My Uber driver this morning was a 78-year-old Baptist preacher. We spent the ride comparing near-death car wreck experiences, led there by a conversation about Smokey Robinson.

My story involved a flood, his a fire. Mine took place after a day of revenue cycle management, his after a bout of drinking. My wreck put me in a hotel for the night, his in the hospital. My wreck ultimately led to a life on mass transit, his to a life with Jesus Christ.

The whole thing reminds me of Montaigne’s claim that “by diverse means we arrive at the same end.” I’ve always been skeptical of it. If you get somewhere by different means, is it really the same end? My wife was fond of saying that life was a journey rather than a destination—in which case the answer is “no.”

Our Uber conversation seems a case of Montaigne turned on his head: by similar means we arrived at different ends. Unless of course by “end” one means the destination, but even here there’s room for disagreement. If we’re talking ultimate destinations, mine is the grave, whereas his is salvation. As for immediate ones, I ended up on the train, whereas he’s out on the road.

Still moving, though. And still working. So in some sense, though perhaps not the one he intended, Montaigne turns out to be right. By diverse means, we do arrive at the same end. Because vary the route as much you like, but chances are you’ll end up at work. Not that Montaigne ever thought of that.

Happy Bastille Day, btw.