A farmer sees a running rabbit strike a tree stump, break its neck, and fall dead. The animal reaches him without pursuit or trap. He lays down his tools and waits beside the stump for another.
Nothing about the first success is imaginary. The rabbit is real; the meal is real. That is why the lesson is more difficult than “do not believe in things that never happened.” The farmer’s mistake is causal. He turns an accidental conjunction—rabbit, speed, angle, stump—into a repeatable method and treats waiting as the action that produced the result.
Success encourages this error because it rewards the story we tell about it. A business thrives during an unusual market, a student receives praise after one all-night effort, or a policy works under conditions no one has named. Repeating the visible behavior feels empirical. Yet a method is not whatever happened immediately before a good outcome. It is a relation that survives relevant changes in circumstance.
Failure often forces investigation. Luck can prevent it. The farmer was entitled to eat the first rabbit; he was not entitled to believe the world owed him a second for remaining faithful to the stump. A result becomes knowledge only after we ask what actually produced it, which conditions can recur, and what evidence would make us revise the explanation.
Source note: The fable comes from Han Feizi, “The Five Vermin,” where it criticizes governing a changed present by the institutions of ancient kings. This essay distinguishes a genuine result from the method falsely inferred from it.