The Three Bricklayers’ story illustrates the power of purpose.

A simple version goes that a person walked past a building project and asked three workers the same question: “What are you doing?”

The first replied, “I’m laying bricks.”

The second replied, “I’m building a wall.”

And the third replied, “I’m creating a cathedral.”

The story highlights how we can view our work differently depending on whether we focus on the immediate task, the short-term goal, or the larger vision. The first worker focuses on the task at hand, the second sees the outcome of their work, and the third connects to the broader purpose of the project.

Various tellings have the first worker hunched over or working slowly. The second and third workers take increasing pride in their work, often achieving more.

There’s value in all three perspectives. There can be a lot of pride and skill in laying bricks—or whatever your equivalent task is—as well as it can be done. Setting clear, intermediate goals keeps progress on track. And someone who spends all their time looking at plans or daydreaming about what the building will become may not lay bricks as well as they need to.

To do something well, we probably need a balance of all three aspects:

Progress through clear intermediate goals

Understanding what I’m working towards and believing it’s worthwhile is a powerful motivator for me when the going gets tough.

This post isn’t really about cathedrals, but I studied the brilliant Catalan architect Antoni Gaudí in my teens. As a real-life cathedral metaphor, his incredible Basílica de la Sagrada Família in Barcelona is a striking example. Gaudí’s vision for the basilica has inspired generations of artisans and workers since he took over the project in 1882. Execution, however, has been a challenge, with construction ongoing today. But that hasn’t stopped it from inspiring and drawing in visitors for decades.

I like the three bricklayers parable as a reminder that when I’m grinding on something, it helps to reconnect with the why behind my effort.

Like many parables, this story has been told in different forms. An early version appears in Bruce Barton’s 1927 book What Can a Man Believe (p252), featuring Sir Christopher Wren, the architect of St Paul’s Cathedral in London after the Great Fire of 1666.

“One morning he passed among the workmen, most of whom did not know him, and of three different men engaged in the same kind of work he asked the same question: ‘What are you doing?’

From the first he received the answer: ‘I am cutting this stone.’

From the second the answer was: ‘I am earning three shillings and six pence a day.’

But the third man straightened up, squared his shoulders, and holding his mallet in one hand and chisel in the other, proudly replied: ‘I am helping Sir Christopher Wren to build this great cathedral.’”

It’s hard to believe it happened, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be helpful.

The Three Bricklayers Story

Leading from Any Chair is the idea that we all have the opportunity to influence the action even when we're not standing at the front. It's a principle for effective leadership and teaching yourself and others to lead.

In their inspiring book, The Art of Possibility, Benjamin and Rosamund Zander relate a story from renowned violist Eugene Lehner, who played in the Kolish Quartet and Boston Symphony Orchestra. One day, in an interpretation class led by Zander with Lehner as a guest coach, Ben Zander asked him, "How can you bear to play day after day in an orchestra led by conductors, many of whom must know so much less than you?"

Lehner said he was playing in a rehearsal in his first year in the orchestra when the conductor, Koussevitsky, struggled to lead the orchestra as he wanted through a tricky Bach piece. A friend of Koussevitsky and fellow conductor, Nadia Boulanger, was sitting in on the session. Koussevitsky stopped and asked if Nadia would conduct the passage so he could hear what it sounded like from the back of the hall. Nadia conducted the passage without a hitch, and the rehearsal continued. But the episode left Lehner ever wondering and waiting for the moment when a conductor might say to him, "Lehner, you come up here and conduct. I want to go to the back of the hall and hear how it sounds."

"It's now 43 years since that happened," said Lehner, "and it is less and less likely that I will be asked. However, in the meantime, I haven't had a single dull moment in a rehearsal as I sit wondering, 'What would I say to the orchestra, should I suddenly be called upon to lead?'"

There are many occasions when I have personally grappled with whether now is the moment to step up and lead. Sometimes, I have taken them. Other times, I feel ashamed that I sat back and let events unfold without contributing.

It's the easy path to defer to whoever's leading and consider that there may be better times to influence or say what you think needs to be said. Or you can take the view that we're all responsible in some way for what we're experiencing, and we all have the opportunity to influence for the better.

You don't have to be the captain on the field to influence your fellow players.

A typical example I've experienced is seeing a presenter struggle in a meeting, perhaps with technical difficulties or audience confusion. It may take only a little to try and help with the tech or to ask the presenter to explain a point that you see needs to be clarified for people. Or, as an audience member, you can sit back and consider it not your problem.

Once, in the middle of a performance at a wedding, the music suddenly clicked off for the performer. Immediately picking up on the problem, the wedding photographer started singing the melody, picking up where the music left off. Getting the idea, all the guests joined in, continuing the music to the end. This quick intervention undoubtedly led to a better show for everyone, including the performer.

When you choose to step up, it's an opportunity to learn to lead. You may discover that there's more to leading than it seems and gain empathy for the leaders around you.

By constantly asking myself, "What would I say should I suddenly be called upon to lead?" I am mentally rehearsing for when I am needed, for when I am in the position of a leader. It speeds up my learning and keeps me always ready for action.

It's one reason why always thinking of questions at a talk or conference is valuable. It forces you to engage with the material, and when the opportunity arises, you're ready to step up and ask about what matters to you or what everyone is thinking.

