The Parable of the Farmer’s New Wall

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, we gave guns to Iranians, and they used our guns against us; we gave guns to Afghans and they used our guns against us; we gave guns to Iraqis and they’re using our guns against us: how wise is it to start arming Syrians?”

Josh spoke thus:

A farmer was building a wall.

“Why are you building a wall?” the farmer’s neighbor asked the farmer.

“I’m building the wall to keep out the wolves,” the farmer said.

“Wolves?  What wolves?” the farmer’s neighbor asked, “We don’t have wolves around here.”

“We do now,” the farmer said, “I just helped the government reintroduce them.”

“You helped the government reintroduce wolves?” the neighbor asked, “Why in the world did you do that?”

“To control the bison, antelope and deer,” the farmer said.

“Bison, antelope and deer?  There aren’t any bison, antelope and deer around here,” the neighbor said.

“There are now,” the farmer said, “I just helped the government reintroduce them.”

“You helped the government reintroduce bison, antelope and deer?” the neighbor asked, “Why would you do that?”

“To control the prairie grass,” the farmer said.

“Prairie grass?” the neighbor said, “We’re corn farmers, we don’t have prairie grass.”

“We do now,” the farmer said, “I just helped the government reintroduce it.”

“You helped the government reintroduce prairie grass?” the neighbor said, “Why on earth would you do that?”

“To bring the native bugs back,” the farmer said.

“To bring the native bugs back?” the neighbor said, “Why on earth would we want the native bugs back?”

“To eat the new bugs that are eating the new corn,” the farmer said.

“To eat the new bugs that are eating the new corn?” the neighbor asked, “Why do we need old bugs to eat the new bugs that are eating the new corn?”

“The old bug sprays don’t kill the new bugs,” the farmer said.

“Why can’t we just get new bug sprays to kill the new bugs?” the neighbor asked.

“Because the new bug sprays that kill the new bugs also kill us,” the farmer said, “It’s too dangerous.”

“And wolves aren’t dangerous?” the neighbor asked.

“I can use a gun to kill a wolf,” the farmer said, “Or I can use my crops to kill me.”

The neighbor replied, “Want some help with that wall?”

The Parable of the Survivalist’s Large Purchase

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, what, if anything, does the Whiskey Rebellion tell us about the intent behind the Second Amendment?”

Josh spoke thus:

Two survivalists were sitting at one survivalist’s firing range.

The host survivalist asked the guest survivalist whether the guest survivalist wanted a beer.  When the guest survivalist said yes, the host survivalist pulled out a smart phone, pushed a series of buttons and said, “Watch this.”

After a few moments, the guest survivalist heard a humming sound.  From out of a stand of trees, a miniature airplane approached.

“Drone!” the guest survivalist shouted.  The guest survivalist dove to the ground.

“Beer!” the host survivalist said.  The guest survivalist looked up to see that the miniature airplane had a beer can attached to its underbelly.

“Beers away!” the host survivalist said.  The host survivalist pushed another button on the smart phone, and the miniature airplane jettisoned the beer.  The host survivalist caught the beer as it dropped.  The miniature airplane returned to the stand of trees, and the host survivalist put the beer on the arm of the guest survivalist’s deck chair.

“Let it sit for a minute,” the host survivalist said as the guest survivalist rose from the ground.

“That’s legal?” the guest survivalist asked.

“As long as I don’t fly it too high or at an airport, yeah, it’s legal,” the host survivalist said.

“Can you put a gun on it?” the guest survivalist asked.
“So the government can come take my guns AND my drones?” the host survivalist asked.

“So you can stop the government from taking your guns and your drones,” the guest survivalist said.

“That’s what this is for,” the host survivalist said.  The host survivalist pushed another button on the smart phone.  There was another noise from the stand of trees, this one much louder than the noise made by the miniature airplane.

The host survivalist smiled as a helicopter gunship rose from the stand of trees.

“Bombs away!” the host survivalist said, and a gatling gun attached to the helicopter gunship fired a number of rounds into a target at the far end of the firing range.  The host survivalist then used the smart phone to land the helicopter gunship in the stand of trees.

“I don’t think the Second Amendment covers that,” the guest survivalist said, “How did you get it?”

“I got it on the Internet,” the host survivalist said.

“Aren’t you afraid the government will trace the purchase to you?” the guest survivalist asked.

