Three tribesmen go out on a hunt. They aim to bring back enough meat for the entire village to eat, and they know of a herd of giraffes within their hunting grounds. They set out with their spears and after a few hours of tracking, they're poised to strike. They choose a large male as their target and when the moment comes, they all rush out and execute their attack. Two spears successfully hit, but the wounded giraffe flees. They follow the trail of blood until nightfall when they stop to make camp and build a fire. Sitting around the fire, they do not speak of the giraffe. They do not talk about the next day's plans, or how long it might take to track it down. They do not openly speculate about the progress of the hunt. They believe referring to the giraffe will give it the strength to continue. They believe the simple act of attaching their words to the giraffe will increase its vitality.
In an interview with Debbie Millman, conceptual artist Lawrence Weiner asks:
How the hell do you know how the universe is supposed to function? We have no reason to determine how the universe works. We have a reason to determine how the universe presents itself. What's set upon the table sits upon the table, and that one I'll go with. That stone on the table can be used to crack your bones, or it can be used to build a house. But it's still the same stone on the same table.
When the tribesmen return to the village with the prize of a successful giraffe hunt, their reluctance to speak of it by the fire is perceived as a tangible contribution towards the outcome.
But you and I both believe it had no influence. When I learned about this facet of tribal hunting, I thought it was adorable. There was a certain quaint and naive beauty to it. But who am I to argue with the results? Do the tribesmen have empirical data on the difference between failed and successful hunting attempts based on the number of times they did or did not speak about their wounded targets by the campfire? Maybe. But more likely they were taught this practice by the tribe elders and they never thought to question it.
In the scenario of human beings hunting down a giraffe with handmade spears on foot, there's an expectation of unpredictability. One could be forgiven for believing that any number of unrelated variables contributed to the payoff. But even when measured down to the finest detail, our existence is so complex we still sometimes have a tenuous grasp on cause and effect. In a recent post,
explores the complexity (and value) of replication:Whether you’re studying breast cancer cells or making hot dogs, the task may be more complicated than you can imagine. You can get wildly different results based on factors that you never even thought of.
I'm amazed anyone can muster the motivation to internalize the chaos of the world and produce visceral emotions and firm opinions about it, knowing just how little we understand about how things ultimately relate. Even down to the people we meet. Every person, ourselves included, is that stone on that table, with the potential to bring us immeasurable joy or to do unspeakable harm.
When I was in college, my friend and I would often go on exploratory walks after dinner. A stranger used to stop us on the street. In a city of 1.5 million people, it may seem unlikely to encounter the same person twice, but there stood my friend and I, trying to figure out how we kept bumping into this guy we didn't know. It was our freshman year and our first time living in a city, but we knew enough to know it was weird. He didn't start a conversation mid-sentence, ask us for money, ask us for help, or apologize for skipping over the whole "You don't know me and I know this is weird, but..." part. He just walked up to us, friendly as could be, and said "Hey guys!" like we were classmates. He asked us what we were up to, then proceeded to tell us about what he was doing, remarked about how we should hang out, and attempted to barnacle his way onto whatever it was my friend and I were on our way to do. He was preppy and peppy and looked like he just stepped out of a Dockers ad from Golf Digest. We successfully fended him off with a vague, non-committal excuse and continued on our way. He seemed a fraction older than us. Maybe in his early twenties. He was too put together to peg as unhinged, but more forward than would be considered acceptable. The first time it happened, we laughed it off as the kind of thing that just happens walking around a city. But then it kept happening. Same guy, same routine, except now he had the advantage of recognition. Our amusement waned. We wondered if we would eventually have to say something. Something like, "Do we know you?". Maybe we should have opened with that. Nothing ever progressed past the initial back-and-forth, even in subsequent meetings. But eventually, the winds of the universe must have shifted because we never saw him again. One day, months after the final time, my friend and I walked past the spot from our first encounter, and a brief "in memoriam" ensued. "Man, remember that guy?"
"That guy" is just one of thousands of people we'll meet in our lifetime. In an alternate reality, we became friends with him, eventually leading to a business partnership that made billions and changed the world for the better. But in another, he kidnapped, tortured, and murdered us, and became the most notorious serial killer of the 21st century. Back in this reality, if the tribesmen are to be believed, he's still just a stranger out there somewhere, and he grows in strength with every person who reads this essay.
What we believe doesn't matter. The only thing that matters is results. So find a way to ignore what everyone else is doing and just be the stone that builds the house.
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