Quoting from Bruce C. Hafen and a previous post ‘The Value of the Veil’: . . . . the first graduate of the “Do It Without Practice Piano Course” walks out onto the stage of Carnegie Hall to perform his debut with the orchestra, what do you suppose would happen? Not much. Why? Even though “thinking” is an essential element to any form of learning, some things can be learned only by practice. . . . Now continuing:
In an important book about the philosophy of knowledge, a philosopher named Michael Polanyi identifies skill acquisition as a unique field of knowledge.1 He offers the interesting insight that often the essence of a skill cannot be adequately described, measured, or specified. Hence , many skills cannot be transmitted by written descriptions and instructions intended to be memorized by later generations. In Polanyi’s words:
-
An art which cannot be specified in detail cannot be transmitted by prescription since no prescription for it exists. It can be passed on only by example from master to apprentice . . . .
-
It follows that an art which has fallen into disuse for the period of a generation is altogether lost. There are hundreds of examples of this to which the process of mechanization is continuously adding new ones. These losses are usually irretrievable. It is pathetic to watch the endless efforts of—equipped with microscopy and chemistry, with mathematics and electronics—to reproduce a single violin of the kind the half-literate Stradivarius turned out as a matter of routine more than two hundred years ago. 2
Polanyi believes we can learn a skill only by imitating the skillful performance of one who has mastered the skill — even though the teacher whom we imitate cannot specify and measure every detail of his art. There is a close analogy between this idea and the central gospel concept that knowing the Savior personally emulating his examples is the ultimate way of living the gospel, a way that transcends merely following specific commandments and detailed doctrines. Though Polanyi is not writing about religion but about knowledge as a field or science, he does (perhaps unintentionally) make a point about religion:
-
To learn by example is to submit to authority. You follow your master because you trust his manner of doing things even when you cannot analyze and account in detail for its effectiveness. By watching the master and emulating his efforts in the presence of his example, the apprentice unconsciously picks up the rules of the art, including those that are not explicitly known to the master himself. These hidden rules can be assimilated only by a person who surrenders himself to that extent uncritically to the imitation of another. As society which wants to preserve a fund of personal knowledge must submit to tradition.3
Most of us have known people who have rejected an opportunity to test the truthfulness of the gospel because they were not willing to submit to the gospel commandments. We have pleaded with the skeptic to try the gospel and see. How impatient we have become when the skeptic wants to prove it first, before he will submit himself in some ways that seems to him a loss of his freedom! If the skeptic doubts that the process of complying with gospel principles will really bear fruit, his own doubting will indeed make it impossible to bear fruit for him. For unless he yields and participates and loses himself in it, there is no way he can find the proof he demands.
Until a person who is attempting to learn a skill is willing to commit himself totally and irrevocably, there are many things he cannot learn. Polanyi describes how a blind man with a walking stick becomes accustomed to “seeing’ with it. What the stick tells him, the blind man can never fully describe to anyone else. For those who are not — blind but merely close their eyes at times to see what it is like — are not sufficiently motivated to learn what the stick can tell them about this world. Why not? Because they don’t have to know.
To carry the analogy further, a blind person may say he would rather not take the risk of getting hit by a car and would prefer to stay home. All his teacher can say is, “If you want the freedom your cane can give you, you must take the risk. I can’t tell you how to use the cane unless you go out there and learn by practice. I will stand by your side and talk to you, I will tell you everything I know, but if you aren’t committed to it, there isn’t anything I can do for you.”
The blind person must somehow be persuaded that going through the agony of practice with the cane, a step at a time, with all the mistakes that inevitably go with practice, is worth the effort and the risks involved. The practice involved is not merely a matter of repetition; rather, it is a process of change and growth achieved by repeated mental effort aimed at learning a specific skill, in pursuit of some purpose.
How does one convince others about things like that? Our skeptical friends may say, “What is so wonderful about the celestial kingdom? Explain to me so I can understand it, and then maybe I can put up with all the commandments, take the risks, submit myself to the Master, and go through all the practice routine. But first I want you to prove to me that it’s all going to be worthwhile in the end.”
And what can our answer be? There is no way that human minds, resurrected or not, can communicate to other human beings what it is like. We do not know why that is so. It is the nature of reality and the nature of the universe. All we can do is trust and try. Something will happen to those who try, and then they will know. But when they attempt to explain it to someone else, the listener likely will not understand fully what they are talking about.
Our mortal existence gives us the opportunity to develop the skills and capabilities we must have to live in the celestial kingdom. When my nine-year-old boy says he wants to drive the car, I must explain to him that if he goes out onto the freeway, he is going to be dangerous — he might kill himself and a lot of other people as well. He does not yet have the capacity to use the freedom offered by a freeway.
Until he develops the capacity — the skill, the judgment, the maturity — driving on the freeway will kill him. The same would be true of our premature introduction to freedom — and the responsibility — in living in a kingdom governed by celestial laws.
The assumption of responsibility — can be liberating or crushing depending upon one’s preparation to receive it. ~Bruce C. Hafen, The Believing Heart (Salt Lake City: Deseret Book; 1990), 44-48 (Conclusion. . . see “The Value of the Veil III”)
See Personal Knowledge (New York: Harper and Row, 1964). 2. Personal knowledge, page 53. Notes: 1. See Personal Knowledge (New York: Harper and Row, 1964).
