A Fable
On the southern edge of a quiet valley, a governor declared, “The world is crooked, so I must bend it straight.” He ordered every reed tied upright, every stream forced into channels, every child taught one approved name for the moon. The people bowed, for his banners were bright and his voice was loud.
Yet the more he commanded, the more the valley suffered. Trees split from the ropes. Fish vanished from the narrowed water. Neighbors, once gentle, began spying on neighbors to prove their loyalty to the impossible. Those who doubted the governor were shamed, then driven away, then blamed for the empty fields.
An old boatman watched from the riverbank and said, “When a man believes his fantasy is heaven’s law, he cuts the root and praises the flower.”
The governor heard this and grew angry. “Silence,” he cried, “for I have truth.”
The boatman answered, “The Truth does not shout. It flows around stones.”
At last the governor’s own hands trembled. He had made a cage from his certainties and locked himself inside. The valley, released from his grasp, slowly breathed again. Reeds bent with the wind. The stream found its way. And the people learned that absurd beliefs, when armed with power, do not merely look foolish, they become cruel.
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