The death of mastery

When everyone's super...no one will be.

Influencing

I’ve expressed my distaste for the modern notion of “influencers” in other spaces. It’s an opinion that I’ve held for some time and am still working to understand all of the reasons why. Attitudes that come directly from influencing are taking hold, particularly of younger generations–the most dangerous of which is the desire to become an influencer. Apparently, up to a quarter of Gen Z plans to become influencers. It makes me think of one of the greatest works to ever come out of the philosophical think tank gone by called Pixar, The Incredibles. The villain, Syndrome, says sardonically of his plan to turn everyone into a superhero: “When everyone’s super, no one will be.”

LinkedIn is basically my last holdout in the social media world, because I was under the impression it’s essentially a digital resumé. Much to my chagrin, the trend of influencing has taken over even the online equivalent of awkward networking events, and  my feed is filled with soundbite lectures and purposefully eye-grabbing sentences from dozens of people on a daily basis. What continually surprises me isn’t the advice itself–some of it may even be useful–but the tone with which it is given, and those who are giving it. They are typically young (Gen Z is definitely represented in spades) and fairly inexperienced in the categories they’re discussing, but their tone is pretty superior and definitive. 

The irritation this creates in me is probably due to a few things, maybe some of which I don’t yet know or understand. I do know that when I’ve vocalized this irritation (about influencing as a reality in general), it’s met with pretty intense ad hominem rebuttals from influencers themselves, often claiming that I must not like their content because of my own “wounds” or “guilt” (more on this another time). It’s not about the content—it’s about the practice. Further, this visceral reaction from influencers themselves has only deepened my curiosity about what this reality is doing not just to our lives, but our very personhood. Our acceptance and platforming of influencing–to the point where a quarter of an entire generation doesn’t just desire it, but plan to pursue it–should cause us a great deal of concern, whether or not we end up agreeing about the solution. 

I do not know the hearts or minds of each individual influencer, but I can begin to probe the phenomenon of influencing itself–and our widespread acceptance of it. The damage must be more clear than it seems right now, and that begins with the pursuit of mastery.

Master, Journeyman, Apprentice

I was talking with my brother the other day about my irritation that influencing has officially taken over LinkedIn, and he spoke about a recent excursion to a farm where, among other things, visitors can view blacksmiths in the midst of their work. My brother said there were two–an apprentice blacksmith, and a journeyman. In the world of trade, an apprentice is a beginner, while a journeyman has some level of experience, yet is still employed by a master tradesman. This is the case across multiple trades, including carpentry and electrical work. My brother said that while the journeyman and apprentice were both impressive, they kept emphasizing the skill of their master with phrases like: “If you think this is good, you wouldn’t believe what the master can do.”

The awe and even reverence of the tradesmen for their master, despite the fact that they were the ones on display, highlights a missing element in the world of social media. The master has worked long and hard to obtain his mastery, and is duly recognized for his dedication by the title Master. It comes with power, yes, and properly, it comes with influence. Tradesmen are now placed underneath his guidance for the sake of pursuing their own mastery, but in what they know is due time. The duration of learning to be an electrician in my state (Florida), for example, is thousands of hours–a journeyman applicant must have been an apprentice for four to five years (a minimum of 8,000 hours), and a master must have worked at the journeyman level for at least two years (4,000 hours minimum). Further, an apprentice requires oversight in his work, while a journeyman can work unsupervised, but under his master’s license (in electrical work specifically). In the trade world, the journeyman’s license is equivalent to a bachelor’s degree, while one can liken mastery to, understandably, a master’s degree. 

There’s a twofold reverence in trade: toward the craft itself, and toward the time it takes to come into right relation, or mastery, with that craft. Tradesmen subject themselves to this order and don’t fight it, because they know the order exists for the protection of the craft and for their own good in pursuing it. Mastery is not something to be obtained as quickly as possible, and then pontificated–it’s something to be obtained righteously, and then used for the sake of continuation of the craft. If the master blacksmith had been present at the farm where my brother was with his family, chances are he wouldn’t have proclaimed himself to be the master–he would have taken his place with the journeyman and apprentice, and done what he knows a master is supposed to do–exemplify the craft, and instruct those entrusted to his influence. Nothing more, nothing less.

