A lesson from Confucius

I have been reading lots lately about Japanese ethics and morality, and in particular Bushido – Japanese chivalry. I bought an excellent book to read on the plane back; I actually nearly finished it before even getting on the plane! The work, entitled Bushido – The Soul of Japan – is an extremely thorough examination of Bushido as seen through the eyes of its author, Dr. Inazo Nitobe, a scholar of some note. Written in 1905, the book is unique in that it was written in English by someone with personal experience of Bushido as a living entity. The result is a rare insight into this often misunderstood aspect of Japanese culture.

The Bushido tradition connects with many other schools of thought and philosophies. Among them, Confucian teachings. In researching this aspect, I came across a very interesting Confucian political theory concerning social morality that has particular resonance with my thoughts on modern British culture (or lack therefore!)

Confucius' political thought is based upon his ethical thought. He argues that the best government is one that rules through "rites" and people's natural morality, rather than using bribery and force. He explained that this is one of the most important analects:

"If the people be led by laws, and uniformity sought to be given them by punishments, they will try to avoid the punishment, but have no sense of shame.”

“If they be led by virtue, and uniformity sought to be given them by the rules of propriety, they will have the sense of shame, and moreover will become good." 

This "sense of shame" is an internalisation of duty, where the punishment precedes the evil action, instead of following it in the form of laws as in Legalism.

Somebody please tell Mr Brown!

Some thoughts on war & peace

Last Sunday saw the first iaido class of 2009, an event marked with a wonderful party at a fellow student’s house afterwards. What I thought was going to be just a quick tin of beer and a chat turned out to be a whole afternoon of eating, chatting and watching videos of past iaido competitions and embu. Not to mention the obligatory beer, sake and shochu in good measure. I ended up sitting at the table with my new Argentine friend and fellow iaidoka, F, some new friends in the shape of a young American/Japanese couple and our teacher. As the drink flowed, the conversation turned to the more philosophical aspects of our practice.

Our teacher asked us in turn what had brought us to the study of iaido, as opposed to other arts, and what we hoped to gain from it. That’s not an easy question to answer, and everyone has their own reasons for pursuing this particular path of Budo. But for most people, I think it would be fair to say that they came to iaido not as their first discipline but as a supplement to their core art, be it karate, aikido or whatever. That was certainly the case for me, and also for F – we are both aikido men. Somewhere along the way, it seems that some (not all) people discover the hidden treasures that the study of iaido offers and the pursuit of knowledge of the Nihonto takes on a new, more profound meaning.

Perhaps other martial artists will understand the sense of “being in the moment”, of mushin (“no mind”) that comes with the dedicated study of any martial art. To try and explain it to someone who has not experienced it is like trying to explain the colour red to a blind person. Suffice it to say that there comes a time in most iaidoka’s study when they realise that the essence of the art is not in the physical act of drawing and cutting with the sword, but in freeing the mind from its self-imposed constraints and anxieties; from being able to move effortlessly from peaceful calm to lightning-quick activity and calm again with the mind undisturbed and unfettered. True proficiency in any martial art frees the mind from any thought of technique or pre-conceived tactics. The technique flows naturally and the mind floats serenely above, trapped by nothing and leaving nothing behind. It is therefore – paradoxically –through the study of conflict that one can achieve peace.

There is a saying in Japanese martial arts, Saya no uchi de katsu, which roughly translates as “victory resides in the scabbard of the sword”. One interpretation of this is that at the highest level, it is possible for a warrior to achieve victory through being so powerful that no one dares challenge them. In other words, peace through superior firepower. Such power in the hands of a just and right-thinking person is a powerful force for peace. The ultimate objective of martial arts is therefore peace achieved through a combination of mental and physical power moderated by a spirit of compassion and benevolence.

My teacher views the study of iaido in this way – as a route to peace rather than to war. My interpretation of this is simply that most conflict arises from fear. By removing this fear from our own hearts, through strict training and by pushing ourselves physically and mentally, we remove the need for unnecessary conflict, while at the same time developing an immovably resolute spirit that enables us to move decisively into action when action is required.

In the same way that the perfection of the Japanese sword blade is achieved by countless hours of labour, there is something about the process of continual and sincere practice in martial arts that seems to polish-out the imperfections of the human spirit and leave it revealed in its true beauty. That’s really what iaido means for me.

