The rulers of society spare no effort in maintaining control.  No matter how absurd or stifling their demands become, they tirelessly work to preserve their grip.  They insist on their benevolence, spinning illusions of guardianship, but the truth is something different.  The masses are not merely passive victims in this arrangement.  They are participants, willingly surrendering their autonomy to uphold the rule of their so-called protectors.  For every law, decree, or directive they enforce, they lean heavily on the cooperation—or at least the compliance—of the people.

The reality is simple: those in power are empty-handed without the resources willingly provided by society.  They possess no wealth, no labor, no influence independent of what the people allow.  Their authority is rooted in dependency; if society withdrew its resources and consent, the entire structure would crumble under its own weight.  As Frederick Douglass put it: If the ruler cannot stand on his own legs, let him fall.” No struggle, no violence is required to dismantle this power—only the refusal to contribute to its maintenance.

Voluntary servitude may seem prevalent, but it is not universal.  Even in an era of broad submission, a current of independence endures, an instinctive pull toward freedom that can’t be extinguished. Despite generations of conditioning, the desire for self-rule—however scarce it may become—will always persist.  This impulse is as natural as life itself, embedded deep within the human spirit, immune to any attempt to breed it out of existence.

Domestication is a slow process, and history shows that it takes generations to tame a wild creature.  Look at the evolution of the dog from its wolfish ancestors: only after centuries of selective breeding did it become the loyal companion we know today.  Humans may not be bred in the same manner, but many have been born and raised in a metaphorical cage, trained to believe that subservience is the natural state of things.  It’s a short leap to see humanity as the most domesticated of animals, molded over time to conform to invisible shackles.

For those born into this state, submission feels second nature—something more than just acceptance.  They are taught to revere their oppressors, to see them as benefactors of society.  These figures provide for them, yet every gift, every service is only possible because they first took from those who now sing their praises.  They wrap themselves in divine imagery and sanctity, as Étienne de La Boétie said, borrowing “a stray bit of divinity to bolster up their evil ways.” Their goal is to be venerated, but to break free is to recognize the illusion.

Freedom is not some distant ideal but a choice waiting to be exercised, a calling that does not fade.  The chains are visible to those who care to see, and breaking them is as simple as refusing to give them strength.