It was the best of times followed by the worst of times. It was a
time of prosperity followed by a time of rapidly shrinking stock
portfolios. It was a time of confidence followed by a time of
terror. It was a time of breezy urbane detachment followed by a time
of breezy urbane flag-waving. We needed answers, so we gathered a
small group of questing souls and headed once again into the
mountains of Karastan to visit Father Almazar. We hadn’t seen the
old sage in three years, and we hoped he’d still be there to greet
us and share some of his sagacity with us. (Sagacity is, after all,
the hallmark of a good sage.)
The sun was sinking toward the western cliffs, lighting the sky
with cold fire, as we finally approached the dwelling-place of
Father Almazar high above the fabled Vale of Madzoon. The sage of
Karastan heard our voices and poked his head through the entrance to
his cavelike retreat.
"Shahzah, my old friends!" shouted the old
philosopher. "How delightful to greet you here upon my mountain
once again. Come inside, come inside. We will talk of life and
trouble, or anything else you wish." We entered the hermit’s
den and seated ourselves on the ancient carpets that covered the
stone floor. Father Almazar brought us a bowl of apples and
pomegranates, then lit a tin lantern and took his place across from
us on a carpet of deep blue and amber.
I spoke for our group. "Father Almazar, we’re upset by the
terrorist attacks against America. They’ve changed our world so
suddenly and dramatically, and we’re afraid that life will never
be good for us again. We didn’t do anything to cause these
attacks, and we’re angry and confused. Do you have any answers for
us?"
"I understand how the world has hurt you," said Father
Almazar. "I think I understand how disconsolate you are
feeling. Let me then tell you a tale." The sage took a
pomegranate from the bowl and began his story.
"Back in the age that preceded the future, there dwelt two
families on the opposite shores of a deep water. The tribe of Shem
existed as they had for a thousand years: sojourning in desert
places, watching their herds, trading and bartering for a modest
livelihood. Upon this stony land they led simple, fierce and
honorable lives, for they revered a dead prophet who counseled them
in the ways of simplicity, fierceness and honor.
"On the other shore dwelt the tribe of Sam, although it was
not truly a blood family but a gathering of individuals from many
tribes who had journeyed across the water in search of
opportunities. Their land proved to be abundantly fruitful, and with
vast eagerness did they increase their wealth and their numbers.
Together they accomplished many bold feats in commerce and the
sciences, and in these achievements did they take immeasurable
pride. By donating but a meager portion of their riches to the
weaker tribes, they found that they could purchase their loyalty as
a merchant buys out his rivals. With much pomp did the Samites
rescue those tribes from their adversaries, and with great cunning
did they establish warrior camps to govern their interests in
strange lands."
Some of us began to fidget, and we exchanged puzzled glances as
our host told his tale. I was accustomed to the mysterious ways of
Father Almazar, so I was ready to hear more. The old sage continued
his narrative:
"The tribe of Sam began to call itself the greatest of all
the tribes, even the greatest in history. Surely they enjoyed
unequaled power and influence among all the children of men. Yet
the souls of their people ceased to venerate the beautiful and good; their arts grew willfully decadent and debasing to the spirit. The Samites
began to assume that the other tribes must love what they love, and
hate what they hate. Like a sea-creature with a hundred arms, they
entwined themselves around almost every tribe on both sides of the
deep water. Everywhere under the heavens, the sons of men began to
wear Samite garments, watch Samite images on the screen, listen to
their vulgar music and partake of their unwholesome, rapidly
prepared foods."
Another wave of whispering and fidgeting followed these
pronouncements, so I turned to my companions and motioned for
silence. Father Almazar continued his tale as if he saw and heard nothing.
