How Heidegger Can Make You a Better Guitarist
“What on Earth does the 20th-century German philosopher Martin Heidegger have to do with playing guitar?” you may already be asking—beyond the coincidental connection that I myself am a philosophy instructor and am also a budding guitarist (and a pianist and a drummer).
As any musician knows, when you are really in the zone playing your instrument of choice—guitar or otherwise—your instrument becomes an extension of you, of your mind and of your body, from the music in your head to the intricate dance of your hands and your fingers along the instrument (along the fretboard and along the strings in the case of a guitarist).
The 20th-century German philosopher Martin Heidegger was interested in transcending what is known as the “subject-object distinction” in philosophy—rejecting the dichotomy between mind and world (or between mind and body) by analyzing the ways in which we humans (“Dasein” as he called human beings—”being there” in German) are immersed in the world in meaningful ways instead of merely looking at the external world as passive observers with a disembodied or abstract consciousness. When you are immersed in something, the relevant parts of the physical world are intertwined with your very being, with both your consciousness and your physical body, such that the physical world can seem to be an extension of your very being.
Let’s consider a few non-musical examples before we turn our attention to music in general and to the guitar in particular: Think of the way in which a tennis player’s racquet becomes an extension of his or her own arm, the way in which he or she seemingly knows exactly where the tennis ball is, including how much force to apply to his or her swing of there racquet, and at what angle. For a professional tennis player there is no meaningful distinction between his or her body and the racquet, especially in the context of a high-stakes tennis match; the racquet becomes a part of the tennis player, and the tennis player perceives the racquet as an extension of his or her very being in a way that transcends the traditional subject-object distinction. The tennis player is not a mere spectator or a passive subject, and the racquet is not a mere object devoid of consciousness; the two become intertwined and blended together such that they are no longer distinct entities; or at least that’s how it seems to the tennis player’s consciousness while fully immersed in a game of tennis.
Countless other examples could be cited: the way in which a soldering iron becomes an extension of the mind and arm of an electrical technician, the way in which the steering wheel of a race car becomes an extension of the mind and body of the race car driver, the way in which a hammer or saw becomes an extension of the mind and body of a master carpenter, the way in which a Morse code key becomes an extension of the arm of a ham radio operator, or the way in which a quill becomes an extension of a calligrapher. In these and similar examples, regardless of the medium, the distinction between a person as a subject and a tool as a mere object is collapsed in an immersive sense of deep, meaningful, phenomenal connection between consciousness and world—a state which Heidegger calls “readiness-to-hand,” when portions of the physical world seem to us to be ready not just to observe but to use in ways that are intuitive meaningful, and that seem to be second-nature to the one using those items.
Think now of the way in which objects in the physical world can be handled clumsily rather than intuitively. For a new tennis player, the tennis racquet is not yet an extension of his or her mind or arm; handling the racquet is awkward and unintuitive, and the new tennis player his as yet unable to control precisely the effects of the swing of the racquet towards a tennis ball in motion. The same is true of an electronics student gripping a soldering iron for the first time, and of a first-day student in a wood-shop class wielding a hammer or saw for the first time. The tools in question are not yet intuitive, not yet ready-to-hand as tools; instead they are mere objects, they are awkward to wield, and numerous mistakes are made in their use which will be corrected through time, practice, and training. Over time, however, through practice and through ongoing use, the tools become more and more intuitive; they slowly shift from being mere objects to being the aforementioned extensions of the wielder’s being, of his or her consciousness and his or her body and limbs.
So all that having been said, let’s apply this to the case of learning to play guitar, as I am currently doing (for the second time in life, as I played a bit of guitar as a teenager). When a new guitarist first wields a guitar, the guitar is a mere object: it is not yet intuitive, it feels awkward to hold, the positions of the individual notes on the strings and fretboard are not yet known, strumming and fingerpicking are riddled with mistakes in accuracy and rhythm, and so on. This state of being, in which an object is a mere object and not yet an extension of ourselves is what Heidegger calls “presence-at-hand,” as opposed to being immersed in and connected with a physical object intuitively (i.e., readiness-to-hand).
