PARLEY OF INTOLERANCE
First Peace and Silence all disputes controll,
Then Order plaies the soul;
And giving all things their set forms and houres,
Makes of wilde woods sweet walks and bowres.
Then Order plaies the soul;
And giving all things their set forms and houres,
Makes of wilde woods sweet walks and bowres.
Herbert; from ‘The Familie’
“This” complained the Death Watch Beetle “is my sacred space. I have my home here and am nourished by it.” “It’s you who are spoiling my home with your selfish larval gnawing, piles of dust everywhere , and your arrogant claims to be superior.” protested the mouse. “You’ve got no respect for my sacred space.” “Well that’s a joke” said the Beetle. “What about that heap of mouldy crumbs and those disgusting rotten apples you hide behind the old chairs? Uncivilised I call it.” “Look out,” squeaked the Mouse, “there’s the awful Bat. Now, he is uncivilised and disgusting, with horrible noisome habits. I don’t see why any of the rest of us should put up with him. Oh, no...”
The bat landed and hung upside down from the Beetle’s beam. “Room for a little one?” he piped. “No, definitely not.” they chorused. “This is our space.” said the Beetle. “There’s no room for anyone else.” added the Mouse. “You don’t fit in with us.” protested the Beetle. “You are not of our persuasion. And besides, you stink.” “Why don’t you go outside , or into the porch with the Wren?” suggested the Mouse. “She’s a flyer too, and she doesn’t trouble anyone - too obsessed with those eggs. She wouldn’t mind.” “I would mind.” snapped the Bat, “I am a mammal like you. Beetles I can put up with - they taste quite good. But I don’t consort with birds.”
“That, gentlemen, is enough.” It was the Voice speaking in the darkness behind the curtain, through the crack in the door, from beneath the flagstoned floor, from the apex of the vault, louder than the loudest clap of thunder, more silent than the silence of a still feather. Whose voice it was depended on who was listening. It might be Bramha or G-d, Confucius or Amaterasu, Isis or Baku, even Jesus. “This” continued the Voice “is no one creatures’s space. It is sacred precisely because it belongs to no-one. It is made sacred because of the care and love of each for the others within it. We observe precious little of that love here, gentlemen.” The bat began a shrill protest, but the Voice was not to be interrupted. “And by ‘love’ We do not mean ‘like’. We do not expect you to find each other agreeable. We do not require you to worship the same gods, or indeed to worship any god at all. Resolve therefore to look care-fully at each other, to try to understand each other, to respect each other.”
The Voice paused. The Bat, the Mouse and the Beatle moved closer together, looking outwards with wonder and awe, no longer glaring at each other. “I’ll give it a go.” the Beatle muttered. “I’ll try.” the Mouse said softly. “I suppose it might work.” the Bat admitted reluctanly. “It has to work,” responded the Voice, “or you betray that purpose for which you were made, which would indeed be sad.”
The bat landed and hung upside down from the Beetle’s beam. “Room for a little one?” he piped. “No, definitely not.” they chorused. “This is our space.” said the Beetle. “There’s no room for anyone else.” added the Mouse. “You don’t fit in with us.” protested the Beetle. “You are not of our persuasion. And besides, you stink.” “Why don’t you go outside , or into the porch with the Wren?” suggested the Mouse. “She’s a flyer too, and she doesn’t trouble anyone - too obsessed with those eggs. She wouldn’t mind.” “I would mind.” snapped the Bat, “I am a mammal like you. Beetles I can put up with - they taste quite good. But I don’t consort with birds.”
“That, gentlemen, is enough.” It was the Voice speaking in the darkness behind the curtain, through the crack in the door, from beneath the flagstoned floor, from the apex of the vault, louder than the loudest clap of thunder, more silent than the silence of a still feather. Whose voice it was depended on who was listening. It might be Bramha or G-d, Confucius or Amaterasu, Isis or Baku, even Jesus. “This” continued the Voice “is no one creatures’s space. It is sacred precisely because it belongs to no-one. It is made sacred because of the care and love of each for the others within it. We observe precious little of that love here, gentlemen.” The bat began a shrill protest, but the Voice was not to be interrupted. “And by ‘love’ We do not mean ‘like’. We do not expect you to find each other agreeable. We do not require you to worship the same gods, or indeed to worship any god at all. Resolve therefore to look care-fully at each other, to try to understand each other, to respect each other.”
The Voice paused. The Bat, the Mouse and the Beatle moved closer together, looking outwards with wonder and awe, no longer glaring at each other. “I’ll give it a go.” the Beatle muttered. “I’ll try.” the Mouse said softly. “I suppose it might work.” the Bat admitted reluctanly. “It has to work,” responded the Voice, “or you betray that purpose for which you were made, which would indeed be sad.”
Naomi
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