The Master and the Apprentice

Here’s a thing that I thought interesting. It is about the method of teaching and learning used by the artisan guilds – blacksmiths, leather-workers, etc – in the days of old. I heard it described in a single sentence by Josh Homme, singer and guitarist of Queens of the Stone Age, in a way that was incredibly intriguing to me.

So I’m going to blather about it in an extended Train of Thought, for who knows how long.

Welcome to Guild University.

Let’s say we have a Master Blacksmith and her apprentice. She tells her apprentice to “move these iron rings from that part of the floor to this part of the floor.” And the apprentice does their task, happily and enthusiastically – they are grateful to be there, learning what they have a passion to learn, from a great master.

They move the rings, and they move the rings, and they move the rings, and they…

Then they drop the ring on the floor, in disgust and defiance. “I will not move another damned ring!”

The master scratches her chin, raises an eyebrow, and says, “Well, if you think you have that mastered, and think so highly of yourself, perhaps I’ll add one more task for you to do… if you think you’re up for it.”

And the apprentice takes up the new task eagerly. They just want to do something else besides the monotonous task they have engaged in for so long.

It is not just about them becoming bored with the task, however. To the master’s keen eye, the apprentice’s boredom is the proof they have truly mastered that particular skill.

It’s like a maths teacher making a student do single digit addition for months on end. At some point the student will declare, “I’ve got this, already! Can we move on to something else!”

Thus the master has not only taught her apprentice a new skill, but made them desperate to move on to the next one. A foundation has been built and tested, upon which the next layer can be explored – sure footing is crucial in the path to mastery.

So this goes on, until the apprentice has enough solidity in their craft to take on more complex tasks, more involved techniques. In this way, they earn the freedom to express their passion and their vision more precisely, more honestly.

And that freedom is not some external thing, kept from the apprentice by the master. It is an internal treasure, unlocked with guidance from the master. The apprentice is not “free” to express themselves accurately in their chosen art form, until they have mastered all of the art form’s “tools of articulation.”

So what can we extract from this idea?

First of all, I want to swing this towards an argument of encouragement; learning some form of expression – such as music, martial arts, or blacksmithing, to name a few – is incredibly rewarding. The undertaking, however, can be quite daunting. Where do you start? Will you ever be good enough to create something meaningful? Can you even dedicate enough time to the endeavour to make it worth your while?

These are trick questions. To answer them in descending order: You simply start; everything you create on your journey forward is meaningful, a step towards expressing yourself as honestly as possible; and any dedicated time is time well spent.

And I want to be clear that, while any artist seeks to master their craft and achieve the most honest expression of themselves, perfection is an illusion. There is no destination that ends the journey – the journey is a climb up an endless mountainside, and the reward is the ever-growing view you get to appreciate at each new lookout you discover.

So don’t let that illusory bully called Perfection intimidate you into inaction.

Now returning to the master-apprentice story. (I get even more off-track in real life conversations, it’s pretty much madness.) I think the wisdom in this method is to be found in the power of repetition. And thus, one of the most important skills you can learn is patience – patience in the practice, patience in the results, patience in yourself.

There is no way around this one. Repetition is a powerful weapon, though it may feel like a tedious one to wield. Improvement may feel slow, even non-existent, at times.

But the good news is, you will improve – it is inevitable. And you will be in awe at your progress as you discover that you have achieved what you previously thought was impossible. It will strike you when you least suspect, and the view from the mountain will be breathtaking.

(When did this turn into a pep talk? Also, someone please play a drinking game for each unrelated metaphor you find in this piece.)

It might be appropriate here to mention the classic “wax on, wax off” sequence from the Karate Kid. (you haven’t seen it? Search it on YouTube). There is a plot twist to the seemingly monotonous and pointless tasks, in which the master reveals the hidden wisdom within them, and the student is now primed – through repetition – to receive that wisdom.

Now, so as to lower the chances of repeating myself, I think I’d better wrap up this one.

Coming from someone who is essentially self-taught in all my undertakings, I might point to the romanticism of the master-apprentice relationship above. It certainly still exists in our world – the tradition of martial arts has preserved it in a beautiful and important way – but in our present day, the wisdom of the master can be sought by other means. The connectivity of the internet, for all its negative symptoms, is a profoundly powerful tool for knowledge. If used carefully and correctly, it can give you access to many generous masters who have graciously shared their wisdom with the world.

So while I would recommend finding a teacher to guide you (so many of my more glaring weaknesses would have shored up if I had one), I stress that you should not let the absence of one stop you in your journey. Be patient, and you will climb up the mountain.

Just remember. Move those metal rings, move those metal rings, move those metal rings, move those…