Time to go

Well, it’s finally here: After months of planning and weeks of relentless struggle and heartbreak, I’ll finally be on my way tomorrow morning. Assuming the taxi turns up, and there’s no screw-ups at the airport, of course. It’s always unwise to underestimate this country’s ability to scupper the best-laid plans, so until my bum is firmly ensconced in seat 50K bound for Tokyo, I think my blood pressure will remain at the "High” setting.

I feel a bit in limbo at the moment. Not quite here, but not there either. I truly don’t know what’s waiting for me in Japan. I don’t know what will happen with the business over the next 6 months. I really am flying by the seat of my pants; risking absolutely everything on a wing and a prayer. But whatever happens, it’s sure to be an adventure – and the adventure of a lifetime at that.

I keep questioning myself over my motivation; why am I doing it? Why, at 46 am I not content with slippers and the 9 to 5? The truth is, I don’t really know. There is something inside me that just keeps driving me on. I don't know what I'm searching for, or even if I'll know when I find it. But search I must. One part of me really yearns for the stability of the unadventurous, the provincial; craving only routine and the certainty that nothing will ever happen to upset that cosy, safe existence. But there’s no way I could ever live like that; I’ve always pushed further, reached higher and dreamt bigger than my contemporaries. Perhaps foolishly so.

I think the force that overrides the inertia of my passive side can be simply summarised: I want to able to say on my death-bed, that I really did seize every opportunity to experience life; I really did take every chance to learn and grow and expand my mind to take in as much of this crazy world as I could. If attaining wisdom, becoming a more experienced, capable, benevolent and understanding human being is not the goal of life, then I have indeed been a fool. However, I have a hunch I won’t be proved wrong in the end.

A lesson learned

Another day of toil; a bigger pile of rubbish and more problems. It’s looking increasingly likely I’m going to have to just give away some expensive items like the tumble drier and Little M’s bed because I can’t find any takers. My mum said to just do it and forget about it; “You’ve done your best so you can’t do any more.” She is right.

Although she doesn’t know it, she’s reminded me of one of my most important philosophies – that of letting go of things that don’t matter anymore. In Wing Chun, the striking fist contains energy only at the moment of impact: Too soon, and strength is wasted and the blow becomes slow and cumbersome; too late and the energy contained in the striking limb can easily be turned against you and your whole body unbalanced. Life is a bit like that sometimes. Everything has it’s right time for action; a right time for energy to be focused into it. Like the striking limb that’s too tense, putting energy into things at the wrong time can actually work against a successful conclusion. Holding on to something – expending emotional energy on something - that is no longer of use is just as damaging. I think there is a passage in the Hagakure of Yamamoto Tsunetomo that says something like “Waste no time on useless things.” This is sound advice.

A central tenet of Zen Buddhist philosophy is that all human suffering derives from our attachment to things that are impermanent. Possessions, money – even life itself – are impermanent constructs and will one day slip through our fingers like water. Perhaps a lesson from today is that rather than expending energy on trying to hold onto things that can’t be held, I should be celebrating and be thankful for the good things that they represented when they were part of our lives here in Canterbury.

Storms on the Eastern horizon

The house-hunting in Japan appears to be nearing its conclusion, for better or worse. Communications with the missus have been extremely tense. She's obviously feeling the strain of making probably the biggest decision of her life, but in the process it has thrown the innermost workings of her mind in stark relief. I once attended a management training course - total waste of time, of course. But one thing I do remember was the guy telling us a story about a fire in the engine room of a merchant ship at sea.

Virtually every nationality under the sun was represented in the crew, and although they could all speak English, as the fire took hold and the panic set in, they all reverted to screaming instructions at each other in their native tongues. The phrase was, "the language of panic is your own." Very true. Under pressure, most people will revert to type and it is under these circumstances that the true character is revealed.

For my part, well I can't really comment objectively. In the past, when I've had difficult times at work I've just told the boss to stick it and walked out. But not always, and if I'm really committed to something I will always see it through to the end. For the missus, I think deep down she cannot trust anyone. When she's under pressure, she is extremely sensitive - bordering on paranoid - to any sign that she is going to be ripped off or let down. She can be vicious in her condemnations, and is nearly impossible to deal with. Such was the case this week.

