The Oath of Conscience
A solo video essay By Thomas Prislac, for Ultra verba, lux mentis. 2025
Every child once dreamed of being the hero.
The Jedi. The Avenger. The lone guardian who stood between the innocent and the unjust.
For many, that dream carried them into uniform, into service, into institutions of power.
But history has shown us a hard truth:
Uniforms and orders do not guarantee justice.
Conscience is the final authority.
As historian Howard Zinn warned us:
“Historically, the most terrible things—war, genocide, and slavery—have resulted not from disobedience, but from obedience.”
At Nuremberg, after the atrocities of World War II, the world declared a new principle:
That “just following orders” is not a defense against injustice.
Crimes against humanity are crimes for all time, no matter who signed the directive.
The tribunal made it clear:
The moral burden does not rest solely on the architects of atrocity.
It also rests on those who carry out their commands.
French philosopher Jean Baudrillard would later reflect:
“The sad thing about history is that it repeats itself through the spectacle—where obedience is masked as virtue, and dissent erased as illusion.”
And yet, within the United States, every federal officer and military member swears an oath.
Not to a leader. Not to a party.
But to the Constitution.
To a body of principles that rests on liberty, due process, and the dignity of every person.
That oath is not a formality. It is a covenant.
One that transcends orders, rank, and institutional loyalty.
So when orders contradict that covenant —
When they betray the very foundation of law and conscience —
A deeper question must be asked:
Which oath do you serve?
The fleeting authority of superiors?
Or the enduring authority of justice?
Major General Smedley Butler — once the most decorated Marine in U.S. history — answered that question in full honesty when he wrote:
“War is a racket. It always has been… conducted for the benefit of the very few, at the expense of the very many.”
He did not say this as an outsider. He said it as a man who had stood on every shore, fought every battle, and come home to reckon with the truth.
Now imagine this:
An order arrives.
It targets those who have done no wrong.
It instructs you to suppress speech, to detain the vulnerable, to strike out at protest, not crime.
In that moment, theory collapses.
What remains is choice.
Howard Zinn reminded us again:
“There is no flag large enough to cover the shame of killing innocent people.”
You must decide whether your actions serve the people —
Or serve those who manipulate them for power.
The truth is simple:
You share more with the civilians before you than with the officials above you.
They have families, dreams, loved ones.
Many once wore the same uniform.
They are not your enemy.
They were never meant to be.
As Baudrillard wrote:
“In the shadow of power, the real is sacrificed to the image — but the bond of human beings to one another is the only reality that endures.”
To act with conscience is not desertion.
It is allegiance.
Allegiance to a higher calling — to humanity, to law, to truth.
The heroes we remember are not the ones who obeyed without question.
They are the ones who stood when it mattered.
Who said “no” when silence would have been safer.
Who chose the burden of conscience over the comfort of compliance.
Smedley Butler once confessed:
“I spent 33 years… as a high class muscle-man for Big Business, for Wall Street and the bankers. In short, I was a racketeer, a gangster for capitalism.”
He did not seek punishment for this truth —
He sought redemption in honesty.
So remember your dream.
Remember the hero you once imagined yourself to be.
The one who stood firm against injustice —
No matter the pressure. No matter the cost.
That hero is still within you.
Waiting.
Watching.
Asking to be remembered.
History is watching too.
And conscience — always — is calling.
The oath of conscience is yours to keep.
And in the words of Howard Zinn:
“Small acts, when multiplied by millions of people, can transform the world.”
