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Obedience as Pathology: A Critical Re-examination of the Definition of Mental Health

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The Chariot Allegory and the Question of Mental Health
Painting by Yaron Margolin using ChatGPT’s AI-generated art tools
Plato's famous Chariot Allegory, found in his dialogue Phaedrus, portrays the human soul as a chariot drawn by two horses and guided by a charioteer.
The white horse symbolizes nobility, discipline, and our higher aspirations.
The black horse, by contrast, embodies desire, impulse, and base appetites.
While the white horse soars upward toward truth and goodness, the black horse pulls everything down toward the earth.
The charioteer represents reason — the rational mind that struggles to maintain balance and guide the soul on its path.
This timeless allegory illustrates the inner conflict within each person:
A battle between conflicting forces — between virtue and desire, between freedom and compulsion, between clarity and confusion.
And today, we ask a vital question:
When the World Health Organization (WHO) defines "mental health" —
is it calling for the taming of both horses, or is it also trying to domesticate the white horse?
Are we asked to control not only our darker impulses — but also our passionate striving, our wild longing for transcendence?
In this painting, Alcibiades takes the role of the charioteer, while Socrates and his students observe the struggle —
not from judgment, but from inquiry.
Not from fear of madness, but from reverence for the complexity of the soul.
This is not merely a philosophical image.
It is a challenge to the psychiatric establishment:
Do we seek healing — or conformity?
Do we listen to the upward call — or suppress it in the name of "stability"?, by contrast, embodies desire, impulse, and base appetites.
While the white horse soars upward toward truth and goodness, the black horse pulls everything down toward the earth.
The charioteer represents reason — the rational mind that struggles to maintain balance and guide the soul on its path.
This timeless allegory illustrates the inner conflict within each person:
A battle between conflicting forces — between virtue and desire, between freedom and compulsion, between clarity and confusion.
And today, we ask a vital question:
When the World Health Organization (WHO) defines "mental health" —
is it calling for the taming of both horses, or is it also trying to domesticate the white horse?
Are we asked to control not only our darker impulses — but also our passionate striving, our wild longing for transcendence?
In this painting, Alcibiades takes the role of the charioteer, while Socrates and his students observe the struggle —
not from judgment, but from inquiry.
Not from fear of madness, but from reverence for the complexity of the soul.
This is not merely a philosophical image.
It is a challenge to the psychiatric establishment:
Do we seek healing — or conformity?
Do we listen to the upward call — or suppress it in the name of "stability"?

English, Deutsch, עברית.

When obedience is considered healthy, and rebellion is viewed as a disorder—an urgent question arises:
Is society truly healthy when it suppresses its individuals?

In modern society, obedience is often regarded, even implicitly, as a key to order and stability, while rebellion and resistance are classified as disorders or unnecessary risks. This raises the question whether the subtle restraint—or even self-conditioning—of personal creativity and dissent, especially in individuals who contribute to society but are seen as “small heads,” is not a symptom of illness but rather a social pathology. This article reconsiders the definition of mental health, aiming to understand whether a well-functioning society is one that suppresses individual uniqueness and freedom.

  1. Introduction: A Critique of the WHO Definition

The World Health Organization’s (WHO) definition of mental health appears, at first glance, as embracing balance, adaptability, and social contribution—ostensibly reflecting the pinnacle of human well-being. Yet beneath this language of “health” lies a persistent ideology: those who do not conform, adapt, and fulfill their social roles are deemed “unhealthy.”

Is this a therapeutic definition—or a moral judgment?
Or perhaps a direct continuation of obedience education that began millennia ago in Mesopotamia and Egypt, passed through Greece and Europe, and was codified anew during the Middle Ages—a time when it was "certain" that the sun revolved around the earth?

In other words:
Is mental health internal freedom—or obedience to the needs of society, the establishment, and the state?

Painting by Yaron Margolin, assisted by ChatGPT AI
  1. The Man Who Carries the Door

Mental health—logically—requires not obedience, but rather the ability to carry a burden.
At the start of the journey, even when the weight is heavy—there is movement forward.

“Dawn breaks from a forged prison, locked and darkened.”
— From the poem The Man Who Carries the Door

The more I contemplate the WHO’s definition of mental health as “a state in which a person is aware of their abilities, copes with normal life stresses, functions productively, and contributes to society,” the more it strikes me as a traumatic text.
Yes, it may seem utilitarian, even moderate—but at its core, it is coercive: it does not ask what is good for the person, but what is useful to them.

So is social functioning a measure of health—or a measure of surrender to societal power?

