Intro
True simplicity is not a style.
It is what remains when excess disappears.
In the previous episode, I explained the concept of do as the long-term realization of a structure through disciplined action.
What happens when this structure becomes stable?
The answer is austere simplicity.
1. Artificial and Natural Simplicity
Daisetz T. Suzuki, in his classic book Zen and Japanese Culture, recalls a story about a student of Sen no Rikyu, the famous tea master.
For a tea ceremony, the student chose old, broken utensils. His intention was to create the atmosphere of austerity characteristic of the wabi-sabi style. Rikyu, however, admonished the student that intentionally produced wabi is not true wabi. It is only imitation, lacking the spirit of wabi-sabi.
Minimalism and the aesthetic of simplicity have become modern fads. What Suzuki describes clearly distinguishes these trends from the original concept of wabi-sabi. One is artificial. The other is natural.
In the artificial case, simplicity becomes an external goal. It is assumed that reaching this goal will produce a calm and simple mind. Therefore, people often focus only on the superficial aspect of minimal aesthetics, hoping to achieve inner calmness.
In the natural case, the clear mind is not the result, but the starting point. Such a mind focuses on what is essential and eliminates excess. Simplicity is what naturally remains as a result of this reduction.
Artificial simplicity may work in the short term. Creating a minimalist space may temporarily calm the mind. But in the long run, it usually fails.
This is because living in a simple environment requires continuously maintaining that simplicity. If the mind itself is not simple from the beginning, it will eventually recreate excess.
Moreover, as Michael Easter argues in Scarcity Brain, minimalism may arise from the same mechanism as maximalism. Reducing possessions to the minimum, like accumulating them, may provide a sense of control. Then another fear appears—the fear that too many possessions, or too few, will lead to a loss of control.
The root of the problem is not material excess, but mental excess: emotional noise, intrusive thought, and impulsive reaction. Such states fragment attention and weaken our response to a particular situation.
Unnecessary action does not come from the environment itself. It comes from the mind.
This is why there was no true wabi-sabi spirit in the ceremony prepared by Rikyu’s student. His mind needed to be prepared first.
2. Simplicity and Excess
The Japanese concept of wabi is not merely simplicity. It is what I call austere simplicity.
It is not the result of seeking comfort or relaxation. On the contrary, it emerges from the awareness created by the discomfort of simplicity.
Therefore, my model of action begins with zanshin—the state of awareness.
Zanshin creates distance from emotional states. It allows us to observe them instead of automatically following them. In this way, impulsive reactions and habitual behavior may be interrupted.
Emotions are not our enemies. They indicate that we recognize a situation and already possess a prepared response to it. In many cases, this shortens reaction time. This can be very useful.
However, automatic responses do not always fit a particular situation. In such cases, emotions distort perception. This distortion creates excess. We react too quickly or too strongly.
This is how fear may lead both to maximalism and minimalism. We may accumulate unnecessary objects, commitments, and distractions. But we may also attempt to eliminate everything excessively. In both cases, there is excess of action.
At the same time, we possess the capacity not to follow the impulse. Zanshin is what makes this possible.
It interrupts the process by creating distance between perception and action. It stops emotions from turning directly into reaction. Under these conditions, selecting what is essential becomes possible.
This is how zanshin leads to simplicity.
Discipline stabilizes this process across time.
In martial arts training, action is inefficient at first. There is too much tension, too much force, and movement is excessive.
Through repetitive exercise, unnecessary thinking gradually disappears. Self-control becomes easier. In the long run, disciplined action reduces excess even further. Movement becomes smaller, quieter, and more precise.
But everything begins with the mind and the elimination of mental excess.
This makes disciplined action possible.
Discipline shapes simplicity.
Similarly, in everyday life, discipline may gradually simplify our habits, priorities, and behavior. Not because we pursue simplicity directly in order to make life easier. The aim is not simplicity itself, but clearer awareness.
The clear mind clears the path, so we can walk it straight.
3. Simplicity and Stability
This is how the system operates.
