Why Do Laws Exist? To Protect or to Control?

Have you ever wondered who the law is truly written for? Is it made for people or to govern them?

If every rule limits freedom, then where does the idea of a truly free person stand?

Throughout history, humanity has created laws to escape chaos. Order brought a sense of safety, protection, stability, and unity. Yet, at the same time, these very laws confined individual freedom, placing human behaviour into the neat boxes of “right” and “wrong.”
But here lies the paradox: law does not always mean justice. Sometimes, laws serve the interests of the powerful, the privileged, while teaching the powerless how to obey. In such moments, the so-called “lawbreaker” may not be a threat to society at all, but rather a conscience rising in the name of justice.

This article asks a timeless question: was law created to preserve social order, or is it the most sophisticated way of controlling human freedom under the guise of protecting it?
In exploring this question, we will look through philosophical, social, and ethical lenses to uncover what lies beneath the concept of law itself.
From the moment we are born, we seek order. To shield ourselves from the chaos of both nature and society, we draw boundaries, assign names, and establish prohibitions. The most refined form of these efforts is what we call law.
In many ways, law is humanity’s shelter—built not against others, but against our own fear of chaos.

In ancient times, those who held power also defined the rules. Yet over time, humans realized that the rule of a single authority does not guarantee stability. It often breeds new forms of violence. This insight gave rise to the idea of the social contract, a concept philosophically developed by Thomas Hobbes, John Locke, and Jean-Jacques Rousseau. Each explained humanity’s transition from a state of nature to organized society differently, but they shared a central idea: law exists to restrain chaos.

For Hobbes, human nature is brutal. His famous phrase, “homo homini lupus est”—man is a wolf to man—illustrates this starkly. Hobbes argued that without a strong sovereign, everyone would be at war with everyone else. To avoid this, people willingly surrender part of their freedom to the state in exchange for security. In this sense, law becomes an institutionalized form of humanity’s own fear (Leviathan, 1651).
Locke, however, had a different view. He saw humans as rational beings, endowed with a sense of equality and liberty. For Locke, law does not restrict freedom. It protects it. He famously wrote that “freedom is the right to do anything except that which harms others” (Two Treatises of Government, 1689). This principle later became a cornerstone of modern democratic legal systems.
Rousseau added a more romantic and civic dimension. In his work The Social Contract, he observed, “Man is born free, and everywhere he is in chains.” For Rousseau, law should reflect the will of the people. Otherwise, it serves injustice. From this perspective, law is not only a tool of order but also a bearer of moral responsibility.
The ideas of these philosophers, in a way, became the voice of their time. They showed that law does not descend from the heavens, nor is it etched in stone. It is the product of human reason and human fear. Without a pursuit of justice, law itself would not exist.

Today, we still wrestle with the same question:
Does law protect humanity, or does it train people to obey?
When law functions solely to punish, perhaps it has drifted from its original purpose. It ceases to serve order and instead becomes a tool of control.
History often reminds us that humanity’s greatest advances have not been made by those who obeyed the law, but by those who resisted it. For laws, at times, protect not justice but only the interests of the powerful. In such moments, conscience replaces codified authority.
Take, for example, Mahatma Gandhi. By defying British colonial laws, he introduced the world to the concept of civil disobedience. For Gandhi, when a law compels injustice, it loses its moral authority. He wrote: “To disobey an unjust law is a moral duty” (The Story of My Experiments with Truth, 1927). By breaking the law, he did not become a criminal. On the contrary, he demonstrated the moral power of justice to the world.
In the same vein, Martin Luther King Jr. spoke out against injustice. While fighting racist laws in the United States, he famously stated:
“An individual who breaks an unjust law must do so openly, lovingly, and with a willingness to accept the penalty for in obeying just laws, one fulfills a moral duty, but in obeying unjust laws, one betrays conscience” (Letter from Birmingham Jail, 1963).
King’s protest was not a call for chaos. It was an effort to rebuild society. For him, law is legitimate only when it embodies justice.

These examples reveal a persistent tension: sometimes law and justice conflict. The law tells us “do not do this,” while conscience whispers “do not remain silent.”
This confrontation is a measure of humanity’s moral maturity. Without it, women would not have won the right to vote, slavery might not have been abolished, and freedom of expression as we know it would not exist.
The lesson is clear: opposing the law is not always an act of rebellion and it can be an act of conscience. When law distances humanity from justice, defying it is not disobedience, but a moral imperative.

Yet questioning the law is not a call for chaos. On the contrary, it deepens our understanding of its essence. Society should accept laws not out of fear, but out of a belief in justice. When law becomes a display of power over people rather than a safeguard for them, obedience alone is not enough, reflection is required. Philosopher Henry David Thoreau put it succinctly:
“The duty of a man is not to serve the government blindly, but to remain true to his conscience” (Civil Disobedience, 1849).

In the 21st century, the law is no longer confined to courtrooms, judicial decisions, or constitutional clauses. It has taken invisible forms: in boardrooms, social media rules, internet algorithms, and even in the “terms of service” agreements on our phones. We accept it every day, agree to it, sign it often without noticing.

Today, we frequently hear about the “supremacy of law,” but few consider whose hands truly wield this power. When law is not independent, it is not justice speaking. It is authority. Law should emerge from the ethics of the people, not exist for people to obey. The most dangerous scenario arises when law ceases to protect humans and begins to define them: who is considered a “criminal,” who is “dangerous,” who qualifies as a “good citizen”. All determined within the social framework of law. Law no longer governs humans; it shapes the very concept of humanity.

Thus, the central question of our age becomes clear: is law a symbol of justice, or a mask for power? If law serves only the interests of authority, then “order” is merely a euphemism for control. Yet, when law is guided by conscience, it truly becomes the pillar of society. In today’s world, the line between law, justice, and technology is razor-thin. While law should lead people toward freedom, it sometimes turns them into silent, obedient, invisible beings within a digital cage. Amid all this, the same question persists: does law protect us, or does it govern us?

Perhaps the answer lies within each individual’s conscience because the final judgment of law exists there.

Nigar Shahverdiyeva