I learned the Craft of the Wise in a few different ways. I first learned on my own by reading and experimentation. Then I found a community group that led me to a training circle led by a high priestess and learned through weekly study sessions, complete with handouts and homework assignments. My advanced training was an apprenticeship with a semi-retired high priestess, and that truly was a fully-immersive, “Mists of Avalon” kind of experience that I hope one day to be able to offer. But one thing I learned throughout all of this training – both as a student and now as a teacher – is that you can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink. The teacher may open the door to knowledge, but the student must walk through it to gain wisdom and understanding. That’s the responsibility of the student, just as it’s the responsibility of the teacher to teach in a way that is accessible and engaging.
I will freely admit that the first time I tried to have an organized study group, I bombed horribly. I was eager to teach, but I didn’t plan out how I was going to teach what I wanted my students to know. I didn’t enforce any kind of structure to learning time, and I didn’t assign exercises for the class members to try on their own. My students came from differing knowledge levels about Wicca, and I didn’t individualize their study so that they could gain knowledge and be on the same level as the other students. Needless to say, that study group fell apart very soon after it was created.
I learned a lot from that first attempt. As humbling as it was, it also empowered me. I looked back at materials from my own training with new eyes, seeing in them not only the what of the teaching but also the how of the teaching. My first teacher, Marcy, mixed historical context with practical elements in each topic she taught. My second teacher, Susan, was a hands-on teacher, dispensing witchy wisdom throughout the day as we did household chores and worked on our various projects. My third teacher, Taz, is a state-licensed educator, so she had syllabi and lesson plans drawn up for seekers, dedicants, and advancing practitioners. Now that we’re teaching from the same materials, she and I collaborate a lot on different practical experiences that would enrich the students’ learning.
When COVID reached Missouri, we had to switch our class meetings to Zoom, suspend our community events, and get creative about in-person gatherings. For two years, we struggled to maintain quality of instruction while protecting the health of the immunocompromised in our group. But I as a teacher, and especially my students as learners, persevered. We used our Sunday Zoom time for lecture and discussion, and the students had time during the week for independent practice. Then the next weekend we had self-paced study assignments that could be completed during the week to come. Then we repeated the cycle: Zoom class, independent practice, self-paced learning, assignment responses. For the end of the session, usually the 8th or 9th week, we would meet again by Zoom for a collaborative knowledge-checking and question-and-answer session. Then we’d take the next month off and just meet for the Sabbat of the season before starting again on a new class topic.
I also learned, through hard experience, that being too serious or strict about learning time kills the positive experience that is learning about one’s religion. Sometimes people couldn’t make it to class due to work or other factors. Sometimes things cropped up and we needed to push the schedule back a week or two. Sometimes I wasn’t feeling well and had to cancel in order to take care of myself. It infuriated my obsessively organized brain, but being more flexible helped students and teacher both in the long run. It’s easy to record Zoom meetings, so that’s what we did when someone couldn’t make it to class. We also used a Slack workspace to keep in contact and on track with discussions. But, again, it’s just as much the responsibility of the student to keep up with activities as it is the responsibility of the teacher to present material in an understandable way. No amount of technological support can change the fact that the Craft is best taught face-to-face, in small groups, and with students who are committed to the process of learning.
I’ve found that when students are sluggish in doing assignments or responding to discussion prompts, it’s generally the result of one of a few types of problems. The first is simply that they haven’t scheduled time to do the homework. Maybe they have a job or volunteer commitment that’s a more central focus in their life for the moment. And there’s nothing wrong with that. Spirituality is meant to support, not replace, mundane life. But, having been an armchair priestess myself, I always try to remind those students that there’s only so much “theoretical” work that they can do without the “practical” experience to accompany it and lead from knowledge to wisdom and understanding. Also, in our tradition, there’s a skills practicum that dedicants need to pass before they are fully prepared to be initiated. Fitting the time and space to practice into one’s schedule is immensely helpful, but it can’t always happen. And those students don’t “flunk out” as a result, but rather continue to learn the theory and get exposed to the techniques so that when they can practice, they are properly prepared to do so.
The second type of problem I see, especially in inexperienced practitioners, is the “fear of wrathful thunderbolts” that comes out of being brought up in any religious tradition or culture where God is viewed as a “policeman in the sky” – just waiting for you to do something wrong so he can punish you. It’s very difficult to overcome internalized beliefs and fears that by practicing witchcraft you’re inviting the wrath of God to rain down upon you. The only cure for this type of problem is to “lean in” to the experience – casting the circle, working with the elements, calling on divine figures that are peaceful and protective. As the student gains experience with these practices, they begin to realize that their fears are unfounded.
The third type of problem I see is the “I already know this” kind of attitude that comes from practitioners who may be more advanced in their knowledge but less so in their skills. The Dunning-Kruger effect is alive and well with these students, and I especially feel for them because I wasted so much time of my early practice with this attitude. To this, I can only quote Aunt Jet from Practical Magic: “You can’t practice witchcraft while you look down your nose at it.” Wicca is an experiential religion. You have to actually do the practices in order to get the most good out of it. Students who are dabblers or degree collectors or simply lazy limit their own progress by seeing themselves as having already “arrived” at the understanding of the central Mysteries of the Craft. And do I have news for those students: you never fully “arrive”, no matter how advanced a practitioner you are, in the limited corporeal form we inhabit while we’re alive. The Craft is a journey of many lifetimes.
As a teacher, I recognize that I can lead my students to historical, theoretical, and mythological knowledge, but I can’t make them integrate that knowledge into their lives and practices, thus transforming it into wisdom. And I certainly can’t do the work for them to take that knowledge (through learning) and wisdom (through experience) and leap forward into understanding (through spiritual revelation). But as a priestess committed to serving the Gods and preserving the Craft, I have come to realize that gentle encouragement and a listening ear, even if a student finds a different path to walk, can help them uncover their authentic self and their purpose in life. And that, really, is at the heart of what I do.