The Chinamen and the Chimp
Or “A Feast Fit for a King”
An Allegory of China
Jackson Snyder, April
25, 2005.
www.JacksonSnyder.com/arc/2005/chimp2.htm
Luke 12:13-21,
Ecclesiastes 2:1-11, Psalms 49
Year C Proper 13
Luke
12:13. A man in the
crowd said to him, “Master, tell my brother to give me a share of our
inheritance.” 14. He said to him, “My friend, who appointed me your judge, or
the arbitrator of your 
claims?” 15. Then he said to them,
“Watch, and be on your guard against avarice of any kind, for life does not
consist in possessions, even when someone has more than he needs.”
16. Then he told them a parable, “There was
once a rich man who, having had a good harvest from his land, 17. thought to
himself, ‘What am I to do? I have not enough room to store my crops.’ 18. Then he said, ‘This is what I will do: I
will pull down my barns and build bigger ones, and store all my grain and my
goods in them, 19. and I will say to my self: My Self, you have plenty of good
things laid by for many years to come; take things easy, eat, drink, have a
good time.’ 20. But Elohim said to him,
‘Fool! This very night the demand will be made for your soul; and this hoard of
yours, whose will it be then?’ 21. So it is when someone stores up
treasure for himself instead of becoming rich in the sight of Elohim.”
Ecclesiastes
1:12. I, Qoheleth, have
reigned over Israel in Jerusalem. 13. Wisely I have applied myself to
investigation and exploration of everything that happens under heaven. What a
wearisome task God has given humanity to keep us busy! 14. I have seen
everything that is done under the sun: how futile it all is, mere chasing after
the wind!
2: 1. I thought to myself, “Very well, I
will try pleasure and see what enjoyment has to offer.” And this was futile
too. 2. This laughter, I reflected, is a madness, this pleasure no use at all.
3. I decided to hand my body over to drinking wine, my mind still guiding
me in wisdom; I resolved to embrace folly, to discover the best way for people
to spend their days under the sun. 4. I worked on a grand scale: built
myself palaces, planted vineyards; 5. made myself gardens and orchards,
planting every kind of fruit tree in them; 6. had pools made for watering the
young trees of my plantations.
7. I bought slaves, male and female, had
home-born slaves as well; herds and flocks I had too, more than anyone in
Jerusalem before me. 8. I amassed silver and gold, the treasures of kings
and provinces; acquired singers, men and women, and every human luxury, chest
upon chest of it. 9. So I grew great, greater than anyone in Jerusalem
before me; nor did my wisdom leave me. 10. I denied my eyes nothing that
they desired, refused my heart no pleasure, for I found all my hard work a
pleasure, such was the return for all my efforts. 11. I then reflected on
all that my hands had achieved and all the effort I had put into its achieving.
What futility it all was, what chasing after the wind! There is nothing to be
gained under the sun.
18. All I have toiled for under the sun and
now bequeath to my successor I have come to hate; 19. who knows whether he will
be wise or a fool? Yet he will be master of all the work into which I have put
my efforts and wisdom under the sun. That is futile too.
Psalms
49: Responsive
THE SYMBOLS
China
= the World
The
Mandarin = A local demonic tyrant
King
Ghengis Khan XVI = The Devil
Mr.
Bugchow = A Wizard or Occult Medium
The
Village Elders = Ghosts of the World
Villagers
= Slaves of the Tyrant
The
Silver Wang-ho = The Allure of Wealth
The
Moringa Tree = The New Covenant
All
the Trees = Yahweh’s Providence
Chimpanzees
= The New Covenant People
The
Monkey Trap = A Devilish Device
Mr.
