Shu Ha Ri
- Fitts & Posner’s Three-Stage Model of learning describes a clear progression beginning with the Cognitive stage, where learners consciously think through each movement whilst developing basic understanding. This advances to the Associative stage, characterised by refinement and error reduction as movements become more fluid. Finally, learners reach the Autonomous stage, where skills become largely unconscious.
- Adams’s Two-Stage Model offers a simpler linear progression from the Verbal-Motor stage to the Motor stage, where performance becomes increasingly automatic.
- Perhaps most influential is Scaffolding and Fading, an approach rooted in Lev Vygotsky’s theory of the ‘zone of proximal development’. This approach deliberately simplifies complex skills into manageable components, and the teacher provides extensive support initially before gradually removing assistance.
- Adams, J. A. (1971). A closed-loop theory of motor learning. Journal of Motor Behavior, 3(2), 111-150.
- Fitts, P. M., & Posner, M. I. (1967). Human performance. Brooks/Cole.
- Hammerness, K., Darling-Hammond, L., & Bransford, J. (2005). How teachers learn and develop. In L. Darling-Hammond & J. Bransford (Eds.), Preparing teachers for a changing world: What teachers should learn and be able to do (pp. 358-389). Jossey-Bass.
- Hoffman, S. (2009). Introduction to kinesiology: Studying physical activity (3rd ed.). Human Kinetics.
- Kato, T. (2012). The traditional Japanese learning model: Shu-Ha-Ri. In M. Nakamura & T. Yamamoto (Eds.), Cultural approaches to skill acquisition (pp. 67-89). Tokyo Academic Press.
- Magill, R. A., & Anderson, D. I. (2017). Motor learning and control: Concepts and applications (11th ed.). McGraw-Hill Education.
- Schmidt, R. A., & Lee, T. D. (2019). Motor learning and performance: From principles to application (6th ed.). Human Kinetics.
- Vygotsky, L. S. (1978). Mind in society: The development of higher psychological processes. Harvard University Press.
- Wood, D., Bruner, J. S., & Ross, G. (1976). The role of tutoring in problem solving. Journal of Child Psychology and Psychiatry, 17 (2), 89-100.
Find the right teacher
There’s a Japanese saying that I included in my book):
If it takes three years, find the right teacher.
But sometimes, you just need to get started. Simon Sarris has a great story about this. He decided to build a barn by trial and error, with little previous barn-building experience. But because he was doing this near the road in front of his house, it attracted the attention of a regular passer-by who just happened to know, in detail, how to build barns.
“Mike would have never stopped by if I was not working conspicuously in my driveway, every day, under a pop-up tent. But I was, and he became interested in my progress, and it happens that he has been timber framing since the 90’s. Had I waited for such a teacher—for he has now taught me a good deal—I would have never found him. But I chose to start, and he was drawn to my adventure. Only by virtue of starting the work was the intersection of our lives possible.” - Start With Creation - by Simon Sarris
The moral? If it takes three years, find the right teacher. But if you start your learning journey with action, the right teacher might just find you.
So now here’s a question: Who was the right teacher for you, and how did you find them, or alternatively how did they find you?
(And yes, I have a story about a teacher who found me, but that’s a story for another time.)
Photo by Kazuhiro Yoshimura on Unsplash
Meanwhile, my book, Shu Ha Ri: The Japanese Way of Learning, for Artists and Fighters, is out now. Please check it out.
Discovery, aesthetics, and the art of self-publishing: my latest post explores Leonard Koren’s influence on my new book, Shu Ha Ri.
#WabiSabi #ShuHaRi #Japan #Aesthetics #WritingCommunity
Leonard Koren on Life as an Aesthetic Experience
I’ve never been much of a bathing person. Perhaps that’s due to unpleasantly lingering memories of luke warm water in freezing cold bathrooms in the UK when I was a child. The bath was fine enough, but getting out would be a real test. Even bathing, as an adult, in natural hot springs on Orcas Island in the US Pacific Northwest didn’t really do it for me. That was a little ‘rustic’, and not in a good way.