Zanshin enables self-control and discipline. When the structure remains stable across time, austere simplicity gradually emerges as the result.
However, one additional condition is necessary for long-term stability. That condition is identity.
If zanshin, self-control, and discipline function like a motor, identity functions like the oil that keeps the motor running smoothly.
As I argued in the previous episode, disciplined action alone is not enough to constitute a path. We may perform many actions in a disciplined way. But for something to become a path, it must shape who we are.
Disciplined action must remain consistent with our values and worldview. If our actions contradict our identity—or remain emotionally indifferent to us—it becomes difficult to sustain them over time.
To make martial arts a genuine path in life, it is not enough to enjoy training, stay healthy, or learn how to fight. You must see yourself as a martial artist.
Once this identification becomes stable, additional justification becomes unnecessary. You continue because it is already part of who you are.
Identity simplifies the relation between the person and the practice.
The same mechanism appears in everyday life.
If you want to build a lasting habit, the habit must become part of your identity.
For example, someone who wants to eat healthy food must gradually begin to see themselves as a healthy person. Otherwise, the habit remains external and unstable.
Habits imposed from outside rarely stabilize over time. Without identity, discipline remains fragile.
Therefore, working with identity is one of the first necessary steps on the path.
But over time, identity simplifies action.
4. Simplicity and Freedom
Everything I have described may appear to limit freedom.
This is because freedom is often associated with increasing possibilities.
However, this understanding describes only negative freedom—freedom from external restraint. Complete negative freedom is not realizable. Some limitations always remain.
But there is also positive freedom: freedom for development. A plant growing in its natural environment is free—not because it lacks all constraints, but because it can realize its natural potential.
I do not want to reject negative freedom. However, every additional impulse competes for attention. Unlimited possibilities therefore often create fragmentation, paralysis, and inconsistency in action. Excessive possibilities also generate excess in action.
For example, in martial arts, it is usually unhelpful to follow too many teachers simultaneously. One teacher may instruct you in ways that contradict another. Both approaches may be correct within their own systems. But your own practice becomes incoherent.
The fewer unnecessary reactions control us, the less fragmented our action becomes. Action gains coherence and direction.
Today, we possess an unprecedented degree of negative freedom. We can choose from a multitude of paths. This situation has clear advantages. But it also creates constant distraction.
Once we choose a path, we should follow it consistently. Otherwise, we become like a plant that is constantly repotted and therefore cannot take root anywhere. Development becomes blocked.
In this way, unlimited negative freedom may ultimately deprive us of positive freedom.
5. Correct Action and Simplicity
Returning to Rikyu’s remark, we should stop pursuing false simplicity.
Some people imitate external simplicity through minimal aesthetics, ritualized restraint, and performative calmness. But external reduction does not create true simplicity. Sometimes it only conceals internal chaos more effectively.
True simplicity cannot be separated from the structure of action. Simplicity alone is not a criterion of correct action.
Without zanshin, simplicity becomes passivity. Creating a minimal environment, we eventually find ourselves without stimuli that encourage action and development.
Without self-control, simplicity becomes suppression. External calm may temporarily reduce tension, but internal chaos remains unresolved.
Without discipline, simplicity becomes only a temporary mood. There is no lasting stability of mind.
As Rikyu suggests, simplicity should never become a direct goal. When pursued directly, it easily turns into ideology or aesthetic performance.
Instead, simplicity should emerge indirectly.
As perception becomes clearer, impulses weaken. Action becomes more coherent. Excess gradually disappears. What remains is simplicity.
Therefore, austere simplicity is not the purpose of the path.
It is one of the consequences of walking the path correctly.
Outro
This was the Budo Mind Podcast.
In this episode, I examined the concept of austere simplicity.
It is not minimalism, aesthetic performance, or self-denial. It is the reduction of unnecessary elements in perception and action.
Zanshin makes this simplification possible across time. Over the long term, simplicity may gradually become part of identity.
Simplicity is not created by reduction. It is what remains when excess disappears.
