:: worlds in words ::

Although it stands to reason that a samurai should be mindful of the Way of the Samurai, it would seem that we are all negligent. Consequently, if someone were to ask, “What is the true meaning of the Way of the Samurai?” the person who would be able to answer promptly is rare. This is because it has not been established in one’s mind beforehand. From this, one’s unmindfulness of the Way can be known.  Negligence is an extreme thing.

When I began training in Kendo many years ago (as well as other arts like Kenjutsu and Iaijutsu), I picked up a copy of Hagakure, the “book of the Samurai”.  It was more as a point of interest to the mentality and philosophy of the warriors of old – but alongside the Tao te Ching, it ended up being one of the few books that entirely changed my life.  The quote above, which is the first verse of Chapter One, is one of the main points of the philosophy which hit home for me.  The necessity in meditating upon that which guides our lives and our beliefs, such that when it comes time that you are asked a question or forced to make a decision, you know where you stand without a doubt.

I could sit here all day and quote-spam from the book, but that’s not my intention.  Rather, I’d like to focus on that one thought as the main point for this post.  Obviously, I’m not expounding on the true meaning of the Bushido but rather expanding it to encompass what beliefs and principles you believe in – more specifically, what beliefs and principles I believe in.  Meditative reflection is something I’ve fallen out of touch with as I’ve moved farther and farther away from such practices, and that’s something I need to correct.

My upbringing was a Christian one.  My parents were extremely conservative and religious; we went to church every Sunday, paid our tithes, memorized our Bible.  I was on the worship team, went to canoe-camping retreats, all that stuff.  And the thing about religion is that it really makes you think about what you believe, whether you agree with your holy text (or equivalent) or not.  When the religious aspect is taken out of religion and it’s viewed as a philosophy, it’s a very effective model in many aspects, or so it seems to me.  A convocation of those of like beliefs, supporting each other.  A meditative ritual, often times inwardly reflective in nature.

I knew then what I believed and what I held as right and wrong – because I was forced to contemplate the regulations of my religion.  When the church said that homosexuality was wrong and a sin, I disagreed.  Lying and stealing were also wrong, with which I agreed, but with which I didn’t comply.  But whether or not I agreed, whether or not I acted upon those convictions, I had thought about them and knew where I stood in principle and in practice.

I fell away from religion during my latter years of high school for a multitude of reasons.  I underwent a long period of philosophical self-examination and doubt.  But the farther I went away from religion, the lesser my questioning of morality, ethics, and principles.  It was no longer a routine thing for me to ponder questions of right and wrong and where I stood in the grand scheme of things.  Kant’s Categorical Imperative was collecting dust on a shelf in my brain.

I had no Scripture.  There was no God for me to speak to.  So I fell out of constantly re-acquainting myself with my own beliefs, fell out of that meditative relationship with the Oneness or the Spirit or whatever you want to call it.  And this is a dangerous thing – for you to be obscured to your own self.  I got lost in the haze of secular life and forgot the connected spiritual essence of being.  I was disconnected from my wonder at the world, the exuberance of existence.  I unwittingly became less of an atheist and more of a nihilist.

There’s a difficulty with atheism, or at least in my experience.  Those of us who have become disenchanted with religion or disenfranchised from previous belief systems are left scattered with a generalized label: Unbeliever.  When asked what my religious or spiritual beliefs were, the best I could muster (half-jokingly) was “Semi-Taoist Existentialist”.  But the problem is that it’s so hard to find others who believe as you do, especially since there are so many areas in which disagreements arise.  The nature of the universe, the origins of life, afterlife, morality and ethics, philosophy, sophistry, the list goes on.  If the Church has splintered into so many factions just from one purported set of teachings, how can atheists find like-minded and like-hearted groups to form a community?

Many simply agree to disagree.  They are united by their atheism and their atheism alone (or agnosticism) – but this is hardly ideal, as you can’t share your values with them and become fully supportive of one another.  It’s good in the way that discussion is fostered, if arguments can be kept civil, and it allows you to debate the merits or downsides of your beliefs and in so doing strengthen them.  But when most if not all of your interaction with your fellow-community is comparative or detractive instead of reaffirming and supportive, it doesn’t have the opportunity to build and grow.

Atheism is defined not by what it is, but by what it is not.  This is obvious just from the name alone.  Under the broad umbrella of atheism are many different groups which covers many people, and many of these people can find a community of their own and flourish.  But for those of us without an easily unified set of beliefs, those of us who pick up bits and pieces of different philosophies and create a system of their own – we’re often left behind.  Again, that’s the nature of the beast.

I started this post thinking that I was going to talk about my own beliefs and try to lay them out – for my benefit as much as others’.  But it’s obviously taken a vastly different tone, although tangential to my original trajectory.  I’m not trying to say that all or even most atheists are as lost and isolated as I feel that I am at times; but that coming from a religious tradition, I feel a distinct lack of something at least in my immediate community of peers.  When you don’t have a God, to whom or what can you sing songs?  Music being what it is for me, it’s hard to imagine spirituality without music.  When you don’t have a Scripture, what do you study?

There exists a necessity, I think, for individuals to create their own scripture, to define the narrative of their beliefs and principles, and to codify them for themselves.  This is especially true to those who fall outside of belief groups where they have a community of belonging, when they are philosophically or religiously isolated; it’s important for you to spell out who you are and what you are.  Not to say that we are defined by our labels or generalized descriptions – “Semi-Taoist Existentialist” really raises more questions than it answers – but because it’s important to be thoroughly self-aware.

Negligence is an extreme thing.