The fight for the right to think

Humanity lived happily in the valley of ignorance. From the north and the south, from the east and the west rose the peaks of the eternal mountains. A small stream of knowledge flowed slowly through a deep gorge. It came from the mountains of the past. He was lost in the swamps of the future. It was not a great river. But it was enough for the few needs the villagers had.

In the evening, when they had already watered their livestock and filled their buckets, they sat down and enjoyed life. They would raise the learned old men from the shadowy corners, where they had spent their day, reviving the mysterious pages of an old book, and bring them into the company.

They, too, muttered strange words to their grandchildren, who they would have preferred, at that time playing with the beautiful pebbles, brought from distant lands. Often these words were not very clear. But he wrote a thousand years ago, a forgotten race. And so, it was sacred.

Because in the valley of ignorance, everything that was old was also worshiped. Those who dared to question the wisdom of the fathers were scorned by decent people. And so, everyone had their peace. Fear was their constant companion. Because what would happen if they were denied their share of the harvest.

At night, in the narrow dark streets of the little state, there were whispers of some vague stories, insoluble, about some people, women and men, who had dared to ask some things. They were all gone. And since then, no one saw them again. Some of them had tried to climb the towering walls of the stone mountain peak that hid the sun. Their bleached bones lay at the bottom of the cliffs.

Years came, years went. Humanity lived happily in the valley of ignorance.

Surta, a man, suddenly emerged from the darkness. On his fingers, his nails were broken. He had bound his feet with rags, drenched in blood from the wounds inflicted by the long marches. He stumbled to the door of the nearest hut and knocked. Then he fainted. Under the frightened light of a lamp, he was carried on a litter. In the morning, the news spread throughout the village. He had turned back. The neighbors stood around and shook their heads. They were always told that this was how it would end. Defeat and submission awaited anyone who dared to venture beyond the mountain roots. And in a corner of the village, the old men were shaking their heads and muttering fiery words. They did not want to behave inhumanely, but the law was the law. This man sinned greatly, transgressing the wishes of those who know. Once his wounds were healed he would go on trial. I wanted them to treat him with leniency.

They remembered his mother's strange burning eyes. The tragedy of his father, who had been lost in the desert thirty years ago, was beginning again in their minds. However, the law was the law. And to the law, all must appear obedient. Those in the know would see to it. The straggler was brought into the marketplace, and the crowd stood around in respectful silence. He was still very weak from hunger and thirst, so the elders ordered him to sit down. Denied. They ordered him to shut up. But he spoke. He turned his back on the old men, and his eyes sought out those who not long ago had been his friends.

Listen to me, he begged them. Hear me out and prepare to rejoice. I crossed the mountains again to go back. Where I had gone, my feet stepped on fresh earth. My hands felt the touch of other races. And I saw with my eyes wonderful things.

When I was a child, the world for me reached as far as the fence of my father's pergola. To the east and west, south and north were the mountains. It's always been there, since Time Began.

When I asked the adults what the spines were hiding behind them, they were ashamed to shut up and shook their heads. And when I persisted, they took me and took me to the edge of the rocks and they saw the bleached bones of those who dared to defy the gods.

When I shouted saying It's lies. The gods love whoever has courage. Those who know came and read me with their holy books. Onomos, they told me, had set things as they were in heaven and on earth. We were assigned to have this valley and it is our duty to keep it. Living things and flowers, fruits and fish are ours to do with as we please. But the mountains are for the gods. And what is behind them must remain unknown until the end of time.

That's how they spoke to me. And they lied. The same lies they tell you. Beyond these mountains are rich pastures and meadows, let your eye delight in them. And over there live people like us, with similar flesh and bones. And there are also states that shine with the glamor of a thousand years of work. I found the way to a better homeland. I saw the promise of a better life. Follow me and I'll take you there. Because the gods smile the same there, as here, as everywhere.

He then stopped talking...

And then a horrified gasp arose. The elders shouted blasphemy. Blasphemous and sacrilegious. And his punishment must be worthy of the pity. He lost his clubs. He dares to tamper with the law that was written a thousand years ago. Death. And they lifted heavy cones in their hands. And they killed him. And they threw his body deep into the cliff, to stand there as a warning to all those who took in their mouths the wisdom of the ancestors.

Until after some time a great downpour fell. The stream of knowledge dried up. The living were eating bread out of thirst. The harvest was lost in the fields, and a great famine began in the valley of ignorance. But the elders who know didn't lose it. They prophesied that everything would be fine in the end, because it was written in their most sacred papers. And then, for their sake, he didn't need much food. They were so very old.

Winter came. The village ransacked. More than half the inhabitants died of starvation. The only hope, for those who survived, lay beyond the mountains. But the law said no. And to the law all must appear obedient.

Many years had passed since the stray returned. It was not an easy task to find the road he had marked again. Thousands fell victims to hunger and thirst until they found the first sign. From then on, the crossing had fewer difficulties.

The careful pioneer had made a clear path between the forests and the endless desert rocks. He led m easy stations in the green pastures of the new land. And the people looked at each other in silence.

Here he was right, they said. He was right, and the old men were wrong.....

He was telling the truth and they tricked us...

His bones are rotting at the roots of the mountain, but the elders sit in their carts singing their ancient hymns...

He saved us and we killed him...

It's a great shame what happened, but of course if we knew then...

And then they slaughtered their horses and oxen and drove the goats and goats into the pastures. They built houses to live in and cultivated their fields and lived happily ever after.

A few years later an attempt was made to bury the brave pioneer in the splendid new building they had erected for the residence of the wise old men. An official procession returned to the now deserted valley, but when they reached the place where they had thrown the body they found it no longer there. A hungry jackal sneaks up to his nest. Then they put a stone at the beginning of the path (now it was a great avenue). They wrote above the name of the man who first defied the dark terror of the unknown so that the people could be led to a new freedom.

And they wrote that the plaque was erected by grateful descendants. That's how it was in the beginning. That's how it is now. Let's hope that one day it won't be like this anymore.