“It’s okay,” the host survivalist said, “It was secured transaction.”

The Parable of the Admirers of Wind Turbines

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, a hundred years after its debut, watching the original choreography for The Rites of Spring and listening to the music, could you explain how something that primitive could still be so modern?”

Josh spoke thus:

A group of people were looking at a video screen.  On the screen was a coastline dominated by giant wind turbines.  Considered an eyesore by many, they were a tourist destination for many others.

“They look almost organic,” a group member said, “Like a line of great white sequoia.”

“It’s like they’re lining an avenue,” another group member said, “Row upon row of giant plane trees.  Imagine the size of the manor house they would lead to!”

“Truly gargantuan,” a third group member said.

“They’re Norse giants,” a fourth group member said.

“They’re Titans,” the first group member said, “And here come Zeus et al to bring them down.”

“Not to tear them down, to tilt against them,” the second group member said.

“They’re only windmills, after all” the third group member said.

“For Don Quixote, the windmills were giants,” the fourth group member said.

“Cervantes’ windmills were giants, and these giants are windmills,” the first group member said.

As the first group member had pointed out, figures were congregating.  They were Lilliputian in comparison to the wind turbines.

The figures were gathering around a single turbine.  Their movement seemed uncoordinated at first.  They appeared to be just another group of tourists milling around, taking pictures with their phones, taking video with their tablets.  One was setting up an easel.

Almost imperceptibly, one person was setting up a boom box.  Once the boom box had been put in place, the video frame began to zoom in on the crowd at the base of the turbine.

When the music began, it could be heard to be a sample from the Sacrifice portion of the Rites of Spring by Stravinsky, laid over a hip hop beat and mixed with Motown brass.

The figures spread out and danced an Adoration of Windmills.

The group watching the video, all members of the group dancing on the video, applauded energetically.  At the peak of their excitement an unexpected figure joined the scene, dancing unclothed across the background of the dancing scene.

“Hey!” the first member of the watching group shouted, “A streaker!”

The second member of the watching group replied, “Our flash mob has been video bombed!”

The Parable of the Antelope Charm

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, where do you stand on the discussion in the local government to allow rifle hunting for deer and bear?”

Josh spoke thus:

A Neanderthal walked into the cave of a neighboring Homo Sapiens.

“What are you doing?” the Neanderthal asked the Homo Sapiens.

“I’m making antelope,” the Homo Sapiens replied.

“On the wall?” the Neanderthal asked, “How do you make antelope on a wall?”

“I make a representation of the antelope on the wall,” the Homo Sapiens said, “And that will charm the spirit of the antelope.  This will give my tribe a successful hunt.”

“You know what makes a good hunt?” the Neanderthal said, “Good hunting.”

“In your thinking, maybe,” the Homo Sapiens said, “But I’ve moved on from your primitive ways.  We all have.”

“You all?” the Neanderthal asked, “You’ve told others you’re doing this?”

“Not yet,” the Homo Sapiens said, “I want to see how it works first.”

The Neanderthal looked closely at the antelope on the wall.

“How did you do that?” the Neanderthal asked.

“I mixed up some water and some charcoal and a few secret ingredients,” the Homo Sapiens said.

“And how did you apply it?” the Neanderthal asked.

“I spit it on the wall,” the Homo Sapiens said.

“And you call me primitive...” the Neanderthal said.

“You don’t appreciate art,” the Homo Sapiens said.

“Art?” the Neanderthal said, “This isn’t art.  Spitting isn’t art.”

“Spitting can be art as much as your stamping on the ground can be art,” the Homo Sapiens said, pouting.

“It’s called dancing,” the Neanderthal said, “That stomping is dancing.  In the meantime, you just told me that what you made is a charm.  You just said you’re charming the spirit of the antelope.”

“That’s right,” the Homo Sapiens said, “Is that beyond your scope of thought?”

“It’s not beyond my scope of thought,” the Neanderthal said, “It’s beyond the scope of art.  What you’ve got there is a tool.  And a primitive tool at that.”

“It’s not primitive!” the Homo Sapiens said.

“Let’s just say your technique is naive then,” the Neanderthal said, “Which I admit gives it a sort of rudimentary charm.  There’s that word again, “charm”!  And that’s my point.  An art object stands on its own.  An art object is its own purpose.  The purpose of your rendition of an antelope isn’t to be a rendition of an antelope--a good thing too!  The purpose of your rendition of an antelope is to ensure a good hunt.  It’s a tool.”

