Asuras, Rakshasas, and Billionaire Lying Sociopaths

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The old texts knew the archetype well. He is bold, brash, dazzling with power. He speaks with confidence, disregards moral boundaries, and leaves a trail of ruin behind him—yet is admired for his “greatness.” The asura and the rakshasa mentioned in tales that came out of ancient India were never just mythic monsters. They were psychological profiles, warnings carved into story.

 

Today, they wear leather jackets and baseball caps or dark suits and wire-framed glasses, speak on TED stages or at press conferences, and fund moonshot projects or a U.S. sovereign wealth fund while quietly laying waste to human dignity and democracy. In this age of vast inequality and partisanship, we are told that greed is innovation and power is vision. But the Bhagavad Gita, in its sixteenth chapter, offers a very different assessment: that this is not brilliance—it is spiritual poverty. And no amount of net worth can redeem it.

 

The origin of the word asura first appears in the Rig Veda, but not negatively. Early Vedic asuras were powerful divine beings, associated with “life of the spiritual world” or “departed spirits” (the literal meaning of the Sanskrit root, asu). As such, the term used in connection with a deity’s name likely meant “lord” or “spirit-being.” Later, the asuras evolved to be in opposition to the devas (deities) and instead, became associated with ambition, deceit, and disorder. By the time of the Atharva Veda and the Brahmanas (c.1000-800 BCE), they are depicted as cosmic antagonists—jealous of devas, seeking immortality, but ultimately seen as misguided and ignorant.

 

Asuras are blinded from the truth due to their dominant guna (impersonal forces that influence our inner state) being tamas (ignorance, darkness). Their primary vice is ego, delusion, and denial of dharma (moral order). Their secondary traits are hypocrisy, pride, and obsession with power. They are the modern psychological equivalent of a sociopath. Think: Elon Musk, Sam Bankman-Fried and certain politicians who are masters of manipulation, devoid of inner compass, and admired even in their destructiveness.

 

The rakshasa, on the other hand, appears in myth as more openly demonic. While asuras might not be outwardly evil, rakshasas are. They are linked to disease, darkness, and traditionally, warded off during rituals. It has been suggested that their name comes from the Sanskrit root raksha, “to guard/protect,” but ironically later came to mean those “who disturb or destroy order.” Their dominant guna is rajas (passion; aggression), and cruelty and violence are their main features. They are in modern terms, psychopaths. Think: cult leaders (Jim Jones and Charles Manson), violent celebrities (O.J. Simpson and Marilyn Manson), populist strongmen (Adolf Hitler and Vladimir Putin), or unhinged influencers (Andrew Tate and Alex Jones)—those who wreak havoc not out of ideology but instinct, ego, or rage.

 

In comparison, the asura’s preferred style of harm is ideological, systemic, and strategic, while the rakshasa’s is impulsive, emotional, and violent. Asuras still have some moral awareness (albeit twisted) while the rakshasa’s is virtually absent. Asuras are intelligent in a manipulative way, while rakshasas are intelligent but governed by raw impulse rather than discernment.

 

Both are narcissists, obsessed over sense objects and with little regard for others. They have no desire to understand themselves or show empathy. All things, people and relationships are just objects to be used for their own enrichment. Both lead lives dominated by desire, anger and greed, and represent the worst in human behavior. And yet, both archetypes are symbolically used as a warning to all of us—flawed and imperfect as we are—that we too might carry the seeds of the asura and rakshasa—not as distant myths, but as dormant patterns waiting to take root in ignorance.

 

It’s worth repeating that both terms—asura and rakshasa—originally carried positive, even noble connotations. No one begins life as a burden to society. Though we may all be shaped by conditioning or circumstance, there comes a point when choices are made—often lured by rare opportunities, short-term rewards, or the seduction of power. As Eastern traditions suggest, there are no inherently wicked people—only good people guided by wrong ideas.