Chips = An Evangelist who Fails then Succeeds
This Is An Allegory Based on Luke 12:13ff
and Qoheleth 1 & 2[2]
The Mandarin and
the King
Once upon a time, in a poor village deep in
the heart of China, there lived a powerful Mandarin[3] named
Ooo-ee-oo-ah-ah. He was feared by the
peasants because of his ancestors’ brutality, but now the days of golden winds
had passed: his fortune and power were dwindling, his palace crumbling, his influence
waning. The next hard rain would take
off the roof, and the Mandarin was in constant agitation, considering how he
might maintain his estate and appearance of wealth.
Unexpectedly, a golden rickshaw pulled into
the Mandarin’s courtyard.
Official-looking messengers apprised the Mandarin of a very special
occasion: an imperial visit to his domain.
“In two weeks,” read the messengers from fine paper scrolls, “his
Imperial Majesty Genghis Khan the Sixteenth will visit the venerable Mandarin
Ooo-ee-oo-ah-ah to discuss a business proposition. Said Mandarin is to make all the appropriate
preparations immediately.” There was no
discussion. The messengers left the
scroll, retreated into their rickshaw, and returned to the Khan.
No King had ventured out this far in over a
century. As the Mandarin considered what the visit might entail, he recognized
that his “palace” wasn’t fit for a man of his own stature, much less a
king. Yet his avaricious mind also
considered the possibility that this visit might be an opportunity for the name
Ooo-ee-oo-ah-ah to become great again.
After all, didn’t the messenger say the King had business?
The Meeting of the
Elders
The Mandarin called his servant for tea; he
sent another to summon the six village elders: Mr. Ting, Mr. Tang, two brother
with the name, Walla, then Mr. Bing and Mr. Bang. The seventh man was the witch doctor Mr.
Bugchow, surnamed “the Beast.”
In twenty minutes the council was seated in
the once-lavish dining room of the palace.
After tea, the Mandarin announced, “Our village will be blessed by a
visit from King Ghengis Khan the Sixteenth two weeks from today. It’s an embarrassing shame that you elders of
my village should’ve allowed your Mandarin’s palace to fall into disrepair. Now I’m leaving it up to you to see to my palace. I’m also charging you with providing the
‘feast fit for a king,’ which we haven’t enjoyed in many years.”
Mr. Ting, the spokesman for the elders,
replied, “Sir, we are poor men. How is
it that we’ll pay to complete preparations in such a short span?” The Mandarin had a ready plan: “I shall lend
you my authority to command our peasants be put to labor on the palace. As for the financing …” the Mandarin reached
into his dragon-red vest. “Here is the
last silver wang-ho in our treasury – to be used only for such
emergencies.” The Mandarin presented the
gleaming coin to Mr. Ting with much ado.
“After your purchases are made, you shall return this silver wang-ho to
my hand!”
“B-but,” blurted Ting, “How shall we buy yet
return the money?” Ooo-ee-oo-ah-ah, the
powerful Mandarin, pressed forward in his seat, glaring at Ting. “Mr. Ting, maybe it would be more appropriate
for you to interrogate the wise Mr. Bugchow, seated at your left, about the
matter.” The witch doctor, Bugchow the
Beast, hearing that this was to be his responsibility, began to sweat. True, the Mandarin had lost much power, but
he still retained a menagerie of henchmen to make his word law.
With a final glare, the council was
dismissed, led out by armed guards, and left outside the broken gate. As Ting, Tang, Walla, Walla, Bing and Bang
walked back to their hovels, they discussed the task set before them. “Why would the Mandarin give us the silver
wang-ho to spend if we must return it?”
Mr. Walla II said, “The silver wang-ho is enough to repair the entire
property, yet the Mandarin will only lend it.”
Mr. Bing chimed in, “Friends, we need not spend it on labor anyway, for
the villagers must work at their own expense on the palace. The Mandarin told us we need only make it
presentable.” Mr. Bang said, “You are
right, Bing. The Mandarin’s fortunes may
turn as a result of the King’s business.”
Walla I added, “Yes, comrades, the villagers
must work without pay. But didn’t the
Mandarin command us to provide the ‘feast fit for a king’? Well, you know what that means!” Ting interjected, “Yes, we know what it
means. We must acquire a chimpanzee for
the feast. Now where will we get a
chimpanzee?”
