How Would the Savior Vote?

Over a decade ago, I wrote the following story as an attempt at trying to gauge a person’s underlying political ideology. I’m not entirely sure I succeeded because I’ve found it unusually hard to predict how a person would vote in this situation.

The Healing Weed (Part I)

“How’s Amnor?” asked Shemlon.

“Not well at all,” said Mathoni. “He’s delirious now. The infection is growing.”

“Should we notify the guards?”

“No. There’s no way to explain the injury on his leg. They’ll know he had tried to escape if they see it. And then he’d be executed.”

“They might not,” said Shemlon.

“Do you really think so?”

“… I don’t know,” came the reply. “But if he’s going to die by infec-tion, notifying the guards would at least give him a chance wouldn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Mathoni. “His chances of survival are… I suppose we can just hope that their anger may have cooled a bit since Zebulun escaped. And we’ve nearly exhausted all of our possibilities here. It may be worth the chance at this time. But… we ought to exhaust every option.”

“Have you approached the others for help?” asked Shemlon. “Per-haps one of them is a healer and we are unaware.”

Mathoni shook his head. “No, I was just over there. It looks like the most experience healer in camp is… me. And I can do nothing more without some kind of medicine. Pity we have no selgen weed. It’s a miraculous herb and actually grows in abundance in this valley. We used to have some here a few months ago. The Ventors were civil enough to give us several sprouts, more than one plant per prisoner, even. The problem is, the ones that did reach maturity were used up when a few prisoners got infections. Then, most of the plants died, though, before reaching full potency.” Mathoni sighed. “The plants that did mature were used for mere scratches at the time. I had no idea we would need it for this kind of thing.”

“Why not ask the guards for more?” said Shemlon.

“I have. I asked the day after Zebulun escaped, which was foolish timing, by the way. The guard inside the doors of the tower said that giving us any in the first place was a mistake. He said that, because one of us dared escape, they would be content just to see us all die of sicknesses.”

Shemlon scratched his forehead. “What does this selgen look like?”

“A lot like a fern, but with yellow tipped leaves, and it produces a flower. Why? Have you seen anything like that?”

Shemlon hesitated. “Well, I have, but…”

“Where? Shemlon, where?”

“When I was imprisoned in the tower I thought I saw something like that growing right here in the courtyard… on top of Giddonah’s shack.”

“You could tell from that far up?” asked Mathoni. Giddonah’s shack was the furthest from the tower.

“Well, I’m not sure. It looked like a fern.”

“Let’s go talk to him.”

────

“Giddonah, we need to talk to you.” asked Mathoni as he and Shemlon entered Giddonah’s hut. “Amnor is getting worse. He has an infection, and I know of only one way to help him. Do you know if there is any selgen weed here in the camp?”

Giddonah stared at them both, his face slightly flushing. “Yes. I have some. I’ve been growing it atop my hovel. It’s the original sprout that I got from the guards.”

“How did you keep it alive so long?” said Mathoni.

“By means which were and are known to everyone. I was just will-ing to do what it took.”

“Giddonah, the selgen can help Amnor. It may make him well. I’ve seen this kind of injury before and he may be cured with a modest helping of the plant.”

“That’s not a fact,” said Giddonah.

Mathoni’s eyes flared for a moment. “No, but it’s his best chance.”

“There’s only one plant left and it has not gone to seed yet. The rest have died. I’ve taken great pains to keep it healthy and alive-”

“And hidden from the rest of us.” Mathoni’s voice was controlled, but one could feel the tension behind it.

“If I had surplus, I would have given it to anyone. But if you use this herb, or even a few leaves from it, it may die.”

“But Amnor could die now.”

There was a long pause.

“Within a few weeks, I may be able to grow an ample supply, with plenty left over. What if everyone gets sick in a few weeks?”

“I doubt we are all soon to be plagued with crocodile bites,” said Mathoni.

