In this chap­ter titled The Hunt­ing Par­son, the nar­ra­tive explores the ten­sion between reli­gious expec­ta­tion and recre­ation­al free­dom, using the key­word as a the­mat­ic gate­way into a long-stand­ing cul­tur­al con­tra­dic­tion. The hunt­ing par­son is pre­sent­ed as a man caught between duty and desire, embody­ing a kind of moral para­dox that soci­ety refus­es to accept eas­i­ly. Though cler­gy are often pre­sumed to lead lives of unre­lent­ing solem­ni­ty, the chap­ter opens with a chal­lenge to that per­cep­tion, ques­tion­ing whether occa­sion­al par­tic­i­pa­tion in hunt­ing tru­ly under­mines spir­i­tu­al respon­si­bil­i­ty. This fig­ure is not reck­less nor friv­o­lous but delib­er­ate in man­ag­ing both faith and field, aim­ing to live in a way that is both ground­ed in rur­al life and true to his call­ing. His strug­gle is not with the sport itself, but with the rigid soci­etal lens through which his actions are judged.

The author begins by dis­sect­ing the objec­tions that sur­round a clergyman’s involve­ment in hunt­ing, par­tic­u­lar­ly the accu­sa­tion that it detracts from parish oblig­a­tions. This assump­tion is ques­tioned on prac­ti­cal grounds—many rur­al par­sons have flex­i­ble sched­ules and few­er pro­fes­sion­al demands than their urban coun­ter­parts. Rather than attend­ing end­less meet­ings or man­ag­ing large con­gre­ga­tions, they often enjoy more auton­o­my over their time. There­fore, the occa­sion­al hunt can be slot­ted into their lives with­out any real neglect of their sacred duties. Yet despite this log­ic, pub­lic sen­ti­ment con­tin­ues to be shaped more by appear­ances than by actu­al dere­lic­tion. Crit­ics often rely on emo­tion, not rea­son, to denounce the prac­tice, equat­ing it with friv­o­li­ty or even moral cor­rup­tion with­out artic­u­lat­ing how it harms the com­mu­ni­ty or church.

This dis­ap­proval is linked less to spe­cif­ic actions and more to a vague belief that leisure, espe­cial­ly some­thing as earthy as hunt­ing, doesn’t suit the cloth. The nar­ra­tive wry­ly notes that society’s more “respectable” class, often rep­re­sent­ed by con­ser­v­a­tive or pious onlook­ers, acts from instinc­tu­al dis­ap­proval rather than informed con­cern. Such indi­vid­u­als do not engage in seri­ous debate about time man­age­ment or morality—they sim­ply recoil at the notion of a cler­gy­man par­tak­ing in phys­i­cal, loud, and per­haps bloody recre­ation. Iron­i­cal­ly, these same crit­ics often accept cler­gy­men enjoy­ing oth­er forms of rest or trav­el, as long as it appears refined and detached. The par­son who walks his parish with a fish­ing rod is charm­ing; the one who rides to hounds is scan­dalous. This dis­crep­an­cy reflects deep­er cul­tur­al bias­es about what reli­gious fig­ures should enjoy.

The decline in accept­ed cler­i­cal pas­times is high­light­ed through the com­par­i­son of mod­ern expec­ta­tions to past free­doms. Decades ago, par­sons were known to dance, shoot, and even enjoy a glass of port with­out fear of judg­ment, but today’s stan­dards are more con­fin­ing. Social evo­lu­tion has demand­ed that reli­gious fig­ures adhere more strict­ly to the appear­ance of sanc­ti­ty than to its sub­stance. The author express­es con­cern that such unre­al­is­tic expec­ta­tions dis­cour­age well-round­ed, dynam­ic indi­vid­u­als from enter­ing the min­istry. If cler­gy­men are forced into monas­tic invis­i­bil­i­ty, the church may lose those who would oth­er­wise bring vig­or and relata­bil­i­ty to their parish­es. There is a qui­et sug­ges­tion that joy—especially rur­al joy—should not be so hasti­ly deemed irrev­er­ent.

When the hunt­ing par­son rides out, his attire is often sub­tly adjust­ed to avoid draw­ing too much atten­tion to his dual role. The black hat might be swapped for brown, the col­lar loos­ened, the demeanor quieter—still respectable but less con­spic­u­ous­ly cler­i­cal. He is care­ful, even delib­er­ate, in how he presents him­self, sep­a­rat­ing pul­pit and pad­dock as best he can. This care shows that the inter­nal con­flict is not entire­ly imag­ined; even those who embrace the hunt feel pres­sure to hide or min­i­mize their enjoy­ment of it. It’s a bal­anc­ing act that requires both courage and dis­cre­tion, reveal­ing just how sharply reli­gious life has been boxed in by social per­cep­tion.

Despite these chal­lenges, the hunt­ing par­son remains a fig­ure of admi­ra­tion and affec­tion with­in the field. His pres­ence adds intel­li­gence, thought­ful dia­logue, and a refresh­ing depth to hunt­ing cir­cles, often mak­ing him one of the most com­pelling com­pan­ions in the field. The author con­fess­es a per­son­al fond­ness for these men, who despite pub­lic crit­i­cism, find ways to har­mo­nize faith and sport with dig­ni­ty. Their abil­i­ty to remain devout with­out for­go­ing the joys of coun­try life speaks vol­umes about their integri­ty and resilience. In their qui­et rebel­lion, they pre­serve not only the spir­it of the chase but a more human, approach­able ver­sion of spir­i­tu­al lead­er­ship.

As the chap­ter draws to a close, the tone shifts to one of res­ig­na­tion, acknowl­edg­ing that no mat­ter how rea­son­able the argu­ments or how gen­tle the clergyman’s con­duct, pub­lic opin­ion may nev­er ful­ly soft­en. The hunt­ing par­son will always ride with a kind of invis­i­ble burden—a need to jus­ti­fy joy in a role often mis­tak­en for self-denial. His life becomes a sub­tle protest against a cul­ture that con­fus­es piety with joy­less­ness, remind­ing us that spir­i­tu­al devo­tion and per­son­al ful­fill­ment need not be at odds. Through this reflec­tion, read­ers are invit­ed to recon­sid­er their own judg­ments, per­haps find­ing in the hunt­ing par­son not con­tra­dic­tion, but har­mo­ny between pas­sion and pur­pose.