True, swimming here in Sydney where I live is fabulous, especially in the Summer, when the cool refreshment of the ocean waves is totally restorative. But bathing? Not so much. Until a few months ago, that is, when I visited Japan.
I hadn’t really understood the national Japanese obsession with bathing, but once I realised there are natural hot water sources all over the place in this volcanic archipelago, and how culturally central they are, and how refined the Japanese have made the whole bathing experience, I was completely hooked. In fact, returning to Australia, it feels strangely hard to live without it. Happily, a new spa and sauna has just opened up in our little neighbourhood, where my partner is already enjoying her season ticket. Come the Autumn, or even sooner, I’ll surely be joining her.
Which brings me to Leonard Koren, the august founder in the 1970s of ‘Gourmet Bathing’ magazine. He tells that story in a podcast interview. What particularly drew me to the interview though, was his account of how he came to write what he’s best known for — his cult book Wabi-Sabi for Artists, Designers, Poets and Philosophers. This book, published in 1994, has pretty much inspired not one but two cottage industries: one that centres on the concept of wabi-sabi, which now counts literally dozens of books exploring every possible angle of the term; and a second cottage industry that revolves around the exploration of Japanese concepts other than wabi-sabi, of which there are also now dozens. Who among us has not now heard of ikigai (finding your purpose), kaizen (continuous improvement), mono no aware (beauty in impermanance), shoshin (beginner’s mind) and so on and so forth?
Time Sensitive Podcast S11 E128 - 2 April 2025.Leonard Koren on Life as an Aesthetic Experience
I learned a few things from this podcast.
First, I learned that Leonard Koren had always intended to self-publish his book.
“When I made the first book," he said, “I thought it would be extremely niche… I realized that I would have to publish it myself.”
Second, I was happy to hear him fully owning the little secret of Wabi-Sabi, that there’s no such thing.
“Let me just be very clear: In Japanese there is no term wabi-sabi, OK? There’s an old word, ‘wabi’ and an old word ‘sabi’. If you look in the Japanese dictionary you won’t find wabi-sabi, period.”
Third, I was very taken with Koren’s description of his creative life:
”My life is essentially an aesthetic experience. Everything I know, everything I take in, every idea I have, comes to me through my senses. And then it’s processed.”
Well, Koren’s book is, quite clearly, the direct inspiration for my own, Shu Ha Ri: The Japanese Way of Learning, for Artists and Fighters.
They’re both short, just 100 pages.
They’re both direct, covering one concept and one concept only.
They’re both Artist’s books, including photography (mine has 20 photographs of Japanese gardens, which I took myself).
They’re both originally self-published, to enable a singular, perhaps eccentric vision to find full expression.
They’re both the first book on a Japanese concept that no one in Japan, or anywhere else, has written yet, at least not a long-form treatment.
They’re both at the leading edge of an emerging trend.
Wait! What? What emerging trend is this? Well, I waited 15 years for someone better qualified than me to write about the concept of Shu Ha Ri. No one did. At least, no one else wrote a clear, well-referenced, accessible introduction. Eventually I relented, wrote the book I wished already existed, and put it out there for readers to make their own judgement. But what do you know? Very shortly after I published my own introduction to the concept, another appeared, written by the partnership of Hector Garcia and Nobuo Suzuki. It’s in Spanish only for now, but the English version is published by Tuttle in August 2026, so perhaps soon there’ll be a Shu Ha Ri cottage industry. You heard it here first.
On my recent visit to Japan I walked past a gift shop in the small city of Matsumoto called ‘WabiXSabi’ (yes, in English), and it turns out there’s a whole chain of these stores across Japan. So maybe one day in the future someone will open a Shu Ha Ri shop, selling who-knows-what. Maybe it’ll be a footwear store. You heard that here first too.
But here’s word of warning to anyone thinking of trying this: Best not be selling anything fragile. Translated literally, Shu Ha Ri means ‘hold, break, leave’.
—
As you might have gathered, I’m the author of Shu Ha Ri: The Japanese Way of Learning, for Artists and Fighters, available now.