“We’ll see who’s all superior after the hunt tomorrow,” the Homo Sapiens said.

“Fine, I’ll be all superior until the the hunt tomorrow,” the Neanderthal said, “Then I’ll be all superior after the hunt too.”

“And you won’t tell the others?” the Homo Sapiens asked, “In case it doesn’t work.”

The Neanderthal replied, “If it doesn’t work, your secret goes with me to the grave.”

“What’s a grave?” the Homo Sapiens asked.

The Parable of the Trading Generals

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, what are your thoughts on Memorial Day?”

Josh spoke thus:

Two generals were trading soldiers.

“This one,” the first general said, “This one I have cherished.

“What’s so special about that one soldier?” the second general asked, is he a hero of some kind?”

“Oh, he’s been through the wars!” the first general said, “He fought in Normandy, he fought in Holland, he fought in Belgium and he fought in Germany.”

“Nobody fought in Normandy, Holland, Belgium and Germany,” the second general said.

“This man did,” the first general said, “What will you give me for him?”

“I have a regiment who fought throughout the Pacific,” the second general said, “These men were at Guadalcanal.  These men were at Iwo Jima.  These men liberated the Philippines.”

“There was no regiment did all that,” the first general said.

“If your man could liberate all of Europe, my division could save the Pacific,” the second general said.

“My man was Airborne,” the first general said, “Your division was Marines.  It’s apples and oranges.”

“They’re all warriors,” the second general said, “Apples to apples.”

“So would my hundred Germans be warriors?” the first general said.

“I’ll see your hundred Germans and raise you ten Russians,” the second general said.

“Who said I was trading?” the first general said.

“You’re always trading,” the second general said, “I’m always trading.  That’s what we do.  We trade.  We’re generals.”

“You talk like they mean nothing,” the first general said.

“I talk like they mean everything,” the second general said, “That’s why I trade so hard.”

“It is a hard trade,” the first general said.

“What will you give me for this captain?” the second general asked.

“Your captain is missing an arm,” the first general said, “That lowers his value.”

“What if I told you how he lost his arm?” the second general asked, “That might increase his worth.”

“How will that increase his worth?” the first general ask.

“Valor always increases worth,” the second general said.

“Tell me about his valor,” the first general said.

The second general took the captain down from his shelf.

“It was in Gettysburg, the third day of July,” the second general began.

The Parable of the Congressperson and the War Movie

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, on Memorial Day Weekend, what do you see to be the next great war that will be fought?”

Josh spoke thus:

A congressperson was watching a movie about the Second World War.
“That’s the kind of war we need,” the congressperson said to an aide.
“I wasn’t aware that we needed any kind of war,” the congressperson’s aide said.
“There’s always some kind of war,” the congressperson said, “Our problem is we’ve got too many wars of the wrong kind.”
“What’s the wrong kind of war?” the aide asked.
“The war on drugs,” the congressperson said, “You can’t fight a war on drugs.”
“The war on drugs isn’t on drugs, it’s on drug dealers,” the congressperson’s aide said.
“Don’t call me stupid,” the congressperson said, “The war on drugs isn’t on drug dealers.  It’s on drugs.  We arrest drug dealers.  We arrest drug takers.  We arrest drug makers.  But every pharmacist is a drug dealer.  Every person with a headache is a drug taker.  Half the Fortune 500 are drug makers.  As long as there are any kind of drugs out there, we’ll never win the war on drugs.”
“And the war on poverty,” the congressperson said, “That’s a bad war.  We take money from people.  We give money to people.  We give money to people to give to people.  We give money to people to employ people.  They don’t employ people.  So we give more money to more people.  And there are still poor people.  We’ll never win the war on poverty.”
“And the war on disease,” the congressperson said, “That’s a bad war.  Every disease we stop just shows us ten more we can’t stop.  We stop polio, people die of malaria.  We stop malaria, people die of cancer.  We stop cancer, people die of A.I.D.S.  We’ll never win the war on disease.”
“And the war on terrorism,” the congressperson said, “That’s a bad war.  We can’t send an army against a terrorist.  An air force can’t stop a terrorist.  Bombing terrorists just makes more terrorists.  We’ll never win a war on terrorism.”
“What we need,” the congressperson said, “Is Nazis.  We need Maoists.  We need Stalinists.  We need Italy invading Abyssinia.  We need Japan invading the Philippines.  We need bad guys fighting good guys.  We need a goddamn army invading a goddamn country.”
“But isn’t stopping drug abuse good?” the congressperson’s aide asked, “Isn’t ending poverty good?  Isn’t eradicating disease good?  Isn’t stopping terrorism good?”
The congressperson replied, “Not as good as keeping our missile guidance system factory open.  Not as good as keeping our logistics software company contracts viable.  Not as good as keeping our gun barrel forges open.  Those people are big contributors to our campaigns.  Those people need a real war.  We need a real war.”

