Mastery lessons from a Chess Prodigy who became a Martial Arts World Champion

Review of Joshua Waitzkin’s The Art of Learning (2007)

Mar 14, 2025

Joshua Waitzkin’s The Art of Learning (2007) is a deep dive into the psychology of mastery, written by a man who was a world-class chess prodigy as a child and later became a Tai Chi Push Hands World Champion.

Unlike typical self-help books full of fancy formulas and mental hacks, what you get is more fluid—an exploration of how learning happens when you stop forcing it and start feeling it.

“In performance training, first we learn to flow with whatever comes. Then we learn to use whatever comes to our advantage. Finally, we learn to be completely self-sufficient and create our own earthquakes, so our mental process feeds itself explosive inspirations without the need for outside stimulus.”

Setting up his assault on conventional wisdom about mastery, talent, and performance, he writes:

"In both the chess and martial arts worlds, there is a series of checkpoints that have become more important than real learning."

Waitzkin’s thesis: the best learning is not about memorisation but internalisation. It’s about understanding patterns so deeply that they become second nature.

“It is rarely a mysterious technique that drives us to the top, but rather a profound mastery of what may well be a basic skill set. Depth beats breadth any day of the week, because it opens a channel for the intangible, unconscious, creative components of our hidden potential.”

His own journey, from the kid who inspired Searching for Bobby Fischer to a martial artist who could break opponents with subtle shifts of balance, is his proof.

Learning how to learn

The first part of the book covers his life in chess, and it’s one of the most fascinating sections. Waitzkin doesn’t just talk about winning games—he dissects the mental toll of competition, the emotional turbulence of being a prodigy, and the toxic perfectionism that nearly broke him. He explains how great chess players don’t think in moves but in patterns, in rhythms, in flows. One of his key insights:

"The more conscious we are of what we are leaving out, the more powerful the leap we are taking."

The best chess players aren’t thinking about individual pieces; they are feeling the pulse of the board. And the same goes for any skill.

Just when you think this is going to be a book about chess, Waitzkin throws a curveball—he quits competitive chess and moves into martial arts. This is where The Art of Learning becomes more than just an autobiography. His transition from chess master to Tai Chi world champion is proof that the principles of mastery are universal.

One of the book’s best insights comes from his training in Tai Chi Push Hands, a competitive martial art where subtle shifts in balance determine the winner. He learns that true skill comes from embracing discomfort:

"There will be nothing learned from any challenge in which we don’t try our hardest. Growth comes at the point of resistance. We learn by pushing ourselves and finding what lies on the other side."

The parallels between chess and Tai Chi are fascinating. Both are about control—not just of the opponent, but of yourself. Both reward patience, strategic deception, and the ability to think several steps ahead. Both require you to stay calm under immense pressure. And in both, the real battle is internal.

Where Waitzkin shines

The book shines brightest in its exploration of performance psychology.

“Mental resilience is arguably the most critical trait of a world-class performer, and it should be nurtured continuously.”

Applying Eastern philosophy to high-stakes competition, the primary mindset switch he recommends is always being present.

“The secret is that everything is always on the line. The more present we are at practice, the more present we will be in competition, in the boardroom, at the exam, the operating table, the big stage. If we have any hope of attaining excellence, let alone of showing what we’ve got under pressure, we have to be prepared by a lifestyle of reinforcement. Presence must be like breathing.”

And that entails being present to failures and discomfort. Describing his journey to resilience, Waitzkin admits:

"I had to learn to be at peace with the inevitability of repeated failure."

He recounts brutal losses in both chess and Tai Chi, explaining how each one taught him something that victories never could. He sees setbacks as the forge where true learning happens. If you’re afraid of losing, you’re afraid of growth.

“The key to pursuing excellence is to embrace an organic, long-term learning process, and not to live in a shell of static, safe mediocrity. Usually, growth comes at the expense of previous comfort or safety.”

In pursuing growth, however, he warns you to be present to whether it is in harmony with the natural you.

“I believe that one of the most critical factors in the transition to becoming a conscious high performer is the degree to which your relationship to your pursuit stays in harmony with your unique disposition. There will inevitably be times when we need to try new ideas, release our current knowledge to take in new information—but it is critical to integrate this new information in a manner that does not violate who we are. By taking away our natural voice, we leave ourselves without a center of gravity to balance us as we navigate the countless obstacles along our way.”

But to be present doesn't mean being blind to the future. While overthinking and anxiety are definitely detrimental to learning, being unprepared is worse.

“We cannot calculate our important contests, adventures, and great loves to the end. The only thing we can really count on is getting surprised. No matter how much preparation we do, in the real tests of our lives, we’ll be in unfamiliar terrain. Conditions might not be calm or reasonable. It may feel as though the whole world is stacked against us. This is when we have to perform better than we ever conceived of performing. I believe the key is to have prepared in a manner that allows for inspiration, to have laid the foundation for us to create under the wildest pressures we ever imagined.”

Focusing on "stress and recovery" and "entering the soft zone", Waitzkin provides some practical frameworks for anyone looking to perform under pressure.

“If I want to be the best, I have to take risks others would avoid, always optimizing the learning potential of the moment and turning adversity to my advantage. That said, there are times when the body needs to heal, but those are ripe opportunities to deepen the mental, technical, internal side of my game. When aiming for the top, your path requires an engaged, searching mind. You have to make obstacles spur you to creative new angles in the learning process. Let setbacks deepen your resolve. You should always come off an injury or a loss better than when you went down.”

His explanation of "form to leave form" using chess and martial arts examples provides concrete steps for moving from conscious competence to unconscious mastery.

"The key is to take small steps, so the body can barely feel the condensing practice."

What might disappoint you

Waitzkin attempts to unite Eastern and Western approaches to mastery, drawing parallels between chess theory and tai chi principles. Sometimes these connections feel profound; other times they seem forced, as if he's trying too hard to make his life story coherent.

Waitzkin rarely acknowledges the exceptional resources that supported his development. Private chess tutors, supportive parents, and access to elite training environments fade into the background of his narrative. This oversight weakens his otherwise compelling arguments about learning.

As he moves on to the more advanced stages of learning, his exceptional abilities often make his advice feel disconnected from ordinary learning experiences.

"The key is to understand that the conscious mind is often a hindrance."

Perhaps, it is a truth that's far more accessible to someone who mastered chess before puberty.

Other high-performers, including athletes, hedge fund managers, and best-selling writers have sworn by his advice, giving an uncomfortable feeling that this book might be for someone already well-progressed on the path to mastery, or at least, someone who is already in that mindset.

“In my experience, successful people shoot for the stars, put their hearts on the line in every battle, and ultimately discover that the lessons learned from the pursuit of excellence mean much more than the immediate trophies and glory.”

The Verdict:

This is not a book for people looking for shortcuts. It’s for those who want to understand how learning really works—from the inside out.

“There are clear distinctions between what it takes to be decent, what it takes to be good, what it takes to be great, and what it takes to be among the best. If your goal is to be mediocre, then you have a considerable margin for error. You can get depressed when fired and mope around waiting for someone to call with a new job offer. If you hurt your toe, you can take six weeks watching television and eating potato chips.”

Some readers might find Waitzkin’s approach too abstract at times, but if you’re willing to embrace the discomfort his ideas engender, you’ll walk away with a new way of thinking about skill, competition, and mastery.

“We must take responsibility for ourselves, and not expect the rest of the world to understand what it takes to become the best that we can become. Great ones are willing to get burned time and again as they sharpen their swords in the fire.”

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