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 one's 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.