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The Spiral of Mastery: Why the Greatest Experts Are Serial Beginners
The greatest experts aren’t afraid of starting again
Apparently, my tennis is rusty
Here in Australia the Christmas holidays take place in mid-summer, and my family spent a few days at a house with a tennis court. It was an amazing opportunity, for which we were hardly prepared. I hadn’t played in years. One family member had barely held a racquet before. But we all shared the same problem: our serves were terrible. The ball hit the net, or it veered wildly off court. The serve seemed like some monolithic, unreachable skill you either had or you didn’t.
The view from the court — that was amazing, but the tennis, to say the least, wasn’t flowing.
That was until someone suggested we break it down: grip, swing, ball toss, contact. We stopped trying to play and started drilling. Within a short while, the court was alive with movement and we were laughing instead of frowning with effort. Our natural talent hadn’t changed; it was just that our willingness to break the seemingly impossible into achievable parts made it somehow seem doable. And after a short while, it actually was doable. We were delivering serves that made it over the net, that you could also imagine returning.
This experience was a reminder that expertise is hardly ever about making a single massive effort to achieve something that seems impossible. You don’t get good at tennis all at once. Playing the game well is really a whole portfolio of tiny pieces of expertise you have to master one by one and piece together smoothly before you can reach actual proficiency. And even when you get there, that’s not the end. There’s always something, some element of your play, you can improve. Is mastery a destination to reach and then enjoy forever? No. It’s more like a spiral that requires us to return to the beginning again and again of a long series of micro-skills.
The posts of 2025
I’m much better at writing new stuff than consolidating the old, but it’s time to review what’s been posted here during 2025. Short posts excluded, it’s quite a lot, considering I’m Writing Slowly.
There’s also a list of the posts of 2024 and the posts of 2023 too.
And don’t forget to check out my book, Shu Ha Ri: The Japanese Way of Learning, for Artists and Fighters.
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The Unity of Pen and Sword: Understanding Bunbu Ichi
My recent book is subtitled “The Japanese Way of Learning, for Artists and Fighters”. But why artists and fighters, and why mention them together?
In medieval Japan, warriors weren’t really expected to choose between intellectual pursuits and martial prowess. Instead they were required to master both. This philosophy is captured in the concept of bunbu ichi (文武一), which literally means “the civil and the martial are one.”
Shu Ha Ri and the philosophy of interior design
The late interior designer Professor Shigeru Uchida discusses the importance of Shu Ha Ri for design:
💬 “The current education system lacks “Shu.” There’s a total absence of the attitude to observe, study, and learn from others. The term “breaking the mold” is common, but without having learned anything from others, one cannot depart from or break away from anything.”
I’m the author of Shu Ha Ri. The Japanese Way of Learning, for Artists and Fighters, available now in paperback and ebook.
Trying to write slowly in 2025
Before I really got going with the Zettelkasten approach to making notes (and with micro.blog) I was publishing only a handful of posts here each year.
But then my productivity exploded.
In 2023 I published 202 posts here, and this post equals that count for 2025, even though the year isn’t done yet.
In 2025 I also edited a collection of essays and published my own book.
So I’m quite happy with the year’s output. And thank you for reading along with me, I really appreciate it.
But don’t worry, in 2026 I’ll still be trying to write slowly.
This little book would make a great present for the artist, fighter, learner, teacher, or straight-up Japan-lover in your life. Just saying.
Imitating the greats?
Imitation can be a very effective form of learning, but it’s worth considering who to imitate, and how.
Writers often seek to imitate the greats, but it interesting how far the star of some supposedly timeless writers can fade. Here’s William Zinsser, the well-read author of ‘Writing to learn’, on how he did it.
“Writing is learned by imitation. I learned to write mainly by reading writers who were doing the kind of writing I wanted to do and by trying to figure out how they did it. S. J. Perelman told me that when he was starting out he could have been arrested for imitating Ring Lardner. Woody Allen could have been arrested for imitating S. J. Perelman. And who hasn’t tried to imitate Woody Allen? Students often feel guilty about modeling their writing on someone else’s writing. They think it’s unethical—which is commendable. Or they’re afraid they’ll lose their own identity. The point, however, is that we eventually move beyond our models; we take what we need and then we shed those skins and become who we are supposed to become.”
