Contemplation and Reflection

 Contemplation and Reflection

Do Not Let the Day Pass Without Learning From It

To my descendants,

At the end of every day, spend a little time alone. It may be fifteen minutes. It may be half an hour. Sometimes it may be only five minutes because you are tired. The length of time is not the most important thing.

What matters is that you develop the habit of returning to your own life and looking at it consciously. Sit quietly. Allow the activities of the day to settle.

Then ask yourself: What happened today? What did I see? What did I learn? What surprised me? What did I do well? Where did I go wrong? What did I misunderstand? What did I appreciate? What did somebody teach me? What did I discover about myself?

And finally: What should I carry forward into tomorrow?

I have come to believe that contemplation and reflection are among the most important practices for cultivating a human life.

We experience many things every day, but experience by itself does not necessarily produce wisdom. A person may live for eighty years and repeat essentially the same year eighty times. Another person may live through one difficult experience, examine it deeply, understand what happened, change himself, and emerge from it wiser.

Therefore: Experience is what happens to you. Reflection is what you learn from what happens to you. And that difference is enormous.

The Unexamined Life

More than two thousand years ago, Socrates expressed one of the most famous ideas in Western philosophy: “The unexamined life is not worth living.”

The saying appears in Plato's Apology, during Socrates' defence of the philosophical life.

I would not interpret Socrates as saying that an ordinary person's life has no value. I understand the statement differently.

He is asking us: What is the value of possessing a human mind if we never turn that mind upon our own existence? We examine our businesses. We examine our finances. We examine other people's behaviour. We examine politics. We examine buildings. We examine machines. We examine everything outside ourselves.

But how often do we examine the person doing all this examining? Why did I become angry? Why was I frightened? Why did I make that decision? Why do I like this person? Why do I dislike another? Why did a few words spoken by somebody affect me for the entire day?

Why am I repeating a behaviour that I already know causes trouble? What exactly am I pursuing?

And perhaps one of the most difficult questions: Am I actually becoming the person I think I am becoming? This is where philosophy ceases to be something found only in books. Your own life becomes the philosophical text. And you become both its author and its reader.

Laozi — Knowing Others and Knowing Oneself. 

The Dao De Jing gives us another beautiful way of approaching this.

Laozi says:「知人者智，自知者明。」

To know others is intelligence; to know oneself is illumination. — Dao De Jing, Chapter 33.

This distinction is profound. It is possible to be extremely clever about the world and remain remarkably ignorant of oneself. You may understand business. You may understand politics. You may understand technology. You may understand how other people behave. You may even be very good at predicting what somebody else will do. Yet you may not understand why you repeatedly become angry, jealous, defensive, impatient, frightened or dissatisfied.

Laozi reminds us that external intelligence and internal illumination are not the same thing. To understand others is useful. To understand oneself changes one's life. And this is precisely why nightly reflection matters.

Every day's events provide a mirror. Someone annoys you. Instead of stopping at: “He is an irritating person,” reflection asks: “Why does this particular behaviour irritate me so much?”

Something disappoints you. Instead of merely saying: “This should not have happened,” you can ask: “What expectation did I carry into this situation?”

You become defensive. Instead of blaming the other person immediately, ask: “What exactly am I defending?” Very often, the event outside us reveals something inside us.

Life becomes a mirror.

Observe the World Through the World

There is another passage from the Dao De Jing that I find particularly relevant to contemplation. Chapter 54 speaks of observing the person through the person, the family through the family, the community through the community, the state through the state, and ultimately:「以天下觀天下。」

Observe the world through the world itself. I find something extremely powerful in this attitude. Do not force reality to fit your theory.

Look. Observe carefully. Allow things to reveal themselves. This is a very Daoist form of learning. The world is constantly speaking, but usually we are too busy imposing our opinions upon it to hear what it is saying.

Look at how people behave. Look at what happens after certain decisions. Look at what succeeds. Look at what fails. Look at nature. Look at cities. Look at families. Look at yourself. Do not merely ask what you think reality ought to be.

Ask: What is actually happening? That is observation.

Then ask: What can this teach me? That is contemplation.

Then ask: What does this reveal about me? That is reflection.

Then ask: What should I do differently? That is cultivation.

Confucian Self-Examination

There is an even more direct parallel in the Confucian tradition.

Zengzi (曾子), a disciple in the Confucian tradition, says in the opening chapter of the Analects:「吾日三省吾身。」 “I daily examine myself.”

