A number of years ago, I was trying to choose an area to live in and around Melbourne. Since I worked in the CBD, I wanted to keep my commute reasonable. I also wanted a reasonable-sized yard in which to grow fruit and vegetables. The Australian property market was already batshit crazy at that point (it has since advanced to certifiably insane), so any chance of buying in the inner suburbs was out of the question. That left the outer suburbs or surrounding hinterland as options.
Since fruit and vegetable growing was on my list of priorities, I was conscious of things like annual rainfall and quality of soil when evaluating alternative locations to live.
Melbourne has an interesting meteorological quirk in this respect. If you were to draw a diagonal line over the city from north-west to south-east, the areas to the west of that line receive quite a lot less rain than those to the east of it. The western areas belong to the expansive grasslands that stretch, almost uninterrupted, all the way to South Australia. The eastern and northern areas run into the Great Dividing Range, the enormous chain of mountains that runs right up the east coast of Australia.
One of the things that happens in proximity to those mountains is that you can get hailstorms. While researching the area to the north-east of Melbourne as a potential place to live, I noted that a major hail storm seemed to happen about once a decade there. We’re talking golf ball-sized hail that can cause damage to houses and cars, but also fruit and vegetable gardens. Since that area is a food-producing region, growers must reckon with the fact that they will lose an entire crop about once a decade.
As it turns out, I have some experience with those kinds of hailstorms. I grew up in an area that is far enough north that a couple of times every summer a big storm blows down from the subtropics. Sometimes those storms are hail storms. Our house had a metal roof and I distinctly remember one hail storm that caused such a cacophony that we had to shout into each other’s ears just to be heard inside the house.
Although the question of hail was not a deciding factor, I ended up moving to the area to the west of Melbourne’s diagonal rain line. It doesn’t rain as much here. That’s unfortunate. On the positive side, the threat of major hail damage is minute.
Some years ago, a colleague of mine moved into the exact area in the north-east of Melbourne that I had earlier been investigating as a place to live. I knew he wasn’t into gardening, since he used to complain about it. He’s one of those people who resent having to even mow a lawn but who find themselves in Australian suburbia with the annoyance of having to maintain a garden that they don’t really care about and probably wish wasn’t there.
It was shortly after my colleague had moved into his new house in the north east that a hail storm came through. In my part of Melbourne, there was some tiny little hail about the size of sunflower seeds which survived a matter of seconds upon making contact with the ground. In the eastern suburbs, the hail was slightly bigger but still nothing to write home about. It was definitely not one of those once-in-a-decade golf ball-sized hail storms.
Nevertheless, I saw a social media post from my colleague with a photo of the hail on his back lawn. He had captioned the photo with something like “Hail in December. Tell me that climate change isn’t real!”
This colleague of mine works in the IT industry. One of the good things about working with computers is that they are machines that do whatever you instruct them to do. However, because the mechanics of the computer are hidden away beneath layers of abstractions, it is easy to get lost in those abstractions, especially when trying to locate a bug (the recent Crowdstrike global outage provides a topical example of the problem). Thus, a lot of the technical work with computers involves wading through abstractions only to realise that the computer had done exactly what you told it to do. The problem was not the computer. The problem was you.
For this reason, working with computers involves the constant confrontation with your mental models of the world. More specifically, the realisation that your mental model is very often wrong. You thought you were telling the computer to do one thing. Actually, you were telling it something different. This realisation can lead to what we might call epistemological humility on the part of the people who work with computers.
I had believed my colleague to be in that camp, so it was strange to hear him make such an unqualified and categorical statement about climate change from a single observation. Of course, I also knew that the observation was wrong in a factual sense.
The implication of the phrase “hail in December” is that my colleague had assumed that hail is only supposed to happen in winter. In fact, December (the beginning of summer in Melbourne) is exactly the time when hail storms hit since the phenomenon is correlated with weather patterns that blow storms down from the tropical north during the rainy season. If you check the statistics on major hail storms in Victoria, they almost always happen from December to March.
My colleague was clearly unaware of these basic realities. In fact, his area is probably overdue for a major hail storm, the kind that causes property damage. When that does happen, he might have something real to complain about.
I began thinking about how an intelligent person who in their professional life knows the dangers of making unqualified blanket statements could make such a blunder. An obvious point was the simple fact that my colleague had not researched the meteorology of the area before moving to it. Unlike myself, he had no interest in growing fruit and vegetables and therefore had no reason to be concerned. Thus, the difference here is one of perspective based on personal interest.
