Chapter 16 of 24 · Khrimian Hayrik, 1894Գլուխ 16 / 24 · Խրիմեան Հայրիկ, 1894

Compassion for Household AnimalsԺԶ. Գթասիրութիւն ընտանի անասնոց վերայ

The English translation on its own.Read in Armenian — Khrimian's original text.The two languages paragraph by paragraph.

We know it, Tornik, and holy Scripture tells us, that when the Lord God had created all the animals, he held a review. He brought every living creature and marched them in ranks past Adam the king, to show him that all of this had been placed under his rule. David says it too. "You have put all things under his feet, the sheep and the oxen and all the rest."1

Some of these animals have been tamed. They serve us in all our work and obey us however we ask. Others are free, in open revolt against man, because they are predators, stronger than we are, and they live in the distant deserts and, even more, in the forests. God, who created them, does not forget them either. He gives them their food. The lion cubs roar and ask God for their meat.2 And what is their meat? The weaker animals, which they have to hunt and eat to stay alive. It is a law of nature in this world that the weak are food for the strong. And never mind dry land. The same law rules the world of the sea, where you can watch the little fish forever feeding the big ones.

But do not think, Tornik, that those wild, unbroken animals are entirely beyond man's control. No. Man, with his clever inventions, can hunt down those raging animals, shut them in cages, and train them so thoroughly that they obey their trainer like a child.

Our household animals, though, have grown so used to us that they live with us and count almost as members of the family. They are our fellow workers in all our steady labor and in everything else besides.

And yet, because we are the masters and lords of our animals, we beat them and torture them and never answer for it, even though the law of the land sets a penalty for tormenting animals. Never mind the law. In Europe there is a society devoted to the protection of animals, with appointed officers who keep watch like police, and if they see anyone treating any animal cruelly, that person is arrested on the spot and takes his punishment. If they find a driver has grudged his horses their feed and left them weak and underfed, he takes his punishment and pays his fine at once. And the man who has fed his draft horse so well that it pulls a wagon loaded with enormous bales all on its own gets a reward and a prize from the protection society.

We have nothing of the kind, no punishment and no prize. But our prize, our reward, is our own profit, because the better we feed our working animals and keep them fit and strong, the more we gain from the double work they do. When our animals are weak and worn out, our plowing and everything else turns out weak too. That much is plain. Weak workers make weak work. The example is right in front of your eyes, Tornik. Look how much more ground the gutan plows when strong buffaloes and oxen are yoked to it, next to the gutan whose animals are thin and spent and take two days to finish one day's plowing.

But if we look after our animals only with an eye to profit, that is no virtue. Justice itself demands that we feel a natural compassion for them, because animals on this earth suffer the way we do, and they need our help. "The righteous man has pity on his animal, but the heart of the wicked knows no mercy," says holy Scripture.3 The Lord God gave the clean animals to men to slaughter and cook and eat, but in the Law he forbids killing the lamb in its mother's milk.4 When a mother is aching over her newborn lamb, what cruelty it is to mix the nursing lamb's blood with her milk, until the poor mother, hurting with the tenderness nature gave her, cries out and calls for her lamb. In animals that tenderness lasts only a season, until the newborn lambs and calves are weaned. In a human parent it lasts to the grave. The civilized world of Europe makes no such distinction. It eats the nursing lamb and the nursing calf alike and listens neither to Moses nor to natural pity. And yet, strangely, it puts a law on its hunters not to hunt in the season when the birds are raising their young. To me that looks less like compassion than like the anxious worry of "what shall we eat tomorrow." They are afraid those choice birds might run short at the tables of the gentry.

Compassion is such a great virtue, Tornik, that it does more than make us spare and pity our own household animals. It stirs a man's heart even toward the predators. Let me tell you a lovely fable that fits this idea. It is a true picture of what compassion is.

A young hind gave birth in the cave where she lived, and, I do not know how it happened, her young died. The poor hind leaves her dead fawns, goes out to wander the mountain forest, and comes on a den where two newborn wolf cubs are lying, faint with hunger. Perhaps their mother had gone out to take a sheep and the dogs had throttled her, and the cubs were left alone. The tender-hearted hind, pitying the wolf cubs with a mother's love, said to herself, my udder is full of milk, so what harm is there in nursing these abandoned cubs until they are grown?