“This herb has more properties than that and you know it. It could help everyone at one time or another.”

“Are you sure you aren’t just worried about your self?”

Giddonah sat down, put his hands over his face, not expressing shame but mere exhaustion. He spoke through his fingers. “Of course I am worried about myself. What if I get sick? Is that so wrong to be concerned for myself, for my own well being.” He lifted his face. “You all made a shot at growing that stuff, Mathoni. But I succeeded. Do you know why? I was nourishing the plant with my food rations. Do you remember that suggestion? You were the one who made it.”

“Rations were low at the time,” said Mathoni.

“Yes, that’s right. No one, at the time, thought it would come to this. Or even if they did, it was not worth taking a chance on throwing away even one bit of food for an uncertain tomorrow. No one was willing to experiment for fear, because they did not know when the next rations would be given to us. Well, I did it anyway. I used my meager rations to improve the soil conditions. It worked. The other plants died. Mine is alive but only because I made the sacrifices and, yes, I have been doing it for my own self. I was the one who fought my hunger in hopes of protecting myself from a possible disease in the future.”

Mathoni sat down, no anger was in his eyes or his voice as he spoke. “Giddonah, will you give the selgen up? Will you help save Amnor?”

Giddonah looked at Mathoni, then uneasily at Shemlon. “There’s got to be another way,” he pleaded. He looked again nervously at Shemlon. “Can I speak with you alone?” he finally asked.

“Shemlon will you excuse us?” said Mathoni without taking his eyes of Giddonah.

Shemlon nodded and stepped out of the hut. As he waited there pa-tiently Jershon passed by.

“Shemlon,” he said affably. “What’s going on?”

“Oh… uh. It appears that there is still some selgen within the walls of the camp.”

“What!” said Jershon, excitedly. “You mean for Amnor?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe? What do you mean? Is there selgen available or isn’t there?”

“Well, yes. But… Giddonah has it. He’s been taking care of it. Mathoni is trying to persuade him to give it up.”

“What?” said Jershon. “Persuade? What is there to persuade? Am-nor needs it!”

“Uh, Giddonah says that it is his and he doesn’t sound like he’s going to give it up.”

“What!? Well, I’m not going to stand for that,” he said as he stomped off. “We’ll see what everyone else thinks.”

Moments later, Mathoni walked out of Giddonah’s tent. “He’s not going to give up,” he said. “I don’t know what to do. Say, did I hear you talking to someone out here just now?”

“Yes,” said Shemlon. “That was Jershon. I told him that Giddonah has some selgen.”

“And you told him that Giddonah was not going to give it up!?”

Shemlon winced and nodded. “He went to see what everyone else thinks.”

“Come on, maybe we can stop him.”

────

Within minutes, Jershon had spread the news over the entire prison. Jershon had demanded a meeting to decide what to do.

“I was the one who worked to pull this off,” said Giddonah, pleading before his fellow prisoners. “I nearly starved myself doing it.”

“You were never starving,” said Jershon.

“No, but I used my food allowance at a time when future rations were unsure. And since it worked, I have been doing it every day since then.”

“Why did you not ask for any help?” asked Mathoni. “We could have all chipped in and the difference in food would not have been missed.”

“I’ve seen how you all have behaved,” said Giddonah. “No one had successfully been able to grow the selgen. Some of you even let yours die of negligence, always thinking that there are plenty more plants or that we would never need it. But I was cautious and careful and, seeing all of your recklessness, I decided to keep my success a secret. Not because I wanted to deny help to others but because I wanted to succeed and produce more. But I do not want to be the only one that has it. I want surplus, as a ration, in time of need. Well, the day is here and too soon. Someone needs it. The problem is, he will use it all up, and even then we are not sure it will work. Then, what if everyone in camp needs more a few months down the road?”

“I don’t care about then,” said Jershon. “Amnor needs it now. He’s the one who is sick, and he’s sick right now. He’ll die without it!”