So who are these people I’ve never heard of, I wondered, who could all have been arrested for imitating one another? I mean, they couldn’t, could they? It’s not actually illegal, is it? Or did Zinsser mean plagiarism?
It turns out that Ring Lardner was an American sports journalist and satirist whose work was greatly admired by many of the major authors who were his contemporaries. In his high school newspaper Ernest Hemingway used the pen name, ‘Ring Lardner Jr’. Lardner became a friend of F. Scott Fitzgerald and he inspired the writing of John O’Hara (another great writer whose name is seldom heard these days). In The Catcher in the Rye, J.D. Salinger gave Lardner a backhanded compliment by having his protagonist, Holden Caulfield, name Lardner as his second favourite author. So for Hemingway at least the juvenile imitation seems to have extended to impersonation.
Clearly I need to read some Ring Lardner.
S.J.Perelman was a humourist, writing especially for the New Yorker. He was admired by T.S. Eliot, Somerset Maugham, Garrison Keillor, Frank Muir, and Woody Allen. Another writer I’ve never heard of, who seems to have been inspirational. But then…
“Who hasn’t tried to imitate Woody Allen?” Is a question I’ll leave hanging in the wind.
Author and academic Adam Roberts has an interesting post about Jonathan Buckley’s novel, One Boat (2025), which appears to use Laurence Durrell’s adjectives as a model for how one of his own characters might over-write their diary. Durrell is an author whose star has certainly faded, even though he was nominated several times for the Nobel Prize for Literature. And his style is certainly not admired these days. As Roberts says,
“giving his narrator these Durrellisms: the point of this adjectival affectation, or addiction, is to characterize her as someone groping, somewhat desperately, for expression, or the impossibility thereof”
Well, whether this is a deliberate imitation in order to show a diarist whose purple prose, like Durrell’s gallops away from them, or whether, as Adam’s seems to suspect, it isn’t, whether Buckley was doing something very clever and ‘meta’ with his character’s imitation, or whether he was just getting away with it, all the same, the novel was long listed for the Booker Prize.
I’m the author of Shu Ha Ri. The Japanese Way of Learning, for Artists and Fighters, available now.
Japanese paper films
Japanese paper films! What?
Yes, in the 1930s the Japanese made a whole bunch of short movies using rolls of paper instead of celluloid.
With the aid of a bright light and some clever mirrors this actually worked. But the technology never really took off and these paper movie reels, originally made for showing at home, were basically forgotten. Worse, the paper was fragile and highly susceptible to disintegration.
Game over for paper films?
Not quite.
Researchers eventually realised what a treasure trove this is, if only it could be rescued. They worked out a way of restoring, or rather preserving, and digitising the remaining movies and now, amazingly, it’s possible to view them in all their preserved (not restored) quirkiness.
I was lucky enough to be able to experience these paper films in a presentation to a packed house at the Art Gallery of New South Wales. There was live music too, which was exquisite, and really complemented the films that didn’t have an original ‘78 record soundtrack, which was the majority.
The presenter was Professor Eric Faden, who has devoted an impressive amount of time and effort to ensure these unique cultural artifacts weren’t lost to decay. They’re now a showpiece of the 2025 Japanese Film Festival and a valuable element of Japanese and international film history.
Now, through the magic of the Internet, you can see many of the recovered paper films for yourself, on the project’s Bluesky account.
And here’s a news story from Japanese TV (English language).
I’m the author of Shu Ha Ri. The Japanese Way of Learning, for Artists and Fighters, available now.
Remembering Tea Master Sen Genshitsu (1923-2025), who spread peace through sipping.
His philosophy is quoted on page 53 of my book, Shu Ha Ri: The Japanese Way of Learning: writingslowly.com/shuhari-b…
#SenGenshitsu #Chado #Peace #ShuHaRi #UNESCO
There's a fundamental flaw in how we learn about expertise
Learn Spanish in eight days? Learn to ski in a weekend? Finish a novel in a month? Design a book in three and a half hours? (OK, that last one was me - long story).
