Obedience: The Backbone of Society

The televisions were already on before anyone woke up.

They always were.

Morning light crept through the blinds while the same voices filled the room, steady, practiced, endlessly certain. Headlines rolled across the bottom of the screen. Markets. Conflicts. Policy updates. Warnings. Talking heads debating what people should think, what they should fear, what they should accept. The cadence never changed. Only the topics rotated. Somewhere between the advertisements and the breaking alerts, life quietly adjusted itself around whatever new rule had been announced overnight.

Outside, the city moved the way it always did. Traffic flowed. Coffee shops opened. People stood in lines staring at their phones, scrolling through feeds that delivered outrage, tragedy, humor, and distraction in perfectly timed cycles. No one stopped the rhythm because the rhythm had become normal. Being watched was normal. Being tracked was normal. Being told that new restrictions were necessary for safety, for stability, for the greater good had become as routine as checking the weather.

Down the street, the old church still opened its doors every Sunday, though the sermons had changed over the years. The language sounded softer now, more modern, but the theme felt familiar. Trust authority. Stay orderly. Do not question the systems placed above you. Verses were read about obedience, about submitting to governing powers, about the danger of chaos when individuals believed their own judgment mattered more than institutional guidance. Many listened without resistance. Some even found comfort in it. The world felt unpredictable, and being told to simply follow the structure made life feel easier.

Later that afternoon, a public announcement played across every major network. A new compliance system would begin rolling out in phases. It would monitor behavioral patterns in digital spaces to identify individuals who might pose future risks to social stability. Participation would be automatic. Those flagged for irregular activity could face temporary travel limitations or communication reviews until cleared by the system (hello Minority Report). Officials described it as a minor adjustment, a logical step in maintaining a safer society. Commentators nodded in agreement. Most viewers barely reacted.

Because none of it felt shocking anymore.

People had been conditioned slowly, incrementally, to accept each new layer of oversight the same way they accepted software updates on their phones. Terms changed. Policies expanded. Privacy narrowed. Life continued. The system grew heavier without ever feeling sudden enough to trigger alarm. Each step was small. Each step was reasonable. Each step was explained as necessary.

That evening, in a crowded subway car filled with silent passengers staring at glowing screens, one person read the announcement again, this time more slowly. The words looked different when they were not rushed past. Monitor behavior. Flag irregular patterns. Restrict movement. Temporary compliance review. The language was polite, almost gentle, yet the meaning sat heavier the longer they stared at it.

They looked up from the screen and scanned the car.

No one else seemed to care. Some passengers watched short videos. Others scrolled through shopping apps. A few had already clicked the acceptance button on the mandatory update notice that had appeared earlier in the day. The train rattled forward, carrying everyone deeper into the routine of a world that rarely paused long enough to question itself.

A quiet unease settled in the observer’s chest, not dramatic, not loud, just persistent. For the first time in years, instead of dismissing the feeling, they allowed the question to surface fully.

What if the system only works because we stopped asking where it is leading us?

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Once a person truly allows themselves to question one thing, they rarely stop at just one.

Because when you look honestly, the pattern is not subtle. It is built into nearly every major institution that shapes modern life.

Education is the first place most of us learn how the system actually works, even if nobody says it out loud. We are told school exists to expand our minds, to cultivate curiosity, to help young people discover their talents and strengths. That is the marketing version. The operational version is very different. Most education systems function like long-term behavioral conditioning centers. Children enter naturally curious, naturally rebellious, naturally creative, and within a few years they are trained to sit when told, speak when permitted, memorize assigned material, and repeat it back exactly the way authority expects to hear it.

Grades reward compliance more than understanding. Deviate from the approved method and you can still be marked wrong even if your reasoning is brilliant. Ask uncomfortable questions too often and you become “disruptive.” Move outside the standardized pacing and you are corrected until you fall back in line. Creativity becomes something tolerated only when it does not interfere with uniformity, because uniformity is easier to manage at scale. That is not accidental design. It produces predictable behavioral outcomes. Maybe, as a parent, it’s time to stop asking what’s “wrong” with your child and start asking what’s wrong with the system you keep placing them in — because a lot of the time the problem isn’t the kid, it’s the environment slowly squeezing the life out of who they actually are.

And you’re enabling it.

Then society pretends to be surprised when adults hesitate to question authority, when people instinctively look for instructions before taking action, when independent thinkers feel rare. You do not spend twelve to sixteen years conditioning people to follow structures and then magically expect fearless independent thought to appear on graduation day. The system did exactly what it was structured to do. It created individuals who know how to function efficiently inside frameworks they did not build, and who often feel deeply uncomfortable stepping outside them.

Religion reinforces that same obedience conditioning, but at a level that reaches directly into identity itself. Not spirituality. Spiritual searching is powerful and deeply human. Institutional religion, however, especially large centralized religious organizations with massive financial portfolios and global influence, learned long ago that if you convince people their connection to the divine must pass through your leadership structure, your interpretation, and your authority chain, you create loyalty that is almost impossible to break. When those teachings are introduced from early childhood, they do not feel like external doctrine later in life. They feel like personal truth.

These institutions accumulate enormous wealth, vast land ownership, political influence, global administrative networks, and leadership hierarchies that operate with the same strategic precision as multinational corporations. Yet followers are conditioned to treat them as though they exist outside the same human power dynamics found everywhere else. Question a government and people applaud skepticism. Question a corporation and people call it accountability. Question powerful religious leadership and suddenly it becomes offensive, as though authority wrapped in sacred language somehow stops being human authority.