The Parable of the Slip Knot

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, do you consider standardized testing to be lowering or raising the quality of teaching?”

Josh spoke thus:

An elder was considering a knot with a youth.

“It’s quite the Gordian Knot, eh?” the elder said, “Do you know what the Gordian Knot was?”

The youth did not know what the Gordian Knot was.

“It was a knot nobody could untie,” the elder said, “Until Alexander the Great chopped it to bits.”

“Why did it need to be untied?” the youth asked.

“I don’t remember,” the elder said, “Something to do with the next rightful king would undo the knot or something.  So Alexander was the new king because he undid the knot.”

“He didn’t undo the knot,” the youth said, “He chopped it to pieces.  That’s cheating.”

“It’s not cheating,” the elder said, “It’s being creative.  That’s the point of the story really, I think.  Alexander was thinking outside the box.  Outside the knot, as it were.”

The youth didn’t laugh at the elder’s joke.

“And that’s my point,” the elder said, “These standardized tests these days.”

“We weren’t talking about standardized tests,” the youth said.

“Yes we were,” the elder said, “You didn’t realize, because you were thinking linearly.  You’re taught to think linearly.  You aren’t taught to think laterally.  You aren’t taught to think at all.  You’re taught to pass a test.”

“Passing the test takes thought,” the youth said.

“Thought, yes, creativity no,” the elder said.

“Why do I need creativity?” the youth asked.

“The fact that you have to ask why you need creativity shows how badly you need creativity,” the elder said, “Life isn’t a series of tests you get the right answers to.  Life is a collection of conundrums.”

“Conun what?” the youth asked.

“Conundrums,” the elder said, “Problems.  Difficult problems that don’t have right answers and wrong answers.  Sometimes a problem looks like one problem but is another problem altogether.  Some problems have two right answers.  Or two wrong answers.  Those are dilemmas.  Like the atom bomb.”

“The atom bomb is two wrong answers?” the youth asked.

“The atom bomb is a lot of right answers and a lot of wrong answers,” the elder said, “The point is life is a series of complicated, interrelated choices.  Life isn’t right answers and wrong answers.  Life is solutions, most of them incomplete.  Many of them unfulfilled.  Many of them what you would call cheats.  Like the Gordian Knot.”

“I don’t know about the Gordian Knot,” the youth said, “And I don’t know about standardized tests, and I don’t know about atom bombs and dilemmas and incomplete solutions.  What I do know is that if I can’t tie a slip knot tomorrow at my test, I won’t get my merit certificate.  Now can you to show me how to tie a slip knot or can’t you?”

“Me?” the elder replied, “I can barely tie my shoelaces.” 

The Parable of the Burglary Specialist

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, is it wise to allow Wall Street to write the laws regulating Wall Street?”

Josh spoke thus:

The chief of security at a hotel in Cannes was searching for a consultant to make the hotel more safe.

The chief of security first went to the chief of police.  The chief of police walked with the chief of security around the hotel.

“This window,” the chief of police said, pointing to the back of the kitchen, “This window is easily opened.  It is a security risk.”

“That window is always open,” the chief of security said, “The kitchen is hot.  We need the window to be open.”

“You need to close that window and use a vent,” the chief of police said.  The chief of police pointed out several other windows that needed to be sealed.

“And the door to the roof has a lousy lock,” the chief of police said, “You will also want to consult with the chief of security of the hotel’s insurance company.”

The chief of security thanked the chief of police and made the changes the chief of police suggested.

Next the chief of security went to the security expert of the hotel’s insurance company.