The Feast Fit For a
King
You see, when the Mandarin requested a “feast
fit for a king,” he meant an unbroken tradition must be observed by serving the
customary royal delicacy – chimpanzee fricassee. And, of course, the chimp’s carefully stewed
head, presented au jus with raisons, cloves and nuts, in a delectable and attractive
way, was for the king’s consumption only.
This was what the Mandarin meant when he commanded a “feast fit for a
king.”
Not too long ago, it wasn’t difficult to
provide a chimp. All one had to do was
hike to the monkey tree, pick out a juicy specimen, and bring it down with a
rifle shot, carefully avoiding the head, lest the guest of honor break his
teeth on the bullet.
But now it was nearly impossible to secure
a decent banquet chimp. The Animal
Preservation Treaty of Katmandu outlawed the use of firearms in hunting
chimps. The penalty was hanging. The only way a chimp could be acquired now
was to catch one. That was impossible –
chimps were simply too smart to make themselves available.
“Shall we pay a poacher with that silver
wang-ho to get us a chimp then steal the wang-ho back later?” asked Mr. Tang
rhetorically. “Certainly not, comrade!”
replied Mr. Ting. “Our lives are at stake! What did the Mandarin command us? Do you not remember?”
Mr. Bang remembered, “I clearly heard him
say we were to consult with the witch Bugchow, who was seated at Mr. Tang’s
left.” Bugchow the Beast finally spoke
up. “Yes, men, the Mandarin said the
plan would be my responsibility. I shall
have to consult the Spirit of this World in order that we may get our ‘feast
fit for a king.’ In the meantime, you
set the villager to work on the palace, and meet me right under the monkey tree
at dawn the fourth day. And, oh, Mr.
Ting – bring that silver wang-ho with you.”
Then the men dispersed among the villagers
to assign duties. But the witch Bugchow
went straight for his laboratory to conjure up the Spirit of this World. His life, and the lives of the entire
council, were at stake. Bugchow needed
big medicine.
The Monkey Tree
Meanwhile, in the jungle, a forest of hemp
and nettles surrounded three huge trees.
A great battle was once fought hereabouts, and some remnants of war
machines could still be found. One of
the trees was a tall cocoanut that shed leaves and fruit throughout the
year. The second was a thick lychee
tree, full of blossoms, nuts and fruit.
The third was the monkey tree – a seventy-foot moringa that encompassed
the others.
In the canopy of the Moringa lived a family
of chimps. There they had access to all
the moringa’s healing properties, plus the fruits, nuts, milk and flesh of the
other trees. The chimpanzees had little
reason to leave their leafy paradise, for even their water dropped from the
skies daily, and below was only hemp, nettles and debris. Since the ban on monkey-shooting, the colony
had little to fear, though curiosity sometimes carried them down to explore
this little thing or that.
Beneath the Monkey
Tree
One morning early, Ting, Tang, Walla, Walla,
Bing and Bang, having set the villagers to work on the palace in preparation
for the Khan, were making their way through the undergrowth to the monkey
tree. It was a hard way to go; Bing had
already fallen into a nettle patch and was as red as a yellow man could be –
that is, bright orange. Tang stepped on
a rusty nail from an old war wagon.
Walla the First was plum tuckered out as the elders approached the
monkey tree in full site of its inhabitants above, staring down in curiosity,
recalling that these fellows used to bring guns, but no more.
The elders sat upon the barrel of a rusty
cannon near the monkey tree – they wondered what to do next. Where was Bugchow the Beast, the witch
doctor? “What will we do without the
plan?” cried Mr. Bang as the monkeys above heckled the sextet, pointing their
long fingers and cackling like ninnies.
