All right, let’s say that Pocahontas did not save John Smith. It is still a nice story, and it makes us think that there are people who prize mercy for the innocent above their own interests. Stepping in to stop an injustice, to stop a senseless waste of life, or to stop cruelty for the sake of cruelty is noble. Obviously, there are dangers in the act. Stepping in or speaking up for mercy can jeopardize social status or health, but risking either ennobles an act of mercy. Regardless of the veracity of John Smith’s tale about Pocahontas, the idea that she risked getting her own head bashed by Powhatan became legend enough for retelling over four centuries, including a retelling in a Disney movie. That persistent retelling says something about human values.
Something with a similar outcome as the saving of Smith happened three centuries before he told his story. In the fourteenth century Edward III besieged Calais. The yearlong siege ended in August 1347, when the city’s governor Jean Vienne sent six of his city’s burghers out to beg for mercy. After devoting a year to the siege, Eddie really wasn’t in the mood for mercy though his own knights asked that he spare the men. As he was about to have the six men executed, his wife, Philippa, spoke up. Risking her standing with her husband, she pleaded for mercy for the six strangers. Edward, moved by her plea, acquiesced and spared the men.
Okay, Philippa didn’t put her head in a Pocahontas-like move between those of the burghers and Edward’s sword, but she didn’t sit idly by, either. She spoke up, and six men lived. You might never face so dramatic a circumstance as the fictional one of Pocahontas or the actual one of Philippa, but on whatever scale it occurs, what will you do when you encounter a need for mercy?
Something with a similar outcome as the saving of Smith happened three centuries before he told his story. In the fourteenth century Edward III besieged Calais. The yearlong siege ended in August 1347, when the city’s governor Jean Vienne sent six of his city’s burghers out to beg for mercy. After devoting a year to the siege, Eddie really wasn’t in the mood for mercy though his own knights asked that he spare the men. As he was about to have the six men executed, his wife, Philippa, spoke up. Risking her standing with her husband, she pleaded for mercy for the six strangers. Edward, moved by her plea, acquiesced and spared the men.
Okay, Philippa didn’t put her head in a Pocahontas-like move between those of the burghers and Edward’s sword, but she didn’t sit idly by, either. She spoke up, and six men lived. You might never face so dramatic a circumstance as the fictional one of Pocahontas or the actual one of Philippa, but on whatever scale it occurs, what will you do when you encounter a need for mercy?
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