Giddonah straightened up. “Before today you were all searching for other ways to help him. Now that you know this option exists, you’ve ceased your searching and put all of your energies into getting the selgen from me or into complaining about it. Helping him has stopped. No one is even watching him right now. You’re all too interested in arguing with me and accusing me of greed and selfishness. Well, fine. I am selfish. I grew it. I put my effort into it. I sacrificed for it. It’s about the only thing I can call my own in this place and I am the only one who has the right to say how to use it.”

“The resources of the earth are not yours alone but are for the good of all men,” said Jershon. “Those are the words of the Shalleron himself.”

“I am the one who chooses how I will obey the Shalleron,” said Gid-donah. “He also taught that the past, the present and the future are all the same to him. If the Shalleron would be pleased in me giving the selgen up today, he will be just as pleased if I do it within the next few days when there is a proper surplus. And at that time, I may be able to save the lives of many, rather than saving only today.”

“This is not a matter of cold mathematics!” said Jershon. “No one may ever get sick again. We may be out of here tomorrow! You just want the selgen in case you get sick.”

“You are always assuming that escape is right around the corner, that utopia is almost here, that there is no need to sacrifice today for tomorrow because tomorrow will take care of itself, right?!”

“Oh, you twist the words of The Shalleron. You’re sick!”

Giddonah said nothing for a moment. He looked at everyone, one by one. Shemlon looked at the group. Some stared right back at Giddonah, bold and unembarrassed. Others looked to the ground in either shame or discouragement at the situation. Giddonah spoke: “There is nothing I can do to prevent you from voting on this. I know that. But as you choose, keep in mind that you are choosing to use force.”

“You dare put up a fight?” said Jershon, raising both eyebrows in arrogant excitement.

“No, it will be you who dares to use force against me. You will be the aggressors. I will not.”

“I can’t believe this!” said Jershon looking at those who seemed em-barrassed. “None of you would hesitate to physically defend Amnor against a murderer. Well, that is exactly what Giddonah will be if he permits Amnor to die. This is not a case of mere inaction, resulting in death, just as damnable as action of the same result. Well? Are you going to let Giddonah murder Amnor?”

“Wait! Wait!” said Mathoni. “Let’s not have this escalate any further. Calling each other murderer may be a self-fulfilling prophecy. Let every man make his decision. But it will be by secret, so that no man knows the vote of another.”

“You’ll know mine,” said Jershon, then he turned again to Giddonah. “Know this. If you do not help Amnor now, you will never receive help from anyone else in the future when you need it.”

“I’ve never needed it.”

“Oh, except for the fact that Amnor saved the life of nearly every Zarakian in here!”

“That was his choice then. This is my choice now. What you must remember is that if you vote against me now,” said Giddonah. “You may one day find yourself at odds with the majority and realize that it was you who made individual freedom so petty.”

Mathoni picked up a pot and set it in the middle of the room. “Every-one go out to the courtyard and pick up both a red and a black stone. Come back in, drop the red stone in the pot if you wish the selgen to be used on Amnor and the black stone will… well, it will mean otherwise.”

“You can’t vote about this. This should not be decided or debated by a mob,” said Giddonah.

“You’re right,” said Jershon. “It should not be debated at all.

So ends the first part of this little political microcosm. Now for the hard questions: How would you vote? I am not asking what Giddonah should do or what you would do if you were in Giddonah’s shoes. Rather, as one of the fellow prisoners, how would you vote in this situation? And why would you vote that way? Property rights? The right to life? Cold calculated pragmatism? The collective good? Or would you defend your vote on the basis that you just know for certain how the Savior would vote?

_________

This excerpt was, but is no longer, part of my new book How Can You Possibly be a Mormon and a Democrat?, available on Amazon and various bookstores. This story, its conclusion and some lessons drawn from it will be available in my upcoming book How Can You Possibly be a Mormon and a Republican?