A Modern Parable

There once were two men who disagreed over how best to keep a car running.

One man said that the key is gas. Gas alone will keep that engine running, he swore up and down. Everything else is trivial in comparison. Just pour gas in, and the running engine will clean itself.

Nonsense, the other replied. The engine cannot run for long without oil changes, regular system flushing, clean radiator fluid and the like. Don't worry about the gas, he assured the first man, as it is a natural by-product of a well-maintained engine. Provided the engine is kept running smoothly, gas will fill the tank as a matter of course.

Each man felt that the other was intolerably stupid and arrogant. Sadly, both men enjoyed debating. Publicly. So it came to pass that on most days these two souls could be found exchanging heated words outside the only cafe in town.

An abandoned car parked nearby proved the foil for most of their arguments. Year in and year out it sat there, unused except as a case in point for each man's claim. Each man swore he could go to the ends of the earth in it, but neither ever tried to actually drive it. As a result, their theories about car maintenance were never much put to the test. And the car they kept gesturing at continued to gather dust.

Then one day word came that a calamitous storm was heading in the direction of their town. Hoping for the best, both men chose to wait at the cafe and hopefully ride it out or watch it pass the town by. As luck would have it, however, the storm bore down on the town dead on, and grew in ferocity as it approached.

Leaving unprepared and in a hurry, the two men found themselves fleeing calamity, strangely, in the very same abandoned car they had been pointing at for so many years. Sitting down in it for the first time, they discovered keys in the ignition, a bit of gas in the tank, and an engine which ran — albeit a bit roughly. Miracles never cease. They drove off in a cloud of dust.

The storm pursued them. As if by design. Day after day they found themselves, yet again, on the move. Despite their best efforts, neither person could escape either the other or the storm. That car proved their only hope for escape, and each morning they found themselves together again in it, fleeing the wrath of God.

The car performed well, as things worked out, but the trip was intolerably unpleasant for quite a long time. In the early stages of travel each man did what he thought was most important, and spent no small amount of driving time ridiculing the habits of the other where car-care was concerned. "Pointless and unnecessary" were the most commonly uttered words for the first half of the trip, and they proceeded from both mouths. Sometimes simultaneously! On account of the rancor, they couldn't even enjoy music together, though they had common tastes in this regard.

As time passed, however, each man began, reluctantly, to share the performing of tasks the other felt important, if only to make pit-stops shorter in duration. Over time, however, a lurking question arose in the hearts of both men: If the other had not been in the car, would the trip have ended in disaster?

Days stretched into weeks, and weeks into months. Over the course of many years and countless miles of driving, the nature of their journey together changed. It was hard to say when exactly it happened, but the two men became inseparable friends. They still didn't agree on car maintenance, but their differences in opinion were now matters over which they shared laughter. And at some point along the way, they discovered that singing together with the radio was a great way to drown out the sounds of the weather.

Then one day, the unexpected happened. The road that day took them out of the storm to a mountain of such great height that both men were sure no storm could ever touch them again. At the top of the mountain they found a city of beauty beyond compare, safe and delightful in every way. Both men agreed it would be wonderful to get out of the car, stretch their legs, and look for a cafe whether they could perhaps relax a while.

They pulled the car into the parking lot of a nearby cafe, parked, and prepared to get out. The car had barely come to rest before a man ran up to speak with them. As it turned out, he was the master architect of the design and production of the very car the two travellers had been driving in for all those years.

The master designer was keen to hear details about their trip, and glad (though not surprised) to hear that the car had held up so well. He was very saddened, however, to hear about how disputes over the care of his car had proved a source of such great friction for the first portion of the long journey, to say nothing of the years prior to the arrival of the great storm.

Pulling the owner's manual from the glove compartment, he pointed out to both travellers that their understanding of car-care was pathetic. Woefully inadequate. How came it to be this way? Had they read the manual selectively? Or had they given full attention to the entire booklet?

Neither of the two travellers had good answers to these questions, but thankfully the conversation moved on quickly from there. On one point all three agreed. The calamitous storm, in all of its awfulness, was the best thing that ever happened in either traveller's life. Having settled that point in hearty agreement, the three wandered off to a local cafe to enjoy drinks in company.

On foot.

The end.