Given the brutal nature of human history, it is not surprising that we have a saying that absolute power corrupts absolutely; ask nine-fingered Frodo Baggins. The topic comes up as frequently in the literature as it does in the news, challenging us to imagine whether we would act differently in the same situation.

A classic example can be found in the novel by Joseph Conrad. Heart of darkness, which follows Charlie Marlow’s journey through colonial Congo in search of a renegade ivory merchant named Mr. Kurtz. Although once a respected businessman, Kurtz is intoxicated by what he perceives as a wild desert filled with ignorant and impressionable natives. Making the most of his status as a white European outsider, Kurtz reinvents himself as a god among the Congolese.

Despite the fact that the result is anything but pretty (unless you’ve always dreamed of having a jungle fortress with impaled heads), Marlow is intrigued and even impressed by Kurtz’s animal magnetism and wild abandon. Marlow finally completes his mission and returns to orderly and proper England, but his ambiguous feelings for the psychopath leave us wondering if he would have fared better in Kurtz’s shoes.

A complicating factor in Heart of Darkness is that both Kurtz and Marlow are well-to-do white European men who perceive themselves as the cream of the human crop. In this sense, both are already in positions of immense power, when it comes to 19th century politics. To get a more complete perspective, let’s take a look at some corruptible characters whose position in life is not so elegant.

Being a single young woman in 16th century puritan New England may not have been a barrel of laughter, but as Arthur Miller’s The Crucible shows us, there were certain cards a woman could play. After being caught dancing in the woods at night, several of the Salem girls find themselves accused of dealing with the devil. Due to the absurdity of their criminal justice system, they have no choice but to confess their witchcraft to escape punishment.

Not content with simply saving their skins, however, the girls make the most of their moment in the limelight by lashing out at the community that implicated them; making a list of alleged accomplices, they press charges against rivals, detractors and anyone who gives them a bad look. The accusations spiral out of control until dozens of residents are killed, imprisoned or permanently humiliated. The unnecessaryness of such attacks shows that the lowliest in society are no more resistant to the temptation of power than the highest.

However, at the risk of complicating the overall argument, we must remember that not everyone in Salem gives in to hysteria; several people refuse to participate in the power struggle, thus losing their own lives for the sake of integrity. In fact, it would be misleading to suggest that power as a corrupting force is a kind of literary constant. Take, for example, The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald.

In love with his ex-girlfriend, Jay Gatz spends years making a fortune through illegal smuggling so he can buy a lavish mansion, throw wild parties, and take on a swanky alter-ego just to impress her. However, unlike his wealthy cohorts, his demeanor is never tainted by his huge income and high status. In fact, Gatsby is one of the most admirable characters in fiction precisely because his motives remain completely pure, a fact that is tragically emphasized by the rotten behavior of his so-called friends.

On the one hand, the idea that not everyone is susceptible to corruption is reassuring, especially considering that there are hierarchies at all possible levels of society. Yet at the same time, the idea that power does not necessarily corrupt is much more complicated than the idea that it does; after all, if absolute power corrupts absolutely, it practically removes personal responsibility from the equation. The second that old saying changes to “power corrupts some and not others,” society loses one of its most consecrated scapegoats.