How Do Hunters Fare… regarding the 10 Commandments?
By Prioleau Alexander
When asked to give my ponderings on the spirituality of hunting, my first thoughts were of the things one sees, hears, and feels in the pursuit of wild game. It is a time and place far removed from the daily world, where a hunter connects with the hunted… where a twig snapping causes a thunderous rush of blood to the head, and the whistling sounds of Wood Ducks in pre-dawn flight excites even a life-long veteran to the giddy days of a childhood Christmas.
Then, I thought longer and harder… and focused on the purely spiritual aspects of the hunt.
And that’s when it dawned on me: We’re doomed.
You see, hunting is the only pastime that virtually forces a man to break nine of the Ten Commandments… sometimes in the same hour.
How, you ask? Well, lets simply take a look at them:
The First Commandment tells us we shall have no other god than, well, God. The First Commandment is lots of Christian’s favorite commandment, because they can look at it and say, “Well, I may not be a very good person, but I got ‘ol Number One nailed. I’m a one-God guy.”
Hunters, unfortunately, struggle even with Number One, as names like Remington, Winchester, and Browning trickle into their thoughts of people they want to meet first in Heaven. (“Yes, I know I need to pay my respects to the Big Guy, but can’t we swing by Mr. Remington’s place on the way?”) These “god’s of gunsmithing” have an evil hold of our imaginations, and at times take on a bigger role than they should. This, of course, is not good.
The Second Commandment is the one about “not worshipping a man-made idol.” Hunter’s grade on this one? F. Below an F if that’s possible. Think the hunter you love scores better? Take this quick quiz: A Cat 5 hurricane is inbound. Even the Doppler 9000 Storm and Ninja Team has fled in tears. Now it’s time for your family to flee. Your hunter will first ensure there is room in the car for: a) His guns b) The family Bible.
Like I said, F.
The Third Commandment is the one telling us that we should not take the Lord’s name in vain. I could spend a couple thousand words worrying over this one, but let me cut to the chase: If you took the Pope and the Archbishop of Canterbury on a dove shoot, they’d fire at a total of three birds before you’d hear them shattering Number Three from across the field.
Okay, Number Four. Keep the Sabbath Day holy. Hmmm, I’m sure we’re safe there. After all, what hunter has ever worked on deer stands, duck blinds, or feed plots on Sunday? Not you or yours, right?
The Fifth Commandment is to honor your father and mother. Again, hunters trample all over this one dozens of times a season. (“Mom, I’d love to come help put up the Christmas lights, but… I’ve got to be at the office. Before work? Well, you see, I’ve got to be there at, uh, 4 am. Maybe next week?) Even dear old Dad, who taught you to hunt, gets the short end of the stick. Why? Here, let’s listen: Okay, (Name), it’s great to have you here at the club. For you and your Dad, I’ve got a honey-hole blind, and a complete dud. Who goes where? Sorry, Pop…
The Sixth Commandment tells us to commit no murder. Unfortunately, even being angry with your brother qualifies as “murder,” and if your brother snaps off a double on that pair of Mallards that was headed straight towards you, trust me-- there’s gonna be some murder going on.
The Seventh Commandment tells us we should not commit adultery. Finally, we have one we can lay claim to! First of all, hunters have very little time for such monkeyshines, given that deer season lasts 4 ½ months… and who wants to have an affair with someone who smells like Deep Woods Off and doe urine half the year? All my hunting buddies are happily married to long-suffering wives.
The Eighth Commandment says, “Thou shalt not steal.” We may have some hope here, because it doesn’t specifically say, “Thou shalt not pick up another hunter’s dead bird and call it your own, nor taketh a beer from his cooler, nor eateth his BBQ sandwich even though he didn’t eateth it himself.” Even so, I get the feeling God is pretty black and white on these issues, so Number Eight isn’t looking too good.
The ninth commandment tells us not to lie. Prognosis, grim. Hunters lie even when the truth is a better story. The 5-point becomes a 6-point. Every dead doe becomes “a big girl, way past her prime.” Every Coot is a Black Duck, every Woodpecker a Red. Even mathematics become distorted, as the answer to the question “How many did you get?” becomes a complex response about shoots fired, kills, lost birds, and the number of birds actually picked up… which is always two more than are actually in the bag. Only golfers and fishermen are bigger liars than hunters, and everyone knows where those guys are headed.
The Tenth Commandment, of course, proclaims we should not covet our neighbors’ stuff. Stuff? What, like his place in the country? His Sweet 16 shotgun? His diesel 4x4 truck? His tricked out 4-Wheeler? The 8-Point Buck he shot? The string of ducks he dropped on the tailgate? His new GPS? His membership in the quail and skeet club? Look, I’m sure that most hunters can avoid coveting the neighbors “ox and his ass,” but other than that, we’re cooked.
There is, I believe, another important spiritual issue that should be addressed, and that’s the ethics of hunting.
After all, there’s not a hunter alive that hasn’t heard the words, “I can’t believe you go out there and kill those innocent animals.” What? The chicken you just ate had a rap sheet? The Thanksgiving turkey your family chowed down on was tried, convicted, and executed for serial stupidness?
Then there’s the jab about the animals being “defenseless.” Good point: And I’m sure that cow ordered medium rare was challenged to a duel at the slaughterhouse, and had he won he would’ve gotten to retire to the South Forty.
Unless you are vegetarian, arguing the ethics of hunting with a true sportsman is silly; if the hunter abides by the rules of fair chase, only shoots when the shot is clean, and eats what he/she kills, then there are no ethics to argue. The hunter is simply choosing to kill their own meat, instead of having someone else do it for them. And I don’t know about you, but I’d much rather live the life of a Whitetail Deer than the life of a Longhorn Steer. Even with lifestyle issues aside, if you’re a deer, the odds are 100:1 against you ever being seen, much less shot. If you’re a Longhorn… well, let’s just say that even Medicare is a better health plan than the one Piggly Wiggly has for you.
Of course, all the discussion of ethics can be summed up with one philosophical query: If God didn’t intend for us to eat animals, why did He make them out of meat?
Food for thought.