Over time, as the guitarist practices, little by little and day by day, the guitar becomes more intuitively known to the guitarist: strumming patterns become more rhythmical, fingerpicking becomes more accurate, improvising melodies on the fretboard becomes possible, chord progressions become second nature, it becomes possible to tune the guitar by ear without the need for a tuner, and so on. This is not a transition that happens immediately, but one which happens steadily over the course of one’s lifetime as a guitarist (even though there can sometimes be leaps of ability when some new skill on the guitar clicks and becomes intuitive). Despite the gradual nature of learning to master the guitar, or any new skill for that matter, there is a qualitative shift in perceiving the guitar as a mere object and perceiving the guitar to be an extension of your musical mind and of your body when fully immersed in using the guitar to play music. At a certain point, the guitar becomes intuitive; it becomes an extension of your very being in way way that it wasn’t when you first picked up a guitar. For a tennis player, the guitar is a mere object, for a great tennis player does not necessarily make a great guitarist. Likewise, a tennis racquet may be a mere object to a guitarist, for a great guitarist may not necessarily be a great tennis player. Both the tennis player and the guitarist, however, perceive the tools of their own respective trades and callings as extensions of themselves, through practice and gradually over time, such that it no longer makes sense to think of a tennis racquet or a guitar as a mere object, at least not to the tennis player and the guitarist, respectively.
So what are the practical upshot and the important takeaway for the new guitarist (or the new tennis player, for that matter!)? The goal of guitar practice should not be mere perfection in skill, not merely to make fewer and fewer mistakes. Instead the goal of guitar practice should be to make each new skill so intuitive that the guitar increasingly feels like an extension of yourself, that the music flows effortlessly from your mind, and the sounds from the guitar flow naturally from your hands and fingers as if the guitar were an extension of your own body. This sense of being “in the zone,” as this state of consciousness is called in many contexts, is therefore ultimately a Heideggerian concept.
When we are fully immersed in an activity like playing the guitar or playing tennis, we are not mere observers passively perceiving some external world as if through the window of our consciousness and our senses. We are immersed in and connected with the world in ways that go beyond the traditional subject-object distinction in philosophy, between the mind as a knowing subject and the external world as world of meaningless objects. When we are immersed in something—in any hobby, project, skill, even in relationships—the things in the world are not mere objects; they are tools, which means they are extensions of ourselves, ready to use, or “ready-to-hand,” as Heidegger called them. Even if you play flawless guitar, if the guitar does not yet feel like an extension of yourself, you have not yet mastered the guitar, you have not become fully immersed in it, and it is not yet a part of your very being; it is a mere object. But when you are really in the zone playing guitar, either alone in practice sessions or in a band with other musicians, the guitar is a part of you, of your mind and soul, and of your body, arms, and fingers.
So should new guitarists be forced to read Heidegger? Probably not—they should be practicing guitar! But new guitarists should also know that no matter how awkward the guitar feels to hold and play at first, playing the guitar will become more intuitive over time—the guitar will feel less like a foreign object and more like a well-known part of their bodies and minds, of their very beings. I would go so far as to say that if you are practicing the same mechanical guitar skills over and over and over again in ways that do not resonate with your mind and body, in ways that are not becoming more and more intuitive over time, you are doing it wrong and failing to grasp the significance of what Heidegger is saying about the world becoming an extension of ourselves when we are fully immersed in any activity involving the physical world. That said, it is possible to train oneself into this kind of immersive, Heideggerian mastery of guitar. Mere technical mastery should never be the only goal, however. Instead the goal should be immersiveness and intuitiveness, as any master of any skill involving any object or tool already knows.
For Further Reading:
Being and Time by Martin Heidegger
