This post was provided by Trevor Strandh. The views expressed here are the author’s alone.

I suspect there was a time when mentorship existed solely between father and son, or at least tribal elder and youth. That time was probably not too long ago for the majority of humans; many still practice and survive off of this model today. This is likely the most natural form of mentorship for human males.

This oldest model of mentorship made perfect sense. It was really the only option. Mentorship was not about life and job satisfaction, but about the survival of the individual and the tribe. Individuals needed to transfer a certain amount of information to their youth so that they may prosper in a given environment.

Most Westerners can now afford to dispense with this oldest model of mentorship. Some are never exposed to this model in the first place. This freedom to reject the familial mentorship model and geographic ties can be seen as exciting and liberating, but it is not a complete model. It may lead us to find experts trained in the specialties we truly love (music, painting, war, etc.) — those which could not be found in our own villages — but that does not make our fathers’ model of mentorship ineffective and obsolete.

I find it quite saddening that mentorship has become largely divorced from familial ties, especially father-son. Anytime humans advance so fast and so far we begin to look back nostalgically upon the past that we assume our ancestors once lived. This glorification of the old, the primal, the artisanal is now common and sometimes trendy. I am not advocating the practices of the past for the sake of cultural aesthetics. I am advocating that we look at that oldest of models to seek guidance today.

The Old and the New

The craft of this oldest model of mentorship is already being practiced. While it may look different — social media and technology are employed to build wide and diverse connections — the tenants of familial mentoring remain. This has led to the “New Model” Mentoring that Nate Finney recently penned. “We are no longer constrained to mentorship by our chain of command or bosses,” Finney says. “Instead, we get our development, support, and direction from peers and seniors in informal settings, across careers and experiences.” The beauty of this model is not its respect for technology’s ability to bridge connections, but its adherence to the craft of this oldest model: face-to-face mentoring. Like a father who guides his son through life, the mentors of this New Model guide their peers and subordinates over scotch and cigars, cups of coffee, and casual conversation.

The Mentor’s Craft already exists. Some of the best mentors are already practicing it. This is so ingrained in our psychology as human beings that we actually have to force ourselves out of this model. That is what most people have done, unbeknownst to themselves — they have allowed aspects of modern society to pull them away from their primal need to cultivate meaningful relationships and to mentor people.

To contribute to this conversation on mentorship I want to look more closely at this primitive craft and why it matters that we understand its value and its primary attributes. Let’s take a glimpse into the Mentor’s Craft.

I Notice, Therefore I See

Seth Godin is an expert at “noticing.” He writes about what he sees, with a focus on entrepreneurship and marketing, every day on his blog, “Seth’s Blog.” Lately I have been reading, and re-reading, his newest book, “What to Do When It’s Your Turn (and it’s always your turn).”

The book is about taking ownership and responsibility for your actions and ultimately your life’s successes and failures. Gone is the era of employers picking you from a barrel of fresh, young graduates. The new model of employment, of navigating your career, may be lamentable, but it is still a fact. We must recognize this fact and act with intention to create our own options and even the potential for genuine successes in life.

In reading his book I realized that he was prescribing a new way to view this altered landscape. What I held in my hand was in fact the voice of a mentor guiding me through this new, option-laden, highly-connected world. It was then when I realized the importance and the value of true mentorship — it’s really about helping people to see the world for what it is, to present them with the essential lenses and tools to navigate something new and unknown, and to help guide them when they are essentially blind. Seth is an expert in noticing. Our fathers and their fathers were probably all experts in noticing their worlds too. The Mentor’s Craft begins with noticing the world you inhabit.

“The Artworld”

In 1964 on the Upper East Side of Manhattan, a man named Arthur Danto walked into the Stable Art Gallery. On display was Andy Warhol’s first exhibition of his now-famous Brillo Boxes. At the time, this exhibition was not universally considered “art.” Warhol’s Brillo Boxes was a compilation of enlarged, plywood versions of the ubiquitous Brillo product that was sold in supermarkets around the country. Warhol knew he had created a work of art; others were not so sure.

