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Conscience, Law, and the Buffalo Hunt (Part Two)

1 March 2012

From Seven Ox Seven, Part One: Escondido Bound, the second of three excerpts from pages 219-228.

Copyright © 2007 by P. A. Ritzer

And to whom or what were the lawful and the lawless passing on their responsibility and freedom when they passed them on to the state? Well, at least in the United States of America, a republic, they were passing on their freedom and attendant responsibility to a seemingly innocuous form of government, a representative government, a government of elected peers. But those peers, too, were human. They, too, only ruled as well as they were willing to form their consciences to the rule of “the laws of nature and of nature’s God,” and to act in accordance with those consciences. Besides, once a matter like the slaughter of the buffalo was referred to the state, the state, in regard for all its citizens, was required to rule at a higher degree of generality than that of the individual conscience with its single subject, so that the general law of the state would be less adaptable than the more immediate and specific law of the individual conscience. Ergo, the individual lost freedom. For at that point, even if circumstances presented a situation in which the individual could act in a certain way in good conscience according to “the laws of nature and of nature’s God,” he might no longer be able to do so according to the laws of the state, because he had relinquished his responsibility and freedom to the state and was the more subjected to it.

Tom considered a simple hypothetical case in this matter of the buffalo. In that case, those hunting the buffalo, lawful and lawless alike, would continue the slaughter despite the obvious signs of it being wrong, if in nothing else than the prodigious waste of meat. Elected representatives of the people, outraged at the waste and the precipitous reductions in the numbers of the animal, would eventually pass a law to forbid the killing of the buffalo. Given that scenario, the following case unfolds. A man out on the prairie comes upon a lame buffalo bull that has been left behind by its herd and is obviously going to die. The man has a family who, though they have some food and are not starving, could make good use of the meat from the bull. Now, however, according to the new law, the man with the family must not kill the bull, and so the lame buffalo moves on to die in some remote place where the meat will go to waste. Before the law, the man could have legally killed and butchered the bull and fed his family with the meat, and he could have done so in good conscience. Now, after the law, his only legal option is to not kill the bull. His conscience must now weigh the law against the hunger of his family and the waste of the meat. If the man decides in good conscience, after weighing the matter, that it is better to kill the bull to feed his hungry family rather than to let the meat rot, he has decided, in good conscience, to break the law. This is no small matter, because in a free society laws should exist to protect the unalienable rights of the citizens; therefore, the conscientious person, in good conscience, should normally obey the law.

In such a case, then, the law, the conscience, or both have been compromised. This conflict between conscience and law comes about as a result of the refusal of earlier hunters to form or obey their consciences. It is a result of those earlier hunters’ failure to rule themselves, a result of their having handed over responsibility to the state, which, by its nature, must rule in a more general way than the conscience. That the man in the hypothetical case is not a hunter illustrates another point: when citizens turn over responsibility to the state, not only do they turn over, with it, their own freedom, but also that of every other citizen, even the most conscientious.

Tom reflected on how his hypothetical case also illustrated the communal nature of man, the latent sacramentalism awaiting men’s acceptance of and cooperation with grace. “No man is an island,” wrote John Donne. “Never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.” If one is diminished, all are diminished. So John Donne let the world know in poetry, some two and a half centuries before, what the Church had been teaching for some sixteen centuries before that, having been taught it by Christ. Neither man nor a man lives in a vacuum. The act of a single man changes the world, the universe, regardless of how private or public the act. A good act has the capacity to yield good consequences far beyond the immediate effect; so does an evil act have a similar capacity to yield evil consequences. Therefore, for man (the creature in whom matter and spirit are combined in one nature, created with free will, in the very image of God), all his actions entail responsibility. Responsibility is a natural concomitant to human actions. To shirk responsibility is but an illusion, as the shirker is responsible for that shirking. And because human actions entail responsibility, each human action deserves its due consideration. When humans fail to accept the responsibility for their actions; when they refuse to give those actions due consideration; when, after such consideration, they refuse to act on the conclusions of an informed conscience, then events like the slaughter of the buffalo result.

Thus, Tom considered three broad categories of men: the conscientious, those who formed their consciences and acted according to them; the lawful, those who waited for the state to pass laws to legislate their behavior and thereby relinquished their freedom and its attendant responsibility to the state; and the lawless, those who had no respect for the law and would defy the law as they saw fit, until they were prevented by the state from doing so, thereby passing on all of their freedom and its attendant responsibility to the state. Consideration of these led Tom’s mind onto consideration of another category of man, call them the semi-lawful.

(continued in Part Three)

Revisiting Dr. Seuss in Parenthood (Part Two)

22 January 2012

(continued from Part One)

The following commentary first appeared in Saint Austin Review, July/August 2005.  It appears here with some revisions. Quotations in quotation marks and block quotes are from the works being considered.

