How does he do it? How does he gather support from the most unlikely places? Mike Tyson, a Muslim, voting Trump? Feminists, Latinos, at least some, supporting Trump?

The media wring their hands, analyzing the man’s policies — let’s call them policies — and worrying about huge swathes of the American electorate shifting to the right. But I don’t think they are. What we're talking about is attraction to the man, how he behaves, or rather swaggers. Trump looks a winner, acts a winner. And what’s more, a happy winner. He is at ease with himself. He is having fun.

When an unlikely candidate captures a huge vote — like Jeremy Corbyn in the U.K., Beppe Grillo in Italy — you can be sure it’s because some behavioral trait has emerged that is usually suppressed in political debate; something people value highly but that is usually disguised or muted.

Not all countries are the same. Donald Trump would get nowhere in England; Corbyn would not make it on the radar in the U.S.; Grillo would be laughed out of town everywhere but Italy. It depends on the kind of values a particular society upholds; more precisely, what values are considered inappropriate in the normal exercise of power.

How do we determine a person’s value? What are the qualities we use to judge others? Systemic psychologists identify four principal areas, or polarities, of value: good/evil, courage/fear, belonging/not belonging, winning/losing. Of course, there is endless interplay between these categories, but when it comes to the crunch, one will dominate.

For the Brits it is terribly important to be good. Or rather, to appear to be good. Or to simply imagine you are being good.

For most Italians, to be a respected member of your family or group is more important than being good, or courageous. More important even than winning. Italian narratives, from the parliament right down to the mafia and the ’ndrangheta, are an endless game of inclusions and exclusions, from families and associations of one kind or another. Nothing is stronger in Italy than the resentment of those who feel excluded from groups with power. This is what Grillo tapped into: He rallied outsiders with an overwhelming desire to belong, and formed a group where they would feel included.

For the Brits it is terribly important to be good. Or rather, to appear to be good. Or to simply imagine you are being good. Politicians make a show of putting principles before convenience, renouncing some advantage on behalf of a Utopian ideal, whether liberal or socialist. And then of introducing rules that demand “proper” behavior from everyone else. Being “good” gives you authority to legislate.

Of course, as a nation the U.K. behaves as selfishly as any other. But, to those in power, it’s imperative they believe they're behaving in a moral way. Tony Blair was the apotheosis of this mindset: Even as he lied to the British parliament about Iraq, he genuinely considered himself to be a tower of moral virtue. His problem was that the rest of the nation could no longer fool themselves into thinking the same.

Whenever a British politician is caught acting unethically — whether it’s cheating on an expense claim, taking money from lobbyists, or having sex with the “wrong” person — he or she is torn apart in the most ferocious fashion. It doesn’t matter how effective they are as politicians, or how small the misdemeanor — their career is essentially over.

People want their representatives to be impeccable. And that’s the impression they get from Corbyn. This is a man who split up with his wife because he insisted, out of principle, on sending his children to the local state school rather than a selective school outside of his constituency in north London. That’s the kind of thinking his supporters want to see enshrined in public debate and, if possible, imposed on everyone else; a mindset that would renounce the nuclear deterrent and all overseas adventures in the name of British “interests,” put the common man’s welfare above any other consideration and in general allow everyone to go to bed feeling righteous. This is what Corbyn represents.

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Of course, Americans, too, have a long tradition of righteous posturing. But in their case it’s just the thinnest disguise in an interminable battle for self-assertion: Life is a drama of winning and losing and that’s all there is to it. One look at the health care situation confirms it. After enormous effort, Barack Obama introduced a system that is woefully inadequate but that countless Americans nevertheless want to repeal — because it gets in the way of the essential business of winning and losing.

Americans, too, have a long tradition of righteous posturing. But in their case it’s just the thinnest disguise in an interminable battle for self-assertion.

The American dream is one of individual enrichment. This is a country where you can accumulate vast wealth, or end up dying on the street. They won’t let you die on the street in Italy. It would dishonor your family. In England they might let you, but they’ll feel guilty about it. And dream up a Jeremy Corbyn-like figure to save them their bad conscience by spending more and more on welfare.

The fine American tradition of philanthropy is entirely in line with this ethos. The winner seals his victory by showing — dramatically, publicly, nationally and internationally — that he can afford to be charitable. It is a form of visibility; a welcome one of course, but nonetheless another form of self-assertion. The wealthy in Italy, on the other hand, spend their money reinforcing the fortunes of their families and the groups to which they belong. What matters is their position in the clan.

