To Obey, or Not to Obey: A Lunch in Question

To Obey, or Not to Obey:  A Lunch in Question

Two great thinkers who could never have met, separated as they were by a couple of millennia, are brought together at the Meta Café and Bagel Shop, in a hypothetical exercise designed to lead mature citizen-readers into a greater understanding of themselves and become more enlightened, effective members of society.  On the one side of the table sits Plato.  He will seek to prove that a citizen is bound to obey established law, unto death if necessary, even when the law is in the wrong.  Across from the mighty Greek sits the American hero, Henry David Thoreau, who will attempt to bring down the opinion that government is effective or competent, and so is to be flouted when occasion warrants.

In the café, extra lamps are lit and joking is quieted, since the debate is to be serious and scored on the basis of reason and not anecdotal wit.  Plato uses his essay “Crito” to prove his point from antiquity.  Plato makes his case for conformity to State authority by way of a debate between Socrates and Crito.  Socrates represents Plato’s point of view.  His assertions are based on the inherent responsibility a teacher has to his students, comparing the relationship to that between a father and his children.  The law is personified as the father figure, the teacher of a family.  It is Plato’s firm belief that an influential teacher cannot abandon his principles by fleeing when persecution arises from within his own government without compromising the well-being of his students or the weight of his own teachings.

The magnitude of the issue is noted by way of a reference to the activation of the death sentence against Socrates in the arrival of a particular ship.  Socrates is calm, however, and nonchalantly says, “I suppose that the ship has come from Delos, on the arrival of which I am to die?”  Crito answers in the affirmative, “Tomorrow, Socrates, will be the last day of your life.”  Plato puts forth the idea that some people in society are the rightful leaders, and others are to be followers, by virtue of their respective abilities.  Leaders must shoulder the greater burden of responsibility, even in the face of grave threats.  Socrates informs Crito, “…when a man has reached my age, he ought not to be repining at the prospect of death.”  Crito nevertheless offers Socrates a way out; there are many who were willing to pay to secure an escape.  Socrates stubbornly refuses to sell out so quickly, and in refusing, he starts a brief and one-sided debate about the relationship between the citizen and the State, with acquiescence to an unjust sentence serving as a backdrop.

Socrates explains a vital aspect of popular democracy.  Clearly, people with more ability are more qualified to make decisions, and should at times disregard the will of the fickle mass of ignorance embodied in the citizenry.  He points out, “The other considerations which you mention, of money and loss of character, and the duty of educating children, are, I fear, only the doctrines of the multitude, who would be as ready to call people to life…as they are to put them to death…” 

Socrates asserts the state itself is threatened by the rebellion of its leaders, the teachers.  He poses the question, “Do you imagine that a state can subsist and not be overthrown, in which the decisions of law have no power, but are set aside and overthrown by individuals?”  Law itself has brought Socrates into being; a leader such as he is, and had always maintained his life in privilege.  He cannot destroy the law through disobedience, therefore, any more than he can bring himself to shun his own parents, who raised him.

Socrates suggests that human behavior is sometimes rewarded or punished by a higher being.  Though he does not specify which “god(s)” he believes in, he nevertheless connects his level of integrity in a person’s actions with outcome and retribution, in this life as well as the next.  He explains, “If you go forth, returning evil for evil, and injury for injury, breaking the covenants and agreements which you have made with us [the laws], and wronging those whom you ought least to wrong, that is to say, yourself, your friends, your country, and us, we shall be angry with you while you live, and our brethren, the laws in the world below, will receive you as an enemy.”

In his essay, “Civil Disobedience,” Henry David Thoreau seeks to overthrow tradition and makes his case for selective obedience to the law.  His point of view is based on an unromantic view of democratic government as a seriously underachieving mass of self-interested citizens and unimpressive representatives.  He believes the best form of development for a government would be along a path of decreasing interference toward a point at which government would no longer be needed.  Thoreau leads with a compelling thesis, in the form of the well known quote of the day:  “I heartily accept the motto, ‘That government is best which governs least.’”  He immediately loses the initiative, however, in his fantastic confidence in the integrity of the common man.  He is sure that the future will bring a time when men will be ready for eliminating their government.

Thoreau asserts that governments easily perverted by those who are in charge of them, but he concedes government is the only means of carrying out the will of the population.  In doing so, he leaves little hope for the future for those who do not share his faith in integrity of free people.  He states, “The government itself, which is the only mode which the people have chosen to execute their will, is equally liable…to be abused and perverted before the people can act through it.”  According to Thoreau, perversion of representation stems from the inherent injustice of a system based on majority rule.  Majority rule is driven by special interests, even to the immoral point of waging war to feed the need of farmers and merchants.  He ignores the fact he rebuts himself in offering no alternative.

The American author by no means supposes he will rally the masses to a take-over of the government or to engage in any kind of violent revolution.  To the contrary, his belief is that the population is not responsible for a wide swath of social issues, only those which are most extreme.  Regarding his duty, he dryly proposes:  “It is not a man’s duty, as a matter of course, to devote himself to the eradication of any, even the most enormous, wrong; he may still properly have other concerns to engage him; but it is his duty, at least, to wash his hands of it and, if he gives it no thought longer, not to give it practically his support.”  It is difficult to believe Thoreau could have completely digested his own rant.  The sort of picnic revolt he advocates is the very kind of trouble making that casually sends other men to their deaths.  He speaks as one with authority, but it is the kind of feigned command voice as is common among experienced and emotional conversationalists.  He stops short of affirming his willingness to suffer for his beliefs.  Instead, he keeps intellectual distance:  “There will never be a really free and enlightened State until the State comes to recognize the individual as a higher and independent power, from which all its own power and authority are derived, and treats him accordingly.”  The reader may agree or disagree, but only because he or she already has a strong opinion.  One may wonder what books comrade Thoreau has been reading.

The trans-historical debate comes to an end and a decision is made:  Henry David Thoreau will pick up the tab.  Fortunately, he came prepared, as Plato has worked up a healthy thirst as well as an appetite.  He will go deluxe on the curry bagel sandwich, with a savvy choice of Egyptian beer.  It raises a few eyebrows, but Plato says nothing further.  It is an amicable lunch, since everyone at least sympathizes to some theoretical extent with Thoreau.  Unfortunately, his logical self-destruction and inability to offer a realistic solution with his diatribe could not win the debate.  As the lunch was in hyper-time, the war with Mexico that Thoreau was protesting by refusing to pay his taxes was judged dispassionately.  Everyone agreed to the lesser point that the war may not have significantly altered the course of history, but like all wars, it certainly mattered to the individuals who watched it through their kitchen window.  As for Thoreau’s view of “suffering” via jail time for tax evasion, a note comes from the waiter to inform him there is a significant group of Nineteenth Century Frenchmen, Native Americans, Twentieth Century European Jews, and not a few former slaves lined up outside to offer advice about his anemic strategy and likely failure to change the course of an increasingly aggressive and militaristic government.  Someone says, “Pass the hemlock,” but no one laughs.