But then I began wondering whether this seemingly trivial distinction doesn’t end up becoming a very large distinction, perhaps even a different worldview. I knew that my colleague was born and raised in a modern city where clean water comes out of the tap on command and food comes pre-packaged at the supermarket. I doubt it had ever occurred to him to grow his own food. What is the attitude of such a person towards weather in general?
Since being outdoors is synonymous with either commuting or leisure activities for such a person, rain is always an annoyance. I can’t think of a single leisure activity that requires rain, but I can think of plenty that get cancelled because of it, including sports matches, picnics, bushwalking etc. For a professional city person, there’s a kind of zero sum attitude to rain. It’s always correlated with a negative outcome and never with a positive one.
A gardener has a completely different attitude to rain. In most of Australia, water is the limiting factor on fertility. Therefore, rain is almost always welcome. If, like me, you capture the rainwater in tanks, rain has the additional benefit of filling the tanks and creating a resource that is of tangible value. Simply by doing gardening, your perspective on rain changes. Rain is no longer a zero sum equation.
What’s more, a gardener becomes far more attuned to variations in the weather since it directly affects the outcomes you are looking for i.e. fruit and vegetables from the garden. To garden successfully, you must have a more in-depth understanding of the climate. That’s the reason why I knew that my colleague was living in hail-prone area while he did not.
In short, a gardener has a non zero sum attitude to weather. If it rains, I might be annoyed if I have to cancel some activity I wanted to do, but I’m also happy that my garden is receiving water and my water tanks are filling up.
This non-zero sum mindset is actually necessary for successful gardening, especially if you are growing food crops. The experienced gardener learns that, through some combination of weather variations, pests or other more complex causes, you might lose a whole crop of a particular fruit or vegetable. You can get around this by spending all your time and energy protecting a few crops or you can get around it by diversifying. If you plant a variety of different crops, it’s highly unlikely that you’ll lose them all to a single cause (a severe hailstorm is actually one of the few things that can take out an entire garden’s worth of plants).
As long as you can be flexible, you can avoid the zero sum mindset. Maybe you’ll have a bad year for tomatoes but a bumper year for kale. The bad news is almost always offset by some good news.
Now, perhaps I am drawing a long bow, but is it too much of a stretch to see this lack of flexibility in the modern world and is it also possible that it is this which is causing the increasingly zero sum quality of our politics and public discourse? Think of how many different issues are presented as an extreme case of the zero sum mentality. We must switch to renewables OR the world will come to an end. You must take this vaccine OR you and your loved ones will die. You must have your teenage child undergo trans surgery OR they will commit suicide.
I used to think this kind of messaging was the by-product of modern democratic political stalemate where only the most extreme narrative can frighten people into action. That implies a lack of flexibility in the political system. But that of flexibility is everywhere now. The average voter is a now a city person who has the zero sum mindset as a lived reality.
The irony is that the city has traditionally been seen as the place of freedom and opportunity, contrasted against the zero sum mentality of rural communities. At a surface level, that is true. Having grown up in small towns, I know about the zero sum mentality that exists there. But maybe the only real difference is that country folk don’t hide it. Maybe all that happens in the city is that the zero sum mentality gets sublimated and channeled into apocalyptic mythological grand narratives like “climate change” and “pandemic”.
It reminds me of a point made by Nassim Taleb in relation to war. Europe was almost constantly at war for most of its modern history, but those wars were mostly small scale affairs where the damage done to society was quite minimal. The 19th century, by contrast, was a time of relative peace and intelligent people convinced themselves that war was a thing of the past. WW1 and WW2 put an end to that delusion. Taleb concluded that it was preferable to have a lot of small wars rather than save it all up for one big war.
The same dynamic holds for our relationships. You can have small and frequent disagreements with your spouse, your work colleagues and your friends or you can save up all the frustration, let it mature and age into bitterness and rage, and then have it all explode out in one big outburst that could quite likely destroy the relationships altogether.
Maybe the same is true of the zero sum mindset. We pretend it doesn’t exist but it just builds up quietly in the background taking shape in grand apocalyptic mythologies which hand over more and more political power to the modern priests who rail on like medieval bishops about eternal damnation. It’s the most zero sum message imaginable: do exactly what I say or the entire world will come to an end. Everything gradually settles down into one giant zero sum game where the State wields complete power over everything and the “freedom” and “opportunity” of the city morphs into the most extreme form of bondage imaginable.