Later that year, having seen Warhol’s Brillo exhibition, Arthur Danto published an article in The Journal of Philosophy titled, “The Artworld.” Danto argued that Warhol’s Brillo Boxes were in fact “art,” and went on to explain why the supermarket product, which looked nearly identical, was not a work of art. “What in the end makes the difference between a Brillo box and a work of art consisting of a Brillo box,” Danto said, “is a certain theory of art. It is the theory that takes it up into the world of art, and keeps it from collapsing into the real object which it is.…It could not have been art fifty years ago….The world has to be ready for certain things, the artworld no less than the real one. It is the role of artistic theories, these days as always, to make the artworld, and art, possible.” [i]

Up until the late 1800s, art was largely understood through “imitation theory,” which suggested that works of art are mimetic — imitations, or mirror-images of reality. By the 20th century, beauty was no longer a requirement for artwork. In the 1960s, there were too many forms of art for there to be a single vision or theory of art. [ii]

Danto’s concept of the artworld helped explain what had already been happening in art for decades. His concept recognized that “art” was no longer about aesthetic beauty, but about the intentions of the artist, about context, and about art history. The artworld is about the artist declaring that an object is in fact a work of art, and about the audience accepting the artist’s intentions within this intellectual realm.

This is how one art museum explains Warhol’s intention in making Brillo Boxes: “Brillo is nothing other than steel wool, an industrial product available under a myriad of brand names in any hardware store, a part of the masculine world….Yet the product Brillo belongs to the domestic order, a feminine-gendered space in 1960s America….Brillo, through simple packing, transforms steel wool into the perfect housewife’s friend, a faithful ally in the never-ending pursuit of shining aluminum cookware. With the Brillo Boxes, Warhol captured the power of advertising at its most alchemical, powerful enough to mutate substance and gender at will.” [iii]

The importance of this story is not that Arthur Danto was able to explain why something in a gallery, created by a so-called artist could be considered art. Anybody can develop their own theory of art to classify any random object as “art.” What Danto did was to notice and explain to the public that a categorical shift had occurred in the human involvement with and expression through art. Danto recognized this shift in art leading up to that day in Manhattan in 1964.

Arthur Danto never pushed Warhol to take that those bold artistic steps. He simply noticed the trend and made sense of something that was largely invisible to everyone else. Danto would later write, “What Warhol taught was that there is no way of telling the difference [between art and non-art] merely by looking. The eye, so prized an aesthetic organ when it was felt that the difference between art and non-art was visible, was philosophically of no use whatever when the differences proved instead to be invisible.” [iv]

Arthur Danto showed us that action usually precedes theory: Warhol’s art preceded Danto’s artworld. Because of this model, we value the doer, the man of action — and we should. But we should also understand that the man who notices his environment has a chance to survive in unfamiliar straits, uncertain terrain, and places where he is not an expert. The mentor may be a jack-of-all-trades, but he is thus a master-of-none. His craft, when devoid of expertise, should be to imbue an understanding of how to view and deal with uncertainty in the environments that the mentee will likely confront. The Artworld is present everywhere in life, in every field and discipline. We need individuals that can spot the trends and shifts in different disciplines. It is part of the Mentor’s Craft to guide people through the seemingly invisible.

Systems Theory

In “Out of the Mountains: The Coming Age of Urban Guerrillas,” David Kilcullen writes about the urban city as a system comprised of material flows. This system is based on the concept of “urban metabolism,” which pulls its theory from biology. In nature, “processes transform inputs such as sunlight, food, water, and air into energy, biomass, and waste products.” Kilcullen suggests that cities are similar, as they must allow for the inflow and outflow of food, water, people, materials, even information and money. Recognizing these inflows and outflows can reveal where and how a city is vulnerable to natural and man-made interruptions, especially by illicit, criminal groups. [v]

In one example, Kilcullen replays the Black Hawk Down incident in Somalia through a systems lens. By applying a “metabolic model” to the city of Mogadishu, the actions of Task Force Ranger take on a completely different role and significance in light of the larger system. What was supposed to be a quick capture of two of Mohammed Aidid’s senior leaders became a fight between TF Ranger and the entire city. There are several key points in understanding why this happened.