Walla the Second was a man of action, especially after being drained by
a thousand biting flies. “It’s time for
battle!” he shouted. Like a Kamikaze, he
fought his way through the nettles to the trunk of the moringa tree and started
to shimmy up, cursing, swearing he’d bring down the main course with bare hands
if necessary.
Bang received an honorable mention,
ascending the trunk about seven feet before the being pelted with wet balls of
a material not mentionable in decent company.
Down, down descended Bang in the agony of defeat, banging into a nettle
patch full of chiggers, brandishing his kerchief like the white flag of
surrender, wiping slime from his eyes.
Stealing his moment of fame, a more
formidable figure approached the old cannon through the hemp – it was the witch
doctor, Bugchow, late. He’d contacted
the Spirit of this World, and had a fool-proof plan for providing their Mandarin
with meat for a “feast fit for a king.”
Bugchow addressed Mr. Ting, “Sir, did you
bring the silver wang-ho with you?”
“Yes, I have it right here,” replied the tormented Ting. As he opened his hand, the wang-ho caught the
bright gleam of the sun, projecting a light beam into the monkey tree. Every chimp saw that. “Excellent,” said the witch doctor. “Now let’s get to work.”
The Hideous Plan
While the chimps above were spitting,
cackling, squirting and throwing pods down on Ting, Tang, Walla, Walla, Bing,
Bang, Bugchow the witch doctor barked orders he’d received from the infernal
spirit. “Mr. Tang – clear away the hemp
under the monkey tree; twist it together to make strong twines three meters
long. Mr. Bing – crawl under the tree
yonder and find a dry hollow cocoanut – don’t come back without a dry one! Mr. Walla One – bring an old rifle from the
war.” Walla One knew shooting a chimp
would mean execution. “But Sir Mr.
Bugchow,” he spat. “We haven’t any
bullets!” Bugchow ignored him, “Just
find us a rifle, sir.”
“Mr. Bang, you climb under that lychee tree
and get a bayonet – unless of course you brought your pocket knife.” “No sir, I did not,” replied Bang. “Then you find a bayonet.” Bugchow continued, “Walla Two, you’re too
orange right now to do anything but hold my umbrella.” Bugchow produced a large parasol from his
robe, opened it and handed it to Walla.
By this time, pods, putrid liquids, mushy material and rotten cocoanuts
hailed down upon these respectable fellows like missiles on Baghdad. The enemies in the tree felt confident they’d
win, since these men had no guns.
Mr. Ting shouted over the din of the
cackling, “And what shall I do, Sir?”
Bugchow replied, “You just flash that silver wang-ho over your head so
our ‘feast fit for a king’ up in the drumstick tree gets a good look.” So Ting flashed the wang-ho. The apes in the canopy quieted down; the
pelting stopped as the curiosity started.
Building a Chimp
Trap
An hour later, Mr. Ting was still flashing
the silver wang-ho in the air, and the apes were fixed upon it. “Can I stop now?” asked Ting. The hemp
beneath the monkey tree had been cleared away and braded into twine. All parties had returned, successful in their
scavenging. Mr. Bang used the bayonet to
bore a two-inch hole in the dry cocoanut provided by Mr. Bing, then he
unscrewed the rifle’s strap hinge and screwed the hinge to the cocoanut. Then Bang ran into the clearing under the
monkey tree and beat the bayonet into the ground as far as it’d go with a rock.
Mr. Tang tied an end of his hemp twine to
the strap hinge on the cocoanut before running out into the clearing and tying
the other end to the bayonet. So now the
bung-holed cocoanut was firmly attached to the bayonet stuck fast in the ground
by a hemp twine nine feet long. The
chimps were fascinated with the show.
After testing the strength of the twine,
Bugchow the Beast advised Mr. Ting, “You may now stop flashing the silver
wang-ho and hand it to me, sir.” Bugchow
took the coin and held it aloft as he walked toward the monkey tree, gathering
the cocoanut in the other hand. He held
up the items in his hands like an offering.
