The values that once defined morality are being quietly auctioned off to the highest economic bidder. Across nations—and particularly in societies like Nigeria where religion and culture have long shaped identity—the tension between economy and morality has become a silent war. For years, economic realities have held entire countries hostage, forcing even the devout to bend their moral compass toward survival. Nigeria, one of the most religious countries in the world, finds itself in the paradox of praying hard and hustling harder. The pulpit still echoes with verses about virtue, yet the wallet has become the true measure of righteousness.
What now defines what is right or noble is no longer the content of one’s character but the consequence of one’s choices. Success has become morality’s substitute. As Max Weber once theorized in The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism, the pursuit of wealth gradually took on an air of divine approval, where economic success came to be seen as a sign of personal virtue. That spirit seems alive and well today, even in societies that claim to detest Western secularism. The uncomfortable truth is that economic realities are now the most powerful preachers of our age—shaping conduct, legitimizing choices, and excusing vices that used to horrify the moral conscience.
A vivid example recently ignited social debate. Nollywood actress Laide Bakare proudly confessed that she introduced her 17-year-old daughter, Simisola, to nightlife, clubs, and alcohol. She explained that it was better her daughter experience such realities under her supervision than through peers. “In her memoir,” Bakare said, “I want her to write that her mother was the one who first showed her alcohol and the club scene.”
Social media erupted. Some called it reckless parenting; others, progressive realism. Yet beneath the noise lies a painful reflection of our times: what used to be moral aberration now parades as parental wisdom in a society where exposure, visibility, and ‘branding’ pay more than virtue. In a world ruled by economic validation, morality must now negotiate its relevance.
The Nigerian entertainment industry mirrors this evolution. Many actresses, once rejected by their parents for pursuing acting, are today celebrated not for moral uprightness but for economic success. Their defiance is rebranded as empowerment; their independence, as victory over conservative tradition. This echoes the psychological theory of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, where the struggle for survival must first be conquered before one can afford moral reflection. The truth, however uncomfortable, is that conservatism has rarely put food on the table; the economy has.
Even institutions once regarded as moral gatekeepers are succumbing to the gospel of profit. Consider the Nigerian Police’s recent enforcement of tinted glass permits—ostensibly for security but evidently driven by revenue. When the power to pay becomes the new definition of legitimacy, governance itself becomes an economic transaction.
Women, once confined to the background by conservative culture, are now invading spaces once reserved for men—not because patriarchy suddenly grew lenient, but because the economy left them no choice. Many now enlist in the military, paramilitary, and sports, not as acts of rebellion but of survival. “Poverty,” as George Bernard Shaw once wrote, “is the greatest of all evils and the worst of crimes.” Even family planning, once resisted as anti-traditional, is now embraced—not out of enlightenment, but because as many women joke, “even pampers is no longer affordable.”
The economy has redefined morality so deeply that even crime has acquired a moral vocabulary. Yahoo-yahoo, trafficking, and Ponzi schemes now hide under the guise of “smartness” or “survival.” What was once shameful is now seen as a hustle. After all, how does a nation that calls itself godly become the capital of cyber-fraud and get-rich-quick schemes? The answer lies not in theology but in hunger. As the African proverb goes, “A hungry man has no ears.”
Social hypocrisy completes the tragedy. Nigerians proclaim their religiosity with fervor—until money enters the equation. Influencers like Blessing CEO or entertainers like Ahmed Musa and various musicians command more loyalty than many clerics. Their words trend; sermons don’t. Blessing CEO once told her critics, “You can unfollow me if you don’t like me”—and they didn’t. Because deep down, society values those who have economic capital more than those who preach moral capital.
Even in highly conservative Kano, Kannywood thrives. Actors such as Ali Nuhu, Hadiza Gabon, and Nafisa Abdullahi enjoy massive influence, not because their values align with traditional norms but because their success has economic gravity. Those who disapprove of them still queue for their generosity. Morality bows to prosperity, and piety now needs sponsorship.
It is thus delusional to believe that morality can be enforced by multiplying mosques and churches without multiplying industries. Sermons don’t fill stomachs; jobs do. Morality thrives only where the economy sustains dignity. A society cannot preach virtue to the hungry or faith to the desperate. As Aristotle once said, “Poverty is the parent of revolution and crime.” It is also, perhaps, the quiet assassin of morality.
This is why Laide Bakare’s controversial action might, in a twisted way, make sense. In her daughter’s initiation into nightlife lies a mother’s pragmatic surrender to reality: that the world now rewards exposure more than innocence. Reality shows like Big Brother Naija prove this daily—where participants earn more from a few months of display than graduates do in years of honest labor.
We are witnessing not just an economic shift but a moral evolution: a world where survival has replaced sanctity, and where the economy—not religion, not culture—now dictates the boundaries of right and wrong. Until we rebuild an economy that gives people reasons to believe in decency, morality will remain a luxury the poor cannot afford.
Bagudu can be reached at bagudumohammed15197@gmail.com or on 0703 494 3575.