You did a nice job on the kitchen window,” the security expert of the hotel’s insurance company said, “And on the other windows as well.  You need a better lock on the door to the roof.  And the balconies need higher railings.  You will next want to consult with a private investigator.”

The chief of security thanked the security expert of the hotel’s insurance company and made the changes that the security expert of the hotel’s insurance company suggested.

The chief of security next went to a private investigator.

“I like the vent in the kitchen,” the private investigator said, “And the other windows look good.  I like the new railings on the balconies.  You need a better lock on the door to the roof.  The locks on the room doors need to be upgraded to electronic security systems.  You will next want to consult with the burglary specialist from the prison.”

The chief of security thanked the private investigator and made the changes that the private investigator suggested.

The chief of security next went to the burglary specialist from the prison.

“You wasted your time with the vent,” the burglary specialist from the prison said, “Nobody comes in through the kitchen.  Closing that window is a fire hazard.  And the other windows were already as safe as they were going to be.  The balcony railings are nice, but anyone who can climb up to the balconies can easily climb a little higher and climb over the new railings.  That lock you have on the door to the roof is a joke; you need to do something about that.  And the electronic systems on the room doors are nice but they don’t solve your problem.”

“What’s my problem?” the chief of security asked.

“All great hotel burglars come in through the front door and talk their way past the concierge,” the burglary specialist from the prison said, “They steal the key, be it a metal key or an electronic key, and they walk right in the room.  Often they are guests at the hotel.”

“So I’m wasting my time with security?” the chief of security asked.

“You’re stopping the idiot thief, and that’s good,” the burglary specialist from the prison said, “But you can’t stop the specialist.  Oh, and get rid of that vent in the kitchen.  It’s a fire risk.  Open the window.”

“So you’re from the prison?” the chief of security asked, “I’ve been told you’re a reformed burglar.”

“They said I was reformed?” the burglary specialist from the prison said, “Interesting.”

“You’re not reformed?” the chief of security asked.

“I’m not even released from prison for another week,” the burglary specialist from the prison replied, “I’m going back there now.”  

“You’re still in prison?” the chief of security asked.

Walking out the door, the burglary specialist from the prison replied, “That vent in the kitchen is a fire risk.  Open the window.”

The Parable of the Shooting Party

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, is it a moral choice to stop using remote strikes often now that it is no longer necessary to use remote strikes often?”

Josh spoke thus:

A country gentleman invited a house guest out hunting on the moors.  The house guest accepted the invitation.

The country gentleman led the house guest onto the moor.  They were accompanied by a handful of footmen, a group of beaters and two men with repeater rifles.  The country gentleman and the house guest each carried a shotgun.

When the company had reached the designated hunting area, the footmen set up two chairs with a small table between them.  On this table, the footmen placed a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket and two champagne flukes.  The country gentleman and the house guest sat in the two chairs.  The country gentleman and the house guest sipped champagne and chatted while the beaters walked out into the heather.

“I understand the chairs and the champagne,” the house guest said to the country gentleman, “And I understand the beaters, but what is the purpose of the two men with the repeater rifles?”

“Oh them?” the country gentleman said, “I only use them as a last resort.  Don’t worry, we won’t need them.”

The country gentleman and the house guest sat and drank champagne.  The footmen brought a second bottle, and then a third.  At last the beaters approached and two grouse rose from the heather, their wings creating a low thunder in the air.

The country gentleman and the house guest did not have time to lower their champagne glasses, reach for their shotguns, aim and fire.  Before they had even put down their glasses, the repeaters in the hands of the two men behind the gentleman and the house guest thundered as loud as the grouse times a hundred.  The two grouse tumbled to the ground, dead.

“What-ho!” the country gentleman said, “Good shot!”

“Good shot you too!” the house guest said.

The country gentleman and the house guest lowered their unaimed shotguns and raised their glasses in a mutual toast.  As they sipped, the beaters flushed a covey of doves.

The repeaters thundered once more, and a brace of doves fell dead.

“Jolly good shooting!” the country gentleman said.

“Well hit!” the house guest said.  They toasted each other again.

“I say,” the house guest said, “You don’t think this is a bit unsporting, do you?”

“Unsporting?” the country gentleman asked, “How so?”

“Well, we’re not doing the shooting, are we?” the house guest said.

“No, but our designated helpers are,” the country gentleman said.

