaps the most troubling feature of blind following is not that people believe something false. Every human being holds mistaken beliefs at some point. The deeper problem arises when people surrender the means by which those beliefs could be corrected.

A person who is mistaken but willing to question can learn. A person who believes that questioning itself is forbidden has surrendered something more valuable than any particular opinion.

Hobbes wanted to rescue society from the destructive consequences of competing authorities. I believe the challenge extends further. We must also protect the individual’s capacity to distinguish knowledge from assertion, trust from submission, and collective cooperation from the abandonment of judgement.

After all, the opposite of blind obedience is not necessarily rebellion. It is the willingness to ask a simple question before accepting any claim:

How do you know?

And perhaps an even more important question follows:

Why should I surrender my judgement simply because you claim to know?