Everyone’s looking for shortcuts, but the way we approach learning fundamentally shapes how deeply we can master a skill.
In the West, we’ve mostly embraced a linear progression; we’re all supposed to move methodically from theoretical understanding to practical application. First you learn in school and college, and only later do they let you loose in the real world. This approach has served us well in academic institutions and technical training programs.
But there exists an alternative philosophy that challenges this conventional wisdom: I’m referring to the Japanese concept of Shu Ha Ri.
Western learning models are characteristically linear; they often begin with cognitive frameworks before advancing to hands-on practice. Students typically start with rules, theories, and simplified components before attempting the full complexity of their chosen discipline.
In contrast, Shu Ha Ri represents a cyclical process that moves through three distinct phases: Shu (imitation), Ha (frustration), and Ri (detachment or transcendence). Rather than moving from simple to complex, this ancient framework begins with complete immersion in the master’s way.
I propose instead that while Western models serve their purpose in structured, academic environments, the Shu Ha Ri approach offers a superior framework for achieving true mastery.
This is particularly true in practical skills that demand intuitive understanding rather than merely intellectual comprehension. What’s more, Shu Ha Ri is a reminder that expertise isn’t truly linear anyway. The real experts continue to learn, and they’re always willing to accept they are still ‘beginners’ in a constantly changing world.
For any complex skill, the more you know the more you realise you don’t know.
A linear approach to learning makes sense but it’s not the only approach
It’s true that Western educatonal psychology has produced several influential models that support linear skill acquisition.
These models, and others like them, share a common thread: they assume that effective learning requires moving from simple, understood components toward complex, integrated performance.
Clearly there’s a lot of truth to this view.
But it’s not the only way of looking at things.
Shu Ha Ri is superior for mastery
These Western models excel at creating competent practitioners, but they may inadvertently limit the development of true mastery.
By prioritising theoretical understanding and simplified components, these approaches can create barriers to the deep, intuitive knowledge that characterises genuine expertise.
So what should we be doing instead?
1. Embrace the “Whole” over the “Simplified”
Western scaffolding deliberately fragments skills into digestible pieces. A violin student might spend a long time on bow hold or scales before attempting a simple melody, or a chef might practice knife cuts in isolation before approaching actual recipes. Culinary schools may dedicate days, or even weeks, solely to practicing various knife cuts (brunoise, julienne, etc.) to achieve consistency and speed before they are used in actual recipes.
This reductionist approach, though logical enough, can hinder or even prevent learners from experiencing the skill’s true essence.
The Shu Ha Ri model takes a radically different approach.
In the Shu stage, students engage immediately with the complete, unsimplified form. A student of the Japanese tea ceremony doesn’t begin with simplified movements or theoretical principles; they observe and attempt to replicate the real ritual from their very first lesson. The ritual is scaled: the student will start with the most basic, fundamental, and shortest temae (like hira-denae or a simplified usucha preparation). The master will hold back more complex tools and procedures, and will reserve advanced philosophical lessons for later in the training. While the ‘complete ritual’ is the simplest version the master has to offer, nevertheless the experience is holistic from day one, even if the content is strategically simplified.
This immersion in the “whole” allows learners to absorb subtle relationships between components that might be lost in a fragmented approach.
2. Prefer Imitation to Cognition
Western educational models often place considerable emphasis on cognitive understanding before physical practice.
Shu Ha Ri fundamentally inverts this priority. The Shu stage prioritises imitation and embodied practice while deliberately minimising cognitive load.
Students are encouraged to copy their master’s movements, timing, and approach without initially concerning themselves with underlying principles. This allows for “embodied cognition” to develop naturally through physical practice rather than intellectual analysis.
This difference becomes particularly apparent in disciplines that require split-second decision-making or subtle physical adjustments, as in martial arts.
But it also applies in contemplative skills such as shodo (calligraphy), ikebana (flower arranging) or, as mentioned already, the Tea Ceremony.
