We are only a few centuries removed (not very long in the
grand scheme of things) from a time when most humans thought it was vitally
important to take innocent bulls, goats, lambs or doves into caves, groves,
shrines or temples and there, on a smooth surface of cold, unyielding stone,
slit their throats and gut them. Attended by reverential prayers and
incantations, the blood of these sacrifices received pious attention, viewed as
a substance supremely efficacious for expiating the evils and transgressions of
society.
We don’t haul animals to the altar anymore (well, most of us
don’t). But something most people seem blissfully unaware of is that the
sacrificial principle—the idea that our individual and collective guilt is
somehow purged vicariously—is just as strong as it ever was. We have simply
chosen to remove our eviscerations to the symbolic realm and have left off the
more physical and seemingly barbaric expressions of expiation.
But sometimes something happens in the world that pulls us
back into a more primal state and the ancient laws of the tribe take over
again.
The senseless killing of Cecil the Lion is a case in point.
As such, it provides us, as symbol-wielding descendants of the ancient augurs,
a rare and powerful tool with which to make a lasting impression on a great
many people. We ignore it or, worse yet, deride and despise it, at our peril.
The incident is a mine almost overflowing with gold and precious stones. We are
in danger of two errors here: walking by it as a dark cave unworthy of our
attention because we have other things far more important to think about; or
leaving it to the screaming mob of the social media Circus Maximus.
As I may have heard some cyber-sniggers at mention of the abiding
power of the sacrificial principle, allow me devote a few words to the idea.
This is one of those things so deeply rooted in our
psyches that we have little conscious awareness of it. We are only conscious of
breathing when it’s hard to breathe. The same goes for many basic functions in
life. We don't think about some of these essential psycho-social exchange
principles until we are confronted with something like Cecil.
Or Star Wars. Or Hunger Games. Or Harry Potter. Or even, help us, Twilight.
From the most fundamental fairy stories that inform our sense of value and
worth (and those fairy tales now come to us most commonly through Disney and
Pixar) to the most innocent of games we play (chess, checkers, cards), sacrifice
is an essential, underlying element. But none of us believes in equal exchange
for the sacrifice. We all of us, every last one of us, hopes fiercely that when
we plant those beans instead of selling them, there will be a Beanstalk that
climbs all the way to the sky. Obi Wan’s death, Gandalf’s death, Dumbledore’s
death, Rue’s death are all distilled versions of the Eucatastrophe explained by
JRR Tolkien in “On Fairy Stories.” The result of these terrible losses is an
Exchange that goes beyond mere expiation—mere purging of impurities—the
ultimate hope and desire is that for the seed planted in this sacrifice
something far greater, far happier, far more wonderful becomes available for
Everybody (at least Everybody contained within the universe of the story). At
the end of Beauty and the Beast, all
the cursed household staff attain humanity again, becoming what they were meant
to be. That’s the sort of exchange we want from our sacrifices.
One might argue that this sacrificial principle, as it
appears in our cultural expressions, is so much wishful thinking, but we engage
in the idea on a day-to-day basis. All of us seek a certain degree of order, a
world that Makes Sense. And in seeking such a world for ourselves, we
constantly commit symbolic acts of sacrifice in the hopes of achieving our
higher ideal. Regardless of whether we are religious in any sense of the term,
we sacrifice at our own little symbolic shrines fairly religiously (I’m being a
little careless with the word, sorry.) Take any of the ways in which we strive
to better ourselves or our circumstances (a fairly engrained concept). I’ll use
one very easy illustration—weight loss. Everyone knows it requires sacrifices
both small and great. And the goal? Merely to see a certain number at the
scales? Of course not. The goal is a better Quality of Life, a sense of Well
Being. [As I write this, I am staring at a cookie next to my computer. It came
with a prepared salad. I am debating whether I should eat the cookie and, if I
eat it, what will the consequences be. Yes. This stuff is real.]
A less obvious example is what we do to become part of a
group whose membership we highly value. Place whatever group in that basket you wish. Membership requires that we slay some things on the altar and
acquire new rituals. Language, behaviors and even thoughts not supportive of
the group must be rigorously purged. We must put serious “skin in the game” and
acquire the group’s language, the group’s special behaviors and the group’s thoughts. Every group has
rituals for this. And what is the goal of our sacrifice? A membership card?
Heavens no. Just listen to the way people describe their affiliation. The
terms, to the ears of the outsider, are almost always over the top. Idealized
metaphors of the warrior, of the arena, of the family or some other
romanticized communion gush out in torrents. We excuse and even applaud this
even while we wince at it because we understand it.
Let’s get to Cecil the Lion. Cecil’s death has all the
earmarks of the kind of tragic sacrifice of the innocent that still resonates
with the masses. It taps into a collective unconscious that is still remarkably
powerful. While I personally find this senseless, idiotic killing to be
disgusting on many levels, I also find myself relieved to know that so many
others feel the same way. It means that, on a fundamental level, we are still a
human race with a sense of right and wrong after all. And that gives us a real
opportunity to plant the kind of seeds that will have the kind of growth we
always dream of when something like this happens. Let it not be in vain.
The social media mob, otherwise known as the electronic
herd, is furious over this. So what should be our response? Is it to malign the
mob for being what mobs always are, as some commentators have done? Do we
dismiss the rage as so much sound and fury signifying nothing? Do we despise it
because our own beloved and far more righteous cause hasn’t generated this much
traction? No. Agenda setters and opinion influencers have a rare opportunity to
tap into this huge, collective rage to channel the mob toward genuine ethical
issues, to turn outrage into positive action, to siphon the fuel of this
juggernaut to lend new energy to other things that matter but that may have
lost steam due to oversaturation and fatigue. In short, redeem the time and the
circumstances.
To discuss only one dimension of this thing, while there are
many levels on which this “taking” of a magnificent beast was wrong, the one
that grabs my attention most at the moment is the “It was legal” argument being
used by Walter Palmer, the man who has admitted to what was essentially a
failed and ultimately cruel “trophy” crossbow hunting. (It was as much hunting for Palmer as the
goat on a rope was for the T-Rex in Jurassic
Park). Too many things in our culture are justified along similar lines.
The sense of responsibility to those around us is frequently muted by our
ability to do what we like simply because we can and because it falls under the
category of what is legal. Legal and right are not the same thing. Legality is
merely a distinction that allows us everything from ripping the environment to
shreds to making anonymous hate-filled personal attacks online—and a fat catalog
more. As an ethical defense it means nothing more than, “At the moment, there
is no law against it.” It ranks right down there with, “But you didn’t say I
couldn’t.”
There are other lessons to be gleaned here, but let me
conclude by lending a voice to the many others who are saying that all this
energy needs to move swiftly from fully merited condemnation to a much more
meaningful and beneficial redemption of Things That Matter, of a real sense of worth
and value, even of the notion of the Sublime. If we can be united in that kind
of pursuit, we can truly say that something worthwhile has been gained, even at
tragic cost.
