SIMPLE LIVING PART I

     A very wise man has pointed out that “simplicity is the peak of civilization.” If one were to apply those words to one’s life, I am certain that they would, in one way or another, take on a different meaning and a dissimilar significance for each person. For me, “simplicity” signifies the elimination of all but what is essential in life, exchanging chaos for peace, and enabling myself to spend my time doing those things that are important to me and with those people who are most important to me.

     A simple life means getting rid of those many things that gnaw away at the time to spend with those people and to follow my passions. It means getting rid of the clutter around me, so that I am then left with only that which makes my life worthwhile.

Easy enough said; however, achieving simplicity is not always a simple process. In a sense, it is a journey rather than a destination, and it can at times, be a journey where one finds themself sliding backward a step for every two steps forward.

     If I were to sum up what attaining simplicity entails, I would be inclined to say: first of all identify everything that is important to you, and then eliminate everything else. Pick out the best and get rid of the rest. That, however, may be too simple a description of the process. One must not only identify and eliminate, but must learn how to apply “identify and eliminate” to the different facets of one’s life.

     For a while, on these pages, I will attempt to present ideas that I believe should help just about anyone who is either interested in or actually attempting to simply their lives. Not everything I will write about will be totally suited to every person. One must then decide which ones appeal to them and then apply them to their own lives. The path may seem even complicated to some who seek simplicity; yet, one should take their time, read, think, apply (if they can) and then move on.

SOME THOUGHTS ON BUDO AT THE TURN OF A DECADE

  

    The world has changed considerably since I first began to study Budō, several decades ago. It is now a much smaller world, due primarily to the innovations made in communications and computer technology. I can recall that in 1995, computers and the Internet were at best, an insignificant part of most people’s lives, and cell phones (mobile phones then) were large, cumbersome things: hardly anyone had one. In the ensuing fifteen years however, most of the industrialized world has been connected to the Internet and the phenomenon of mobile communications. Literally, billions of pages of information are at anyone’s fingertips with just a click of a computer mouse. Sadly, at the same time, the world has grown more violent and dangerous. In the United States, we witnessed firsthand the attack on the World Trade Center, the war in Iraq, the war in Afghanistan, countless terrorist attacks, and assassinations, not to mention innumerable homicides and heinous crimes here at home. Domestic and foreign terrorism, in all its forms, have become almost daily occurrences, and news of them is now almost instantaneous. We now see crime and violence even as it occurs, often graphically, from the comfort of our easy chairs. When examined, even superficially, the sum of all this tends to reinvorce my feeling that the need has never, in modern times, been greater for people to train in traditional martial arts, such as Kenjutsu and Iaijutsu.

      I have no personal knowledge of any official study, however my own understanding is that few, if any people, classically trained in martial arts, have committed the types of violence and terrorism that fill our computer and television screens, as well as the front pages of our newspapers. Acts of terrorism and violence run counter to the very nature and intent of traditional martial arts programs. Classic Japanese martial arts, Budō if you will, is in fact the art of peacemaking. I continue to teach Kenjutsu and Iaijutsu, not simply because it trains one to perform acts of violence, but rather because it trains both mind and spirit to seek out peace and harmony while preparing one to defend against acts of violence; the end result of which is creating, in some small way, a more peaceful world for its practitioners.

      While Kenjutsu and Iaijutsu, on the surface, would appear to have little application to contemporary ideas of self-defense, I cannot help but feel that it truly does have practical applications. A broomstick, a mop handle, a cane, with training, can be a real boon for a person threatened with attack. Beyond that, these arts are simple serene, and elegant, bereft of the splendid embellishments and gymnastics assigned them by the cinema and print media, such as manga. In a real sense, however, this simplicity, serenity, and elegance, and the absence of superficial flourishes, have at least in the United States, been self-defeating. It is difficult for the uneducated and the unsophisticated to see how Kenjutsu and Iaijutsu could be of any use in self-defense; thus, such arts have little attraction to those who are instead drawn to more brutal forms of “combat,” such as grappling, Brazilian Jiujitsu, and “mixed martial arts,” which many traditional instructors, including myself, regard as nothing more than fighting. Fighting is what is cool. Fighting is “in.” Fighting is power. Skill in fighting makes one a “tough guy,” which assists in maintaining the “thug is good” thinking, propagated by television and movies, manga, music videos, and worst of all, violent video games. Indeed, contemporary, violent video games occupy the minds and time of American youth far more than such mundane pastimes as study, reading, or active participation in sports. Absent are the enduring values and ethics of traditional Budō, now set aside for the less endearing and enduring values of contemporary “martial arts” training.