Flexibility Over Experience

Matthew B. Crawford, a philosopher and motorcycle mechanic (yep, you read that right), writes in his book The World Beyond Your Head on “the culture of performance.” He notes: 

“The ideal of being experienced has given way to the ideal of being flexible. What is demanded is an all-purpose intelligence, the kind one is certified to have by admission to an elite university, not anything in particular that you might have learned along the way. You have to be ready to reinvent yourself at any time, like a good democratic Übermensch. And while in Calvin’s time the threat of damnation might have been dismissed by some as a mere superstition, with our winner-take-all economy the risk of damnation has acquired real teeth. There is a real chance you may get stuck at the bottom.” (Matthew Crawford, 163). Crawford notes that there is no longer a “settled identity” in our work, because we’re no longer basing value on experience of a particular good, or craft–instead, we’re valuing flexibility and adaptability above all else. 

Influencers are a primary example of a “culture of performance” in which they are not truly settled (because a truly settled being, in work and in life, does not have to prove itself to be settled), but merely adaptable. Rarely do influencers try to influence only one sphere–their posts span topics from faith to fitness to parenting to nutrition to interior design, all with the same tone of expertise and decisiveness.  This appeals to the unsettled-ness in each of us–the places where we recognize we are journeymen, or even still apprentices, longing for mastery. If someone can present themselves as a “master” in an area that we long to be one, we can falsely come under their influence–we can become their apprentice, at least in thought, if not in practice.

The mistake isn’t finding or desiring masters. We all need to apprentice someone, or several people. The mistake is in the flexible presenting themselves as the experienced–and thus, the real experienced ones get sidelined. Masters don’t have to assert themselves as masters, because their mastery isn’t for the sake of propagating their status–it’s for the sake of continuing the craft. A master blacksmith continues becoming a more specialized and excellent blacksmith–he trusts his dedication to his craft to speak for itself.

Social media is driven by algorithms that feed on time spent, so influencers are intrinsically motivated to consistently post content–otherwise, their engagement drops, and so does their income. This is precisely what creates the demand for flexibility over experience–the bottom line is to not run out of content. Mastery is for the continuation of the craft. Influencing, even if other intentions come alongside,  is for the sake of garnering time, attention, and often–money.

Journeymen Aren’t Masters, but They Are Journeymen

Since becoming a mother, the toxicity of influencing has become all the more clear to me. Social media is rife with “momfluencers,” so much so that they have their own subcategory. I am in no way against mothers finding resources to help them live excellently, for their families and themselves–but what’s shocking to me is the mothers elbowing their way to the front are the young ones, just as the businessmen posting on LinkedIn have only a few years of real field experience under their belts. The same tone can be found in fitness influencers–of which there are too many to count–who think their own workout routine, catered to their body and needs, is the secret to everyone’s health. Each–whether mom, businessman, or fitness fanatic–present themselves as an expert. 

I’m a mother to a 10-month old daughter. I certainly know more about motherhood now, practically speaking, than I did before I was a mother–but I feel like a journeyman in motherhood, at best. Perhaps my “apprenticeship” was the years spent caring for younger siblings or nannying children who became like family to me; now it’s time to flex some of those muscles and see how I do this motherhood thing without the master’s watchful eye. My older brother, when recounting his experience at the farm watching the tradesmen, corrected my thinking that I know “nothing” about motherhood. I do know some, more than an apprentice, but I’m still a journeyman–nothing more, nothing less. The point is that expertise is not yet mine to claim–maybe I can speak to women who are on the cusp of motherhood themselves, but I truly believe I  don’t have much to offer to mothers as a whole. Yet. 

