Last Thursday, thanks to New York City public schools taking a ‘mid-winter break,’ my daughter accompanied me to Brooklyn College and sat in on two classes. My students, as might be expected, were friendly and welcoming; my daughter, for her part, conducted herself exceedingly well by taking a seat and occupying herself by drawing on a piece of paper and often, just paying attention to the class discussion. She did not interrupt me even once; and I only had to ask her to pipe down a bit when she began humming a little ditty to herself. After the second class–philosophy of law, which featured a discussion of St. Thomas Aquinas and natural law theory–had ended, I asked her what she thought the class was about. She replied, “it was about good and bad.” This was a pretty good answer, but things got better the next day.
On Friday, as we drove to gym for my workout and my daughter’s climbing session, I picked up the conversation again, asking my daughter what she made of the class discussion and whether she had found it interesting. She said she did; so I pressed on and the following conversation resulted:
“Let me ask you something. Would you always obey the law?”
“What if the law told you to do something bad?”
“I would do it.”
“Why? Why would you do something bad?”
“Because I don’t want to go to jail.”
“You know, I’ve been to jail twice. For breaking the law.”
“Well, one time, I was angry with one country for attacking people and dropping bombs on them, so I went to their embassy and protested by lying down on the street. When the police told me to move, I didn’t, and so they arrested me and put me in jail for a day. Another time, I protested our university not paying the teachers enough money for their work, and I was arrested again for protesting in the same way.” [Strictly speaking this is a bad example of civil disobedience; I wasn’t breaking a law I thought unjust, rather, I was breaking a law to make a point about the unjustness of other actions.]
“Did they feed you in jail?”
“Yes, they did.”
“Oh, that’s good.”
“Well, so what do you think? Would you break the law if it told you to do something bad?”
“Why not? The law is asking you to do something bad.”
“What if I was wrong?”
“What do you mean?”
“What if I was wrong, and it wasn’t bad, and the policeman put me in jail?”
“What if you were sure that you were being asked to do something bad?”
“Then I wouldn’t do it.”
“Because I don’t want do bad things.”
“But isn’t breaking the law a bad thing?”
“So, why are you breaking the law?”
“Because it’s asking me to do a bad thing.”
At this point, we were close to our turn-off for the gym and our parking spot, and so our conversation ended. A couple of interesting takeaways from it:
1. We see the social construction of a legal order here in the making; at the age of five, my daughter has already internalized the idea that breaking the law is a ‘bad thing’ and that bad things happen to those who break the law. She can also identify the enforcers of the law. This has already created a normative hold on her; she was inclined to obey the law even if it asked her to do something bad because she was worried about the consequences.
2. My daughter displayed an interesting humility about her moral intuitions; she wasn’t sure of whether her thinking of some act as ‘bad’ was infallible. What if she was wrong about that judgment?
Note: My reporting of the conversation above might be a little off; I’m reproducing it from memory.