      Sadly, I do not foresee much change in the way that the “samurai arts” will be presented in literature or the entertainment media. Looking back, I think that the contemporary view of Budō began with the larger-than-life, naïve, unworkable, and improbable portrayals of traditional martial arts by works of fantasy and fiction such as the Teenaged Mutant Nina Turtles. Since their inception, the media has inundated us with anime, manga, video games, television programs and feature films highlighting samurai-like characters that perform gross representations of sword and other martial techniques; which in turn, have created false impressions and therefore expectations, that make legitimate martial arts at least disappointing if not totally unattractive. I say disappointing in view of the large number of would-be students who are disenchanted early on in their training, or even before they begin training, when they come to a dojo in the hopes of learning the “moves” that they saw in some movie or video game, and the dojo is either unable, and often unwilling, to do so.

      My own experience recently is that interest in traditional Japanese martial arts, in the United States, does not support nor will it sustain classes in such subjects as Kenjutsu or Iaijutsu; individual, private students yes, but classes, no. In a country that would seem to pride itself and take comfort in its ignorance, obesity, and laziness, and its attraction to that which is crass, serious students are far between. Certainly, I have received inquiries from parents who want to enroll their children in classes; yet, what is the point when the child does not want to attend and has little or no interest beyond the “flash,” nor the common sense or sense of responsibility that goes with learning potentially dangerous techniques? There is none. Even parents are disappointed when they discover that it takes years upon years to achieve the proficiency to earn a black belt, the “holy grail” of American martial arts: not six months, not a year, but years. It is no better with potential students in their late teens or in their twenties; indeed, such students are almost totally absent. The discipline of mind and body that is required is simply not there. What few potentially good students there are tend to be over fifty, college educated, accomplished, and disciplined. Interestingly, these are mature people who potentially suffer more aches and pains then younger students; and yet, are more than willing to endure such discomforts, for the sake of the art.

      What the coming decade will hold is of course a mystery. Perhaps, with the diminished American economy and the austerity that it demands, some small side effect will be a turn away from crassness, lack of discipline, and lack of responsibility, toward a new embracing of good, traditional values. Only time will tell.

JAPANESE AESTHETICS: FURYU

Fūryū (風流)

            The Japanese aesthetic Fūryū (風流) was derived from the Chinese word fengliu, which literally translated meant “good deportment” or “manners.  After its “importation” to Japan in the eight century, the word came to refer more directly to the refined tastes of a cultivated person and to things what were associated with such people.  When applied in a more aesthetic sense, the word fūryū took on a reference to the refined, even elegant behavior of an sophisticated person.  As time went on, the word was applied to all things that were regarded as elegant, sophisticated, stylish, or artistic.

      By the twelfth century, with the evolution of semantics in Japan, fūryū  began to evolve into two distinct variations.  The first variation applied fūryū to more earthy, ostentatious beauty as marked in popular art forms.  In the second variation, people attempted to find fūryū in the beauty portrayed in landscape gardens, flower arrangements, architecture, and poetry about nature, normally written in classic Chinese.  It was this second “branch” of fūryū that in part gave birth to cha-no-yu or the tea ceremony, during the Muromachi Jidai or Muromachi Era (1333- 1573).

      During the Edo Period or Edo Jidai (1603 – 1868), a form of popular fūryū became evident through a style of fictional prose known as ukyo-zōshi.[i]  A second popular interpretation of fūryū became apparent in such art forms as haikai[ii] poetry and the nanga[iii] style of painting; an interpretation that advocated a withdrawal from all of life’s burdens.  An example of this version of fūryū may be found in the following poem by Bashō      :

the beginning of fūryū

this rice planting

song of the north.

