In 1907 at an English fatstock and poultry show, Sir Francis Galton asked 787 villagers who were in attendance to guess the weight of an ox that was on display. Not a single person got the number exactly right, but when he averaged the guesses, he found out that collectively the villagers had come within a pound or two. Although I had heard of Sir Galton a number of years ago, it was the journalist James Surowiecki who brought this story to popular attention in his 2004 book The Wisdom of Crowds.

Sir Galton and the Ox

Unfortunately, I have not yet read this work, but I certainly enjoy the story of the ox and the villagers as it reminds me to pay careful attention to people who know things that I do not—things ranging from quantum physics to what oil I should buy for my car. In Sir Galton’s case, the villagers were familiar with fatstock and probably, even if they were not breeding oxen themselves, had a general idea of how much an ox of that size weighed. In other words, they knew what they were talking about.

Ernst Jünger, the renown 20th German intellectual, wrote a book in the 1920s entitled In Stahlgewittern (Storm of Steel) about his experiences as a world war one infantry lieutenant. In it, he relates how he, as a new officer, learned how to dig a trench. Who taught him this? Well, it was his soldiers who, in civilian life, worked as colliers in the mines of Germany’s coal fields. Here was Jünger, a brilliant young man from an affluent family, learning how to dig a ditch in the most efficient way…

He recognized this as a lesson in leadership and it is one that should be adopted by every leader, manager, and even worker bee. No matter what the status of those around you, listen to them for they know things that you do not. In turn, you know something that they do not. There is nothing mystical about this, but practicing it can make life a lot easier. Information, or “hacks” in today’s parlance, can come from any quarter—we should welcome them and never consider the source to be beneath us.

By the way, what did the coalminers teach Jünger? Well, when extending a trench, you should start by digging as close to the bottom as possible. Gravity will then force the dirt above to cave in and save a lot of unneeded digging. A small point perhaps, but an important one for Jünger when he was in combat.

T.S. Eliot

Some 80 years ago Elliot wrote a poem called Burnt Norton in which he penned the line distracted from distraction by distraction. 

I will leave it to the scholars who burn the midnight oil to comment on the meaning of such texts, but this thought is so applicable to our modern world that it almost needs no explanation. Eliot was living in the early 1900s and witnessed the industrialization of the world around him. I wonder, as he wrote this, if he was somehow peering into the future—a future that is now our present. Had he guessed just how distracted we would be by our electronics?

I freely admit that I like today’s technology. I cannot imagine the boredom I would find if I were to be transported back to 1930—or 1960 for that matter. Yet today we have too much going on and have to carefully manage distractions. I don’t have accurate statistics, but think about how many auto accidents and deaths have been caused by people peering at a screen.

I throw no stones here as I have been seriously stupid with these electronic devices myself. I am, however, trying to get better and I enjoy watching others who are ahead of me in this pursuit. I like their courtesy when, at lunch or dinner, they ask if they can put their phone on the table in case of an emergency. Or when they ask if you mind if they look something up on their phone.
As an average gent I am obviously fond of life’s middle ground and that is what we need—where we are masters of our electronics instead of them ruling us. I think of that quip regarding alcohol being a good servant but a terrible master. Until we find that happy medium though, Eliot’s words remind us how distracted we are from distraction by distraction.

Napoleon

The Emperor Napoleon once said that there was a field marshal’s baton in the knapsack of every French corporal. As showy as we view this today, carrying things like riding crops and swagger sticks used to be a popular, and certainly pretentious, affectation by many military officers. For a field marshal, a man at the absolute top of any army, the baton was the definitive symbol of authority. With the field marshal at the pinnacle of the rank structure and a corporal near the bottom however, at first glance Napoleon’s remark seems strange.

Napoleon however, was not known for making foolish statements. What he did do though, was to recognize the importance of leadership and that every one of his soldiers needed to be prepared, if necessary, to take over the command of the soldier above him—the next highest in the chain-of-command.

This idea spills over into our modern lives. No matter how average one feels, or no matter how humble one’s station in life might be, there might be a time when you have to step into the breech and take charge. Obviously, there are some common-sense limits to this idea—a hospital orderly, for example, cannot replace the surgeon in the operating room, but Napoleon’s point was that one never knows what circumstances might demand of you.

Since we do not know if, or when, that moment might arrive, it is best that we train, learn, and develop the skills to handle challenges. After all, it is better to be prepared and to never need that training, than it is to be put on the spot and found to be lacking!