Then Bugchow intoned the magic words, “Hoo-ga-boo-gah hic, haec, hoc!”
as he dropped the priceless wang-ho into the cocoanut hole. (It just barely fit). Bugchow made sure his prey knew the coin was
inside the hollow cocoanut by shaking it really well: the rattling of it was
heard for a half a mile. The chimps
looked at each other and at the cocoanut, eyes wide in eager perplexity.
Then Bugchow the Beast gave his last order
as he dropped the cocoanut back onto the ground just beneath the monkey tree:
“Comrades, sit and wait.” The seven
Chinamen retreated to the rusty cannon, where they sat once again. Bugchow congratulated them all, “Well done,
comrades!” Mr. Ting passed a canteen of
sweet tea, and they waited.
Goodbye, Mr. Chips
One young chimp had personality on top of
audacity. Though he was Chinese, his
mother prayed he’d become an English schoolteacher when he grew up, and she
named him Mr. Chips by faith. Chips was
the perfect entrée around which to arrange the rest of the “feast fit for a
king.” Lean yet juicy he was, and mother already had him dressed. (She’d discovered a Japanese sailor suit in
one of those old war chests some months earlier.)
Mr. Chips had everything he needed and more
in the spreading canopy. All the moringa
leaves and pods he could eat, all the cocoanuts, and slugs and bugs, and the
daily shower, with playmates, a great family, and, most important of all,
safety and security way up there. The
law of liberty protected Mr. Chips and his kind from the attacks of beasts with
rifles from below. The law had taken
away their guns.
But while all the chimps were awed by the
gleam of the silver wang-ho, and they’d all witnessed Bugchow the Beast pop it
into the hollow shell, and all could see those Chinamen sitting on the cannon
like monkeys on a desk, only Mr. Chips had the {clear throat} “ambition” and
“business acumen” to go for the glistening, rattling silver wang-ho, his ticket
to England and Cambridge University.
So with the help of a river of adrenaline,
Chips dashes down the trunk of the great moringa, completes a double flip on
the lowest branch, drops gracefully to the ground, speeds to the dry cocoanut,
thrusts his paw into the bung-hole, grasps the silver wang-ho, then – when he
tries to pull his paw out – it won’t pull.
He tries again. It won’t
pull. Stuck fast. Chips hasn’t maturity to realize that the
only way he’s going to have his paw is to let go of the wang-ho. So instead, he’ll take the whole cocoanut
into the canopy and figure it all out in safety. As he dives for the lowest limb, the hemp
twine yanks him back to the ground with a thump.
Bing and Bang are off the cannon and after
him. They chase Chips around the moringa
three times, the hemp winds about the trunk.
Chips is at the end of his rope.
Unwilling to let go of the wang-ho, he’s apprehended as Mr. Bang casts
his shirt over Chip’s head and Mr. Bing grabs his ugly feet. Mr. Tang pulls loose the bayonet, unwinds the
rope, secures Mr. Chips’ paws, and the gang’s off to prepare a “feast fit for a
king.” “Good job, fellows,” cries Mr.
Ting in excitement. And “Goodbye, Mr.
Chips.”
To Make a Long
Story Short
When I write an allegorical sermon, the
story never wants me to quit. I’m greedy
about that ending; I want you to want it as much as Mr. Chips wants the
wang-ho. However, suppose I just sum it
all up right now.
Mandarin
Ooo-ee-oo-ah-ah
The moral of the story: First, the Mandarin Ooo-ee-oo-ah-ah could’ve
spent his silver wang-ho to completely refurbish his palace and aid all the
people of the villages he ruled if he wasn’t so grasping and fearful of letting
go of his emergency fund. Instead of
doing the right thing, in the end, he didn’t get his wang-ho back nor did he
get his “feast fit for a king.” What he
did get was a cheap coat of paint on a palace he couldn’t use anyway, for the
Khan came to visit a day early. When his
feast wasn’t awaiting him, he had everybody on the premises, Mandarin and all,
beheaded, in the palace meeting room. As
to the greed of Ooo-ee-oo-ah-ah, a quote from Kahlil Gilbran is a most
appropriate moral,
“Cast aside those who liken godliness to
whimsy
and who try to combine their greed for
wealth
with their desire for a happy afterlife.”