There was a hermit living close by in that forest. Hermits, as you know, Tornik, are men of prayer who have withdrawn from the world, and they have little feeling for the sweetness of a parent's tenderness. Well, you foolish hind, says the hermit, you amaze me. How can you nurse those wolf cubs? Don't you know that when they grow up they will be wolves, and the first blood they drink may be yours? That is not what I am thinking about, answers the kind-hearted hind. I am only thinking of doing a good deed. What else can I do? I have milk and no fawn. These poor creatures have no mother and need milk. I have to be their mother and care for them. And tell me, brother hermit, is everything born of man born good? When they grow up, aren't they worse than any wolf?

That is a fable, Tornik. Now let me tell you something that really happened, something I saw with my own eyes, and you will see how far compassion can sometimes carry a man. We know a man will pity another man, or pity his own household animals. But we do not see a man pity the wolf, which is forever tearing his sheep.

When Hayrik was chosen Shepherd of the diocese of Mush,5 I went with him on the journey from Varag to Surb Karapet.6 We came to the village of Ziaret, a little way from the monastery of Glak. The men of that village showed Hayrik great honor. They set out cream with honey, butter with honey, roast lamb, and we ate and ate. What a day that was!

After the meal we saw that the sturdy young men of the village had taken a wolf alive. They had forced sticks into his jaws and between his legs and tied him tight, and they brought him like that and dropped him in front of Hayrik. Well, Hayrik, they said, give us our bakhshish.7 Just then the poor wolf turned his eyes toward Hayrik, and I saw how hard it hit him. He was deeply moved. He asked where they had caught the wolf. Near the village, they said. He had hidden in a corner of the sheep-cote wall so he could slip out at night, steal a sheep, and eat it. Hayrik said, what, is the sheep lawful for you and forbidden to the wolf? God created the wolf along with the sheep and gave him his allotted portion. You slaughter sheep freely and eat them. What harm is there in giving that poor pauper of the mountains his share too? Besides, you are slandering this wolf. He did not come to steal a sheep. He had heard there was a matagh in the village, a "Cross, be our help" offering,8 and he came to eat some of the matagh. Who knows how many days he had gone hungry, until, his strength gone, he barely dragged himself to the village, and you came up and caught him, and now you want a bakhshish as if you had done some great feat of courage. I will give you a great bakhshish. Take the poor wolf outside the village and let him go, and let him get on with his business. When the villagers heard this they started muttering to each other. Look at this, men. Our Hayrik has come to our country as our shepherd, and he means to hand our sheep to the wolves. We caught one wolf with a thousand pains, and he tells us to let it go. Hayrik heard the grumbling and began on his wolf fables. Listen, villagers, and I will tell you a fable. A wolf spent seven days and seven nights ranging the hills and the gullies, and nothing fell into his paws. He saw he was going to starve, so he said to himself, let me go quietly, quietly down to the nearest village. Maybe God will give me some allotted portion there. The poor wolf, faint-headed, reaches a village in the dark of the evening and huddles down at the foot of a sheep-cote wall. He looks in through a crack in the wall, and there are the lamps burning and the sheep being slaughtered, and the dogs sprawled off to one side with their eyes fixed, waiting for their share.

At that the wolf's heart turned bitter, and he began to say to himself, you unjust men! If a wolf did this, what an outcry you would raise. You and your shepherds would hunt him down with dogs and clubs. And here I am, robbed and half starved, watching what you are doing. The wolf gets the name for it, and you are the ones eating the sheep. You have the faces of men, but the way you act, you are man-wolves. Don't you see those neighbors of ours, the real man-wolves, who come down in bands and carry off your whole flocks? It is only against us poor wolves that you and your dogs test your courage, and we ask for very little, and we have more conscience than you do.

The wolf's complaint and his verdict are perfectly just, my dear villagers. Wolves have to live on this earth too. You would like to see their line wiped out, but you should know that wolves are very useful to you. If there were no fear of wolves, you would never guard your sheep at all.

