The Parable of the Shooting Party

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, is it a moral choice to stop using remote strikes often now that it is no longer necessary to use remote strikes often?”

Josh spoke thus:

A country gentleman invited a house guest out hunting on the moors.  The house guest accepted the invitation.

The country gentleman led the house guest onto the moor.  They were accompanied by a handful of footmen, a group of beaters and two men with repeater rifles.  The country gentleman and the house guest each carried a shotgun.

When the company had reached the designated hunting area, the footmen set up two chairs with a small table between them.  On this table, the footmen placed a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket and two champagne flukes.  The country gentleman and the house guest sat in the two chairs.  The country gentleman and the house guest sipped champagne and chatted while the beaters walked out into the heather.

“I understand the chairs and the champagne,” the house guest said to the country gentleman, “And I understand the beaters, but what is the purpose of the two men with the repeater rifles?”

“Oh them?” the country gentleman said, “I only use them as a last resort.  Don’t worry, we won’t need them.”

The country gentleman and the house guest sat and drank champagne.  The footmen brought a second bottle, and then a third.  At last the beaters approached and two grouse rose from the heather, their wings creating a low thunder in the air.

The country gentleman and the house guest did not have time to lower their champagne glasses, reach for their shotguns, aim and fire.  Before they had even put down their glasses, the repeaters in the hands of the two men behind the gentleman and the house guest thundered as loud as the grouse times a hundred.  The two grouse tumbled to the ground, dead.

“What-ho!” the country gentleman said, “Good shot!”

“Good shot you too!” the house guest said.

The country gentleman and the house guest lowered their unaimed shotguns and raised their glasses in a mutual toast.  As they sipped, the beaters flushed a covey of doves.

The repeaters thundered once more, and a brace of doves fell dead.

“Jolly good shooting!” the country gentleman said.

“Well hit!” the house guest said.  They toasted each other again.

“I say,” the house guest said, “You don’t think this is a bit unsporting, do you?”

“Unsporting?” the country gentleman asked, “How so?”

“Well, we’re not doing the shooting, are we?” the house guest said.

“No, but our designated helpers are,” the country gentleman said.

“Good little worker bees,” the house guest said.

“Good little drones,” the country gentleman said.  

The country gentleman and the house guest toasted the drones with the repeaters.

“I do see your point, though,” the country gentleman said, “I tell you what, next time we won’t use them.  Not just yet.”

As the country gentleman finished speaking a brace of plovers rose in the air and the men with repeaters shot them down.

“Good shot!” the country gentleman said.

“Next time, it’s us,” the house guest said.

“Next time, it is we,” the country gentleman said.

They moved to toast, but found their glasses empty.

“I say, we’re dry,” the country gentleman said, “There’s nothing for it but to head back.”

“Return the triumphant!” the house guest said.

The country gentleman and the house guest headed back to the manor, leaving the footmen to clear up and gather the birds.

“Next time, it will be we,” the country gentleman said.

“Next time, it will be we,” the house guest said.