The Hidden Language of Control: How Our Words Reveal Our Deepest Compulsion

‘Head of Software’ is the Most Ridicu... Getting Your OATs

The Hidden Language of Control: How Our Words Reveal Our Deepest Compulsion

Language is more than communication—it’s a window into the human psyche. And if you listen carefully to how we speak, one truth emerges with startling clarity: humans are desperately, fundamentally driven by a need for control. Our words don’t just convey information; they reveal a species-wide obsession with managing, directing, and commanding other people.

The evidence isn’t hidden in obscure linguistic theory. It’s right there in everyday speech, woven so deeply into our communication that we barely notice it. Yet these patterns speak to something profound about human nature—our relentless drive to impose our will on others.

The Command Impulse: When Every Sentence Becomes a Directive

Observe casual conversation for just five minutes, and the pattern becomes clear: we can’t stop giving commands, even when we don’t mean to.

‘Take the M25.’ ‘Try the salmon.’ ‘Don’t forget to ring your mother.’ ‘You should really watch that documentary.’ ‘Let me know what you think.’

These aren’t necessarily authoritarian statements—they’re often well-meaning advice or suggestions. But linguistically, they’re structured as imperatives, positioning the speaker as the director and the listener as the directed. We’ve made the command our default mode of interaction.

Even more telling is how we disguise commands as questions: ‘Could you pass the salt?’ isn’t really asking about your ability—it’s a polite directive. ‘Wouldn’t it be better if we left early?’ isn’t seeking information about objective superiority—it’s a masked attempt to control the decision.

The frequency of these patterns reveals something profound: we’re so oriented towards control that we’ve made direction-giving a basic social reflex. In business and other organisations, this impulse is so recognised that we’ve formalised it as ‘command and control’ structures—explicitly acknowledging that organisational life is fundamentally about some people directing others. What’s revealing is how naturally this formal control translates into everyday language, even in supposedly casual, egalitarian interactions.

The Certainty Addiction: How We Weaponise ‘Obviously’ and ‘Clearly’

Our language is peppered with certainty markers that often reveal not knowledge, but a desperate need to appear in control of information:

‘Obviously, we need to increase the budget.’ ‘Clearly, this is the best approach.’ ‘It’s obvious that she’s not interested.’ ‘Anyone can see that this won’t work.’

These words don’t describe actual obviousness—they’re attempts to control the conversation by making disagreement seem foolish. They’re linguistic power plays, designed to shut down discussion and position the speaker as someone who sees what others miss.

The overuse of certainty language often inversely correlates with actual certainty. The more someone insists something is ‘obvious’, the more they’re trying to control others’ perceptions of a situation that may not be obvious at all.

The Moral Authority Gambit: When Ethics Becomes Coercion

Perhaps no control mechanism is more effective than moral language. We transform personal preferences into ethical imperatives, making resistance seem like character deficiency:

‘Any decent person would help.’ ‘You should do the right thing here.’ ‘It’s only fair that you contribute.’ ‘A good parent would never allow that.’ ‘What would your mother think?’

These constructions are particularly powerful because they position the speaker as morally superior whilst making disagreement feel like moral failing. The person isn’t just declining a request—they’re revealing themselves to be indecent, unfair, or disappointing to deceased relatives.

Religious and cultural values become weapons: ‘That’s not very Christian of you.’ ‘You’re better than that.’ ‘I expected more from someone like you.’ The speaker claims moral authority whilst avoiding direct commands, transforming ‘I want you to do X’ into ‘Good people do X.’

This pattern reveals how readily we conscript ethics into service of control, turning moral frameworks into tools for compelling compliance rather than guides for personal reflection.

The moral authority gambit often employs what might be called the F.O.G.S. of domination: Fear, Obligation, Guilt, and Shame. These emotional states become instruments of control, embedded in our everyday language:

Fear: ‘If you don’t take this seriously, you’ll regret it.’ ‘People who ignore this kind of advice usually end up…’

Obligation: ‘After everything I’ve done for you…’ ‘You owe it to yourself.’ ‘Think about what you owe your family.’

Guilt: ‘I’m disappointed in you.’ ‘You’re letting everyone down.’ ‘How can you be so selfish?’

Shame: ‘You’re better than this.’ ‘I can’t believe someone like you would…’ ‘What’s wrong with you?’

These aren’t mere emotional expressions—they’re systematic tools that domination systems use to maintain compliance. Each F.O.G.S. element transforms resistance from a reasonable response into evidence of personal inadequacy, creating psychological pressure that often proves more effective than direct commands.

Conditional Control: The ‘If-Then’ Manipulation

One of the most revealing patterns is how we use conditional language to exert control over other people’s behaviour:

‘If you really loved me, you would…’ ‘If you want to succeed, you need to…’ ‘If you’re smart, you’ll…’ ‘If I were you, I would…’

These constructions are masterpieces of disguised control. They present the speaker’s desires as logical conclusions rather than personal preferences. They transform ‘I want you to do X’ into ‘Intelligent people do X’—a much more powerful form of influence.

The conditional format provides plausible deniability whilst maximising control. The speaker isn’t technically giving commands—they’re just pointing out ‘logical’ connections. But the effect is to make resistance seem illogical or uncaring.