Hayrik's fable and these words went straight to the villagers' hearts. The young men said, Hayrik, we can see how much pity you have for this bound wolf. For your sake we will untie him and set him free. Give us our bakhshish. They took the bakhshish and they cheated Hayrik. They carried the poor bound wolf out of the village, set the dogs on him, throttled him, and stripped off his pelt. Well done, villagers! And there is Hayrik on his feet, reading a pardon over the village's sheep-eating wolf.

I have told you this story, Tornik, but be careful. It is not an example to copy straight. I told it only so you would understand how completely compassion can take hold of a man's heart, so completely that he wants to spare even the predator.

Then how much more do our own working animals deserve our compassion! A farmer who earns his bread by tormenting and torturing his animals is hard-hearted and merciless, and that is why such men never eat their bread with a full stomach. Do you think the animals' crying and groaning does not reach heaven? Do not imagine that animals count for nothing and nobody before God. Haven't you read the book of the prophet Jonah? When the Lord God spared the wicked Ninevites, he spared the animals too, just as he spared the children who did not know their right hand from their left.9

It hurts me deeply, Tornik, and stirs my pity, to see how our village working people treat their own yoked animals, without conscience and without mercy, tormenting them under the whip until the marks of the blows show in stripe after stripe across the backs of animals that never make a sound. If God worked a miracle and opened the animals' mouths, as he opened the mouth of Balaam's ass,10 what an outcry and complaint they would raise against the cruelty of men! And isn't their silent groaning and lowing a cry in itself? The protest of the wronged reaper reaches heaven. Won't the protest of the reaper's fellow worker, the wronged and beaten animal, reach heaven too?

Sometimes I see a poor animal, its strength gone, the yoke still on its neck, collapse and roll in the very furrow. Watch how much whip it has to eat then. It cannot stand the blows, so in desperation it gets up, goes a little way, and collapses again. It never occurs to the pitiless plowman to say, let me leave this poor animal alone for a while, let it graze and rest, and then I will bring it back and yoke it again. And some men are so pitiless that instead of the drover's whip or a green switch they use dry wood, and then it is not just the hide and the flesh of these speechless animals that break but their very bones.

The horse drivers and the donkey drivers treat their pack animals just as badly, and sometimes load them past their strength. And if the poor animal gives out under the load and sits down, or falls by accident, do you know what they do? They beat it without pity right where it lies under the load, to make the animal, crushed under all that weight, get up on its own. That is how the wretched creature ends up injured, in its back or in its leg.

Do you see, Tornik, how heavily men's cruelty falls on the poor animals? They have no protector and no advocate. Conscience and compassion are the only protectors an animal has, and even those are rare enough in the hearts of men.

My father used to tell me, Tornik, that there was once a governor in Van with a great natural compassion for animals. If he saw a man treating an animal cruelly, he punished him on the spot, and the punishments he handed out fit the offense, and they were entertaining too.

One day, on his way out of the city toward the town of Artamet,11 he sees two horse drivers sitting comfortably at a spring, eating their bread, while their horses stand there still under their loads. He orders the loads taken off the horses at once, and the loads, as it happened, were barley. He fills the horses' nose bags full and has them hung from the horses' heads, and the loads he sets on the men's backs, one pack apiece. Until the horses have finished their barley, he says, you are going to stand on your feet exactly like this.

Another day, going out through the city gate, he sees two men riding one horse on their way to Aygestan.12 To the governor the sight is outrageous. He orders one of the two down off the horse and sends him straight to prison. To the other he says, you are old, so I have spared you. Go and carry word about your friend, that he has been put in prison and will serve ten days.

Another day still, out walking beyond the city, he sees a man going along with a sack slung over his arm, and he is astonished to hear cats' voices coming out of it. He goes up and asks what is inside. The man can hardly deny it, since the cats can be heard. Agha, he says, they are thieving cats. I am taking them to turn loose in the city. You worthless creature, says the governor. I drive thieves out of the city, and you are carrying cats into it. He gives the order, they pull the poor cats out of the sack, and he has the sack pulled down over the man's head, and a policeman takes him by the hand and marches him off to prison. Everyone coming and going sees the man's disgrace, but thanks to the sack over his head no one can tell who he is. As for the freed cats, they go straight home and bring the household the news that their master has been taken to prison.