Copyright © 2003 by P. A. Ritzer

Still, though taken by the creative and enjoyable conveyances of multi-fold truths and values from these stories, the story that struck the deepest chord within me, by what it conveys, was one that I do not remember that well from my youth or any time since, and one that I was in no hurry to read, let alone embrace, but for the insistence of my son that we read it. And thus, thanks to that toddler–as is fitting for Dr. Seuss–I picked up and began to read Horton Hears a Who!, the profound theme of which is spelled out frankly in the first few pages with the words:

A person’s a person, no matter how small.

To this theme, this conviction, Horton the elephant remains true through great trial, hardship and persecution, which all begins when he believes he hears: “Just a very faint yelp / As if some tiny person were calling for help.”

Horton immediately commits himself to the welfare of this person, without knowing anything about him or his circumstances, or having any proof of his existence: “‘I’ll help you,’ Said Horton. ‘But who are you? Where?'”

It turns out that the call comes from a speck of dust, so that Horton reasons that upon the speck is “Some sort of creature of very small size, Too small to be seen by an elephant’s eyes . . . .” Based on this belief, without yet any proof of the person’s existence, Horton “gently, and using the greatest of care” carries the speck over “and place[s] it down, safe, on a very soft clover.”

As immediate as Horton’s commitment to the person is the contemptuous reaction of the nonbelievers in the “Humpf’” of “a sour kangaroo” and “the young kangaroo in her pouch” who “Humpf”s, too. She derides Horton for his unproven belief in the personhood of “the creature of very small size.” “Why, that speck is as small as the head of a pin. A person on that? . . . Why, there never has been!” To Horton’s belief that there may be even more than one life involved, the kangaroos call him a fool. Still, Horton’s conviction is not shaken, but rather deepened, as he moves beyond the initial saving of the persons to an unconditional commitment to them: “‘I’ve got to protect them. I’m bigger than they.’ So he plucked up the clover and hustled away.”

His commitment is unwavering, despite the ridicule of the inhabitants of the jungle and his own “worrying” about what to do:

“Should I put this speck down? . . .” Horton thought with alarm.

“If I do, these small persons may come to great harm.

I can’t put it down. And I won’t! After all

A person’s a person. No matter how small.”

And now, when he needs it, Horton’s commitment is validated with proof. The mayor of Who-ville, the town on the dust speck speaks out to him and expresses the gratitude of the Whos. The constant Horton responds as expected, “You’re safe now. Don’t worry. I won’t let you down.”

No sooner have those words left his mouth than the inhabitants of the jungle, not content to leave Horton alone in his beliefs and defense, snatch the clover and conspire to take it to where Horton will never find it, despite Horton’s painful pursuit. Finally, Horton, while still in pursuit, begs: “Please don’t harm all my little folks, who / Have as much right to live as us bigger folks do!”

And there it is, the profound truth at the heart of the matter, the right to life and safety of persons no matter how small, regardless of whether or not others believe in their existence and personhood. To this Horton is committed in a way that ought to inspire those of us who live nonfictional lives. And he expresses real concern at finding the clover after a grueling pursuit and search: “Are your safe? Are you sound? Are you whole? Are you well?”  And he reaffirms his commitment, “I’ll stick by you small folks through thin and through thick!”

And he does. Despite further ridicule and attacks on his sanity and after being roped and beaten and mauled and nearly caged, he stands firm to his convictions until he is finally vindicated. This vindication brings with it conversions:

“How true! Yes, how true,” said the big kangaroo.

“And, from now on, you know what I’m planning to do? . . .

From now on, I’m going to protect them with you!”

And the young kangaroo in her pouch said, . . .

“. . . ME, TOO!

From sun in the summer. From rain when it’s fall-ish,

I’m going to protect them. No matter how smallish!”

Yes, conversions from persecutors and potential destroyers of life to protectors of the right to life and safety of persons no matter how small, regardless of whether others believe in their existence and personhood–so ends the fictional story; and a good end it is, and a good lesson.

Still, part of the lesson of the story of Horton Hears a Who! is that which comes from comparing the fictional world of Horton to the nonfictional world in which we are graced to participate. In Horton’s world his heroism is vindicated by a means often denied to us in real life. Horton invokes the Whos:

You’ve got to prove now that you really are there!

So call a big meeting. Get everyone out.

Make every Who holler! Make every Who shout!

Make every Who scream! If you don’t, every Who

Is going to end up in a Beezle-Nut stew!

And the Whos do it: “And his people cried loudly. They cried out in fear: ‘We are here! We are here! We are here! We are here!'”