The Expertise Claim: How ‘I Know’ Becomes ‘You Must’

We constantly assert expertise as a form of control, often in areas where expertise is questionable or irrelevant:

‘I know teenagers, and…’ ‘Having been in business for twenty years…’ ‘As someone who’s been married…’ ‘I know this neighbourhood…’

These phrases aren’t just sharing experience—they’re claiming authority. They’re saying ‘my experience gives me the right to direct your thinking or behaviour.’ The pattern reveals how desperately we want to move from the powerless position of opinion-holder to the powerful position of controlling expert.

Even more telling is how we extend these claims: ‘Trust me on this one.’ ‘Take it from someone who knows.’ ‘You’ll thank me later.’ These phrases explicitly ask others to surrender their own judgement in favour of our supposed superior knowledge.

The Resistance to ‘I Don’t Know’

Perhaps the most revealing evidence of our control obsession is how rarely we admit ignorance. ‘I don’t know’ may be the most honest phrase in human language, yet we avoid it like a confession of weakness.

Instead, we offer speculation as fact: ‘I think it’s probably…’ becomes ‘It’s probably…’ becomes ‘It’s…’ We hedge: ‘From what I understand…’ ‘It seems to me…’ ‘My sense is…’ All of these maintain the illusion that we have some special access to information.

The fear of admitting ignorance reveals the core of our control craving: the terrifying possibility that we might not be in charge, that we might not know what we’re doing, that the universe might be fundamentally beyond our command.

The Deep Psychology of Linguistic Control

These patterns aren’t quirks of language—they’re symptoms of a deeper human condition. Our need for control is so fundamental that it shapes not just what we say, but how we say it. Language becomes our primary tool for imposing order on a chaotic world.

But there’s a deeper dimension to consider: the connection between control and violence. The World Health Organisation’s definition of violence includes “the intentional use of physical force or power” against others, explicitly recognising that power—fundamentally a form of control—can itself be violent. When we examine our linguistic control patterns through this lens, they take on a darker significance.

Scholar Walter Wink identified what he called ‘Domination Systems’—structures characterised by hierarchy, authoritarianism, and the enforcement of status quo through systematic control. These systems don’t require overt physical violence; they operate through what he termed ‘the myth of redemptive violence’, convincing participants that without these control structures, chaos would ensue.

Our everyday language patterns mirror these domination structures in miniature. When we use certainty markers to shut down disagreement, when we disguise commands as logical conclusions, when we claim expertise to direct others’ behaviour, we’re enacting the same fundamental dynamic: using power over others to maintain control. This isn’t necessarily conscious or malicious, but it reveals how deeply embedded domination patterns are in human communication.

The linguist and activist Marshall Rosenberg observed that ‘classifying and judging people promotes violence’, arguing that at the root of much violence—whether verbal, psychological, or physical—is thinking that attributes conflict to wrongness in one’s adversaries. Our certainty language and expertise claims do exactly this: they position disagreement as foolishness and non-compliance as defiance of obvious truth.

We live in an interconnected, unpredictable world where most outcomes are beyond individual control. Yet our language still reflects the mindset of creatures who believe they can command their environment through the force of will and the precision of words.

The Liberation in Linguistic Honesty

Recognising these patterns opens possibilities for both linguistic honesty and psychological freedom. Uncertainty language becomes an option: ‘I hope’ instead of ‘I will’. Questions replace declarations: ‘What do you think?’ instead of ‘Obviously…’

This isn’t about becoming passive or indecisive. It’s about observing the difference between collaborative and controlled communication, between uncertain and predetermined approaches, and between adaptation and domination roles.

The irony is that releasing linguistic control often gives us more actual influence. People respond better to authentic uncertainty than to false certainty, to genuine questions than to disguised commands, to honest ignorance than to pretended expertise.

Conclusion: The Words That Set Us Free

Our language patterns reveal a species caught between the illusion of control and the reality of interdependence. Every command, every certainty claim, every conditional manipulation betrays our deep anxiety about our place in an uncontrollable universe. But more than that, they reveal our participation in what Walter Wink called domination systems—structures that attempt – and most often fail – to maintain order through control rather than collaboration.

This isn’t merely about better communication etiquette. When we recognise these linguistic patterns as manifestations of domination culture, we begin to see how individual speech habits connect to larger systems of psychological and social violence. The manager who uses certainty language to shut down subordinates’ questions, the expert who leverages conditional statements to manipulate behaviour, the friend who disguises commands as logical conclusions—all are participating in the same fundamental dynamic that creates what Gandhi’s grandson called ‘passive violence’: the conscious failure to ensure others’ psychological well-being and development.

But awareness is the first step towards freedom. Recognition of linguistic patterns as symptoms of control compulsion rather than reflections of actual authority opens space for what domination theorists call ‘partnership’ approaches—communication characterised by egalitarian, mutually respectful relationships that value empathy and understanding over compliance and control.

The most powerful language might simply be the language of genuine connection, authentic uncertainty, and shared exploration of a world none of us truly commands. Recognition of compulsive control patterns reveals not just different ways of speaking, but fundamentally different ways of relating—ways that honour the humanity and agency of others rather than seeking to direct and dominate them.

In the end, our craving for control, revealed so clearly in our speech patterns, may point us towards something more valuable: the wisdom to know what we can and cannot control, the courage to speak truthfully about both, and the humility to engage with others as equals in the human experience rather than as subjects to be managed.

Bob Marshall's Blog

Bob Marshall's profile
55 followers