I don't know what the future holds - will we pull it off and settle in Japan? It's impossible to say. I feel scared but also committed. I want the experience of living in a foreign country; I want to absorb more Japanese culture and learn from it. And of course, I want to be with the only girl I have ever truly loved, or will ever love. There is a Japanese proverb that says, "He who travels for love finds a thousand miles not longer than one". I hope that's true

Some of life's little rules

Found this while browsing...excellent. I wonder if I can get a Japanese version?

Rule 1: Life is not fair...get used to it.

Rule 2: The world won't care about your self-esteem. The world will expect you to accomplish something BEFORE you feel good about yourself.

Rule 3: You will NOT make 40 thousand quid a year right out of school. You won't be a vice-president with a car phone, until you earn both.

Rule 4: If you think your teacher is tough, wait till you get a boss. He doesn't have tenure.

Rule 5: Flipping burgers is not beneath your dignity. Your grandparents had a different word for burger flipping-they called it opportunity.

Rule 6: If you mess up, it's not your parents' fault, so don't whine about your mistakes, learn from them.

Rule 7: Before you were born, your parents weren't as boring as they are now. They got that way from paying your bills, cleaning your clothes and listening to you talk about how cool you are. So before you save the rain forest from the parasites of your parents' generation, try delousing the closet in your own room.

Rule 8: Your school may have done away with winners and losers but life has not. In some schools they have abolished failing grades and they'll give you as many times as you want to get the right answer. This doesn't bear the slightest resemblance to ANYTHING in real life.

Rule 9: Life is not divided into semesters. You don't get summers off and very few employers are interested in helping you find yourself. You have to do that on your own time.

Rule 10: Television is NOT real life. In real life people actually have to leave the coffee shop and go to jobs.

Rule 11: Be nice to nerds. Chances are you'll end up working for one.

Life is a load of balls, says mum

As emailed by my mum...

When things in your life seem almost too much to handle, when 24 hours in a day are not enough, remember the mayonnaise jar and the 2 glasses of wine... A professor stood before his philosophy class and had some items in front of him. When the class began, wordlessly, he picked up a very large and empty mayonnaise jar and proceeded to fill it with golf balls. He then asked the students if the jar was full. They agreed that it was.

The professor then picked up a box of pebbles and poured them into the jar. He shook the jar lightly. The pebbles rolled into the open areas between the golf balls. He then asked the students again if the jar was full. They agreed it was. The professor next picked up a box of sand and poured it into the jar. Of course, the sand filled up everything else He asked once more if the jar was full.The students responded with a unanimous 'yes.'

The professor then produced two glasses of wine from under the table and poured the entire contents into the jar, effectively filling the empty space between the sand. The students laughed. 'Now,' said the professor, as the laughter subsided, 'I want you to recognize that this jar represents your life. The golf balls are the important things; your family, your children, your health, your friends, and your favourite passions; things that if everything else was lost and only they remained, your life would still be full. The pebbles are the other things that matter like your job, your house, and your car. The sand is everything else; the small stuff.

If you put the sand into the jar first, he continued, there is no room for the pebbles or the golf balls. The same goes for life: If you spend all your time and energy on the small Stuff. Pay attention to the things that are critical to your happiness. Play with your children. Take time to get medical checkups. Take your partner out to dinner. Play another 18 holes. There will always be time to clean the house and fix the disposal. Take care of the golf balls first; the Things that really matter. Set your priorities. The rest is just sand.' One of the students raised her hand and inquired what the wine represented. The professor smiled. 'I'm glad you asked. It just goes to show you that no matter how full your life may seem, there's always room for a couple of glasses of wine with a friend.'

Or you could just fill the whole jar with wine and leave the balls to somebody else!

Does the stiff upper lip still exist?

The subject of starting life in Japan continues to occupy my thoughts a lot of late. It is an exciting prospect, but also a little daunting. The idea of living in Japan has always been on my agenda, even before we got married, so I have quite naturally done a lot of research on the subject. During that research, I've naturally uncovered a lot of plusses and a lot of minuses. But interestingly, most the stories and comments you find on the 'Net are from Americans. Not surprising I guess - I'm sure there are a lot more Americans in Japan than English. Yet I've often wondered why it is so rare to find a negative comment from an English person about living in Japan. This led me to wonder whether there might be a reason for that - other than sheer laziness, of course.