Donald Trump is not shy about his preoccupation with winning. He is entirely at ease in a world where what matters is to perform and get ahead. Pundits have spoken of his calculating and cunning tactics, his ability to produce pugnacious one-liners in a radically limited vocabulary that goes down well with the uneducated. This misses the point. Trump is this man. If he is acting, he is playing himself. We feel that at once. And it is this unashamed nakedness of the man — This is who I am! — that people admire, and wish to emulate.

Politics is largely a matter of character, Machiavelli concluded in “The Prince” — success will depend on whether your character is in tune with the circumstances you are living in. No circumstances could be more favorable to Trump than the televised election debate. Visually, it immediately resembles a game show, the ultimate form of entertainment for a society obsessed with winning and losing.

But most of the candidates strive to appear serious and presidential. They are anxious they will make some mistake that alienates some part of their electorate. They are buttoned up and awkward. At best they speak lines they have rehearsed a thousand times — like poor Marco Rubio, who just started repeating himself like an old, scratched vinyl LP. Of course, their prime consideration is winning, but they won’t say that.

Trump blows their cover. He turns up in his crimson tie, handsomely knotted above his puffed out chest, and, inevitably, he’s the center of attention. As others talk, he gives the impression of a man who struggles to control his impatience with fools. It’s great TV. His most constant claim is that he’s ahead in the polls; his most constant insult that his opponents are losers — the ultimate American insult. They are stupid.

Trump’s performance will often feel more real than a serious debate about foreign policy. [People] like it the way they like a sportsman who throws all his skill and aggression into the fray and comes out on top.

He stopped liking John McCain when McCain lost the election. Rubio is “overrated,” a “lightweight” — “I don’t think he’s going to make it.” Rick Perry “should be forced to take an IQ test before being allowed to enter the GOP debate.”

A request for comment on another candidate’s policy is always met with a blunt comparison to himself, in which Trump inevitably comes out on top. “Bush’s message was great. His delivery was terrible. I’m beating him in the polls.” Or, “He’s a low energy individual” — another way of saying loser. And on Rubio: “Everybody is telling me Rubio is a handsome guy, I don’t think he’s handsome, not as handsome as me.”

When Trump faces a hostile journalist, he’ll seize on any opportunity to show them up as incompetent. “Spit it out,” he said when an interviewer stuttered. “Let’s see if you can.”

And this is all delivered in the most cheerful style, in the manner of a man who knows he is winning. When threatened, Trump appeals to the rules of the game, not policy issues. You weren’t born in the States, he tells Cruz, and only one of your parents was American. You aren’t eligible for office. Cruz knows this is nonsense. But Trump isn’t embarrassed: I’ll win anyway, no question.

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People like this embattled approach because it feels close to the grain of their own lives, to the struggle to win, achieve, improve their incomes, get a better car, a better house. And, actually, in this regard Trump’s performance will often feel more real than a serious debate about foreign policy. They like it the way they like a sportsman who throws all his skill and aggression into the fray and comes out on top.

The endless stream of offensive remarks just proves that Trump is beholden to no one. He campaigns with his own cash. He recognizes that life is essentially a fight. A fight that he is going to win — no, has already won.

Because even if he loses, he’ll have won. For many, the attraction to his campaign proves stronger than their allegiance to one of the many groups he has insulted. “Hispanic Trump supporter tells CNN Trump is 100 percent right in his assessment of Hispanics,” read one recent headline.

But however popular, however great the initial wave of enthusiasm, people like this don’t get elected. Corbyn will never be prime minister, nor will Grillo. Trump, at best, could be a glorious loser in a presidential election, though it’s very likely he won’t get that far. These men embody powerful collective urges that usually end up taking second place when the chips are down. They take second place because they are not practical.

Precisely because Republicans really do want to win, they will eventually retreat from their identification with a fantastically entertaining rich guy on a roll.

Precisely because Republicans really do want to win, they will eventually retreat from their identification with a fantastically entertaining rich guy on a roll, and get down to the dull business of choosing someone who might actually be able to swing 51 percent of the vote on the day.

Conversely, since winning is not as important to them, it’s very likely British Labour Party supporters will go into the next election backing a man they know to be unelectable. Because knowing he is bound to lose will actually intensify his aura of righteousness.

As for Grillo, he has long encouraged supporters to cast votes online as to whether this or that person should be excluded from his party, because they are unworthy, or in secret alliance with other parties. All too soon it will lead to the split that is the destiny of every political party in Italy. Because in the end what we’re talking here is anthropology, not politics.

Tim Parks is a novelist, writer and translator who lives in Verona, Italy. His most recent book is “The Novel: A Survival Skill” (Oxford University Press, 2015).