This is not enough, though. So Horton encourages them:

Don’t give up! I believe in you all!

A person’s a person, no matter how small!

And you very small persons will not have to die

If you make yourselves heard! So come on, now, and TRY!

And when one “very small, very small shirker named Jo-Jo” adds his “YOPP!” the Whos themselves make a loud enough noise and are heard by more than Horton, and they are saved. But in real life, we know that it is often the smallest and most vulnerable, be they the unborn, the sick, the elderly, the slaves, the mentally and physically challenged, who are not able to cry out and be heard, which puts a greater responsibility and burden on those of us who would wish to emulate Horton’s unconditional commitment to life and personhood. We must be their voice; we must make a big enough noise for them; we must be heard! And like Horton, we must not give up!

With these lessons in mind it would do us well to remember what the Grinch, in How the Grinch Stole Christmas!, learned in the failure of his dastardly attempt to “stop Christmas from coming”:

He HADN’T stopped Christmas from coming!

IT CAME!

Somehow or other, it came just the same!

.  .  .  .

And he puzzled three hours, till his puzzler was sore.

Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn’t before!

“Maybe Christmas,” he thought, “doesn’t come from a store.

“Maybe Christmas . . . perhaps . . . means a little bit more!”

A little bit more, like the Incarnation of the Son of God manifested in the form of a helpless infant, born in a stable, of an unplanned pregnancy, to a teenage mother and a foster father.  Their inconvenience included a flight into a foreign land to protect their child from the slaughter of the innocents by those who believed the birth of an infant to be a threat.  That is something to ponder on this 39th anniversary of the infamous Roe v Wade decision, based in ignorance and faulty reasoning, that stripped away all protection for the unborn and their mothers and fathers in an arrogation by the Supreme Court.

Not Tough Enough for Hell

Copyright © 2011 by P. A. Ritzer

8 December 2011

Remember some of those old movies, war movies or cowboy movies, where some character in the film played by John Wayne or Robert Mitchum or Lee Marvin says something along the lines of: “I’ll see you in hell.” The impression conveyed is that this guy is so bad and so tough that he knows he is damned for doing his own thing without regard for the constraints of society or, in a broader sense, morality, and that he knows he will spend the rest of eternity in hell, and that he intends to do so with all the carefree rebellion that has characterized his earthly life. Immediately on hearing the words, I would feel the character’s proud bravado melt away before the reality of hell and would think, “Man, you ain’t tough enough.”

Consider the reality: one of the most powerful beings God ever created, turned from good to evil, from Lucifer to Satan, ruling a world of fire, burning with hate and every kind of malice. Works of the imagination like the Star-Wars-Dark-Side-of-the-Force Emperor and Darth Vader and all his other followers are but child’s play before this reality. In such a place, the devil-may-care tough guy is but the devil’s plaything for tortures unimaginable in this life.

And something else about hell struck me a few years ago while practicing the spiritual exercises of St. Ignatius Loyola. During the meditation on hell, I was overwhelmed by a realization I had not considered before: a person will experience hell in body as well as soul. It should have been obvious. Wherever we are going, heaven or hell, we are ultimately going in body and soul. Human nature is physical and spiritual; we have a body and a soul. Our souls do not just inhabit our bodies to be released from them in death.

(A little note here: I think IT’S A WONDERFUL LIFE with Jimmy Stewart and Donna Reed may be one of the best films ever made, but there is a problem with the theology, as there is with other Hollywood treatments of the subject. Clarence would not have become an angel after he died. He would have become a bodiless soul until the last judgment. Human beings cannot become angels. They have different natures: angels are pure spirit; humans are spirit and matter. So, no human being can be your guardian angel, contrary to what is often claimed in the popular culture: good Samaritan maybe, but not guardian angel. The good news is that we each have a guardian angel, and we ought to be mindful of our guardian angels and grateful to and for them.)

The separation of body and soul at death is unnatural. It was not meant to be. It resulted from original sin. Thus, at death, body and soul do separate, but they will be reunited at the last judgment, and wherever we are going, we are going body and soul. Ignoring this or wishing it away does not change the reality. (Even Jesus suffered the separation of his body from his soul at death, but each remained united to his divine person.) Somehow I had never given much consideration to the body part of the equation, but in my meditation it hit me full force. For some reason the idea of experiencing hell in the body struck me as especially horrifying. Imagine, in hell one would be imprisoned with the most evil human beings that ever lived. And the most powerfully evil creature in God’s creation would be the warden, and his minions the guards. Imagine the physical vulnerability. No place of safety, nowhere to hide. I need say no more, except that you would have to add in the incalculable spiritual suffering. Meditate on that. Then ask yourself: are you tough enough? You might consider that John Wayne was baptized on his deathbed.