While in Japan recently, I had a good conversation on the subject of iaido with my friend and sempai Kuni Sumida - a very talented iaidoka. We were talking about the meaning of iaido in a modern context; what motivates individuals to embark upon that path and what keeps them driving forward on their long and sometimes frustrating pursuit of perfection. Kuni-san pointed out the deeps links between iaido and classical Bushido - the traditional "Way of the Warrior". In modern Japan, of course, there are no more feudal lords or battles to be fought. But perhaps in many ways, the place of the Daimyo has been taken by "The Company". Modern-day "Bushi" are expected to give total commitment to the Company, much like their Samurai forebears. It is as a means of developing this mind-set of loyalty and commitment that iaido practice still has immense value in the modern age. And not just iaido - calligraphy and tea ceremony are other examples of traditional Japanese arts where proficiency can only be achieved through patient and dilligent practice over a number of years.

I was reminded very much of my own experience as an apprentice engineer - way back in the mists of time when you still saw labels that said "Made in England" and it meant something. I will never forget the first day: Clad in poorly fitting overalls, 80 of us stood nervously by our benches wondering what we'd let ourselves in for. I remember my gaze alighting upon a sign that had been hung on the wall of the cavernous workshop where we stood: I mused upon the meaning of the words "Smile as you file". We found out shortly afterwards: Each one of us was issued with a file and rusty lump of steel plate, with instructions that we should make both sides of that plate flat and parallel. When they said flat, they meant within thousanths of an inch. So began several weeks of filing - at first clumsy, but slowly more accurate and skilful. With this growing skill came a growing pride in this new-found ability that our patient efforts had uncovered within ourselves. Nobody who did that course ever forgot that lesson, and no matter what path each of us took in life after that, the pursuit of excellence became a matter of personal pride.

This combination of skill and pride, instilled at an early age, was so important to the success of British industry. Likewise, I would argue, to Japanese industry. Without it, nothing could ever move forward or improve. But this skill can only be forged in many hours of hard effort. And here is where modern UK and Japan differ: Japan still has people with this kind of personal grit - the UK, it seems, rarely so. My personal feeling is that this softening of our resolve is a natural consequence of today's something-for-nothing, buy-one-get-one-free culture where people seem to expect great things to fall out of the sky into their laps with minimal effort of their part. I would argue that this is perhaps something we have picked up from too long gazing across the Atlantic to the home of consumerism, the US.

That's not to say that the US to blame for UK's modern malaise - simply that as Western societies, we have chosen to go down this route. The US is just a little further down the road, that's all. So maybe the real reason behind the lack of comment from the English about Japanese life is really more to do with changing attitudes of the younger generations. Perhaps the backward English of my generation are still clinging to the last vestiges of the "stiff upper lip", making them far more likely to just get on with the challenges of living in Japan. Maybe we are just not used to the same standard of living as our American cousins, and so find less to complain about. But on a personal level, whatever it is, I'm really hoping that my personal life experiences will have prepared me well. I don't want to let the side down. That would never do.

Artists at home

We are currently in the middle of the Canterbury Festival - a two week annual arts festival spanning just about every kind of artistic endeavour you could imagine. Canterbury is one of those cities that seems to have more than its fair share of artists, so one of the more interesting regular events is the annual "Artist's Open House" trail, where local artists open their houses to the public on weekends to exhibit their work.

We visited two places yesterday. The first was an absolutely amazing place, that I can only describe as an artist's commune; a rambling Edwardian house filled with the most beautiful and sometimes bizzare sculptures, paintings and ceramics. For some reason I forgot to take any pictures (see previous post). But it was quite an experience.

After that we visited a really nice and very talented family - the Barnes's. The father is into etching and watercolours, his wife is a potter and their daughter makes colourful jewellery. They were absolutely wonderful hosts, making us coffee and answering questions about their work with real openness. The ceramics were absolutely wonderful, and I particularly loved this design - really deep blue and reds set against a perfect gold glaze on the rim.