But ask yourself, Tornik. Did that compassionate man pity only tormented animals, and hand down his impartial judgments only for them? Didn't he put the same pity and the same even-handed judgment to work for wronged men as well?

Yes, Tornik, he did. When a man has compassion for animals, it is only natural for him to feel it even more for a fellow creature of his own kind, and to be moved to pity. And yet, who knows, the world being what it is, there may be men who put on a kind heart for show and sit in judgment over a cat to prove they love justice, while they let the case of the wronged man who cries out go past them. It is just how the hypocrite Pharisees of Christ's time would swallow the camel and strain the gnats out of their wine.13 They passed over the justice of God's law and counted small, trifling things as righteousness.

People think, Tornik, that God the Judge takes vengeance only for wronged men. He does not. I have heard, and I have read in books as well, that the protest of the speechless animals also comes before God, and that God holds court and takes vengeance for them. Saint Ephrem the Syrian, that holy elder, confesses in his own words a sin of his boyhood, and it is written down in the story of his life.14

This is what he says. When I was a boy I was a wayward, restless, mischievous young rascal. One day I saw a cow in the field, in calf, lying down, near her time. I chased the poor cow, pelting her with stones, and gave her no peace to bear her calf. I pressed her so hard that I drove her into the forest. The cow dropped her calf and fell to the ground with the breath gone out of her, and there she stayed. In the night the wild animals ate the cow and the calf. Now, that cow belonged to a poor man. The thing did not stay hidden. It came out, and they took me and put me in prison. There were other offenders in that prison, telling each other their crimes. One would say, I killed an innocent man. Another would say, I robbed a rich merchant and killed him. And so on. They asked me too, boy, what is your crime? I told them about the cow. Oh, they said, you call that a crime? In the end the murderers were tried, taken out, and hanged. Me they did not sentence to death, because they spared my youth. They gave me a sound beating and let me out of prison. But those months in prison were real suffering. I could not sleep at all. The picture of the hunted cow was always in front of my eyes.

I decided I would have to do penance for that poor man's cow all my life. So I left home, and father, and mother, and everything else, and said, let me go to the mountain and become a hermit, and pay for the sins of my cruelty and my wrongdoing. Through that ordeal I came to my senses and understood the judgment of God, who takes vengeance for the animals too when we treat the speechless creatures cruelly.

Let this story be a lesson to you, Tornik. Never let it out of your mind. Always remember Saint Ephrem's story and the judgment of the hunted cow, and know and believe that the righteous God is judge for man and wronged animal alike.

Notes

  1. Psalm 8:6-7.
  2. Psalm 104:21.
  3. Proverbs 12:10.
  4. Cf. Exodus 23:19 (the kid not to be boiled in its mother's milk) and Leviticus 22:28.
  5. Hayrik is the author, Khrimian, chosen prelate ("Shepherd") of Mush in 1862, when he moved from Varag to the Mush country.
  6. Surb Karapet is the great monastery of St. John the Forerunner near Mush, also called the monastery of Glak (Glakavank), the most famous pilgrimage shrine of Turkish Armenia.
  7. Bakhshish is a gift, a reward for good news or good service (baksheesh).
  8. Matagh is the Armenian votive animal sacrifice, its meat shared out to the poor. It is offered with the cry "Cross, be our help."
  9. Jonah 4:11.
  10. Numbers 22:28.
  11. Artamet is a town on the southeastern shore of Lake Van, famed for its orchards.
  12. Aygestan, "the garden-land," is the orchard quarter of the city of Van.
  13. Matthew 23:24.
  14. The tale is told in the traditional Life and Testament of St. Ephrem the Syrian (d. 373).
Table of contents · ԲովանդակութիւնGlossary · Բառարան

Transcribed from the 1894 printing — this chapter at the AUA Digital Library ↗

Ընդօրինակուած 1894-ի տպագրութենէն — այս գլուխը AUA-ի թուային գրադարանին մէջ ↗