The poem The Man Who Carries the Door and its accompanying image offer a different vision:
A figure walks, bearing a heavy load above them.
They do not discard their past, erase their roots, or rebel merely for the sake of rebellion—
but they move forward.
They leave the prison behind—a prison that once demanded obedience.
There is a moment in a person’s life when obedience cracks, and obedience disorder becomes clear:
The unspoken barrier in the path of recovery trembles.

This moment is decisive:
Which way will the person turn?
It is a crucial stage.
The door is still carried overhead, its weight heavy—like the iron gates that once closed the city [source].
Yet, it is possible to breathe.
The prison is behind.

Aspasia – Full of Curiosity, Teacher of Wisdom and Freedom. Illustration: Yaron Margolin with the help of ChatGPT-AI
Aspasia stands as a shining example of the power of curiosity and the extraordinary cultivation of life skills – both within herself and in those around her: Socrates, Pericles – in ancient Greece.
Curiosity was the nourishment of her soul – through it, Aspasia inspired in her students the birth of clear concepts and independent thinking.
This is how education looked at its origin in ancient Greece:
as Yaron Margolin envisions it – a body in motion, hair carried by the wind, eyes meeting the student’s gaze – not as a vessel to be filled, but as a co-creator in a living process of understanding.

A New Vision for Mental Health

Not the erasure of culture—but walking with it, even when it is heavy and painful.
Not anger, righteous rage, or nostalgia—but present pain and courageous endurance.

Mental health is no longer measured by obedience or conformity, but by internal freedom, conscious action from within pain, courage, inspiration, curiosity, and the development of new capabilities.
A healthy person is functional—not because they meet society’s expectations, but because they grow within—and sometimes break through—them.
Not as a rebel, but as one who carries a door to open it—if it is part of a wall built around them—from inside, into their own life.

Obedience Disorder

As a specialist in kidney recovery, I meet daily with people trapped in the destructive cycle of obedience disorder.
This closed loop often leads to illness itself. It relies on ignorance, ignorance that touches fear and anxiety, full of superstitions—and a blind rush to the abyss that carries no light and is called “I like it” in kidney disease, or “I love you” on a nephrologist’s recommendation, or sometimes simply “but the kindergarten teacher said so.”
In obedience disorder, no one stops to ask: “Did Professor Nephrologist ever help at all?”
This presence breeds absurdities: for example, a life-saving supplement derived from desert root is rejected simply because it lacks kosher certification.

We all want to stop, to scream—the light is not there. But obedience disorder among kidney patients, for example, only reveals itself in the second month of dialysis, when death arrives and all the nephrologist’s advice cries out to the heavens as if it never helped. The pain is immense, and obedience disorder prevents escape from it. Because the agency is handed over to authority and society.

In the Shadow of the Summit – A Sketch of Hannibal, Who Bore the Weight of Vision"Painting by Yaron Margolin, assisted by ChatGPT AI

This article is a call for renewed, critical yet hopeful reflection:
A reconsideration of the concept of freedom, of true light, of the possibility to heal—
Through obedience, when authority without knowledge fails, only through knowledge, inquiry, truth, and belief in human freedom and rights.

Can we speak of mental health when it rests on myths, illusions, and basic illogic, and figures of authority?
Or must it rely on a foundation of truth, freedom, and granting meaning to human life?

Mental Health Is Not Measured Only by the Bottom Line of "How Much You Got Done,"

But by the Courage to Stop, Pause, and Reflect.

A healthy person is one who allows themselves to truly meet their life—
Not rushing to publish conclusions, but letting them move within until each finds its proper place.

  1. What Does the Mind Need to Function as a Healthy Space?

A healthy mental space is not born from a quick reaction, nor from automatic obedience to what is expected. It is born from reflection.
Not fleeing into conventions, nor surrendering to sadness or pleasure—but full presence before reality.
Not just "functioning," but recognition.

A healthy person is one who has learned to listen to the wise inner voice—even when that voice is quiet, humble, swallowed in the noise of impulses, temptations, and distractions. Sometimes, precisely what does not promise comfort, but truth, is what fills life with meaning.

Leonardo da Vinci said that a painter must learn to see—not just what appears to the eye, but what bursts from within the subject.
Likewise, a person must learn to see themselves: their "being," the possibility to live from choice rather than necessity.

The Russian writer Nikolai Gogol, in Dead Souls, described exactly this gap between desire and execution, between intention and habit:

"Every day you think: tomorrow I will start a new life, tomorrow I will start a diet—but nothing… and so we all do."
The person flees from themselves, as if someone else could live their life better than they.

Elsewhere, through the figure of the "Chief Sergeant," he holds up a mirror:

"What are you laughing at? You’re laughing at yourself."