“Good little worker bees,” the house guest said.

“Good little drones,” the country gentleman said.  

The country gentleman and the house guest toasted the drones with the repeaters.

“I do see your point, though,” the country gentleman said, “I tell you what, next time we won’t use them.  Not just yet.”

As the country gentleman finished speaking a brace of plovers rose in the air and the men with repeaters shot them down.

“Good shot!” the country gentleman said.

“Next time, it’s us,” the house guest said.

“Next time, it is we,” the country gentleman said.

They moved to toast, but found their glasses empty.

“I say, we’re dry,” the country gentleman said, “There’s nothing for it but to head back.”

“Return the triumphant!” the house guest said.

The country gentleman and the house guest headed back to the manor, leaving the footmen to clear up and gather the birds.

“Next time, it will be we,” the country gentleman said.

“Next time, it will be we,” the house guest said.

The Parable of the Unexpected Stunt Sequence

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, how close can a work of fiction be to its source before it becomes exploitative?”

Josh spoke thus:

A movie director was angry at an interruption while filming an action sequence.  The movie director called the assistant director over.

“What is going on over there?” the movie director asked.

“Somebody just hit somebody with a car,” the assistant director said.

“Where in the script does it say that somebody hits somebody with a car?” the movie director asked.

“It doesn’t say in the script that somebody hits somebody with a car,” the assistant director said.

“And yet somebody just hit somebody with a car,” the movie director said, “Did I ask for somebody to hit somebody with a car and just forgot that I asked for somebody to hit somebody with a car?”

“You didn’t ask for somebody to hit somebody with a car,” the assistant director said.

“No, I didn’t ask for somebody to hit somebody with a car,” the movie director said, “Because it isn’t in the script for somebody to hit somebody with a car.  And yet still SOMEBODY JUST HIT SOMEBODY WITH A CAR!  Can you see why I’m upset?”

“I can see why you’re upset,” the assistant director said.

“Now what’s going on?” the movie director asked.  The assistant director looked at the scene.

“Somebody has gotten out of the car,” the assistant director said.

“I can see that somebody has gotten out of the car,” the movie director said, “What’s that somebody doing?”

“That somebody seems to be attacking the somebody they just hit with the car,” the assistant director said, “They seem to be hacking at the somebody they hit with the car with what appears to be a butcher’s cleaver.”

“Again I feel compelled to ask,” the movie director said, “Is it in the script that somebody gets out of the car and starts hacking at the somebody they just hit with the car?”

“It’s not in the script that somebody gets out of the car and starts hacking at the somebody they just hit with the car,” the assistant director said.

“And yet, somebody just got out of the car and started hacking with a cleaver at the somebody they just hit with the car,” the movie director said.

“Hang on!” the assistant director said, “That isn’t one of our cars.  That’s not one of our drivers.  The person being hacked isn’t one of us.”

“This is really happening?” the movie director asked.

“Apparently this is really happening,” the assistant director said.

“And it’s all on film?” the movie director asked.

“And it’s all on film,” the assistant director said.

“The person with the cleaver is shouting something,” the movie director said.

“It seems to be something political,” the assistant director said.

The movie director beckoned the screenwriter.

“Can you hear what that person is saying?” the movie director asked.

“It’s something political,” the screenwriter said.

“That’s amazing!” the movie director said, “It’s horrific!  Can you work it into the script?”

“I can try,” the screenwriter said.

“Try,” the movie director said.  The movie director turned to the assistant director and said, “Set up a close-up shot.”

The Parable of the Homeless Person and the Fungus

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, why is it so difficult to clean up Wall Street?”

Josh spoke thus:

A homeless person living in a forest was discovered by the owner of the forest.

“What fungus are you?” the owner of the forest asked the homeless person, “I am not fond of fungus.  I want all fungus out of my forest.”

“Not only am I not fungus,” the homeless person said, “But I can clear your forest of fungus.”

“If you can clear the fungus from the forest, you can stay,” the owner of the forest said, “But if you can not, I’ll have you arrested for trespassing and I’ll have you jailed.”

“Give me a year,” the homeless person said, “And your forest will be clear of all fungus.”

“You have a year,” the owner of the forest said, and the owner of the forest left the homeless person to clear the forest of all fungus.

The next day, the owner of the forest found a bushel of mushrooms at the back door.  The owner of the forest gave the mushrooms to the household cook, and the household cook made a delicious mushroom soup.