An artist learning through traditional Western methods might spend considerable time studying color theory and linear perspective before picking up a brush. The Shu Ha Ri approach would complement this with extensive observation and assisted practice, to allow the trainee to develop a practical understanding of line weight, shadow behavior, and subtle material texture that cannot be fully captured in textbooks.
3. Recognise Cyclical Refinement, not Finite Progression
Western models typically imply completion.
Eventually you graduate, which supposedly means you’ve reached a final “autonomous” stage where learning essentially concludes. Off you go!
The Shu Ha Ri model presents a fundamentally different philosophy. Rather than linear progression toward completion, it describes a cyclical journey of continuous refinement.
After achieving mastery, practitioners commonly return to foundational practices (Shu) with deeper understanding, uncovering subtleties previously invisible to them.
A master calligrapher might return to basic brush strokes after decades of practice, finding new depths in movements they’ve performed thousands of times.
This cyclical nature suggests that true mastery isn’t really a destination but rather an ongoing process of deepening understanding.
Sorry: it takes more than a weekend
Western learning models possess considerable strengths, particularly in academic settings where clear progression markers are essential.
They prove invaluable for complex technical skills where safety and precision demand systematic understanding. Medical training, engineering education, and scientific research obviously all benefit from structured, theoretical foundations.
That said, when our goal extends beyond competency to genuine mastery, particularly in practical skills that require intuitive understanding or creative expression, the Shu Ha Ri model, I believe, offers a more complete framework.
The traditional Japanese approach recognises that true mastery involves more than accumulated knowledge or perfected technique. It encompasses a quality of understanding that emerges through sustained practice, through cyclical refinement, and through a deep immersion in complete forms rather than in fragmented components.
True, linear models can efficiently create capable practitioners. But the cyclical, holistic, and imitation-based philosophy of Shu Ha Ri nurtures the lifelong pursuit of true mastery.
We’re obsessed these days with speed and with rapid skill acquisition: Speak Spanish in a weekend! Learn to ski in ten days! Finish your novel in just eight!
Good luck with that.
Meanwhile, the ancient wisdom of Shu Ha Ri reminds us that the deepest forms of human expertise can’t be rushed or simplified. Instead, they must be lived, embodied, and continually refined, through patient, cyclical practice.
In a future article I’ll offer some practical takeaways for your own learning journey. Meanwhile, you might like to check out my book, Shu Ha Ri: The Japanese Way of Learning, for Artists and Fighters, which is available right now.
References
Image credit: Photo by Nathalie SPEHNER on Unsplash
A clear and accessible introduction to Japanese philosophy, in a podcast with Takeshi Morisato.
I’m the author of Shu Ha Ri: The Japanese Way of Learning, for Artists and Fighters, available now.
#JapanesePhilosophy #Podcast #ShuHaRi #Japan #Learning #TakeshiMorisato
AI is not helping the learning process
💬 “When teachers rely on commonly used artificial intelligence chatbots to devise lesson plans, it does not result in more engaging, immersive or effective learning experiences compared with existing techniques”
See also:
Civic Education in the Age of AI: Should We Trust AI-Generated Lesson Plans? | CITE Journal
I’m the author of Shu Ha Ri: The Japanese Way of Learning, for Artists and Fighters, available now.
What’s your most valuable note?
@eleanorkonik@pkm.social asked:
“Any examples where a tiny note became unexpectedly valuable?”
Here’s my reply.
In 2018 I wrote a note describing how I’d like to visit Japan and learn more about the concept of Shu Ha Ri.
Better late than never I did visit Japan, and I ended up writing the book on Shu Ha Ri.
There was a lot of value in that one short note.
Create your own mental models
When he was still in high school my cousin took to pulling old cars apart, completely, then putting them back together. This was a real learning experience, and the beginning of an entire career working with motor vehicles. François Chollet, author of Deep Learning with Python, said:
💬 To really understand a concept, you have to “invent” it yourself in some capacity. Understanding doesn’t come from passive content consumption. It is always self-built. It is an active, high-agency, self-directed process of creating and debugging your own mental models. - as quoted by Simon Willison.
