Articles
The Parable Of The Power Outage
And the sage told a parable: Once there was moderate snowfall in the forecast, and though the area had a history of snow, no one was quite sure when it would come or how much. Since the “great snowfall” the previous season, power crews had cut tree limbs back from electric lines and widened access for vehicles to utility poles in hope of avoiding another prolonged outage.
Alas, it was not to be.
The snow fell fast and furious, wet and heavy. Trees bowed and groaned under the weight of the snow; ice built up on the power lines. Suddenly, bright and fearful images of green and blue flashed through the sky, the lights flickered, and dark went the neighborhood.
A great lamentation was heard among the people: “No! Not again!”
Thus began the peculiar rites of the power outage. The gas fireplace is lit, providing minimal heating. Flashlights and oil lamps cast their spooky shadows. People who know the power is out still try to turn on lights and check their email. Warnings are issued not to open the refrigerator. Anxiety builds over the thaw rate of the steaks in the freezer. Extra clothes are worn. And the wait begins ...
What starts as a novelty becomes bothersome after eight hours, irritating after 16 and infuriating at 24. Pointless discussion of the delay in restoring power leads to multiple instances of taking the name of the power company in vain. The letter of complaint is rehearsed over and over in the mind.
A glance at the neighbors who yet again have not lost their power provokes an envy as palpable as the frigid temperatures. One wonders what it must be like to sit on a warm sofa watching high-definition television or to pad up to the office and surf the Net.
Forlornly, residents supplied by the wrong power company crawl into their icy beds, clad in multi-layered sweats and thermal socks, hoping they will be awakened by the melodic hum of appliances come back to life.
And the sage’s disciples came and asked the meaning of the parable.
“The parable has many lessons,” replied the sage. “Observe the expectation of comfort of the comfortable. When life is easy -- light brightens at the flick of a switch; heat soothes at the turn of a knob -- humans get rather perturbed by even short periods of discomfort.
"I call this the ‘inverse coefficient of comfort.’ The expectation of comfort rises exponentially along with the ease of daily living. Such people become soft.
“One also notices that humans are very much creatures of habit. Once they become accustomed to something, they incorporate it into their routines without conscious thought. Flipping light switches, opening the refrigerator, turning on the TV -- these become automatic reactions to the urge of the moment.
"What is truly sad is that humans try to interact with family and friends in the same way, and they even attempt to worship God with the same thoughtless habits. Much richness of life is lost through this weakness.
“Take note: Humans easily forget how blessed they really are. They may moan about losing their electricity for a day when tens of millions of their fellow creatures around the world live in grinding poverty. They fuss because they can’t open the refrigerator but forget about the people that regularly go to bed hungry. They whine about having to sleep in a cold bed without thinking of the people who sleep several to a room or on the ground.
“The truth is,” the old sage continued, “that it does humans much good to be deprived of their comfort and convenience every once in a while. It forces them to talk to each other, play games by flashlight, laugh at their improvisations, take a walk through the neighborhood, help their neighbors. Even canceling their scheduled religious meetings can remind them of what they hadn’t thought of in a while -- what a great blessing it is to gather with others to worship and study.
“Humans can take so much for granted,” sighed the sage. “Sometimes men don’t recognize a blessing when it falls from the sky and cuts their power off.”