 

Lord Acton, a 19th-century British historian and moralist, wrote in an 1887 letter to Bishop Creighton, “Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.” At the time, he was challenging the idea that church or political leaders should be immune to moral scrutiny simply because of their status. Today, the quote is often invoked to describe those who become deluded by the control they wield. The first part of the quote, “Power tends to corrupt” implies that power itself is a kind of addiction—subtle, intoxicating, and dangerous. While the latter part suggests that a little power may corrupt a little, but total power corrupts totally. The lesson is clear—no one should be entrusted with total power, because to do so is to invite a kind of moral infection, as inevitable as disease in a weakened immune system.

 

If we examine the quote more closely, we might ask: Who exactly does power corrupt? The answer is clear—those who lose sight of responsibility, especially when placed in positions of influence. It’s for this reason that any respectable institution builds guardrails into its structure—to protect not only the public from the powerful, but the powerful from themselves. As human beings, we are all vulnerable to the slippery slope of greed, lust, and power. We live in a society that doesn’t only normalize these impulses—it glamorizes them. We reward excess, celebrate dominance, and mistake self-indulgence for self-actualization.

 

What’s striking is how closely the Gita’s profile of the asura mirrors the modern billionaire sociopath: obsessed with acquisition, devoid of self-inquiry, indifferent to the harm they cause, and constantly performing acts of false generosity for the sake of image. These are not anomalies. They are, as Krishna says, “bound by their ambitions,” driven by forces they do not recognize, and ultimately destined for self-destruction. And yet, perhaps the most disturbing part isn’t that these archetypes exist but that they are celebrated. People admire them for their confidence, their refusal to play by the rules, their so-called “vision.” Their ruthlessness is mistaken for strength. Their deception, for cleverness. People are particularly vulnerable to such figures during times of fear, uncertainty and rapid change; when emotional needs override critical thinking, and the promise of safety, strength, or simple answers becomes seductive.

 

Consider Elon Musk, whose cult of personality has grown in proportion to his disregard for basic human decency. He mocks regulators, spreads misinformation, and erodes our democracy with his money and influence—yet somehow remains admired as the greatest visionary of our time. Or Sam Bankman-Fried, who cloaked his schemes in the language of altruism while quietly committing one of the largest financial frauds in history. Both are textbook asuras, animated by ego, fueled by delusion, and incapable of seeing beyond the smallness of their own desires. In the Gita, Krishna describes them with surgical precision: “bound by their ambitions… addicted to self-gratification… hoarding illegitimate wealth… thinking, Today I obtained this, tomorrow I shall obtain more.” Their rise is fast, their fall inevitable. But the damage they do along the way is incalculable.

 

In Chapter 16 of the Gita, Krishna outlines two kinds of wealth: daivi-sampat, the wealth of the spiritually inclined, and asura-sampat, the wealth of the morally bankrupt. The first is marked by fearlessness, self-restraint, compassion, and inner clarity. The second by arrogance, cruelty, deceit, and insatiable desire. These aren’t just lists of virtues and vices—they’re diagnostic tools, blueprints for understanding the human condition.

 

Again, it’s important to understand that displaying asuric or rakshasic qualities doesn’t make someone inherently “evil.” These traits reflect not a corrupt soul, but a confused mind—one operating under the spell of avidya (ignorance). No one is born bad; the core of every being is the same essence, the Self, untouched by distortion. But when self-inquiry is absent, when ego and desire override discernment, people lose their way—and suffering follows, for themselves and others. If asuras and rakshasas truly understood the consequences of their actions, they wouldn’t persist in them. But caught in delusion and lacking the will to reflect, they remain indifferent to the laws of karma and blind to their own downfall.

 

We are not passive observers in this drama. Just as Arjuna stood at the threshold of a battlefield torn between despair and duty, we too are living through a time of rising adharma—a collapse of moral clarity in favor of spectacle, manipulation, and unchecked ambition. The asuras and rakshasas are not confined to myth or history; they shape our politics, our corporations, our culture—and if we’re not vigilant, they shape us in thought, speech and deed.

 

In such a time, the teachings of the Gita become more urgent, not less. Krishna did not ask Arjuna to escape the world, but to step into it with discernment and courage. Our task is no different. To uphold dharma now means resisting the normalization of cruelty and deception, standing firm in the face of corruption, and remembering that true strength lies not in dominance, but in clarity, compassion, and integrity.