Some time ago, a certain state existed. It didn't matter where it was located, what its name was, what its flag was, or what its capital city was. It also didn't matter what race its citizens belonged to or what religion they practiced.
What matters is that a single religion dominated, with which most citizens identified. Due to its universality, it became a kind of dominant religion, and its priests managed to gain significant influence over royal decisions.
A certain priest lived in this state. Even in his youth, he was known for his deep faith, great wisdom, and other extraordinary talents. He graduated from the most elite religious universities and quickly climbed the priestly hierarchy. His teachings captivated crowds and he was considered one of the greatest religious authorities of his time, so it was no surprise when he was elected one of the five members of the Supreme Religious Council.
The Council was the highest authority in the hierarchy of this religion – it decided on matters most important to the religion. It also wielded enormous influence over the ruler, who often sought its opinion on many crucial matters.
This priest undoubtedly distinguished himself within the Council for his wisdom and talents, and was therefore quickly perceived throughout the country as its informal leader. And indeed he was.
Often, thanks to his ability to formulate remarkably persuasive arguments and exceptional speaking skills, he was able to convince the majority of the Council. This was true, even on matters where no one would have previously imagined the Council might agree with his position.
One night, this priest dreamed of a city of happiness. The people there suffered no poverty or hunger. They were happy. They had everything they needed. There was no evil or hatred within them. They joyfully thanked God for the gifts He had bestowed upon them.
The city resembled a garden of Eden. Everywhere it smelled of flowers and radiated the greenery of diverse trees. As he gazed upon the city, a figure appeared before him. He could only see her outline. He felt the warmth radiating from her.
"Look at the houses," she said, "yellow houses. Paint the houses
yellow." The figure vanished, and he noticed that in the City of Happiness, the houses were yellow. All of them. Happiness in the city of yellow houses.
The priest awoke with the conviction that the dream had been sent to him by God. He prayed fervently until evening, giving thanks for the revelation. That
evening, he went to the Council meeting. At first, the other priests did not believe in the divine origins of the dream. However, after listening to the priest's convincing story, they agreed.
A few days later, during the celebration of the most important holidays in the Highest Temple, the priest delivered his sermon. He spoke vividly of the happiness that reigned in the city of yellow houses. He argued for the spiritual wisdom of building such a city. He spoke of the necessity of repainting the houses yellow.
Imagine the priest's surprise when he traveled through the city some time later. Only perhaps one-tenth of the houses had been repainted. After his rousing holiday speech, in a society where over 95% of the people professed this religion, he felt devastated and embittered. He asked God why people were so resistant to the truth? Why they refused to create a better world.
For three days, he pondered this situation desperately. Finally, on the third night, he had the same dream again.
"Paint the houses yellow," the Figure said, her voice emanating energy.
The next day, the priest met with the king. He was easily convinced that all state buildings, especially the royal palace, should be repainted yellow.
The buildings were repainted. Priests throughout the city, under the influence of the Supreme Council, preached the need to repaint houses.
But for some time afterward, the effect was still meager.
The priest and other dignitaries wondered why society still resisted creating a spiritual city of happiness, unwilling to repaint their homes yellow.
Soon, it was decided that this moral renewal should be accelerated. The Supreme Council forced the king to withdraw all paint colors except yellow from stores. Some time later, a royal decree was issued prohibiting the painting of houses in colors other than yellow. This was accompanied by constant teaching by the priests. However, despite this, more than half the houses in the city were not yellow.
At that point, the king, now completely convinced of the idea of yellow houses, issued an official order for the repainting. Still no effect, he assigned his troops to supervise the order's execution and ordered the courts to impose heavy fines on citizens who broke the law.
Within a few months, almost all the houses in the city had been repainted.
However, the city still bore no resemblance to the city of bliss from the priest's dream.
The priest pondered this problem for a long time.
Until finally, a man was brought before him. His house was one of the few in the city still not yellow.
"Why didn't you repaint your house?" the priest asked. "Couldn't you afford it, man? They even gave away paint for free.
" "Priest, it's not about money.
" "So what?"
The man didn't answer; there was a long silence. After a moment, he asked,
"Why should I repaint it? Why yellow?"
"Because God willed it."
"What God?" How do priests know?
"Because this is the only way to build a spiritual city of happiness. God told me so in a dream.
" "So maybe it was just an ordinary dream?
" "How dare you deny God's message?!
"I didn't repaint the house out of conviction. I don't believe in your God, though I respect those who do. For me, God is my child's laughter, the face of my wife whispering "goodnight" to me before I fall asleep, the neighing of a foal, the green of the grass, and everything that surrounds me. Everything that exists. I don't believe in any God in the image of man, any superpower. Especially not one that commands houses to be painted yellow. I repeat – I didn't repaint the house out of conviction. I am a free man.
" "How dare you?!" the priest flushed and clutched his head. "How dare you?! You came to ask for my mercy. You don't deserve it! Go away! May the death sentence you've been sentenced to be carried out tomorrow."
"May your God grant you the ability to see clearly one day," the man replied calmly, before the guards brutally dragged him from the room.
That evening, the priest, praying with tears in his eyes, grieved over the condemned man. He asked God to grant him sight before it was too late. That he would agree to repaint the house, for the good of all and himself, before he burned at the stake the next day.
Suddenly, an old man approached the priest, absorbed in prayer. He was hunched, thin, with a life-worn face and torn rags. He began beating the priest with a stick, putting all his feeble strength into it.
"Why are you doing this?" the old man said quietly. "I never told you to paint the houses yellow. Never." The old man stopped beating the priest, instead observing him intently. "Why don't you listen to me, but believe what you want to believe?"
"Guards! Guards!" the priest exclaimed. "Take this scoundrel away from me!"
Two broad-shouldered guards took the old man by the arms. "Whip him?" they asked, laughing.
The priest nodded instinctively. He hadn't heard the guards' question. His mind was still preoccupied with the question—why didn't that blind man want to repaint the house?
It's unclear how the story actually ended.
Some sources say the old man disappeared when something momentarily distracted the guards. And that night, while the priest was sleeping in his bed, a candle tipped over on a nearby table. Its flame ignited a gilded Holy Book. Then the table and shelves with other religious books. When the priest awoke, he saw in the clouds of smoke the flames erupting from the holy books blocking his only exit. Apparently, he burned alive, moaning cruelly as he did so.
In mourning for the priest, the execution was called off. It was called off several more times until a new priest interceded on the Supreme Council's behalf. The sentence was annulled.
However, other sources say there was no fire. The sentence was carried out as planned. In addition to the condemned man, an old man in rags, who had attacked a saintly man in a holy place, was burned at the stake.
No one knows what really happened.
But does it really matter?
"A person is always just a person.
No matter how wise, good, and wonderful they were.
No matter what doctrine, ideology, or organization they represented.
So if your God ever commands you to paint your houses yellow,
first consider whether it's really a command from Him.
Allow others not to paint their houses."
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