      A more contemporary interpretation of fūryū, strongly influenced by Zen, lies in the two characters which comprise the term, 風流, wind and flowing.  Just like the moving wind, fūryū can only be sensed:  it cannot be seen.  Fūryū is tangible yet at the same time, intangible in the elegance which it implies; moreover, just like the wind, fūryū puts forward a wordless, transitory beauty, which can be experienced only in the moment:  in the next it is gone.  Interestingly, several styles of folk dances, yayako odori and kaka odori, have come to be referred to as fūryū or “drifting on the wind” dances and are quite popular.

---

[i] Ukiyo-zōshi (浮世草子 ) or “books of the floating world” was the first major genus of popular Japanese fiction, by and large written between 1690 and 1770, primarily in Kyōto and Ōsaka.  Ukiyo-zōshi style literature developed from kana-zōshi (仮名草子 ) [a type of printed Japanese book that was produced largely in Kyōto between 1600 and 1680, referring to books written in kana rather than kanji].  Indeed, ukiyo-zōshi was originally classified as kana-zōshi.  The actual term ukiyo-zōshi first appeared around 1710, used in reference to romantic or erotic works; however, later the term came to refer to literature that included a diversity of subjects and aspects of life during the Edo Jidai.  Life of a Sensuous Man, by Ihara Saikaku, is regarded as the first work of this type.  The book, as well as other passionate literature, took its subject matter from writings of or about courtesans and guides to the pleasure quarters.  Although Ihara’s works were not considered “high literature” at the time, they became extremely popular and were crucial to the further development and broadened appeal of the genre.  After the 1770s, the style began to stagnate and to slowly decline.

[ii] Haikai (俳諧 , meaning comic or unorthodox) is short for haikai no renga,  a popular style of Japanese linked verse that originate in the sixteenth century. Unlike the more aristocratic renga, haikai was regarded as a low style of linked verse intended primarily for the average person, the traveler, and for those who lived a less privileged lifestyle.

[iii] Nanga (南画  , or southern painting) also known and bunjinga  (文人画 ) , intellectual painting) was a somewhat undefined school of Japanese painting which thrived during the late Edo Period.  Its artists tended to regard themselves as an intellectual elite or literati.  The artists who followed this school were both unique and independent; yet they all shared a high regard for traditional Chinese culture.  Their paintings, most often rendered in black ink, but at times with light color, were inclined to represent Chinese landscapes or related subjects, much in the same form as Chinese wenrenhua or literati painting of the nanzonghua or Chinese “southern school” or art.

Copyright 2010 by Tokugawa Hayato and Shisei-Do Publications.  All rights reserved.

KINDNESSES UNEXPECTED

Kindnesses Unexpected

In 1891, Lafcadio Hearn made a voyage to the Oki Islands or Oki-shotō (隠岐諸島), a group of volcanic, one hundred miles west off the western coast from Izumo and Shimane Prefecture.  As he put it, “Not even a missionary had ever been to Oki, and its shores had never been seen by European eyes, except on those rare occasions when men-of-war steamed by them, cruising about the Japanese Sea.”  It was here that he experienced some not-so-small kindesses and surprises.

     “On the morning of the day after my arrival at Saito, a young physician called to see me, and requested me to dine with him at his house.  He explained very frankly that, as I was the first foreigner who had ever stopped in Saigo, it would bring much pleasure both to his family and to himself to have a good chance to see me; however, the natural courtesy of the man overcame any hesitation I might have felt to gratify the curiosity of strangers.  I was not only treated delightfully at his beautiful home, but actually sent away with presents; most of which I attempted, in vain, to decline.  In one matter, however, I remained obstinate, even at the risk of offending:  the gift of a wonderful specimen of bateiseki (a substance which I shall speak of later).  This I persisted in refusing to take, knowing it to be not only very costly, but very rare.  My host at last yielded; but afterwards, secretly sent two smaller specimens to the hotel, which Japanese etiquette made it impossible to return.  Before leaving Saigo, I experienced many other unexpected kindnesses from the same gentleman.

