In an age that loudly celebrates merit, education and rational thinking, it is paradoxical—perhaps tragic—that the truly intelligent often find themselves relegated to the sidelines of power, while confident mediocrity ascends effortlessly. This strange but persistent pattern is not unique to the modern world.
It has been apparent throughout history, across cultures and continents. From ancient courts of emperors to modern boardrooms and parliaments, it is not the most brilliant, but the most audacious, that rise. This is precisely the Machiavellian insight into human nature: people follow not those who are wise, but those who appear wise.
The same holds true from Silicon Valley to Islamabad. The downfall of Theranos under Elizabeth Holmes and the bold rise of populist, media-savvy leaders around the world illustrate this truth: boldness trumps brilliance, and confidence consistently outperforms competence. In Pakistan, political history has seen several examples of this—figures with little governance expertise but immense charisma and certainty have found themselves catapulted to the highest offices, often bypassing seasoned intellectuals, technocrats and public servants.
From Gen Zia-ul Haq’s rise through cunning and manipulation rather than intellectual or military brilliance, to populist leaders in contemporary politics who galvanise public emotion while disregarding nuanced policy, the trend is clear: perception matters more than substance.
Niccolò Machiavelli, writing in the brutal context of Renaissance politics, understood that success in leadership does not require virtue—it demands performance. As he famously wrote in The Prince, “Everyone sees what you appear to be; few experience what you really are.” That is to say, people judge based on appearances, not substance. A leader’s confidence, even if unfounded, inspires belief and loyalty far more effectively than cautious truth ever can.
Modern psychology underscores the same dynamic. David Dunning and Justin Kruger discovered what is now called the Dunning-Kruger Effect—a cognitive bias in which incompetent individuals overestimate their abilities, while competent individuals underestimate theirs. The cruel irony is that ignorance, in many cases, breeds confidence, while knowledge fosters humility. The result is that those least fit to lead often feel most entitled to do so.
In Pakistan, we’ve seen this play out in corporate, bureaucratic, and political circles. Government officials and media personalities, despite repeated displays of ignorance or mismanagement, continue to command influence, not because of their insight but due to their delivery—assertive, loud, and confident. Meanwhile, some of the brightest voices—academics, policy experts, scientists—are dismissed as bookish or out of touch because they speak with nuance and caution rather than sweeping certainty.
Eastern philosophy adds a sobering contrast to this. In the Tao Te Ching, Lao Tzu states: “He who knows does not speak. He who speaks does not know.” This principle, while wise, becomes a strategic liability in a world where noise often drowns out knowledge. In today’s political and media environments—whether in New York or Lahore—the loudest voice, not the wisest, commands attention. The political discourse on various Pakistani television channels often exemplifies a confrontational style, where participants seek to dominate discussions through loud and aggressive rhetoric, frequently at the expense of constructive dialogue.
In such environments, optics and immediate political gains tend to be prioritised over substantive, long-term policy measures. Although initiatives such as investment in human capital and poverty alleviation are undeniably crucial for sustainable national development, they are frequently sidelined due to their gradual and less visible nature.
The future increasingly belongs to the confident, not the competent. In a world dominated by optics, emotion and spectacle, the intelligent must evolve. Intelligence alone is no longer sufficient. It must be coupled with courage, charisma and rhetorical skills.
This trend is particularly pronounced in post-colonial and neo-colonial contexts, where political institutions are often shaped by legacies of external control, weak democratic consolidation and a persistent emphasis on patronage politics. In such settings, short-term populist strategies tend to overshadow long-term developmental planning, as political legitimacy is often tied to immediate deliverables rather than systemic reforms. The pressure to maintain public perception, often amplified by sensationalist media coverage, further incentivises performative politics over meaningful, evidence-based policymaking.
Intelligent people, trained to reflect and weigh options, often fall behind in fast-moving situations where decisions (and optics) must be immediate. Intelligent people therefore abstain from seizing opportunities whereby they can make a difference. Sun Tzu very rightly put it in The Art of War, “Opportunities multiply as they are seized.” Intelligence hesitates. Confidence acts.
Confidence manipulates. Leaders adept at stirring emotion often do so by invoking sacred values—religion, nationalism, martyrdom—not to uplift society, but to create loyalty through fear or reverence. We saw this in 20th Century totalitarian regimes, but the same pattern appears in national histories. Military dictators justified coups in the name of national interest, national security in particular; political leaders claimed divine or ideological destiny. Manipulation of revered ideas—whether religion, national security or martyrdom—has been used to silence critics and win support, regardless of policy failure or corruption. Jonathan Haidt, an American social psychologist and author in The Righteous Mind, explained this well: people form beliefs emotionally and then justify them intellectually.
Part of the problem lies in how we educate a society. Most schools reward correctness, not persuasion. Students are taught to give the right answer, not to argue, inspire or lead. In Pakistan, too, the education system emphasises rote learning, exam performance and deference to authority. Debate and creative thinking are often discouraged. School education in Pakistan has been privatised so that quality education is available to the privileged youth only.
Same is the case of health care which attracts minimal investment by the state. Edward Bernays, father of modern propaganda and nephew of Sigmund Freud, held that the masses are irrational and guided more by emotion than reason. He wrote, “The conscious and intelligent manipulation of the organised habits and opinions of the masses is an important element in democratic society.” Those trained in persuasion, marketing and media—not logic or ethics—often control public opinion.
So, what are the red flags? How can we spot the confident fools in power before they cause irreversible damage? Modern psychology gives us clues. These leaders often reject expert advice in favour of instinct. They surround themselves with loyalists rather than capable advisors. They attack dissenters and critics, framing them as enemies. They rebrand their failures as triumphs, twisting narratives to maintain control. As Plato warned in The Republic, the rise of tyranny begins when the people prefer flattery over truth—when they elect those who tell them what they want to hear, not what they need to hear. The conclusion is clear, if uncomfortable: the future increasingly belongs to the confident, not the competent. In a world dominated by optics, emotion and spectacle, the intelligent must evolve. Intelligence alone is no longer sufficient; it must be coupled with courage, charisma and rhetorical skills. As Confucius once said, “Wisdom, compassion and courage are the three universally recognised moral qualities of men.” Today, wisdom alone won’t win. It must walk hand in hand with boldness. The path is dangerous and ‘less trodden by’ but necessary.
Unless intelligent individuals learn to compete not just in the realm of ideas but also for influence, they will continue to be overshadowed by those who weaponise confidence and appearance. The challenge ahead is not just to be right—but to be heard, believed and followed before the microphones are monopolized by those who mistake certainty for truth and performance for leadership.
The writer is a professor in the Faculty of Liberal Arts at the Beaconhouse National University, Lahore.