From birth to death, most people follow. They obey teachers, they nod to bosses. They bow to laws; they click “accept” without reading. And they lower their voice near police. They stay quiet at work. They endure bureaucracy. And they wait—always wait—for someone above them to approve, explain, or decide.
They are not stupid, they are not weak, they are simply trapped in a structure designed for obedience.
And although some may justify it as necessary, few ever ask: is it right?
Is this submissive–dominant arrangement, baked into every system of modern society, truly beneficial? Is there no other way to build order?
This article argues no. The submissive-dominant pattern is not just outdated—it is harmful. It distorts our morality, limits our freedom, and sustains madness. If we lived in a world without structural submission, we would not collapse into chaos. We would rise into sanity.
How domination took over – from cooperation to control
In the beginning, human societies functioned differently. Our ancestors lived in tribes. They hunted together, they gathered together, they shared decisions through long conversations. Leaders existed, but they came and went. No one held permanent power. No one gave orders every day. If a leader abused authority, others mocked him, isolated him, or ignored him entirely.
However, things changed with the rise of agriculture. Once people settled down, land became property. Property became power. Food could be stored. Surpluses could be seized. And for the first time, people had something to lose—and someone to lose it to.
To protect their stockpiles, they created guards. To justify the guards, they created myths. And soon, every powerful man became a priest, a king, or both. He no longer shared; he ordered. And he no longer negotiated. He punished.
From there, the pattern spread. Hierarchies became the default. And submission became a lifelong condition.
Religion – when God became the ultimate master
To cement hierarchy, rulers needed more than swords. They needed stories. They needed religion.
And religion delivered.
From ancient Egypt to medieval Europe, the idea of divine hierarchy justified human submission. If God ruled the heavens, then kings must rule the earth.; if angels had ranks, then humans must have classes. And if obedience to God was good, then obedience to power became sacred.
Christianity taught that slaves should obey masters. Islam demanded loyalty to rulers who “protected the faith.” Hinduism cast social status into permanent categories. Even Buddhism, despite its rejection of material wealth, organized its monks into strict orders.
As a result, faith trained people to accept domination not just as law, but as morality. To submit became a virtue. To resist became a sin.
And thus, submission embedded itself not just in politics—but in the soul.
Economic hierarchy – where money replaces kings
While religion built the moral justification for submission, capitalism turned it into routine.
In capitalist societies, the boss does not wear a crown. But he rules nonetheless. His orders decide your hours, your earnings, your holidays, your sleep, your home, your family’s diet, and your future. He owns the factory; he owns the brand. He owns your time.
Of course, this relationship is disguised as a contract. You agreed to it. You signed it. But what choice did you have?
If you say no, hunger follows, if you say no, the rent does not wait. If you say no, someone else takes your place. This is not freedom. It is submission enforced by structure, not threat.
And while the economy grows, the structure deepens. The investor does not speak to the cleaner. The CEO never hears the cashier’s opinion. The architect never listens to the construction crew. Every command moves downward. Every consequence moves upward.
War – where submission becomes lethal
Nowhere is submission more dangerous than in the military. Here, obedience is not just expected. It is absolute.
A soldier receives an order. He follows, he does not ask who benefits; he does not question the motive. And he does not see the oil contract behind the deployment, or the lobbying that shaped the mission. He marches, presses, fires, kills.
And behind him, civilians fund the entire system. They pay taxes, they swallow propaganda, they wave flags. They elect leaders who speak of peace but prepare for blood.
The war machine demands submission at every level. And when someone resists—when a whistleblower leaks, when a journalist investigates, when a citizen protests—they are treated as traitors, not truth-tellers.
In this structure, morality dies. Strategy wins.
Blocked access – submission built into every institution
In a hierarchical world, access is never guaranteed. It is filtered, managed, granted, or denied by those above.
A student cannot study unless the university approves. A patient cannot heal unless the insurance company agrees. A refugee cannot flee unless the border guard accepts. A journalist cannot publish unless the platform permits.
In each case, someone with authority decides whether you may proceed. You do not share that power. And you do not influence it. You ask, and they answer.
This gatekeeping does not improve quality. It simply protects privilege. It keeps the unapproved out; it ensures that those who obey—those who speak the language of submission—succeed.
