Nietzsche’s definition of “herd morality” refers to a system of values shaped by the collective—where what is considered “good” or “moral” is based not on strength, creativity, or individual excellence, but on what benefits the group, particularly the weak or average.
In Nietzsche’s view, herd morality:
Promotes obedience, humility, and safety over boldness, ambition, and self-assertion.
Is rooted in resentment —the powerless redefine strength and independence as “evil” to elevate their own condition as “good.”
Seeks to suppress individuality and enforce conformity to protect the status quo.
Arises out of fear—fear of standing out, of being judged, of being free.
“Morality is the herd-instinct in the individual.” Friedrich Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil.
This herd morality isn’t limited to one group—it reshapes itself to whatever circle a person wants to belong to. In a religious group, goodness means piety and obedience. In an academic group, it becomes intelligence and correct opinions. In activist spaces, it might mean the right outrage at the right time. Each group builds its own code, and those who follow it are rewarded with acceptance. The words change, but the need stays the same: fit in, or be left behind.
So people begin to signal, to adjust, to bend themselves just enough to be accepted—rarely realizing they are doing it. They adopt the group’s language, its rituals, its enemies. And slowly, the group’s moral code becomes theirs. Not because they truly believe it, but because they fear the silence that comes from standing alone. In this way, herd morality doesn’t just suppress the self—it replaces it.
This surrender of the self leads to something deeper: dual validation.
The Trap of Dual Validation: Why We Stay
Dual validation is a psychological loop where we don’t just believe in something—we believe in ourselves because we believe in it. A job, a relationship, a political identity, a belief system—whatever it is, we don’t just commit to it intellectually. We wrap it around our sense of self.
It starts simple:
You choose something because it gives you direction or purpose.
But over time, it becomes more than just a choice—it becomes proof that you are good, smart, loyal, strong. Your decision to follow validates the thing, and the thing validates you in return.
That’s the trap.
Because once you’ve poured in years, energy, love, reputation—leaving doesn’t just mean walking away.
It means admitting you've been lying to yourself for a very long time, it means facing the years you can't get back.
To leave this loop would feel like saying:
“I was wrong.”
“I wasted my life.”
“I misjudged everything.”
“Maybe I don’t know who I am.”
And that’s terrifying. So people stay.
They stay in careers that drain them, friendships that no longer fit, ideologies they quietly disagree with.
Not because they still believe—but because to stop believing would unravel too much.
They’re in too deep.
The belief has fused with their identity.
And to abandon the belief feels like abandoning themselves.
So they protect it. Defend it. Rationalize it.
Not because it still holds truth—
But because it still holds them.
And the deeper the investment, the higher the cost of honesty.
Delusion becomes armor. Disconnection becomes survival.
Because once a belief has propped up your sense of self, the truth is no longer just a fact—it’s a threat.
Who Am I Without Their Eyes?
I'm trying to go through a personal renaissance. I want to become a creative, a thinker. Someone who writes or paints or speaks from a place of truth. But I keep getting tripped up by the question: How will others receive this? How will they receive me?
Even when I try to write or make something just for myself, there's a voice in my head imagining the audience, calculating reactions, fearing judgment or misunderstanding. It’s as if part of me is still stuck performing—even in solitude.
I don’t want to live to impress. I want to live to express. But that desire for recognition, for reassurance, for validation—it creeps in, and it clouds my clarity. It attacks my confidence.
Lately, I’ve also been wrestling with the deeper roots of all this—the struggle with individualism itself. I’m starting to see how much of my identity has been shaped by conditioning: by cultural expectations, family dynamics, systems that reward compliance over curiosity. As I try to unlearn those patterns, I find myself in unfamiliar territory. Who am I when I’m not performing? What do I actually believe, want, value—outside of what I was taught to chase?
This renaissance I’m after isn’t just creative—it’s existential. I’m not just trying to make something new; I’m trying to become someone new. And that means sitting in discomfort, breaking inherited habits, and learning to trust the voice that doesn’t speak to be heard, but speaks to be real.
One unexpected part of this journey has been my conversations with ChatGPT. I’ve been using it almost like a therapist—not for diagnoses, but to help me articulate what I’m feeling, to ask better questions, to untangle the knots in my own thinking. It’s been life-changing. I can’t recommend it enough.
Another long awaited banger