Identifying passion and the leaders in front of you

As a leader, if you believe you are superior, for example, as the conductor who doesn't consider the orchestra members to have anything to contribute to the interpretation of the music, then you are likely to suppress the voices of the very people you need to deliver.

People want to contribute—that's why they attended the class, joined the company, or trained in their discipline. Rosamund Zander advises that, as a leader, we can train ourselves to spot the passion of the people in our teams. We can actively look for occasions to allow team members to lead. And if we don't see the passion, we can ask ourselves, "Who am I being that they are not shining?"

We can learn to lead at any time. So the next time you're just one in a crowd, consider that you can lead from any chair. Ask yourself, "What would I say if I were suddenly called upon to lead?"

In case it wasn't clear, I highly recommend The Art of Possibility, which I listened to as an audiobook read by Benjamin and Rosamund. And I always recommend finding 20 mins to watch Benjamin Zander's classic TED talk, The Transformative Power of Classical Music. Left-buttock playing is a sketch I've been planning for a long time.

The Responsibility Poem: Whose job is it?

What drives us: Autonomy, Mastery, Purpose

This is the last time I plan to draw an orchestra. I now know a little of what it must feel like to draw Where's Wally?

Leading from Any Chair

There’s an old short story called “Whose job is it?” that goes like this:

This is a story about four people named Everybody, Somebody, Anybody, and Nobody.

There was an important job to be done and Everybody was asked to do it.

Everybody was sure Somebody would do it. Anybody could have done it, but Nobody did it.

Somebody got angry about that, because it was Everybody's job.

Everybody thought Anybody could do it but Nobody realised that Everybody wouldn't do it.

It ended up that Everybody blamed Somebody when Nobody did what Anybody could have done.

It used to be up on the wall in my secondary school many years ago. Its message of taking ownership and responsibility and not assuming others will do what you don’t want to do has stuck with me ever since.

It’s rather like the famous advice to be the change you wish to see happen. Litter doesn’t clean itself up. Broken things don’t fix themselves. It might be up to you. (see the Bystander effect)

The story seems to be a condensed version of a longer piece by Charles Osgood called "The Responsibility Poem," though I couldn't find an original source anywhere.

Also see: For want of a nail, the story spine, the Accountability Ladder, RACI

Whose job is it?

It's an old, old Eastern story about some blind men who encounter an elephant. As the blind make sense of what each feels it's also a memorable illustration of how our own views are shaped by our subjective experience and, as so often, that we don't see the full picture. In various versions the men may argue over what it is, convinced they themselves must be right, or collaborate to identify the elephant together.

Most of our experience is somewhat like this. We rarely see the whole truth. When we stay humble and accept others' experience we give ourselves the chance to learn a little more.

The blind and the elephant

When I look back at the LEGO sets of my youth compared to the LEGO sets of today, a few things are striking. Today’s is much cooler: the colours are better, the pieces are more interesting, and the sets are more clever (they also have a lot more weapons*). And the sets have their own characters: they’re not just nameless people in characterless towns—every set is full of people with names, expressions, backstories, personalities and goals. My observation, ahem, through our children, is that this makes it way more interesting to play with. It’s the characters and the story that make them so good now. A good part of that I think is also the shift in quality of expressions on the faces.

I am kind of in awe of LEGO faces. The number and variety and subtlety of expressions it’s possible to make with just a few small changes to a few small lines on a face I find truly astounding. This sketchplanation shows just a tiny bit of the variety from the LEGO Movies. Respect to the artists.

*5% of Lego boxes sold in 2001 contained Lego weapons. In 2014 that was 30% according to Bartneck C, Min Ser Q, Moltchanova E, Smithies J, Harrington E (2016) Have LEGO Products Become More Violent? PLoS ONE 11(5): e0155401.

LEGO faces

Kenn Adams’s story spine is a wonderfully simple and flexible backbone for creating or analysing stories.

I learned it from Dan Klein at Stanford as a fun improvising game: standing in a circle each person in turn takes on the next step of the story spine making up what happens. You’ll effortlessly produce some fascinating and amusing stories. We would extend the middle section as many times as felt natural to lead to the climax. An optional extension to the original spine was to add a final step of stating the moral of the story.

I have found the story spine very useful for coming up with on the spot bedtime stories. Also a fun game at the pub.

the second rule of improv: be spontaneous

Watch Dan Klein in action at TEDxReset 2014

The story spine

Winnie the Pooh teaches us how to speak plainly and avoid Owl Speak.

There’s a surprising amount of wisdom in A. A. Milne’s classic stories of Winnie-the-Pooh. If you haven’t read them for a long time, you could do much worse than try them again.

As one small example, I find there’s a lot of Owl Speak around as we get older, where we could all probably benefit from a dose of Pooh’s simplicity. Owl Speak includes never using a short, simple word when a long and complicated one would do. For example, in one revealing exchange, Owl explains:

“Well, the customary procedure in such cases is as follows.”

“What does Crustimoney Proseedcake mean?” said Pooh.

…”It means, the Thing to Do.” says Owl.

We learn more and more Owl Speak the more time we spend in school, only to have to work to remove it when we are older.

All the Winnie-the-Pooh books are lovely to read: Winnie-the-Pooh, The House at Pooh Corner, When we Were Very Young, and Now we are Six. Both quotes are from The House at Pooh Corner. Or, if you prefer to have the wisdom called out, you could try The Tao of Pooh, by Benjamin Hoff.

This sketch was updated for my book Big Ideas Little Pictures

Story sketches