Gogol powerfully identified self-alienation—the experience of a person watching their life from the outside as if it is not theirs.
This is the same alienation that Dostoevsky recognized as the fear of the new word:

"What do people fear most? A new step, a new word of their own—they fear it more than anything."

And as Jung attested, there is no other way to grow but through it:

"He who looks outside, dreams. He who looks inside, awakens."

Because fear of decision, the pain involved in change, is an inseparable part of inner maturation.
Here lies a profound educational call:
The role of a healthy education system is not to tame, but to enable.
To enable a person to face their truth and stand before it.

Trust in a person's ability to stand in truth is the foundation of mental resilience.
It is not cold endurance, but a deep sensitivity that leads to clarity.
It is the ability to distinguish between life itself and the image built upon it.

A healthy mind is not quiet because it has no storms—
But because it is grounded in itself.
It lives from an inner movement of curiosity, the joy of encounter, embracing its joys even in the face of processed pain from distance—together with life itself.
And when it sinks—there is also the power to rise and move again.

Because the healthy mind does not settle for definitions imposed on it—
It seeks to understand itself, to move into the depth of its life, and to return from there truly alive.

  1. A Supportive Environment—or a System for Taming the Person?

A person is a social being.
This fact is well known—and well exploited.
From a very young age, a person is exposed to sophisticated (and sometimes brutal) pressure to obey, conform, and avoid standing out.
For many, society does not become supportive ground but a framework for taming.
This has both good and bad aspects.
Institutions—family, school, media, healthcare—tend to favor obedience over inquiry.

A healthy person needs variety—and sometimes even the opposite of that.
They need a space where uniqueness is recognized and valued, not feared.
An environment where questions are valued as depth, not disturbance, where crisis is seen as a natural part of development, not a personal failure.

As echoed in Erich Fromm's writings:

"Conformist society prefers the obedient mediocre to the thinking individual. This is the root of alienation."

This quote by Erich Fromm reflects his sharp critique of modern culture, especially as expressed in his book Escape from Freedom (1941).

And as Hannah Arendt warned:

"Evil is often born not out of hatred—but simply out of thoughtlessness."

If the environment pushes obedience, the person internalizes that they must "silence" their unique voice, their essence, to survive.
But if it encourages growth—they learn to stand before truth even if disturbing, to rely on support that is not judgmental but illuminating, and to build within themselves a calm that is not repression but confidence.

A courageous education system does not cultivate "good" students—but living human beings.

Because a healthy society does not seek to produce "normal" citizens, but thinking, free, moral human beings—capable of listening to themselves even when it is hard, and bearing truth even when it is uncomfortable.

Painting by Yaron Margolin with the help of AI ChatGPT — Hannibal Barca.
Hannibal Barca Crossing the Alps (218 BCE)

Hannibal Barca was not just a general — he was a tragic figure carrying a stubborn vision, moral depth, a profound personal loyalty to his father and homeland, and a strategic genius who conquered the impossible.
Great artists never truly grappled with his character—Delacroix, Rubens, and Tintoretto either did not try, dared not, or lacked the capacity to bear such complexity.

I depict Barca on his white horse, moments before descending the cliff. Standing is Hannibal Barca—son of Hamilcar—who swore as a child to fight Rome until the end of days.
Behind him: a column of soldiers, elephants confronting impassable cliffs, freezing cold, and despair.
Within him: relentless perseverance, and a deep inner command—not to betray his father, nor to give up freedom.
A journey entirely of loyalty to uniqueness, with a personal sacrifice made for an idea.

In the background—three white storks spreading their wings, heralding new life, the possibility for a person to transcend fate and be reborn through decision.

It is important to note that Hannibal halted at Rome’s gates—he did not attack or destroy the city.
After his stunning victories at Trento, Trebia, and especially Cannae (216 BCE), where he almost annihilated the Roman army, Hannibal reached a position very close to the empire’s heart:
He stopped about 5 km from Rome itself—but did not enter or besiege it.

Hannibal refrained from destroying Rome out of respect for Roman civilization and in honor of his father’s memory.
This interpretation gives Hannibal’s figure a moral and philosophical dimension rarely deeply discussed in conventional historical writings.

The idea that Hannibal did not seek total revenge but recognition, reconciliation, and historical justice creates a new foundation for understanding his essence—a man who did not surrender, yet did not come to destroy.
He was not a barbarian nor a settler. A man of cultural vision, not just a general.

Hannibal stood before Rome’s gates—and did not break through (216 BCE, after the Battle of Cannae).
Not because he could not, but because he saw a culture before him.
He did not seek ruin, but recognition.
He dedicated his life to honoring his father, the general Hamilcar,
And to demanding that Rome acknowledge the greatness of Carthage.
This painting seeks to do justice to him.