He then examines whether he has been faithful in responsibilities entrusted to him, trustworthy with friends, and diligent in practising what he has learnt.

This comes remarkably close to what I am suggesting. The day should not merely finish. The day should be reviewed. There is something very practical about this. Not an abstract philosophy. Not complicated metaphysics.

Simply: Before sleeping, examine yourself. Did I behave properly? Did I keep my word? Did I learn? Did I practise what I already knew? Did I treat people properly? What needs correction? This is self-cultivation.

In Chinese thought we often encounter the idea of 修身 — xiūshēn — cultivating the self.

I like the word cultivation because it implies something very different from instant transformation. A tree does not suddenly become a great tree. It grows. A garden is not created once. It is tended. Something is watered. Something is pruned. Something is allowed to grow. Something must be removed.

Our character is very much the same. Buddhism — Look at What You Yourself Have Done Buddhist teaching introduces yet another dimension: mindfulness and careful awareness of one's own actions.

The Dhammapada advises: Do not concern yourself merely with what others have done or failed to do; observe what you yourself have done and left undone. What an extraordinary instruction for daily life.

Much of our mental energy is spent examining everybody except ourselves. He shouldn't have said that. She should have behaved differently. They should have understood me. Why didn't he do this? Why did she do that?

Buddhist practice turns the light around. What did I do? What did I leave undone? What arose in my mind? What was I attached to? What was I resisting? Where did anger arise? Where did kindness arise? Where was I conscious? Where was I careless?

The Dhammapada also places enormous emphasis upon appamāda — often rendered as heedfulness, vigilance or careful attentiveness — declaring heedfulness to be the path towards the deathless.

For our everyday purpose, I would express the spirit more simply: Do not sleepwalk through your own existence. Be present enough to notice what is happening. Because if you do not notice your life while you are living it, much of life simply disappears.

Patanjali — Svādhyāya, the Study of Oneself

The yogic tradition gives us another important concept: Svādhyāya — स्वाध्याय

It is one of the niyamas associated with Patanjali's Yoga tradition. Patanjali's Yoga Sutra 2.44 reads:

स्वाध्यायादिष्टदेवतासम्प्रयोगः
svādhyāyādiṣṭadevatāsamprayogaḥ

and traditionally connects svādhyāya — sacred study and recitation, with an inward dimension of self-study — with communion with one's chosen divinity.

The ancient technical meaning is richer than simply “keeping a diary”. It includes study of sacred teaching and recitation; later interpretive traditions also draw out the beautiful implication that what we study deeply becomes a means through which we study ourselves.

This is extremely important. When you read a great book, do not ask only: “What does this book say?”

Also ask: “What does my reaction to this book tell me about myself?” When you disagree with a philosopher, ask why. When a sentence moves you deeply, ask why. When something makes you uncomfortable, ask why.

The text becomes a mirror. The world becomes a mirror. Other people become mirrors. Your successes become mirrors. Your failures become mirrors. Eventually life itself becomes a form of svādhyāya — study.

The Observer and the Observed

And here something interesting begins to happen. At first you simply live. Then you learn to observe your life. Eventually you become able to observe yourself while you are living it.

At first: “I am angry.”

Later: “I notice that anger is arising.” These are very different states of consciousness. In the first, anger owns you. In the second, part of you is already observing anger.

At first: “I hate this person.”

Later: “I notice that something in this person is producing a strong aversion in me. Why?” Now curiosity has entered.

And when curiosity enters, automatic reaction begins to weaken. This is an extraordinary change. You are no longer merely the actor inside your life. You have also become the observer. Not so that you become detached from life, but so that you can participate in it more intelligently.

Every Day Contains a Lesson People often wait for extraordinary events to teach them. But ordinary days are full of teachings. A taxi driver may teach you something. A hawker may teach you something. A child may teach you something. A difficult customer may teach you something. A person you dislike may reveal something you need to understand.

A tree may teach patience. An old building may teach continuity. A broken object may teach impermanence. A mistake may teach humility. A success may reveal a strength you did not know you possessed. An argument may reveal your ego. A moment of kindness may reveal the goodness still present in people.

A moment of jealousy may reveal something you secretly desire. Every day is extraordinarily rich. But only if you notice. Without contemplation, much of this disappears.

Write It Down

This is why I recommend writing a few notes every evening. You do not need to write an essay. One sentence may be enough.

