Montaigne's Magpie
¶ But this story of the magpie, for which we have Plutarch himself as sponsor, is strange. She was in a barber's shop in Rome, and did wonders in imitating with her voice all that she heard. One day it happened that certain trumpeters stopped and blew a long time in front of this shop. After that and all the next day here was this magpie pensive, mute, and melancholy, at which everyone marveled, and thought that the sound of the trumpets had stunned her and deafened her, and that her voice had been snuffed out together with her hearing. But they found in the end that it was a profound study and a withdrawal within herself, while her mind was practicing and preparing her voice to represent the sound of these trumpets; so that the first voice she used was that one, expressing perfectly their runs, pitches, and variations; and for this new acquirement she abandoned and scorned all she had learned to say before.
— Montaigne, from Apology for Raymond Sebond
Colorado, 1988
¶ An old cowboy named Dawn was trying to teach me to ride. I was struggling to impose my will on a wayward beast, and the animal was having none of it. Dawn, a man of few words, looked me up and down for a long time. "They tell me Queen Elizabeth is a good rider," he said quietly. "I really respect that because her horse doesn't know that she's the Queen of England."
The violin is a philosopher's tool. The struggle to master it teaches us valuable lessons about getting on in the world. When we think of mastery, it is natural to think of imposing our will - upon an instrument, a creature, a population. But a true master knows that this is an illusion. In fact, it is a great paradox. To master an instrument, you must become its servant. The violin doesn't know who you are. You cannot compel it. It does not respond to the force of ego. The violin sets the rules. Press here - pull there. Abide by its rules, and you will have complete freedom to do what you wish - to express what you wish. All progress towards mastery begins with analysis and understanding. What does the violin ask me to do? It proceeds through humility and discipline - conscientiously to do that thing until the muscles respond spontaneously in the correct way. It ends in freedom. When correct action is second-nature, the fantasy is set free. Anyone who has witnessed the unconstrained performance of a master knows that this is so. A great performance always seems somehow right, natural, and at the same time miraculous - as does the behavior of a truly moral person.
— RWE
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