“I’m not overly fond of mushrooms, but this soup is delicious,” the owner of the forest said.

The next day, there was another bushel at the back door.  With these mushrooms, the cook made a sauce that was poured over a roasted duck.

“Never has a roasted duck tasted so fine,” the owner of the forest said.

Every day throughout that year, the owner found a bushel of mushrooms.  Every day the cook made a tasty meal.  On the last day, there was a bushel of truffles at the back door.  That night the cook made the most delicious meal the owner of the forest had ever tasted.

The next day, there were no mushrooms at the back door.  The homeless person appeared at the front door.

“I have failed,” the homeless person said, “I’ve picked mushrooms, I’ve dug truffles, I’ve razed and I’ve mowed, but I have been unable to clear the forest of fungus.”

“Of course you’ve been unable to clear the forest of fungus,” the owner of the forest said, “The fungus is a part of the forest.  A mushroom is not a plant, it is an offshoot of a giant underground organism.  The fungus is in the loam, it is part of the root system.  The forest feeds the fungus, and the fungus feeds the forest.  The only way to clear the fungus is to clear the forest.”

“So I should have cleared the forest?” the homeless person asked.

“You never should have made your promise,” the owner of the forest said.  The owner of the forest called the sheriff.

“Sheriff,” the owner of the forest said, “This homeless person has been living in my forest for a year.  This homeless person has been unable in that year to clear my forest of fungus.  Will you arrest this homeless person for trespass?”

“This homeless person has lived in your forest for a year?” the sheriff asked.

“For a year,” the owner of the forest said.

“If this homeless person has lived in your forest for a year, I can’t remove this homeless person,” the sheriff said, “This homeless person has squatter’s rights and legally can stay in your forest.”

The owner of the forest said to the homeless person, “You are no longer a homeless person, you are a part of my forest.  I was right to call you fungus.”

“So I can stay?” the formerly homeless person said.

“You may stay,” the owner of the forest said, “But please, leave me no more bushels.  I could not bear another mushroom!”

The Parable of the News Reporters’ Unique News Stories

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, what value is there in being first to cover a news story if being first robs you of perspective?”

Josh spoke thus:

Two news reporters were arguing about a natural disaster. 

“My story about the devastation is the most unique story anyone has ever covered,” the first news reporter said.

“Your devastation story isn’t all that unique,” the second news reporter said, “My story about the courage of the survivors is more unique than your story about the devastation.”

“No one’s ever seen devastation from a disaster like this,” the first news reporter said, “We’ve never seen devastation like this since the devastation two years ago.”

“No one’s ever survived with more courage than these survivors,” the second news reporter said, “Their courage is more unique than it was two years ago.”

“The survivors were as courageous two years ago,” the first news reporter said, “And they were maybe more courageous five years ago.”

“And five years ago the devastation wasn’t as devastating as two years ago?” the second news reporter said, “And wasn’t the devastation almost as devastating two years ago?”

“Not as uniquely devastating as this year,” the first news reporter said.

“Which makes the courage of the survivors even more unique,” the second news reporter said.

“The devastation is the most unique,” the first news reporter said.

“The courage of the survivors is the most unique plus one,” the second news reporter said.

“The devastation is the most unique times infinity,” the first news reporter said.

“The courage of the survivors is the most unique times infinity plus one,” the second news reporter said.

“The devastation is the most unique times infinity times infinity,” the first news reporter said.

A third news reporter entered the room.

“Listen to you two,” the third news reporter said, “Can’t you hear yourselves?  How can anything be unique times infinity times infinity?  Something is either unique or it is not unique.  That’s what unique is.”

The first news reporter and the second news reporter looked at each other.

“You story about the courage of the survivors is quite a story,” the first news reporter said.

“And your story about the devastation is also an amazing story,” the second news reporter said.

“That’s better,” the third news reporter said, “Besides, my story about the new scandal in Washington is way more unique than your stories.  Listen to this... .”

The Parable of the Watchmaker and the Train

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, if you could stop time, when would you stop it?”

Josh spoke thus:

A watchmaker was sorting gears.  The watchmaker’s spouse sat watching.

“I don’t know how you do it,” the watchmaker’s spouse said to the watchmaker, “I can’t tell one gear from another.  They’re smaller than I can focus on, and they all appear the same to me.”