"Now the land of Shem harbored a rare and precious burning
water that the Samites prized above gold and rubies, and the sons of
Shem gladly traded it in exchange for money and goods. To guard
their access to the burning water, the Samites established warrior
camps in the land of Shem. They aided the enemies of the Shemites
and even fought a war to protect the wells of burning water as if
the wells were their own possessions. And wherever the Samites
established their presence, even among the ancient and fierce tribe
of Shem, many fell under their malign influence. The elders of the
tribe feared that the old ways would be abandoned, that their young
men and women would adopt the corrupt styles and beliefs of the
strangers from across the deep water. Groups of Shemites began to
meet in secret to plot the destruction of the Samites. With
righteous wrath did they invoke the name of their ancient prophet,
and with admirable ferocity did they unleash terrible and glorious
justice upon the land of Sam."
At this point even I had heard enough. Amid the muffled sobs and
epithets emanating from our group, I blurted out a verbal
counterstrike against the old sage.
"Father Almazar, we’ve heard just about all we can stand.
We came to you for understanding and yet you make it sound as if WE
were the evildoers. Your story is exactly the kind of vicious
slander that caused the attacks in the first place. I’m sick of
all this bitter resentment toward the U.S. We may not be a perfect
society, but we’re always the first in line to aid starving
countries and rescue our friends from disaster. As far as I’m
concerned, your story reeks of ENVY because we’re wealthy and
powerful. What do you have to say about that?"
The sage put down his pomegranate and replied in a gentle voice:
"Ah, my son. It is not my own story that you heard. Alas, I
have only told you the tale that is told by your enemies. The tale
contains some truth and it contains much distortion, but it
represents their perception all the same. What will you do to change
their story? How do you change their perception of you? That is the
secret to winning this war you have embarked upon. You are justified
in your wrath, and perhaps you are justified in your attacks upon
the land of your foe. But you are not merely engaged in a battle
against a tribe or a nation; you are at war with hatred itself.
Hatred is the most elusive of foes; it may hide in a cave or in a
grove of olive trees; you may have to search for it on a rooftop in
a remote village, or in the crevices of a cliff. Wherever two or
three men are gathered in enmity to your nation, there you must
strike. Yet bombs and warriors are powerless to defeat such a foe,
because two or three men can move as easily as the flies that
torment an ox. You are at war with a swarm of flies, and you will
never catch them all. It is an impossible task."
Another of our group spoke up, "But it makes us feel better
to swat as many as we can."
"Indeed," answered the sage. "You may keep
swatting, but the flies will keep coming. There is no end to flies
or trouble, as my people say. And there is no end to those who hate;
they will always be with us. But what I said to you before, I say to
you again: What will you do to change their story? You will triumph
only by changing the perceptions of your enemies -- a difficult
undertaking, it is certain, but one that your nation should pursue
with all its ingenuity. Rewrite the story that your enemies tell,
and they will resent you no more."
"But Father Almazar," I said. "How do we rewrite
the story? It’s their story, after all. We have no control over
what they tell each other about us."
"Ah, but you have control over what you tell them about
yourself. You have control over what you show them of your culture
and your ways. You have control over your actions toward their
nations. Change what you reveal to them about yourself, and they
will change what they believe about you."
"But won’t they still resent us because we’re rich and
powerful?"
"Alas, my son," the sage replied. "The rich and
powerful will always be resented by the poor and powerless, just as
free men are resented by those in bondage. Your people are rich,
powerful and free, so the resentments pile as high as the
constellations. Surely you will be resented less if you act less
rich and powerful among the nations. But always hold fast to your
freedom; it is more precious by far than riches and power, more
valuable even than the burning water that you covet.
Father Almazar sighed. "I fear that your war against your
enemies might force you to limit your own liberties, and that would
be a great tragedy in the history of men. When I told you the tale
of the two tribes, I knew that you respected my freedom to think and speak
as my soul directs me, even though what I had to say offended
you. After all, if I had told such an offensive tale to my own
countrymen, they would have beheaded me on the spot. I say to you,
guard your liberty with all your might, so that you would never be
inclined to behead a babbling old man."
