Better to Understand

Over the past few weeks at the Mandala Fellowship, I have grown to realize something important: in general, we don't make a distinction between the terms of musician and performer. If I asked you right now to tell me the difference between a musician and a musical performer, what would you say? I expect you would give me a blank stare and ask if it was a trick question. Well, to be honest, it is. While the two terms are practically synonymous today, this was not always the case.

Hundreds of years ago, people made a great distinction between the two words. As the name suggests, a performer was someone who made a living by playing music, music which he learned through imitating other performers. He didn't need to understand the music as long as what he copied was appealing. Not so the musician. He was someone who studied music theory in addition to their instrument, learning the mathematics and the harmonics behind what they were doing. A composer and a theorist first, he played his instrument second. Thus, the performer and the musician were different and distinct professions, though they were very similar. So why should we care? We should care about the distinction between the words for two reasons: because language is important and because the distinction highlights a very important attitude which pervades all aspects of life.

The first reason we should care is because language is important. While it naturally evolves, we should never use that fact to excuse linguistic laziness. Language exists as a tool for communication, and we should always strive for precision in our words. When we speak precisely, we can communicate complicated ideas more gracefully and with more ease. Imagine a mathematician who is trying to write out a tricky algebra equation but who can only use the four most basic functions of arithmetic. While it is possible, the end result is a bulky and inelegant mess, both laborious to work through and ugly to look at. Failing to make distinctions between words limits our ability to express ourselves. These words have meaning.

The second reason we should care is because this this attitude of "musician" vs "performer" applies to anything. Consider driving. Anyone can drive a car. Cars are designed to be easily piloted. Do you need to know how the engine works in order to drive into town and back? No, the car takes care of that, and all you have to do is step on the gas pedal. But should you understand? Will it help you be a better driver? Absolutely! Someone who understands the "music" of the engine is not limited to driving an automatic but can figure out a car with a manual transmission even if there is no one to show him how to use the gears. Not so the "performer", who can only mimic instructions. The first person has a deeper understanding of his vehicle and can make it perform in ways that the other cannot. As another example, think of the approaches to studying for school. While one student spends all of his evenings studying, seeking understanding, his fellow student ignores his studies, only cramming at the last minute to prepare for the test. They may get the same grade, but which student has the more valuable education? The first student understands the subject, knows it well, and will be able to use it again. Unfortunately, the second's knowledge will be gone by the time he leaves the classroom. To excel at something, one must go beyond the basics and beyond mimicry. Understanding is true learning. Parroting answers or behavior is not.

We should care about the distinction between musician and performer because language is important, and because the attitude that the distinction highlights is important. The old wisdom states that if something is "worth doing, it's worth doing right". Performers took the polished surface of music and recreated it in their own instruments. While that is certainly not wrong, isn't it better to understand?


Barnabas A. Holleran
Mandala Fellowship