I was also really impressed with the watercolour sketches of Mr. Barnes. He is clearly someone who has had an interesting and widely travelled life. His sketch books record vignettes of his experiences in Africa, Marrakech and Malaysia amongst others. I said that I was really jealous of his ability to produce these annotated drawings, but he said that he really thought that anyone could do the same, and that he himself had only started a few years ago.His point was that the artistic merit of the sketches really didn't matter that much - the idea is to record your individual perceptions of a moment and a place in your life. At that moment, I really felt inspired to have a go myself. A camera can record an objective impression of something, but I guess a sketch is almost like taking a snapshot of your brain, encompassing not just the physicality of the scene before you, but also your engagement with the moment - what it means to you. I'm enormously attracted to that idea. Not because I feel I have anything interesting to impart to others, but because I have a burning need for some form of creative expression. I used to find this through music, but not so much now. Maybe this would be good for me.

Anchors Away

If I were asked to identify the one single characterisitic that defines modern society, I would say 'selfishness'. There's no doubt in my mind that selfishness plays a huge role in many of the problems which are all too evident in the world we live in today. Placing your own interests above those of others, or above society in general, causes resentment, stress and anxiety in those around you.

Preoccupation with one's self is the textbook definition of selfishness. But another might be as the opposite of selflessness. Selflessness is a trait which used to be admired in others, and one that in a less cynical age, people would aspire to cultivate in themselves. Our slavish addiction to the idea of the self can make this appear quite a difficult idea. But it's not really so alien; It's the same quality that drives a parent to protect a child, a fireman to risk his life saving others. In a more mundane way, it is also found in the countless small acts of everyday courteousness and consideration for others which is essential in any civilised society. The fact that such niceties seem to be in terminal decline are an indication of increasingly self-centred attitudes. But does "looking after number one" make us more happy as individuals? I don't think so.

In the Buddhist teachings, all human suffering arises from attachment. As all things in life are demonstrably impermanent, emotional attachment to anything that we can touch in this life will inevitably bring a sense of loss and heartache as those things pass away from us. Worse still, a mind which is "fixed" or "stuck" on a particular idea ceases to percieve the world in an open and honest way, and becomes deluded and rigid. A mind that is fixed and unyielding cannot grow, cannot fully experience all that life has to offer. And, as in all things in nature, that which doesn't grow inevitably dies.

To be attached to one's self - to be selfish - is to fix the mind into a closed and rigid state in which life becomes filled with frustration, regret and remorse. Removing such a restriction frees us from concern by removing our emotional attachments to transient things. The removal of worry allows happiness to arise as a natural consequence. Naturally,letting go of the emotional anchor that keeps us shackled and unabled to ride life's turbulent waves is easier said than done. But,true happiness can only come when we learn to let go.

A grain of sand

I guess there are as many reasons why people start blogging as their are blogs. In my case, what really spurred my interest was a piece of writing I came across, lurking in the half-forgotten dark recesses of my hard drive. In amongst the mess of everyday living, I occasionally have some quite profund insights, and this was one of those times. Having been moved again by these rediscovered thoughts, I wondered whether others might enjoy them too. Hence my desire to share them.

The inspiration for this paragraph was a tiny novelty "Zen rock garden": Actually no more than half a match box filled with sand. Yet, small as it was, it sparked off some interesting ideas.


Life is impermanence. No matter how carefully the sand is raked, it will change, dissolve and disappear. This is also true of the backdrop against which our lives are performed. People, places, material possessions, good times, bad times: Everything changes. But this, of course is the nature of sand. Without its fluidity and ability to mould itself into new shapes, sand would not be sand. Without its fluidity and its ability to adapt, life would not be life. The sand can accept new shapes only because of its fluidity – the thing which gives it impermanence also breaths life into it. If sand were fixed, like rock, it could not adapt or harmonise with its surroundings. It would become increasingly inappropriate as the scenery changed. Life too can be much like this. If we are too inflexible, we cannot flow and adapt: We cannot mutate to continue to harmonise with the changing environment of our lives. But some might say that even though a rock may be inflexible and not able to harmonise with its surroundings effectively, at least it is permanent. Not so. All sand was once supposedly permanent, immovable rock. Time will simply not allow permanence, so even although some things may seem so from our limited perspective, they are not and can never be.