     “Not long after, one of the teachers of the Saigo public school paid me a visit.  He had heard of my interest in Oki, and brought with him two fine maps of the islands made by him, a little book about Saigo, and as a gift, a collection of Oki butterflies and insects that he had also made.  It is only in Japan that one is likely to meet with these wonderful exhibitions of pure goodness on the part of perfect strangers.

     “A third visitor, who had called to see my friend, performed an act equally characteristic, but which also pained me.  We squatted down to smoke together.  He drew from his obi a remarkably beautiful tobacco pouch and pipe case, containing a little silver pipe, which he began to smoke.  The pipe case was made of a sort of black coral, curiously carved, and attached to the tabako-iré, or pouch, by a heavy cord of three colors of braided silk, passed through a ball of transparent agate.  Seeing me admire it, he suddenly drew a knife from his sleeve, and before I could stop him, severed the pipe case from the pouch and presented it to me.  I felt almost as if he had cut one of his own nerves apart when he cut that wonderful cord; and nevertheless, once this had been done, to refuse the gift would have been rude in the extreme.  I made him accept a present in return; but after that experience, I was careful never again, while in Oki, to admire anything in the presence of its owner.”

     Even now in the 21^st century, if one will take the time to meet people, and to experience the true Japan, he too is bound to experience such amazing kindness, which seems so lacking elsewhere in the world.


*Print by Mishima Shoso (1856 - 1926) titled Sparrow Grand-pa (c. 1900) illustrating a Japanese folktale about an honorable old man who rescued a sparrow (suzume).  later, he was invited to the village of sparrows and given a box of gifts.

JAPANESE AESTHETICS: Plants in the Visual Arts (Geijutsu to Shokubutsu)

The graphic or illustrative arts in Japan traditionally have relied on the sensitivity of the artist to nature and thus, have been likely to be simple, compact, and modest, yet elegant.  Traditional renderings of landscapes, for example, do not display the wide range of colors that is seen in Western oil paintings or watercolors.  This same simplicity and grace applies to sculpture as well:  delicately carved and small in size.

Plants, flowers and birds, or at least their outlines are frequently rendered in lifelike colors on fabric, lacquer ware and ceramics.  The love of natural forms and an enthusiasm for the expression of nature in idealized style have been the key intentions in the development of traditional Japanese arts such as ikebana (flower arrangement, chanoyou (the tea ceremony), tray landscapes (bonkei), bonsai, and landscape gardening.  It is through these arts that the Japanese people have attempted to incorporate the beauty of nature into their spiritual values and daily lives.

For the decoration of a teahouse, a modest flower was selected to conform with the principle that flowers should always look as if they were still in nature.  The  Japanese have sought to express the immensity as well as the simplicity of nature with a single wild flower in a solitary vase.

Copyright 2010 by Hayato Tokugawa & Shisei-Do Publications.  All rights reserved.

The Japanese Concept of Nature (Nihonjin no Shizenkan)

      The basic meaning of the word shizen, commonly translated as nature, may be regarded as the power of spontaneous self-development and its results, in keeping with the kanji used to represent the concept, which in themselves mean from itself, thus it is:  it is an expression of the state of being, rather than the existence of some natural order.  Interestingly, the word shizen is not found in archaic Japanese as a term for nature, which would indicate that the ancient Japaneswe people recognized natural phenomena as manifestations of the kami[i].  The terms ametuchi (heaven and earth) and ikitoshi ierumono (living things) served as the closest archaic terms for nature.

      One interpretation of the Nihon shoki (c. 720 A.D.) holds that the first children of the primeval couple Izanagi and Izanami were not kami  like their parents but rather islands; thus, human beings were not considered to be either superior or in opposition to nature as is common to Western notion of the relationship of man and nature.  Rather, the lives of men were seen to be embedded in nature; that is, part of nature itself, as frequently expressed in numerous Japanese cultural and art forms such as Zen painting, sumi-e brush painting, cha-no-yū (the tea ceremony) and ikebana or the art of flower arranging.

