There was once an average chipmunk, who spent his days scampering in the woods and grasslands, eating seeds, bugs, and nuts. But one day, while foraging for fallen nuts beneath a beech tree in a field, he saw the sky suddenly darken. He froze, realizing it might be a hawk, and at the last moment, scrambled under a nearby fallen branch, avoiding the sharp talons of his demise by a hair. In fact, less than a hair, as he had received three scratches on his left flank. A scar that marked him for life. Both physically and mentally.
He had been that close to death. An unjust death. ‘Why should he be prey to another?’ he thought. ‘Why should his life be less important than that of a creature of the sky? Why should his purposeful body become food?’
He went back to foraging, but always was he on high alert. Every noise made him freeze, every shadow made him skitter. His demeanor shifted toward anger at the unfairness of it all.
One day, he saw a cat far across a field, slowly stalking. Part of his mind said he should get away, now, but following the path of the cat, he saw another chipmunk foraging, unaware of what was coming. How could he let this chipmunk become food? It was no more right than if it were he. So the chipmunk stalked the cat, slowly progressing, aiming for where the cat was going, where the cat would poise to pounce. And as the cat readied itself, the chipmunk jumped onto the back of the cat and holding on, bit its ear.
The cat howled and, bucking the chipmunk off, ran away, never even looking at what attacked it. The other chipmunk sprinted away, leaving only our hero left to observe the justice that had now been brought.
Perhaps, if the chipmunk had left it there, this would have remained an amazing story that the rescued chipmunk would have passed on to his children. If it had been caught on film, perhaps it would have made an inspiring viral backyard nature video. But the chipmunk did not stop there. The chipmunk, who now called himself Justice (which was particularly impressive as the chipmunk language doesn’t even have a word for this), decided that every act of injustice was his responsibility.
Justice would search out predators, launching himself at stalking cats, nesting hawks, he’d even chew through the rubbery rolling feet of those giant monsters that squished but did not eat sparrows, squirrels, chipmunks, birds of prey (Justice’s anger even rose for them). The last effort, in particular, was difficult work, as it took hours to gnaw deep enough to wound those ultra-predators, and it always gummed up his teeth with bitter black stuff. But it was his duty to stop all wrongs he witnessed and even prevent potential future wrongs.
Several weeks passed, and his record grew. He lost count of the rubber feet he’d chewed through. The cats he had tangled with. The hawks he’d scared off. Until one day, when he saw another shadow in the sky. This time he did not freeze. He did not flee. He scanned for who was the target and prepared to swoop down on the swooper. But he couldn’t find a target. Belatedly, he realized it must be him. He attempted to dive away, but it was too late. This time the talons caught him, crushing his body. He could feel the talons penetrating deep into him. But the fight was not crushed out of him yet. He swiveled his head, his body screaming in pain, and tried to bite the bird. But he could not reach. The bird squeezed tighter and the pain electrified Justice from head to tail. His vision faded and he realized this was the end. His days fighting injustice were over.
In those last moments, Justice realized that perhaps, perhaps it was not wise to fight every battle. To challenge every predator. Perhaps instead there have to be limits, even to one’s selfless acts. Otherwise, one can be consumed by the effort, both figuratively and literally, as the odds are nearly certain that the violence will catch up with even the greatest of heroes. But that was a message he could not understand until now, and would no longer be able to share, as his heart stopped beating and he soon became food for and part of the hawk who had caught him.
Analysis
You might be wondering, “What kind of parable is that!?” Well, knowing me, you might think it has to do with environmental activism and choosing battles and not losing yourself and your life to the struggle. But not this time. While it certainly applies, its subject is simpler: daily life in an increasingly polarized and self-centered world.
Two years ago I joined the throngs of Americans who have to drive daily, in my case, to bring my son to and from school. Nothing to complain about as everyone does it, but with my aversion to driving, the increasingly bad driving conditions (brought on particularly from gigantic vehicles and the blinding LED headlights that have become normal), and my overly justice-oriented brain, it created massive amounts of stress. Instead of laughing off the two cars that went through the stop sign in a row (me almost hitting the second as it was my turn to go), I’d curse, and frustratedly wonder, ‘where is the decency?’ or maybe even occasionally play a bit of chicken, knowing they were in the wrong.
I’m not proud of that, I’m admitting that trying to resist every obnoxious incursion, every microaggression made me aggressive myself. Like our chipmunk protagonist. How many of the folks that he saved were happy to encounter him, or were they just as afraid of him as the predator who had just been thwarted? And of course, every engagement increased the odds of an unintended or even tragic outcome, as Justice discovered in the end.
As I was trying to remedy this—partly because I was tired of being aggressive all the time and partly because I could feel it affecting me physically, especially in my digestion (was there something true about ancient understandings that bile rises as one gets angry?)1—I started imagining what this would look like in other species. Hence, our friend Justice took shape, fighting every fight—until he fought one too many. In that context, he’s fighting the natural order of things—and yet, even though he might be deemed a prey species, it felt no more right to him for his life to be reduced to just being food for another. After all, he had his own desires and aspirations; why should they matter less?
Of course, we know the answer: the natural world is made up of an intricate web of life where all lives depend on others for sustenance.2 Violence is the natural order of things. And yet, it doesn’t feel right at every intersection, amongst individuals of the same species, and vaguely even the same community. Yet, yet: we see violence too among competing squirrels, chimpanzees, birds. This may be natural too. But in any case, we do have a choice. We can escalate the aggression or we can ignore it, when it is inconsequential. My wife and I now joke as I have started trying to drive like a “babushka,” (grandmother in Russian). I’m working to yield at every four-way intersection, even when I arrive there a second or so before another car.3 It has led to a nicer driving experience. Sure I’ve lost a bit of time in the deal, but I’ve gotten some nice waves, a few headlight flashes inviting me to go first, and a bit less bile injected into my digestive track.
A final point: that’s not to say that aggression should always be suppressed. In times that it truly matters, protecting oneself or family, resisting the rise of autocracy, etc. then this may be necessary. (As a student of the martial arts, I am for selective non-violence not victimization, see this parable for more.) And of course, choosing battles strategically, whether in daily life or one’s defense of Gaia, is essential—a lesson I hope you learn sooner than our chipmunk friend did, when it was too late to choose a different path.
Endnotes
1) Yes, actually. See this journal article for more.
2) Wait ‘til the sequel about the grass who tried to get even with the chipmunk for eating its seeds!
3) Though not when I arrived way ahead of other cars—that creates a different kind of chaos!
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