“Mastery” in more abstract realities–like motherhood or faith–is hard to define, and I by no means am saying young mothers have no wisdom. We do, but we’re remiss if we think it’s on the same level as women who have raised one or more children into adulthood, and we’re even more remiss to believe that we can offer just as much wisdom as they can. We simply can’t–we have not seen a major milestone in our story, the moment where our knowledge of the craft of motherhood is put to the test: are our children able to leave our homes as thriving, virtuous young adults on the path to sanctity? To me, that seems to be where mastery of motherhood is: when you have raised their children into virtuous adults. Those are the mothers who can speak more deeply to what works and what doesn’t, can look honestly and vulnerably on their mistakes, and can be trusted to guide based on real experience, not a desire to be seen as an “expert.”  More than anything, they are mothers who do not need to blast their expertise to anyone, let alone an ever-climbing number of followers–they let the apprentices come to them, and take them under their wing. To use another example, the master of fitness is not the one on the journey of fitness themselves, but rather the one who has learned to place their knowledge at the service of others in their own journey, and apply their knowledge and experience to the needs of others. 

Respect Your Elders

While age is not by any means synonymous with wisdom qualitatively, we are at risk of losing even the relationship between the two. The youth of influencers is part of what’s intriguing about them. Mastery doesn’t require age, per se, but as previously stated–it does require time. It can even be said that the more meaningful and complex the craft, the more time needed to master it. Perhaps, even, a whole lifetime.  

The time it takes to master something can be exhausting, taxing, and downright frustrating. How many of us have abandoned ship on a project or hobby that was once meaningful to us, but proved to be time-consuming and difficult? There’s every chance we regret it later, whether it was not continuing to play the piano or dropping out of college. Crafts are exhausting and rewarding because they’re meaningful and valuable in themselves, and that’s why mastery is so full of satisfaction, and quitting is so often laced with regret. Mastery takes time. Time is non-renewable, so we must carefully choose what we decide to master.

With the performance of influencers, their age becomes a sort of ode against mastery taking time. An “influencer” who took years to harness their skills and hone their craft, and is now ready to share on a wider platform with those who might be in pursuit of the same craft (read also: master) will not have the same draw, because their portrayal shows the reality of time, and the specificity of dedication to a particular field. We are not drawn to them, because they do not offer a quick, wide fix–they offer a confirmation of the process that taxes us. Conversely, influencers look like you do right now, but with a much prettier house, and a much happier marriage, and much more well-dressed children, and much more chiseled abs. If they disclose their secrets, your youth can look like theirs. True influencers must be young–because their youth adds an extra appeal: that you can bypass the time it takes to achieve mastery, if you just follow them. 

What saddens me is not only the false ideal this creates for consumers, but the injustice this does to both the dignity of a life well-lived and the personal lives of influencers themselves. Gone is the regard for elderly wisdom in all areas of life, and gone is the reverence and care due to the journeyman years. When you spend your journeyman years trying to be a master, you lose the joy of just being a journeyman. Slowly, we are letting mastery die, and choosing a culture that lauds flexibility and adaptability instead–a culture that gives the title Master to those who garner influence, not influence to those that work tirelessly to become masters. We are sacrificing true knowledge of one, specialized area, received from someone who reveres their craft, for the constant barrage of voices that know enough about many things to talk about them, but not enough about one thing to truly live it without seeking daily recognition. It may sound harsh, but it’s what I see: if we let mastery die, we will see a great deal of our potential for magnanimity go right along with it.

Resting in Reality

Being content with being a journeyman, whether in motherhood, fitness, business, health, or anything else, is tough in the modern world, because flexibility and adaptability is the new mastery. Because of this, it seems to be the name of the game right now. Being a journeyman is neither flexibility nor experience–it’s holding tension in the in-between, in the journey of pursuing mastery. There is no spotlight, there is no showiness–there is recognition that you are working under the influence and authority of those who have gone before you, and will one day achieve the inspiring mastery they exhibit–but not yet. Now is the time to listen, to learn, to share with an apprentice here or there–but most of all, to let time and persistence work its magic, for the love of the craft. Maybe that’s at the heart of being a journeyman: just focus on loving your craft, whether that’s developing fitness routines, business models, sacred art, or living those precious years with young children that no one deserves to see. Mastery will come, and influence with it, but it cannot go the other way around. 

So–I entreat you: find the true masters who aren’t asking for your following, and consider unfollowing the influencers who don’t yet have the mastery you’re truly looking for. Not only will it free your mind to receive the wisdom of those who can truly give it, but it will free those behind the screen to live contentedly as journeymen, working with the rest of us for their mastery to come.