      In nature, both subject and object are fused into a single reality, something frequently demonstrated in haiku.  The Western concept of nature, a natural order, did not exist in Japan until the opening of Japan to Western ideas and influence in the Meiji Era




.

---

[i] Kami (神 ), most simply defined are all-powerful entities worshiped by people.   It is the Japanese word for the spirits, natural forces or essence, common to Shintō, found in the oldest written Japanese record of creation, the Kojiki (c. 712 A.D.) 

Copyright 2009 by Shisei-Do Dojo and Shisei-Do Publications.  All rights reserved.

Musings on a View of History

Musings on a View of History

kishamichi ni

hikuku kari tobu

tsukiyo kana

low over the railroad

wild geese flying –

a moonlight night

          -Shiki

The warm days of summer are now gone and the soft, gentle breeze that drifted through the open doors of my study and rustled the papers on my desk has grown teeth. In summer, it would make its way through this old “samurai house,” blending indoors with out, lending a certain tenderness and ease to life. Today, sweater replaces yukata, iced tea is now traded for steaming coffee. Last night the wind shook the closed shutters over our doors and windows, as though demanding entry: equal time with the zephyrs of mid-year. Now our warmth comes from the electric heater and the fire which crackles and snaps from the pit in the main tatami room, on which rides the smoky incense of oak rather than the perfume of flowers and fresh grass.

As I look through the sliding glass door of my refuge, filled with the volumes of Japan past which stir my imagination and answer my questions, only then give birth to new queries, I can see the cats at play in the garden; enjoying the day in their newly fluffed coats. The old puss perches high up on the gate, surveying her domain, as though she is some ancient daimyō watching over her han (domain). The two young ones dart here and there; games of hide-and-seek or perhaps imagining themselves as tigers in the wild; hiding in the now brown grass; waiting for some elusive prey to venture too close to their place of cover. Occasionally one cat ventures out to the edge of the pond and looks in. Yes, the koi are all still there in their places. Then he’s off again to pounce on his preoccupied sibling who just found a mouse. All too soon, the pond will be covered with ice, the ground will be blanketed in snow, and the garden mice will be safe in their nests below the porch.

One cannot help but to smile a bit at the moment, and then I look at the volumes of history that line the walls of my room and think about autumns long ago. Did Tokugawa Ieyasu look out his window at Edo Castle, or later at Sanpu in Suruga, and see similar scenes? Some might say no, he was without doubt too busy plotting and scheming. I think he did see such things and probably thought deeply upon them in his later years. Nevertheless, that is a difference in the viewing of history.

History is merely an attempt to write about events that belong to the past. What is written depends on documents: manuscripts, essays, and articles from the period being written about. Modern-day topics and events are often regarded as being too ordinary and thus, unworthy of documentation except as television newsbytes or a few short columns in a newspaper.

I often find myself wondering how historians, perhaps two or three centuries from now, will regard the last few years, and especially this year of 2009, in viewing Japan or the United States. Will they describe 2009 as a year when America began to once again find direction and to re-assume a position of world leadership, this time for the betterment of the world in general and in particular for its own citizens; or, will they perhaps hold 2009 up as enduring evidence that a once great notion grew too big to sustain itself and its ideals, and in the end failed?

Will they say that Japan continued its socio-political decline, and that its culture continued to erode, giving way to the forces of globalization, just as a beach is consumed by the waves of an approaching typhoon, or will they perhaps say that 2009 was a year when Japan, at last, broke free from the miasma from which it suffered, beginning at the end of World War II? Did Japan at last find its feet and stand up to demand equity with the United States among the nations of the world and cast off its acquiescence to Western domination?

Recently I wrote a short essay on the topic of Bushidō and its core. The article, much to my delight, stirred more than a little controversy and debate, which in itself, was a very good thing; for in my mind, such writing has little point unless it stirs thought and stimulates discussion. The essay and resulting commentary became the subject of conversations among myself and other Japanese with a more than passing interest in Japanese culture and history. Some were outraged by the views expressed by a group from the San Francisco Bay Area: others were simply dismayed. More than one comment was made that they should “admit their shame and end their life.” The comment was also made that some, whose samurai heritage had been insulted, would be more than willing to assist the group in the called for acts of seppuku. Some may indeed by surprised that one’s samurai heritage can be insulted, more than one hundred and forty years after the conclusion (note I did not say fall) of the Tokugawa Era. Most Japanese, even those who we might term as “liberals” are far more conservative than their American liberal cousins are. Most Japanese still attach great significance to their family histories: their clans and their samurai heritage. That is being Japanese.

