It’s usually a compliment to call someone a “wizard.” For example, the stereotypical Unix wizard is a man with a long gray beard who can solve any problem in minutes by typing furiously at a command prompt.
Here’s a different take on wizards. Think about wizards, say, in the Harry Potter novels. Wizards learn to say certain spells in certain situations. There’s never any explanation of why these spells work. They just do. Unless, of course, they don’t. Wizards are powerful, but they can be incompetent.
You might use wizard to describe someone who lacks curiosity about what they’re doing. They don’t know why their actions work, or sometimes even whether they work. They’ve learned a Pavlovian response to problems: when you see this, do this.
Wizards can be valuable. Sometimes you just need a problem solved and you don’t care why the solution works. Someone who doesn’t understand what they’re doing but can fix your problem quickly may be better than someone who knows what they’re doing but works too slowly. But if your problem doesn’t quite fit the intended situation for a spell, the wizard is either powerless or harmful.
Wizards can’t learn a better way of doing anything because “better” makes no sense. When you see problem A, carry out procedure B. That’s just what you do. How can you address problem A better when “solving A” means “do B“? Professional development for a wizard consists of learning more spells for more situations, not learning a better spell or learning why spells work.
Wizards may be able to solve your problem for you, but they can’t teach you how to solve your own problems.