Begin: Today I learnt… Today I learnt that I become impatient when I am tired. Today I learnt that someone whom I underestimated knew something I did not. Today I learnt that speaking loudly did not make my argument stronger. Today I learnt that I was wrong. Today I learnt that I was right, but expressed myself badly. Today I learnt that somebody had been quietly helping me for years and I had never properly appreciated it. Today I noticed that I was happier after helping someone. Today I noticed that something I once desperately wanted has now become something I take for granted. Today I changed my mind. Today I discovered a question. Today I discovered something about myself.

Imagine accumulating such notes for fifty years. You would possess something far more valuable than a diary of events. You would have a map of the evolution of your consciousness.

Reflection Is Not Self-Punishment There is an important warning. Do not turn contemplation into self-torture. Reflection does not mean lying awake at night repeatedly blaming yourself. That is rumination. It is not wisdom. Suppose you make a mistake. Do not merely say: “I was stupid.”

Ask instead: Why did I make that mistake? Was I rushing? Was I frightened? Was I trying to impress somebody? Did I have insufficient information? Did pride interfere with judgement? Was I tired? Did I ignore advice?

What should I recognise next time? Now the mistake has become useful. The purpose of reflection is not to produce guilt. The purpose is to produce understanding. Once the lesson has genuinely been understood, sometimes the wisest thing is to let the event go.

Reflection looks backwards in order to move forwards. It should not imprison you in the past.

From Reflection to Growth

This is the important sequence: Experience → Observation → Contemplation → Reflection → Understanding → Adjustment → Growth

Something happens. You notice it. You contemplate why it happened. You reflect upon your own part in it. You understand something. You make a small adjustment. You grow.

Then tomorrow provides another experience. And the process begins again. Seen this way, personal growth need not be dramatic. One degree of correction is enough.

If you change the direction of a journey by only one degree and continue travelling for a very long distance, you eventually arrive somewhere completely different.

Human character works similarly. A small correction repeated for decades becomes character.

A Meeting of Civilisations

What I find beautiful is that these very different traditions seem to meet here. Socrates tells us: Examine your life. Laozi tells us: Know yourself, and observe reality as it reveals itself. Zengzi tells us: Examine yourself every day.

The Buddha's teaching turns our attention from continually judging others towards observing what we ourselves have done and failed to do. Patanjali gives us svādhyāya — disciplined study that ultimately turns knowledge inward and transforms the one who studies.

Greek philosophy. Chinese Daoism. Confucian cultivation. Buddhist mindfulness. Indian yoga.

Different civilisations. Different languages. Different metaphysical systems. Yet underneath them lies a remarkably similar intuition: Human beings should not merely live. We should become conscious of how we live.

Do Not Merely Grow Older

This perhaps is what I most want you to remember. Everyone grows older. That requires no effort whatsoever. Every sunrise adds another day to your age. But not everybody grows.

Age is automatic. Growth is deliberate. To grow, you must sometimes stop. Observe. Question. Contemplate. Reflect. Correct. Then continue. So before sleeping, give yourself a few minutes. Let the noise of the day settle.

Ask: What happened today? What did life teach me? What did I learn about another person? What did I learn about myself? What am I grateful for? What should I do? What should I stop carrying? What should I continue? What deserves further investigation? What deserves forgiveness? And what should tomorrow's version of myself understand that this morning's version did not yet know?

Write a few words. Then let the day go. Do this not because every evening must produce a profound revelation.

Most will not. But thousands of small observations gradually become wisdom. Thousands of small corrections gradually become character. Thousands of moments of awareness gradually become a conscious life.

So remember: Do not let a day pass merely because the clock has reached midnight. Take something from it. A lesson. An observation. A correction. A question. A gratitude. A little more understanding.

Then the day has not merely disappeared. It has become part of you. And perhaps this is what Socrates meant when he insisted upon the examined life.

Perhaps this is what Laozi meant by knowing oneself.

Perhaps this is why Zengzi examined himself every day.

Perhaps this is part of the Buddhist discipline of watchfulness.

Perhaps this is one meaning we can draw from the yogic practice of svādhyāya.

And perhaps, after all these philosophies have spoken, the practice remains wonderfully simple:

At the end of every day, sit quietly for a while.
Look at the life you have just lived.
Learn from it.
Be grateful for it.
Correct what needs correcting.
Keep what is worth keeping.
Let go of what should be released.
Then begin tomorrow a little wiser than you were today.

That is contemplation. That is reflection. That is cultivation.

And practised throughout a lifetime, that is growth.