The Power of the Metaphor

Over the holidays as my father and I worked diligently to rewire a number of things in my son's 1973 Karmann Ghia and during the process I became intimately acquainted with the most disturbing example of wiring I have yet to witness.  Wires that go nowhere and some that vanish into hollow cavities like snakes disappearing into the black of night left me with nightmares of smoke and acrid burnt electrical smell.  Fuses popped with disturbing regularity as I followed each wire like a prospector seeking a vein of gold.  Somewhere within the tangled jumble of dubious connections and occasional curse words I started to assume a philosophical approach and wonder if in fact the tangled mess before me was in reality a metaphor for life.

I love the metaphor.  It is an art most cultures of the world understand but in our own it is sorely misunderstood and sadly underutilized.  I think I came to appreciate the metaphor the most when I was a college student and engaged in the study of Eastern European history and Communist Political systems.  For those oppressed by a powerful government and living with silenced voices the metaphor was a way of screaming out their frustration without being sent to a gulag.  Soviet citizens and those of their satellite nations were masters of the political joke. I recall several that went something like this:

The Soviet Congress was in session and the Soviet Premier stood before all those seated.  Before each sat a glass of water from the ocean.  "We are the Soviet's, we can do anything!"  The Premier shouted.  The Congress clapped their approval.  "Lift your glasses to a toast our nation."  the Premier aid as he lifted his.  "You hold the water from the sea. We can drink water from the sea!  Drink." The premier commanded.  Each congress member lifted their glass in salute and drank it to the bottom.  "We can do anything!" They shouted back as each went quietly off to vomit.

A man is waiting in a bread line for many hours. Finally he becomes impatient and agitated to the point where he draws an enormous long barrel pistol from inside his coat and loudly proclaims, "I'm going off to shoot the prime minister !!!" The man tells the person behind him to hold his place in line, and stalks off waving the gun furiously. About an hour later, the same guy stamps back up to his place in the line and jams the pistol back into his belt as he resumes his wait. After an unbearable silence, the person behind the guy with the gun asks, "Well? Did you shoot the prime minister?" At which point, the gunman said, "No, there was a line for that too."

When I first visited Warsaw as a student I couldn't help but see the monstrosity erected in 1951 by Joseph Stalin called the Palace of Culture.  It was a gift to the Polish people.  For poles it was a sign of the oppression and ugliness of their Russian masters.  The local joke as ingrained in reputation as the much over used "what happens in Vegas..." was "the best place to see the Palace of Culture was from the top of the Palace of Culture."  Of course the hidden line was, "It is the only place in Warsaw you can't see the Palace of Culture."


I have long had a theory that the worlds understanding of the metaphor and American's lack of ability to comprehend it has led to one of the biggest jokes ever perpetrated and it is on us.  This occurs around religion and the seeming inability of some American faiths to interpret things flexibly.   The Bible relies on parable extensively.  Parable is a close cousin of allegory and metaphor yet it is thought of mostly in a religious sense.  The Bible and the Old Testament loves to use parable as it tells stories to teach us things.  The problem is when some faiths namely Baptist, attempt a strict interpretation.  They try to apply literalism when it cannot be applied.  Meaning must be construed not forced out like air being forced out of a balloon.  The Catholics figured this out a long time ago and it has been a large reason their faith has existed for nearly two thousand years. As the saying goes, adapt or die.

It seems that in life there are few direct connections and the mass of wire I held in my hands was certainly an example of this.  Each time I followed a wire that was cut and went nowhere I felt lost and filled with questions.  When I followed one that had a connector yet was connected to nothing I was filled with self doubt.  As I attempted to connect it to a terminal the insertion was usually predicated by a short prayer that no electrical fire would ensue.  If I was lucky an instrument light might illuminate and give me a sense of visual fulfillment.  As automobiles have continued to evolve their electronics have become increasingly complex.  I can only imagine what it must be like to look at them today.  Still like my body as it suffers from age, it seems like there is always something lost in the wiring of that Karmann Ghia that just doesn't seem to work right.  I suppose I should just learn to accept it yet somehow each new wire I trace always seems to give me a renewed sense of hope.