Certainly, the group, Asians Art Museum, which parodies the San Francisco Asian Art Museum, has every right to express their views and opinions; indeed, I encourage it. Yet, the Japanese who read it and expressed their opinions to me, felt that the group’s views were tainted, that there was a certain “agenda” not too well hidden beneath their words: expressions marked with an irony that does not translate to Japanese thought.


Among the Japanese students of Japanese history, none of my associates regard themselves as scholars but simply as students, since history is an unending process of study and analysis– a process we often engage in over coffee, tea, sake and snacks (we try to do things with a bit of flair), the view was frequently expressed that aspiring or pseudo-historians tend to notice or to select records which match their own pre-conceptions of the past and support (or can be bent to support) their own personal, revisionist agendas; that is, they have an ax to grind.

Certainly there exits confusion about the complexities of Japanese history, even among Japanese. In this particular case, however, we have Western historians giving interpretation to Japanese history. In the West, modern historians still are greatly influenced by 18th century theories of history and long-past Age of Enlightenment in Europe. They still regard the European medieval age as the “dark ages” and as a corollary, the age of Japanese feudalism: cruel, dark, dismal. Certainly some Japanese historians and intellectuals (such as Nitobé Inazo) are equally as guilty of this view, having themselves imported ideals of Western feudalism and overlaying them on unique, Japanese concepts. Add to that a certain taint of Marxism interlaced with the American penchant for political correctness, and the overall result becomes skewed. A result is the compartmentalization of Japanese history into Japan’s “Classical Era,” Japan’s “Feudal Era” or Dark Ages, and the Modern or “Post-Tokugawa Era”, when it is far more complex than that. This tends to perpetuate the selective (and often simplistic) reporting of history: ignoring the complexities of Japanese history, which can be likened to the weaving of some fine tapestry.

Nevertheless, the overall result of the discussions was twofold. First, that certainly, everyone should be free to express their thoughts and opinions, even though it may lack wisdom or good manners – expression is essential. The second conclusion was that Japanese history and its interpretation should be left to Japanese, since the West is not equipped to understand and appreciate Japanese thought and the depth of Japanese culture and the intricacies of its history.



(To be continued)



-Tokugawa H.

Copyright 2009 by H. Tokugwa and Shisei-Do Publications.  All rights reserved.

JAPANESE AESTHETICS (Bigaku)

JAPANESE AESTHETICS (Bigaku)

One of the most distinguishing characteristics of traditional Japanese aesthetic thought is the tendency to attach far greater value to symbolic depiction than realistic portrayals. Another attribute to be considered is the supposition that in order to be true art, a work has to involve a discerning representation of what is beautiful and an aversion from the crude and profane. As a result, artists have traditionally tended to select nature as their subject matter, steering clear of depictions of everyday, common life.


It was the Heian court, often described as having an exaggerated taste for grace and refinement, which exerted an enduring impact on subsequent cultural traditions, designating elegance as a key measure of beauty. Numerous cultural and artistic concepts, such as okashi, fūryū, yūgen, and iki carry with them a nuance of elegance.


Another quality, one to which great value is attached, is impermanence or transience, itself a variation of elegance; exquisite beauty being regarded as both fragile and transitory. Metaphysical profoundness was provided through a merging of Buddhism, with its emphasis on the inconsistency and uncertainty of life, with this ideal. Numerous aesthetic conventions, such as wabi, sabi, yūgen and aware (with its subsequent amplification of mono no aware) all imply transience.


Over time, the presence of an artistically created void, in either time or space, became an important concept in aesthetic theory. The concept of simplicity became a culmination of the concepts of simulation and substitution, which stressed symbolic representation. Aesthetic concepts such as wabi, sabi, ma, shibui and yojō are all inclined toward simplicity in terms of their basic inferences, consistently demonstrating distaste for elaborate beauty.