Names surface in investigations. Associations appear in document releases. The LDS Church appearing anywhere near the Epstein document orbit does not automatically prove wrongdoing, but let’s be honest — being mentioned anywhere in the vicinity of something that dark is not the kind of connection any institution wants under public scrutiny, and the very fact that it raises eyebrows shows how serious the surrounding allegations are.

I was LDS once. Then I saw it for what it was.
I discuss some in: “Beyond the Illusion: Awakening the Infinite Within”
(They’ll get their own full article soon enough).

Yet many of the faithful will instinctively look away, because it is uncomfortable. The idea that an institution presented as divinely guided could even be mentioned in proximity to a network accused of horrific crimes - like the consumption of children- feels easier to dismiss than to examine. But discomfort does not make questions disappear. It only reveals how tightly identity can become wrapped around belief. When identity fuses with ideology, critical thinking often gets replaced by automatic defense. Emotional loyalty steps in where curiosity should be, and protecting the institution begins to matter more than honestly evaluating the information sitting in front of us. You call yourself faithful. I see someone so afraid of questioning authority that you’d rather defend the system than grow a spine and face uncomfortable truth.

When your ideology becomes your identity, you stop thinking and start defending, and at that point you are not protecting truth, you are protecting your comfort. If you refuse to examine evidence, refuse to question leadership, and refuse to confront corruption simply because the institution wears sacred branding, then you are not being faithful, you are being manipulated — and yeah, that makes you a fucking idiot whether you like hearing that or not.

Faith does not require billion-dollar administrative empires. Faith does not require secrecy structures. Faith does not require centralized wealth and unquestioned authority.

Institutions do.

Any organization that controls enormous influence, enormous resources, and massive loyal followings will attract individuals who want power. That is not cynicism. That is human behavioral history repeating itself again and again.

Politics plays its role by keeping the population emotionally engaged in visible conflicts that rarely disturb the deeper operational structures. Two sides argue loudly, media cycles amplify every cultural disagreement, citizens invest emotional energy fighting neighbors over ideological identities, and behind the scenes the same financial influence networks continue funding campaigns across party lines. Elections feel dramatic because the presentation is dramatic, but long-term economic and geopolitical strategies often remain remarkably consistent regardless of which party holds office. The spectacle keeps attention focused horizontally, where citizens clash with each other, rather than vertically, where the deeper mechanisms of influence operate.

The financial system reinforces everything else by ensuring that most people remain too busy maintaining survival to question the structure itself. Work consumes the majority of waking hours. Bills, debt obligations, and rising living costs create constant pressure. Stability becomes dependent on continuous participation, and stepping outside the established framework becomes financially risky enough that most people never attempt it. That is not a visible cage, but it is an effective one. When survival demands constant attention, reflection becomes a luxury.

Government authority expands gradually within this environment, policy by policy, regulation by regulation, always framed as necessary (hello Patriot Act), always temporary, always introduced in increments small enough that people adapt before recognizing how much the framework has grown. Surveillance systems expand under the language of safety. Monitoring expands under the language of efficiency. Compliance expectations grow under the language of responsibility. No dramatic takeover is required when expansion occurs slowly enough that normalization happens in real time. And when someone like Edward Snowden risks everything to expose government overreach, you don’t stop to ask whether what he revealed matters — you rush to label him a traitor, because it’s easier to defend the system than to admit the system may have had a leash around your neck the entire fucking time.

Education conditions compliance. Institutional religion conditions deference. Politics conditions division. Financial pressure conditions dependency. Government expansion conditions normalization of oversight. Layer after layer, system after system, behavior becomes shaped in ways that make questioning feel uncomfortable even when questioning is exactly what awareness requires.

Systems built by human beings are not untouchable laws of nature. They persist because people continue participating in them, often without realizing how thoroughly their behavior has been shaped to maintain those structures. The moment individuals begin thinking independently, examining authority instead of assuming it, and refusing to defend institutions solely because they have existed for generations, the appearance of permanence begins to fracture. Systems that depend on obedience remain powerful only as long as people believe obedience is inevitable.

So maybe the real question isn’t whether the system is too powerful to challenge. Maybe the real question is why more people aren’t furious about what is already coming into the light. Information surfaces, names appear, networks of corruption get dragged into public view, and most people still wake up the next morning, pour their coffee, clock in, and carry on like nothing happened. At some point you have to ask yourself why. Are we so conditioned, so exhausted, or so comfortable in our routines that we can watch moral lines get crossed in real time and still convince ourselves it isn’t our problem?

Until then, it’s hard not to assume you’re just another spineless “faithful,” someone whose obedience to whatever narrative gets shoved down your throat matters more than protecting the people who can’t protect themselves. Because if your outrage were real — if your moral compass actually worked — you wouldn’t just shake your head and go back to your routine. And let’s be honest… what would you do anyway? Rescue those kids from the Epstein ring just to march them straight back into the same system that trained you not to question a damn thing in the first place?

To those waking up, asking the hard questions, getting rightfully pissed, and actually changing something in your own lives instead of pretending everything is fine — I salute you. You’re the ones willing to look reality in the face and refuse to play along with the script just because it’s comfortable. To everyone else who’s still too afraid to question what’s right in front of you, don’t worry — I’m sure there’s a few spare backbones buried somewhere on one of the elite’s estates.

Maybe we can dig one up for you.