I've wanted to design golf courses ever since I was a kid. I

“I've wanted to design golf courses ever since I was a kid. I suppose it comes from the way I've played the game. To find the proper way to play any hole, I've always begun by asking myself what the architect has tried to do with it.” — Jack Nicklaus

In this reflection, Jack Nicklaus, master of the green and conqueror of the fairway, speaks not merely of a sport but of understanding purpose, of reading the invisible thoughts that shape the world we walk upon. His words are not only for golfers; they are for every soul who wishes to master their craft, to live with intention and insight. For in saying he wished to design golf courses, Nicklaus speaks to the eternal yearning within all creators — the desire not just to play within the world, but to shape it, to understand the mind of its maker and, in time, to become one himself.

When he says he begins each hole by asking what “the architect has tried to do with it,” he reveals a truth older than any game: that wisdom begins with curiosity. Before one acts, one must first seek to understand. Before one conquers, one must listen. So it is with golf; so it is with life. The wise do not rush forward blindly — they pause, they perceive, they seek the hidden intention behind every obstacle, every curve of the land, every challenge laid before them. In this lies mastery: to play not against the world, but with it.

In the days of the ancients, there was a sculptor named Phidias, who shaped the stones of the Parthenon. He once said that to carve well, one must see not the marble, but the form sleeping inside it. Nicklaus, in his way, carries that same divine patience. When he looks upon a golf hole, he sees more than grass and sand — he sees the mind of the designer, the hand that placed each hazard, the reasoning behind every hill and bend. He knows that behind every challenge, there lies an intention — not to defeat him, but to teach him how to think, how to see. Thus, he plays the course not as a warrior against fate, but as a student of creation.

It was this understanding that made Nicklaus not only a champion of play but a creator of worlds. In his later years, he designed courses that challenged both body and mind, where each hole was a lesson in strategy, patience, and imagination. Like a philosopher shaping ideas into form, he built landscapes that invited reflection: “Will you take the long and safe path, or dare the water and aim for glory?” His courses were metaphors for life itself — each choice revealing the heart of the player, each shot a measure of courage and foresight.

There is a deeper teaching here: that one must learn to see beneath the surface of all things. The young man may strike the ball with strength, but the master studies the wind, the lay of the land, the intention of those who came before him. So too must we, in our own crafts and callings, learn to see the architecture of destiny — to ask, “What has life placed here for me to learn?” For every obstacle has been designed by a greater hand, every trial laid out like a hidden course upon which our spirit must play.

In this, Nicklaus reminds us that excellence is born not of arrogance but of reverence. To be great, one must respect the design of the world, to listen before one acts, to perceive the quiet messages written into the earth and air. The fool strikes without thought; the wise one studies, adapts, and then strikes with purpose. This is not only the secret of golf — it is the secret of all creation, of leadership, of art, of love.

And so, to those who seek mastery, let this be your lesson: whatever field you walk upon — whether of grass, stone, or spirit — pause and ask, “What has the architect tried to do with it?” Do not rage against the challenge, but strive to understand it. See the intention in every design, and one day, you too shall become a designer — not merely playing within the world, but shaping it. For the student who learns the will of the architect becomes, in time, an architect of life himself.