“That’s my training,” the watchmaker said, “It’s my trade to know the different gears, the different springs, the different faces, the different hands.”

“It’s as though you know the secrets of time itself,” the watchmaker’s spouse said, “You might say you control time.”

“In a sense I do,” the watchmaker said.  The watchmaker held up a tiny gear.  “Were I to use this gear, a minute would pass in 60 seconds.”  The watchmaker held up another gear.  “Were I to use this gear, a minute would be 58 seconds.”

“A minute is a minute,” the watchmaker’s spouse said, “A minute is one sixtieth of an hour.  An hour is one twenty-fourth of a day.  Three hundred and sixty-five days make a year.  Everyone knows that.”

“A minute used to be a minute,” the watchmaker said, “A minute used to be one sixtieth of an hour.  An hour used to be one twenty-fourth of a day.  There used to be three hundred and sixty-five days in a year.”

“There are three hundred and sixty-five days in a year,” the watchmaker’s spouse said, “Three hundred and sixty-five days are how long the earth takes to orbit the sun.”

“So a day is one three hundred and sixty-fifth of a year?” the watchmaker asked.

“Yes,” the watchmaker’s spouse said, “And an hour is one twenty-fourth of a day.  And a minute is one sixtieth of an hour.”

“How do you measure one sixtieth of an hour?” the watchmaker asked, “How do you measure one one-thousand-four-hundred-fortieth of a day?  In winter, is a day not shorter than in summer?”

“You don’t measure years with a watch,” the watchmaker’s spouse said.

“You don’t build train timetables with a sun dial,” the watchmaker said, “Trains run by clocks, clocks run by gears.  I assemble the gears.  I make time.”

“If you make time, then you can break it,” the watchmaker’s spouse said, “Break time.  Tomorrow a train carries our son to war.  Stop time.  Keep our son home.”

“If I stop time,” the watchmaker said, “The world will not turn, the sun will not shine, crops will not grow, and our son will die.  If a train carries our son to war the bullet might miss, our son might live.”

“Then sort your gears,” the watchmaker’s spouse said, “Build time well.  Bring our son home.”

The Parable of the Three Leaders

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, every year the organizers of the Eurovision Song Contest insist that the music is what matters in the voting, and every year the voting is political; how can this be remedied?”

Josh spoke thus:

Three leaders were sitting and discussing elections.

“The demographics are changing,” one leader said.

“Populations are always changing,” the second leader said, “The trick is to change with the demographics.”

“Changing can’t be the trick,” the first leader said, “Changing means deserting your core principles.”

“You don’t have to desert your core principles,” the second leader said, “You just have to convince people that you’ve changed your core principles.  You mold your image to reflect what people want to see.”

“That’s dishonest,” the first leader said.

“It’s not dishonest,” the second leader said, “It’s superficial.  All elections are superficial.  You tell people what they care about, and by telling them what they care about, you control what they talk about.”

“And if you control what they talk about,” the first leader said, “Then you control how they talk about it.”

“And by controlling how they talk about it, you control the outcome,” the second leader said.

“I like it,” the first leader said, “But what if they don’t go along?  What if no matter how well you shape the issues, you can’t avoid that one issue they care about that they disagree with you about?”

“Then you convince them not to vote,” the second leader said.

“You keep them from the polls?” the first leader asked.

“They keep themselves from the polls,” the second leader said, “It’s illegal to keep them from the polls.”

“So why do they keep themselves from the polls?” the first leader asked.

“You muddy up the politics so much that they become cynical,” the second leader said, “You convince them that all politicians are uncaring and incompetent.  You convince them that their vote won’t change anything.  You convince them that it’s too difficult and too unimportant to go to the polls.”

“And there’s gerrymandering!” the first leader said, “If you engineer the districts, you can guarantee that your candidates will win.”

“But gerrymandering can mean primary challenges by extremists,” the second leader said, “And you can’t control extremists.  Extremists are poison.”

“That’s a problem,” the first leader said, “Extremists are the problem.”
“You two are such amateurs,” the third leader said, “You want to control an election?  I’ll show you how to control an election.  Look out the window.”

The first leader and the second leader looked out the window.  The street was filled with armored vehicles and troops.

“That is how you control an election,” the third leader said, “You two are under arrest.”