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.”