The Mystery of the Original Mechanical Turk Operator

Hidden figures. In every field, there are crucial people behind the scenes who do their work with immense mastery, but do not seek any recognition. I wonder about their stories, what motivate them to do what they do, and why they choose to remain anonymous. The mystery of the Mechanical Turk may hold some answers.

Around the 18th century, “The Turk”, a fascinating chess-playing automaton, took Europe by storm. It toured city after city, and won an astounding number of matches. It was presented as a mechanical sorcerer standing behind a small cabinet with a chess board on top. The cabinet, when opened, showed only an elaborate system of gears and cogs.

For the longest time, no one could figure out how this automaton worked, but eventually, it was revealed to be a hoax. Someone was hiding in the cabinet, but was able to conceal themselves because the decor mechanical parts shown to spectators only occupied a third of the cabinet space. A person was able to squeeze inside the rest of the cabinet, light a candle, and view the chess board above and control it through a system of magnetic pieces and levers.

The Turk became famous and was eventually sold to a professional showman, at which point many well-known chess players were hired to operate it. The names of these master players were all documented in books later on. However, no one knew who the original operator was. The inventor of the Turk never told anyone who was operating the Turk before he sold it, and this person never came forward to reveal themself either.

The identity of the original Turk operator remains a mystery even today. It must have been someone of incredible intelligence, comparable to the famous chess masters of that time. He or she did their job, did it well, and did it without any desire for recognition. They powered through what must’ve been rather terrible work conditions, travelling extensively in hiding and cramped inside a tiny dark box during all their work hours.

Many of us can relate to the feeling of being “boxed in” at our jobs, either literally or metaphorically. We might be working in a cramped office, but at least we had fluorescent lighting instead of just a candle, and our cubicles may be small but at least we don’t have to squeeze into it. We may have to commute to work, but at least at the end of the day we get to go home. The Turk operator travelled wherever the show went, for 34 years. So I’m guessing whoever the original Turk operator was, they may have loved their job more than they loved themselves.

I’ve always been fascinated by people who gain incredible mastery over their work. People who are so passionate about what they do that they do it with total abandon. Abandonment of comfort, security, time, and even their own identity. They’re doing what they’re doing because they love it so much, they’ll do it regardless of the circumstances, regardless of the results.

To true masters, the concept of work-life balance is nonexistent, because they are so deeply immersed in their work that there is only life and life, which need no balance, because it is all life.

I’ve been a compulsive job hopper in the past. Part of this was because I was a “dreamer”. I imagined a dream job, one that I can feel as passionately about as I imagined the original Turk operator felt about theirs. Through all my chaotic career changes, I’ve learned a lot, and my most important learning was that the dream job doesn’t actually exist. Because at one point, I actually got my dream job, the one I was working towards for years, and it turned out to be the worst job experience I ever had. When I got there, I realized that it wasn’t actually my dream, it was a projection I made based on my education. A very disillusioned projection.

Eventually, my dream job shattered, and I was left without a dream for the first time. So for a while, I stopped “working” and just lived. Without a “job”, I simply worked at all the things that were “life”. Alot of it had to do with reengineering my interiority, getting back in touch with my spirituality. The process gave me immense clarity.

I realized that there could’ve been 3 types of people inside the Turk — a silly person, a smart person, or a spiritual person. To be honest, I’ve been all three.

The silly person would’ve been someone who hated the job but did it out of a self-imposed sense of obligation.

The smart person would’ve been someone who only did the job because they liked it.

The spiritual person would’ve been someone who did the job regardless of whether they liked it or not, because it was needed.

Which person do you think would have done the job best?

It would be the spiritual person.

The silly person would be so miserable in the job, they’ll complain endlessly and spread their negativity to everyone else even if they don’t mean to. They would stir up drama unconscsiously because they’re bored with their work. Their unpleasant state would cause their work to be subpar. Overall, they benefit no one by doing what they hate. The only upside might be the economic output they generate.

The smart person would be happy in the job, because they’ll only do what they like, but their happiness will be temporary. It won’t last, because likes and dislikes change over time. Passion always waxes and wanes and is easily influenced by external circumstances. A smart person is likely very resourceful too, so their intelligence allows them to get new job opportunities easily. However, the downside of this is that they become chronically unstable, always on the move, and never gain true depth in any field.

The spiritual person is actually the best worker, because they are not so motivated by likes and dislikes, by money and recognition and such. They are motivated by their own inner wisdom. They have the ability to discern what is actually needed, and just do that. They’ve moved past the limitations of their identity and its preferences. They simply do what is need for themeselves, for those around them, and for the world. They will do it joyfully and exuberantly, without any need for external recognition, because they are self-motivated and self-managed. They will stay at a job for however long it is needed, not based on how they’re feeling. They can adapt from a place of inner stability regardless of how the nature of the job changes. These are the hidden figures. They are everywhere. They are essential to the well functioning of society.

Nowdays, I’ve given up on the concept of a “dream job”, but I still dream. I just dream through my writing, and not through restlessness in “career development”. I no longer care so much about doing what I like and dislike in my day job, because my creative spirit has been satisfied through my writing. At work, I no longer feel like I must get somewhere, because my sense of adventure has already found expression through my literary explorations. I no longer feel a compulsion to work hard all the time, I just do what is needed, and I do it joyfully.

Nowdays, I am joyful in my work no matter what happens, because I’ve realized that any obstacle on the job can be an exercise in spiritual growth.

Maybe writing doesn’t make me feel total passionate self abandonment. Maybe I’ll never become a “master” at it. My stomach still growls when I write for a long time, and I still get distracted when my cat jumps on my keyboard, so I go for a snack and give my cat a scratch. Then, I just keep writing.