The Paradox of Leadership: Why We Still Choose to Follow

We live in an era that loudly champions individuality. From childhood, we are taught to be ourselves, to follow our dreams, to break the mold. Social media feeds overflow with mantras of freedom, self-expression, and rebellion against conformity. And yet, for all our celebration of autonomy, we consistently and even fervently elect leaders. We seek them out in politics, in business, in social causes, even in spiritual life. Why do we do this? Why, in a world that tells us to be free and think for ourselves, do we keep asking someone else to show us the way?
​
This contradiction lies at the heart of human society. We speak the language of independence, but we organize ourselves around figures of authority. We claim to want freedom, but we also crave direction. Is this merely human nature? Or is it, as Voltaire subtly hinted in Candide, a matter of failing to "cultivate our own garden"? Voltaire’s advice—"il faut cultiver notre jardin"—is both literal and metaphorical. He advocates for personal responsibility, for tending to our own corner of the world. It’s a call to focus on what we can control, to stop meddling in grand philosophical debates or futile wars and instead invest our energy into what really matters: daily acts of integrity and care.

Yet modern life tempts us with the opposite. We wade into every conversation, every crisis, every opinion war—regardless of how well we understand it—armed with conviction. Our desire to be in the driver’s seat is often more about control than responsibility. We want to feel in charge, but we hesitate to accept the consequences of true leadership, especially in our own lives.

Herein lies the dichotomy: we know what is right. We know we should be kind, honest, courageous. We know laws are meant to protect the weak and organize the strong. We know that our choices shape the world we live in. But we don’t always act accordingly. So, we outsource responsibility. We elect someone to "remind" us to respect the law. We wait for others to lead us into the future. We want a captain, but we resist steering the ship when the waters get rough.

This isn’t necessarily hypocrisy. It’s fear—or perhaps, even more often, laziness. The fear of being wrong. The fear of standing alone. The fear of failing. Leading oneself, after all, is hard. It requires constant discipline, clarity, and moral courage. It’s much easier to follow a set of rules, to blame someone else when things go wrong, or to criticize decisions made by others without ever having to make one ourselves.

There’s also a psychological comfort in leadership. Leaders give form to chaos. They promise direction in uncertain times. We project our hopes and frustrations onto them, expecting them to fix what we cannot, or will not, fix ourselves. It’s a kind of magical thinking—we imagine that by placing the right person in power, the world will sort itself out.
But it never does. Not entirely. Because no leader can replace the moral responsibility of the individual. No law can substitute for personal ethics. No external system can resolve the internal struggle between what we know is right and what we actually do.
This tension—between knowledge and action, between personal autonomy and collective leadership—runs deep in the human condition. It’s not a modern dilemma. Ancient texts wrestled with it, too. Plato envisioned philosopher-kings, reluctant leaders compelled to rule because of their wisdom, not ambition. The Bible, in its story of the Israelites demanding a king, explores the consequences of trading freedom for authority. Across time, cultures have both revered and mistrusted leaders, because they reflect our own contradictions.

So, why do we need leaders?
Perhaps the honest answer is: we don’t always need them, but we want them. We want them when we are overwhelmed. We want them when we are uncertain. We want them to carry the burden of responsibility we are not yet ready to bear. And maybe that’s not entirely a failing—it can be a pragmatic arrangement. In a complex society, leaders serve a function. They coordinate, represent, organize. They make decisions when consensus is impossible. But the danger comes when we stop at delegation and abandon our own role entirely.

Because at the end of the day, each of us is still responsible for our own garden. Leadership starts at home. In how we treat others. In the honesty of our daily actions. In the courage to admit when we’re wrong and to do better. In the willingness to engage not just with our opinions, but with the responsibilities those opinions imply.

The world doesn’t need more voices yelling from the backseat. It needs more hands on the wheel. More people willing to act in accordance with what they know is right. More individuals who don’t just speak about freedom, but live it—through self-mastery, humility, and compassion.

The paradox may never fully resolve. We are human. We seek both independence and connection. We fear and revere power. But perhaps we can shift the focus—from asking why we need leaders, to asking how we can lead ourselves better. Not to dominate others, but to live more honestly, more freely, and more responsibly. So next time we look to elect a leader, maybe the real question is: what kind of follower will we be? Passive or participatory? Blaming or accountable? Waiting or cultivating?
​
Voltaire’s garden still waits. The soil is ours to tend.