First, to succeed in an operation of this nature — planting soldiers into the heart of an enemy’s territory during daylight hours — requires a detailed knowledge of the city’s metabolism. What happened that day, Kilcullen argues, was that “the Americans didn’t nest in the city’s natural flow: they deliberately ignored it.” [vi]

Second, to nest properly into a city requires several items. It requires time to understand the city (U.S. forces had little time); it requires understanding the risks inherent in the operation (risks of a daylight raid into the city center were understood by the TF Commander, MGEN Garrison); and it requires a certain respect for the system and its components (the military ignored several aspects of this system and how it flows). [vii]

In an interesting twist to the normal narrative of Black Hawk Down, Kilcullen tells us that we must also notice the culture-specific material flows. The chewing of qat, a stimulant-containing leaf commonly used by Somali men, should have been a component of the military’s metabolic model of Mogadishu. As Kilcullen explains,

“Qat is very perishable and sours quickly, so over time a complex and informal but highly efficient system has evolved to ensure its timely distribution.…This system puts the day’s fresh crop on market stalls across the entire region by mid- to late morning every day, almost without fail.” [viii]

This mattered to TF Ranger because,

“By midafternoon the daily qat chew is in full swing across the region’s towns and cities…By early evening the buzz is over, the qat chewers have crashed, and the city goes quiet. But in the middle of the afternoon most military-aged males in town are still violently high, making this perhaps not the best time to attack a nest of heavily armed qat-chewing militiamen.” [ix]

Kilcullen admits that the targets of TF Ranger were likely time-sensitive, but this does not absolve MGEN Garrison from his decision to launch the operation. Instead, he is responsible for choosing to ignore the risks, counting on his force’s speed and firepower to deal with any threats. This, Kilcullen argues, “implies confidence rather than carelessness” on Garrison’s part. [x] He concludes,

“The Americans had thrust a large force…into the core of the city. When they pushed hard into a key pressure point in the political, economic, and material flow of the urban organism, they jabbed the system in a place that hurt, and that system pushed back even harder.” [xi]

The story of TF Ranger reveals a partially invisible world, similar to the world Arthur Danto noticed and conceptualized. White Danto’s artworld can be purely invisible to those unacquainted with his theory and art history, the world of Mogadishu was not as impossible to grasp.

As we have seen, a systems approach can help us notice and make sense of cities, their flows, and fault lines. MGEN Garrison appears to have understood the operational dangers, but he took the risk anyway. He ignored certain dangers and was probably oblivious to others, like the daily qat cycle. Taking risks are always going to be a part of a commander’s job. We should not fault risk-taking in all circumstances that lead to failure.

Instead we should caution about over-confidence, hubris, and neglecting the components of a system you do not respect or even understand. But how do we teach caution and respect for a system to which we may be blind? To do this we must ask the right questions, assume we do not have all the answers, seek local expertise, and study cases of operational success and failure, just like this one.

A mentor should be someone with whom you can ask the most honest questions about your deficiencies, your ego, and your ignorance. Your mentor, as I said, will not always be an expert, but it doesn’t take expertise to offer caution, to restrain ego, and to enlighten an individual.

The Black Hawk Down episode is not only about seeing systems and reducing risk, it is about the human imperative to make sense of the world and to make sense of your own ignorance. The TF Commander had to act one way or the other; time was not on his side. The value for the mentor is to see where greater understanding could have been contributed, not only in the military, but in all of life’s complexity. Mentorship offers the option for mentees to ask questions on a practical and philosophical level that they would normally never ask of their colleagues and peers. The Mentor’s Craft includes the offer to enlist another set of eyes and ears by which the mentee can ask practical and philosophical questions about himself and the world he wishes to navigate.

Alone and Unafraid

Recently on The Bridge, Nathan Wike offered some insights into “Walking the Lonely Road” of being without a mentor. The answer, he says, is not to “sulk and drag your feet.” Instead take this time to focus on “self-development and actively seeking a mentor.” History can again provide some answers to this dilemma. Let’s jump back ninety-four years to look at someone who was similarly alone and certainly unafraid. He was not the most popular President, but he was an extremely adept politician.

In 1931, Lyndon Johnson was offered his first of many political positions in Washington. For the previous two years, Johnson had worked as a high school history teacher in Houston, Texas. Teaching was what he long desired, but he so thoroughly impressed the right people in his home state of Texas that he was offered a legislative secretary position for Congressman Richard Kleberg. Johnson accepted and arrived in the Capitol two weeks later.

Johnson moved into the Dodge Hotel in Washington, living dormitory-style with seventy-five other legislative secretaries. Johnson’s personal confidante and biographer, Doris Kearns Goodwin, explains in her book, “Lyndon Johnson and the American Dream” what the energetic young Texan preceded to do.