Ghengis Khan the
Sixteenth
Next, Ghengis Khan the Sixteenth, the King
of all Devils, thought it generous to offer a deal for the Mandarin’s property
until he arrived to find the appropriate honor wasn’t being given by this
thoughtless ingrate, even though Khan was a day early. A demon should always be prepared for the
devil’s visit, no matter what the cost.
The devil can’t be trusted to arrive at an appointed time, and dealing
with him will lose you your very SELF.
No better moral could I find for Khan’s avarice than a quote from Top
Dollar:
“Greed’s for amateurs, dude.
Disorder, chaos, anarchy:
now that's real fun!”
Hello, Mr. Chips
In the chaos of the Khan’s deadly visit,
one of his draft horses spooked and careened wildly around the palace, stomping
the cage holding a chimp named Chips.
The hooves freed Chips of not only his bamboo cage, but also of the
hollow cocoanut locked on his grip for the last ten days. The good guy broke loose and ran with his
valuable coin. After saying goodbye to
mother and family at the monkey tree, Chips was off to Shanghai to catch the
Midnight express to Bucharest, then on to Cambridge University.
In the years to come, Mr. Chips was to
become the Right Reverend Bishop Frederic W. Farrar of the Church of
England. His book of sermons preached at
Westminster Abbey entitled The Amelioration of the World, is still read by
chumps chimps today. The moral of Mr.
Chips' story comes from Jane Austen:
“Nobody minds having what’s too good for
them,”
even if that
nobody is queued to be stewed with raisons, nuts and cloves. But heaven loved
Mr. Chips, and he became far better than his mother expected - by the
providence of G-d and the authority of the mighty Church of England.
Bing and Bang
Finally, the elders of the village, now
subjected to the ruthless son, Ghengis Khan the Seventeenth, were required to
present a “feast fit for a king” every Sunday morning forever. Bing and Bang no longer needed Bugchow the
Beast to provide a monkey plan; they caught as many monkeys as they wanted by
building many traps, putting an English walnut in the cocoanut – no valuable
wang-ho necessary. The monkeys,
including Mr. Chips family, were tricked and carted away in droves. There was monkey head on Sunday for his
Highness the Khan, and monkey meat to spare - the whole village henceforth
regularly partook of feasts fit for kings but appropriated by commoners.
Bugchow the Beast
As for Bugchow the Beast – he never cared
for monkey anyhow. Instead, he prefers
the flesh, blood and bones of men and women – especially greedy, avaricious
ones. After the escape of Mr. Chips,
Bugchow made a meal of Mandarin Mandarin.
-------------------
[1] Qoheleth may
be a proper name or it may mean “The Preacher.”
In this case, the preacher is King Solomon. [2] Here’s an optional
intro: People are omnivores. They’ll eat just about everything. Some things we’d never put near our mouths
are considered delicacies in other locales.
Poison blowfish are eaten raw in Japan.
Some’ve died from blowfish poison, but the Japanese keep eating
them. Islanders on our side of the world
eat another poisonous fish – barracuda.
I have a friend from the Bahamas whose father died after eating a
barracuda. Some folks eat fried blowfly
cakes one season every year when the wind brings billions in. And in some cultures, cow’s blood and milk
are mixed together as a milkshake. Some
cultures eat monkeys and consider a monkey to be a “feast fit for a king.” Today I want to share an allegory about such
a feast. [3] Mandarin: A member of any of the nine ranks of high public
officials in the Chinese Empire. A high government official or bureaucrat.
A member of an elite group, especially a person having influence or high
status in intellectual or cultural circles.