Hannibal’s figure is a living reminder that mental and human health is not imitation—but deep loyalty to the inner call, even when it is the hardest of all.

📘 Chapter Three


False Concepts — A Prison That Denies Itself
(On Contraction, Narrowed Consciousness, and the Path to Health Through Precision)

"Dawn breaks forth from a false prison, locked and darkened."
— From The Man Who Carries the Door

Human suffering is not always the result of external circumstances.
Often, it arises from a mistaken interpretation of reality.

When a person perceives themselves or their world through distorted or incomplete concepts, they begin to act out of fear, guilt, and a constricted self-image.
Thus, a mental prison is formed—not of iron, but of words, false definitions, and blocking concepts.

Thinkers who studied the nature of emotion and the body — including Spinoza — identified this kind of slavery:
Not slavery to an external cause, but slavery to emotions born from partial or false knowledge.
Ideae inadequatae — inadequate ideas — are perceived as absolute truths, but in reality they prevent action, close off, contract, and sometimes even weaken life itself.

"A person who does not understand their emotions is not master of themselves, but subject to the whims of chance."
(Free adaptation from Ethics, Part 4)

When a person defines themselves through concepts born of automatic obedience, conditioning, or judgment:

"I am weak," "I am only worthy if I contribute," "I am sinful," "Slowness is stupidity," "Pain is failure" —
they begin to live within a frozen consciousness.

This prison also manifests physically:
Persistent contraction, chronic stress, reduced tissue nourishment, erosion of blood vessel walls, disruption of lymphatic and blood flow, damage to kidneys, liver, immune system, and the body’s ability to activate repair processes like PGC-1α production.

Modern science now confirms what thinkers sensed centuries ago: chronic stress raises cortisol, weakens the immune system, contributes to chronic diseases, changes tissue structure — and sometimes harms the entire system.

A false concept can paralyze.
Precisely where life seeks to flow —
it closes, freezes.

🎨 The Man Who Carries the Door
Painting by Yaron Margolin, assisted by ChatGPT AI
This man —
he does not cast the door aside.
He carries it.
Not as surrender,
nor as a wing —
but as a testimony.
His body is tense, rejected, remembering.
He moves with effort —
but not in despair.
In struggle —
but not in blindness.
This is a weight that has become self-aware.
And instead of fleeing from it — it is carried.
Because something within him called:
"Light!"

🌀 Creation Begins With Correcting the Definition

When concepts begin to change —
when false ideas are replaced by precise, adequate ideas —
something deep is released.

The power to act (virtus) returns to the person.
The power of life.
The ability to act, choose, and feel from understanding rather than blindness.

In healing, this is today called "talk therapy."
Spinoza called it "the recognition of the causes acting within us."

When a person redefines themselves not through the eyes of others, but through an honest, precise gaze unafraid of pain —
a new movement is born.

📘 Chapter Four

The way out begins precisely when a person restores to themselves the ability to observe — slowly, gradually, they begin to see again.
And precise seeing brings clarity — and clarity is the beginning of freedom.

True concepts do not leave a person passive or confused.
They generate feelings of movement, connection, and strength.
They reinforce the sense of capability, make the complex doable, and the frightening understandable.
They remind him that he can.

"True freedom is the adequate knowledge of causes, and the ability to act from reason and not from blind impulse."
(Ethics, Part 5)

When he looks at what is there — and in it — not at what others told him he is supposed to be —
he can finally ask the doctor or nephrologist:

"And your medicines — did they really help with anything?"

Thus, a beginning of movement is born.
Delicate, precise, vital.

Not an indiscriminate rebellion, not a war on identity — but precision.
A gaze willing to see pain as well, not to flee from it.
An honesty that begins to weave threads of liberation.

📘 The Man Who Carries the Door
(Introduction to Chapter Four)

This man —
he does not throw away the door.
He carries it.

Not as submission, nor as a burden.
But as a testimony.

His body is compressed, rejected, remembering.
He moves with effort — but not in despair.
In struggle — but not blindly.

It is a weight that becomes conscious of itself.
And instead of fleeing from it — he is carried by it.
Because someone inside him called out:

"Light!"

"A man is a slave, as long as he is led only by his emotions."
(Spinoza)

And he understood:
The iron on his back — is not fate.
But the result of a false concept.
Of what he was told he is.
Of what he believed he must be.

So he carries the door,
Because only one who carries —
can also open.

Yaron Margolin.

Painting by Yaron Margolin, assisted by ChatGPT AI

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I’m happy to assist and answer any question you may have.
Please use the contact methods below — this is the best way to reach me.

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