Simplicity denotes a certain naturalness or lack of pretense. In traditional Japanese aesthetics then, the separation between art and nature is considerably smaller than in Western art, stemming from the belief that the mysteries of nature cannot be presented through portrayal, but only suggested and the more succinct the suggestion, the more effective it becomes.




Copyright 2009 by Shisei-Do Dojo and Shisei-Do Publications.  All rights reserved.

SHISEI-DO: SIMPLE LIVING

Simple Living

We live in a fast paced, consumer oriented society; indeed, we are constantly under pressure to consume.  The mantras of the 21^st century are:  “More is better” and “New is better.”  We are bombarded, twenty-four hours a day, by advertisements that tell us we are less than successful if we don’t own the latest luxury Lexus, or the 50-inch plasma TV and home entertainment center.  We are told that we are less than acceptable if we do not possess and wear the latest designer fashions, the newest make-up, or don’t eat in the trendiest, new restaurants.  We need bigger and better computers, video games, cell phones capable of texting around the world, taking photographs, videos, playing games, and keeping us constantly on the Internet.  All these things are wonders to behold, the best our technology can give us – for now.  In two year, a year, six months, some of our “cool stuff” will be totally outmoded, obsolete.  What are we told we must do, in order to be successful?  We need to discard what is outmoded and replace it with what is now “new and improved.”

So we spend what we earn, and then we spend what we don’t have but will earn – maybe.  We owe on our homes, our cars, our appliances, and our futures.  We suddenly wake up to find that we have mortgaged our entire lives; and for what?  Are we happier?  Do we now have peace of mind?  Are we more secure in our lives?  Probably not!

To quote Confucius, “Life is really simple, but we insist on making it complicated.”  How true!  Shisei-Dō offers a simple tenet by which one is able to change the course of their personal consumerism, to in effect, get off the “consumerist merry-go-round.”  The principle is itself simple, so simple in fact, that for our intents and purposes, it is referred to as “simple living.” 

One may also refer to the principle as “voluntary simplicity,” although, simple living sounds better.  It is a lifestyle which is distinguished by minimizing the modern ethic of contemporary “more-is-better” pursuit of wealth and consumption.  Advocates of simple living may chose to do so for a variety of personal reasons such as:  spirituality, health, increase in “quality time” for family and friends, stress reduction, personal taste or frugality.  Other people may allude to more socio-political goals that are aligned with other anti-consumerist movements, including conservation, social justice and sustainable development.  All worthy causes and reasons in of themselves to simplify one’s life.  One can describe voluntary simplicity as a manner of living that is outwardly more simple and inwardly more rich:  a way of being in which our true and active self is brought into the light of our consciousness and applied to how we life as individuals and as members of a community or society.

Simple living is a concept far different from those living in forced poverty.  It is a voluntary choice of lifestyle.  Although asceticism generally encourages living simply and refraining from luxury and indulgence, not all supporters or parishioners of voluntary simplicity are ascetics.

The recorded history of simple living can be found in the teachings of Taoism, of Confucioius and Mencius.  Buddha was an ascetic.  In Japan we find a strong advocacy for simple living in the teachings of Zen Buddhism and Bushidō, which made the ways and means of simple living something distinctly Japanese.

Some people practice simple living to reduce the need for purchased goods or services and by doing so, reduce their need to, in effect, sell their time for money.  Some will spend the extra free time helping family and friends.  During the holiday seasons, such people often perform various forms of alternative giving, such as volunteer work with the poor and homeless.  Others may spend the extra free time to improve the quality of their lives by, for example, pursuing creative activities such as sadō, shodō, or studying a martial art.

One approach to adapting a more simplified way of living is to focus more fundamentally on the underlying reasons and motivation of buying and consuming so many resources for what we are led to believe is a good quality of life.  Modern society tells us that me must, in essence buy happiness; however, materialism and consumerism frequently fails to satisfy us and in the long-term, may even increase the level of stress in our lives.  It has been said “the making of money and the accumulation of things should not smother the purity of the soul, the life of the mind, the cohesion of the family, or the good of society.”  Quite simply, the more money we spend, the more time we have to be out there earning it and the less time we have to spend with the ones we love.