Before Johnson had even finished unpacking his suitcase, he was walking up and down the hall, knocking on doors, shaking hands, and telling each person his life history and future plans. One bathroom at the end of the corridor served all the tenants on the floor. That first night, Johnson later described it, he went in and out four times and took four separate showers so that he could talk with as many people as possible. The next morning, beginning at 7 A.M., he went into the bathroom five different times at ten minute intervals to wash his face and brush his teeth. Within a week, Johnson had chosen five young men who he had decided were the most clever, the most experienced, and the most informed to be his “teachers.” He possessed, Johnson liked to claim years afterward, a sensitive mechanism which allowed him immediately to evaluate the intelligence of a person and the worth and validity of his information. [xii]

As strange as this bathroom story may be, it demonstrates Johnson’s human and political skill, as he was smart and bold enough to pick his own teachers. Johnson did not, and would not, sit back waiting for mentorship to magically appear.

In 1948, as a freshman Senator, Johnson would again “attach himself to the sources of power.” Goodwin explains this astuteness and ambition, saying, “From the beginning Johnson recognized that the influence of Richard Russell [of Georgia] would be decisive to his hopes of leadership.” LBJ began to work his game. In order to see the Senator every day, Johnson sought a position on Russell’s Armed Services Committee. With his appointment to the committee granted, he began a concerted effort to appeal to the Senior Senator. He sought Russell’s respect and trust. Because Russell and Johnson were “radically dissimilar,” LBJ began to mimic the Senator’s dress, demeanor, habits, and character. Over time, Johnson became close to the Senator, arriving early at the Capitol and leaving late in order to share breakfast and dinner with Russell, a lifelong bachelor. Goodwin admits that Johnson’s new style was “contrived,” but his love for the Senate and politics was genuine. Russell held an equal and genuine respect for Capitol Hill. [xiii] As Johnson told Goodwin,

On Sundays the House and Senate were empty, quiet and still, the streets outside bare. It’s a tough day for a politician, especially, if like Russell, he’s all alone. I knew how he felt for I, too, counted the hours till Monday would come again, and knowing that, I made sure to invite Russell over for breakfast, lunch, brunch or just to read the Sunday papers. He was my mentor and I wanted to take care of him. [xiv]

Not only was Johnson passionate and genuine about his love for politics, he also appears genuine about his respect for his self-described mentor. It is easy to write off Johnson’s action as exploitative, especially when they were accompanied by a specific plan to tap into the Senate’s inner circle, but I think Johnson was true in his desire to create a meaningful relationship with Russell. Being able to discern the difference between authentic and contrived relationships on Capitol Hill is probably quite difficult. An outsider would never know the difference, but I wonder if politicians themselves are often confused by what delineates their own rich, personal relationships from politically convenient relationships.

Johnson, through his efforts, would soon become the youngest party Whip in history. By 1953, Johnson had become Minority Leader of the Senate.

The story of Lyndon Johnson reveals what the outliers in society can do without a mentor on their side from the beginning. I do not necessarily advise following his style. Johnson can teach us how a certain level of confidence, ego, and disregard for social norms may produce effective results, but the other side of this coin is less clear — what did LBJ’s peers think of his proclivity to seek leadership positions and to push through the crowd because of his intense ambition? Ambition is not always a vice, but there is a way to develop your personal and professional attributes and philosophies without dropping your head and plowing through the competition. A mentor is likely a better option, certainly in the long-run.

But let us give him credit where it is due. Johnson’s actions are not simply a case about what to avoid. His plan to tap into the power of the Senate is mischievous, but I doubt it is unique among Senators. Most importantly, Johnson appears to have taken great pleasure in his attempts to appeal to his fellow congressional secretaries and, later on, to Senator Russell. There is some good here, I think. While the catalysts for Johnson’s efforts may have been power and leadership, he took notice and care of certain processes that matter in a mentoring relationship. These include a keen eye for noticing potential teachers (not necessarily a personal mentor, but someone whom you can learn from, even if just by observation); a passion for your discipline; and an intense willingness to experiment — through success and failure — even recklessly sometimes (Johnson’s account of revisiting the bathroom multiples times at the Dodge Hotel is strange but shows he was relentless).