And if you question the gatekeeper, the gate closes harder.
Madness at the top, collapse at the bottom
Submission harms both sides.
Those at the top grow arrogant. They stop listening, they believe they are smarter. They believe they deserve more. Studies in social psychology show that people in power lose empathy. They become impulsive. They distort facts to protect their status.
Those at the bottom, meanwhile, suffer quietly. Chronic stress, anxiety, depression, and burnout plague workers, students, and citizens. Not because they are unfit. But because they live without control.
This is not a minor flaw. It is a design failure. A society where one class commands and another obeys cannot remain sane.
False efficiency – how hierarchy hides stupidity
People often defend submission as necessary for efficiency. They claim it speeds things up. It avoids confusion. It delivers order.
But speed is not wisdom.
In hierarchies, information flows one way. Errors rise slowly—if at all. Innovation gets buried. Feedback disappears. Bad leaders stay in power because no one dares challenge them. Good ideas die in silence.
In contrast, systems built on equality harness more intelligence. They adapt faster. They see more, they solve problems earlier. Not because everyone agrees—but because everyone speaks.
What looks like disorder from the top is often insight from below.
Love and control – submission infects intimacy
Power does not stop at institutions. It enters homes. It shapes how people love.
Too often, one partner leads. The other adapts. One earns more. The other apologizes more. One decides. The other agrees. Even when both claim equality, their roles often reflect deeper structures of control.
Gender norms deepen this split. Women are trained to submit emotionally. Men are trained to dominate without reflection. And so, relationships repeat the power structures of society.
But real love cannot survive submission. It demands equal voice. It thrives only when both partners can speak, act, and decide without fear.
When power fades, connection begins.
What the world could be – life after submission
Now imagine a different design:
Children co-create classroom rules. Workers own their firms. Citizens draft legislation. Patients participate in hospital decisions. Couples share burdens without hierarchy. Platforms allow free speech without gatekeepers. Cities run assemblies, not closed councils.
In this world, people do not obey. They participate, they do not follow. They shape.
This is not a fantasy. Small experiments already exist. Worker cooperatives. Participatory budgeting. Horizontal education. Open science. Transparent governance.
They are not perfect. But they show what is possible when submission ends.
Sociopathological fallout – when submission poisons the streets
When people live their lives under constant control, they do not only grow quiet. They break.
Not all submission ends in obedience. Much of it explodes. What cannot be spoken turns into violence; what cannot be resisted turns inward. What cannot be changed becomes chaos.
Unemployment rises. Alcoholism spreads. Domestic abuse becomes routine. Vandalism, self-harm, school dropouts, depression, suicide—these are not random. They are symptoms of helplessness in a world where most people make no decisions and own nothing.
You can see this most clearly in urban peripheries. These are not simply poor areas. They are zones of collapsed dignity. People no longer believe that effort changes anything. They stop voting. They stop organizing. Some stop speaking at all. Others scream.
Submission does not civilize. It corrodes. When people feel invisible, they start acting out. Some join gangs. Others numb themselves with drugs. Others beat their children, just as they were once beaten by bosses or police.
In these places, the dominant are absent. But their impact remains. It is the empty fridge. The underfunded school. The job rejection. The unpaid medical bill. The sneer from the state official. All these carry the same message: you do not matter.
Society responds with moralism. It lectures the victims. It calls them lazy, aggressive, unstable. But rarely does it ask: what created these conditions? Who built this hopeless machine?
No one is born a dropout. No one dreams of addiction. These are not personal failures. They are systemic products. They are what happens when millions submit for too long—and break in the dark.
And this, too, shows us the truth: a world built on submission does not only fail quietly. It erupts.
Conclusion – domination is not destiny
The submissive–dominant relationship is not beneficial. It is destructive.
It corrupts leaders. And it damages followers. It blocks potential. It enforces silence. And worst of all, it convinces people that this madness is normal.
But domination is not destiny. It is a design. And we can design something else.
We can build systems where no one must kneel. Where access does not depend on charm or obedience; where war is not built on silence. Where love does not require control.
To do that, we must name the structure. Reject its logic. And start building from below, not from above.
Only then will the world begin to make sense. Only then will people stop being broken by systems they never chose.
Not through submission. But through solidarity.
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