Some simple suggestions to help simplify our style of living are:

Stop buying things that are not necessary.  Yes we may feel having a television is important; indeed it really seems to be a necessity these days. The question is do we need the 50-inch home entertainment center or is there something lesser, which does the job just as well.  If our neighbors the Yamadas buy a new TV, do we need to buy the same one or a little better?  If our boss at work buys a new car, do we need to cast aside our car and mortgage our lives more to buy the same car, or one just a little bit better?  Probably not.  One should buy what they need:  what gets the job done and not necessarily anything more than that.

Throw away, or better donate to someone in need, what you, yourself don’t need.

Focus on what is truly important.

Listen to the voice within you and pay attention to it.

Obtain what you really do need (food, shelter, company).  It’s nice, it’s great to have “stuff”, but perhaps we should think about what is really needed as to what we are told we want.

Keep a sense of perspective and humor about what you see and hear.

Keep in touch with your friends and family.

Don’t try to keep up with everyone else, especially because you are told you have to.

Have fun.

Grow as a person

Remember, everything will be all right!

Copyright 2009 by Shisei-Do Dojo and Shisei-Do Publications.  All rights reserved.

EMOTIONS AND FORMS: UNIQUELY JAPANESE

Emotions and Forms: Uniquely Japanese

 Much of my formal education and training had been in science and law; both disciplines based upon logic. As I grew older, and hopefully wiser, and as a student of traditional Japanese Budō and Bushidō, I began to read and study about the Japan of past days; and as I experienced life in Japan, not only in the dojo but in the small towns and villages, away from the cities, I began to think about such Japanese things as jōcho (emotion) and katachi (forms of behavior).People took tradition seriously. They often enjoyed dressing in kimono; they enjoyed eating together as a family, gathered around a low table in the living area of a simple home. People who were too loud or boisterous were given a cold shoulder. I witnessed Japanese unspoken communication and personality projection.  Away from the cities, the national character was entirely different. Customs and traditions, sincerity and humor, were considered of much greater value than the logic I had learned and trained in at school. Of course there were some people who clamored for “more”, “more is better”, “modern is better”; yet, those who shouted for more reform to the modern ways, were discreetly criticized by the elders as “lacking a proper sense of humor.”

 I began to realize that, yes indeed, logic had its place, but aesthetics, emotions and forms of behavior could be equally important if not more; things uniquely Japanese. When I mention “aesthetics,” I am speaking of such things as nihonjin no shizenkan, the concept of nature. When I say “emotion,” I am not speaking feelings such as joy, anger, sympathy, sadness or happiness, which we learn about in school and which we all experience naturally; I am refereeing instead to emotions that are cultivated through cultural experience; such emotions as natsukashisa, a sense of yearning for the lost, an mono no aware, an awareness of the pathos of things. By “forms,” I mean the code of conduct that has been with us for centuries, derived from Bushidō, the samurai code of ethics.

 When considered together, these things make Japan and the Japanese special, unique in the world. Just as Nitobé Inazo pointed out that Bushidō was the foundation of Japan’s national character, so also are these others. Even as far back as the Meiji Restoration, both emotions and forms of behavior began to go into a gradual, imperceptible decline. The rate of decline was accelerated in the Showa Era and sustained extensive deterioration after World War II, as the country suffered from Americanization and free market principles which reached deep into the Japanese heart to exert their influence on Japanese society, culture and its character as a nation. Even the Japanese educational system, has served to erode the Japanese pride and confidence in their country, largely at the hands of revisionist politicians and historians. People, particularly in the cities began to forget those things that were the country’s traditional emotions and forms of behavior, the things that should have given them the pride to be uniquely Japanese. Instead, the country falls prey to the logic and reasoning of the West and the decline continues through a process of globalization, which is nothing more than an attempt at making the world homogenous. Japan must find the means to realize and preserve its individuality and to recapture its simplicity in living, its emotions, and its forms; thus, remaining forever, uniquely Japan.