Senator Richard Russell was a man of genuine spirit and action. Johnson took to the Senator because he noticed his power and influence, but he also took to him because Johnson wanted to be him. It is too shallow to say that Johnson only wanted to use Senator Russell. Johnson envied and strongly respected him. Because of this, Johnson completely changed his personality to reflect the attributes of his desired mentor. The point is that Johnson took on the attributes of respect to mimic his mentor, and it is this attribute of respect that likely contributed to Russell’s power and prestige within the Senate. A mentor can transform a student’s person and actions just by being who they are, knowing that the relentless and driven students will choose to imitate the people and attributes they find most impressive and success-lending. As a final attribute, the Mentor’s Craft is about contributing to the success and well-being of an individual by being the strong and morally-sound individual that students expect and even idolize.

Conclusion

At times Mentorship may be about convincing someone to leave their discipline and colleagues, but mostly it should be about impressing upon that individual the need for them to be strong and morally-sound actors in their field. A father who wishes to grow his son into a respected member of the community is no different than a mentor who wishes to grow his mentee into a respected member of their discipline.

The father and son relationship which spawned this post and the diverse stories we just heard is a model I think we can all follow and learn from. Father and son, mother and daughter, uncle and nephew — the specific relationship does not matter, but the principles and philosophies we use to grant them meaning do matter. We give these relationships meaning by recognizing the value in them. In turn, we give them time and respect because we care not only about the outcome of mentorship, but about the process of being mentored and the sheer cooperative nature of the relationship.

The link between these stories is a common lens, one that I have used to explain what fathers and sons shared, and continue to share. This oldest model of mentoring is not something I can dictate with any certainty, but it is something I can explore through human stories, and that is what I have attempted to do here. Humans are voraciously curious beings, constantly seeking information to improve their status and wealth, decrease their risk, and increase their chances of survival. Mentorship, in its natural form, offers individuals the chance to gather information in context, with guidance, and through a philosophy that is difficult to replicate without the human experience.

After reflecting on these stories, I believe the attributes most important in the Mentor’s Craft — those which the mentor can offer his students — are the following:

1. Awareness — they notice and make sense of the world in a way that others are too immature and inexperienced to do. They grasp the aspects of the landscape that are otherwise invisible. Ultimately they are guides that can help us navigate the map and focus our attention and energies in useful directions.

2. Availability — they are available for personal and professional questions and reflection. Not all the time, and certainly not physically, but they are available on a cognitive level, offering the mentee a “being” to look-up to, whose experiences and guidance they can reflect on during tough and trying times. Being able to consult with them is beneficial, but sometimes people just need a human being to imagine in the mind to see the way out of their troubles, to see what success looks like, and to help them aspire to a greater and more admirable level.

3. Respect — mentors play a crucial role in simply being who they are. When all eyes are on you, the pressure increases for you to maintain these valuable attributes. These are the same attributes you may wish to pass on to your son, your student, or your mentee. A mentor must harbor a deep respect of themselves, their community, and especially their mentees. As Lyndon Johnson kept and keen eye on those he admired, so do the people that seek your guidance.

[i] Danto, Arthur (1964), “The Artworld,” p. 581, The Journal of Philosophy, Vol. 61, Issue 19.

[ii] The Andy Warhol Museum, “Aesthetics: Arthur Danto,” http://www.warhol.org/education/resourceslessons/Aesthetics--Arthur-Danto/, accessed 4 March 2015.

[iii] Allen Memorial Art Museum (Oberlin College), “Index of Selected Artists in the Collection: Andy Warhol,” http://www.oberlin.edu/amam/Warhol_BrilloBoxes.htm, accessed 4 March 2015.

[iv] The Andy Warhol Museum, “Aesthetics: Arthur Danto,” http://www.warhol.org/education/resourceslessons/Aesthetics--Arthur-Danto/, accessed 4 March 2015.

[v] Kilcullen, David (2013), “Out of the Mountains: The Coming Age of the Urban Guerilla,” pp. 41–3, (Oxford University Press: New York).

[vi] Ibid, p. 77.

[vii] Ibid, p. 78.

[viii] Ibid, p. 78.

[ix] Ibid, p. 78.

[x] Ibid, p. 79.

[xi] Ibid, p. 75.

[xii] Goodwin, Doris Kearns (1991), “Lyndon Johnson and the American Dream,” pp. 72–3, (St. Martin’s Griffin: New York).

[xiii] Ibid, pp. 103–6.

[xiv] Ibid, p. 105.