This is what I’m doing with my collection of working notes, my Zettelkasten. I disassemble ideas and concepts, de-contextualise them, and reassemble them into new arrangements under quite different circumstances. From fragments you can build a greater whole.
Sometimes ‘invention’ is mashing together two or more existing ideas in new and unexpected ways. But sometimes it’s simply rebuilding an existing idea from the ground up, to create something previously unimaginable.
I wrote my book about the Japanese concept of learning, Shu Ha Ri, because in the fifteen years since I first encountered this concept, no one else had written a clear introduction. It’s quite literally the book I wanted to read for myself. Well, I certainly didn’t invent the idea, but in writing the definitive introduction I’ve certainly taken it apart, examined it from every angle, worked out how to explain it to others, and put it back together.
On Friday I received a nice text from a martial arts instructor, who’d been handed the book by someone else:
💬 I absolutely loved it. First time in a long time I immediately reread a book.
And so I hope you’ll enjoy giving the book a test drive too.
Photo by Geoff Charles, 1962. National Library of Wales. Llyfrgell Genedlaethol Cymru / The National Library of Wales on Unsplash
Check out my book, Shu Ha Ri: The Japanese Way of Learning, for Artists and Fighters. And you can also subscribe to the weekly Writing Slowly email newsletter.
📷 Outside Matsumoto Castle it was raining gently.
My book, Shu Ha Ri: The Japanese Way of Learning, for Artists and Fighters, is out now. Please check it out.
#MatsumotoCastle #Photography #JapanCulture #ShuHaRi #Learning #MartialArts #Nonfiction #JapanTravel
Provocative words about learning, teaching, AI, and the timely value of history
Do you like links? Here’s what I’ve come across on the Web lately: provocative words about learning, teaching, AI, and the timely value of history.
💬 “What A.I. can’t do is feel the shape of silence after someone says something so honest we forget we’re here to learn. What it can’t do is pause mid-sentence because it remembered the smell of its father’s old chair. What it can’t do is sit in a room full of people who are trying—and failing—to make sense of something that maybe can’t be made sense of. That’s the job of teaching.” — Sean Cho A. on teaching college during the rise of AI The Rumpus.
💬 “When human inquiry and creativity are offloaded to anthropomorphic AI bots, there is a risk of devaluing critical thinking while promoting cognitive offloading. If we turn the intellectual development of the next generation over to opaque, probabilistic engines trained on a slurry of scraped content, with little transparency and even less accountability, we are not enhancing education; we are commodifying it, corporatizing it, and replacing pedagogy with productivity.” — Courtney C. Radsch, We should all be Luddites • Brookings.
💬 “While the school says its students test in the top 1% on standardized assessments, AI models have been met with skepticism by educators who say they’re unproven.” — The $40,000 a year school where AI shapes every lesson, without teachers. CBS News. Wikipedia: Alpha School. I’ll revisit this in a few years to see just how hard it crashed (or not).
💬 “As our lives become more enmeshed with technological devices, services, and processes, I think that awareness is something which we the technology-wielding should strive for if we want to build a properly humane and empathic world.” — Matthew Lyon, The Fourth Quadrant of Knowledge • lyonheart.
💬 “Knowledge of history and awareness of history can allow us to see patterns, make connections, and identify incipient problems. It can give us a language and a set of references which allows us to step back, broaden our view, and see things and sometimes warn ourselves and others when necessary.” — Timothy Snyder on Stalin and Stephen Miller.
I’m the author of Shu Ha Ri. The Japanese Way of Learning, for Artists and Fighters, available now.. And for all the crunchy, fresh Writing Slowly goodness you can sign up to the weekly digest. It’s exactly like a bunch of radishes, but made out of email.
Publishing means no more hiding
Revelation must be terrible, knowing you can never hide your voice again. – David Whyte
Publishing my book, I had the strange feeling of having crossed an invisible but very powerful threshold.
It was while signing copies at a small and very supportive gathering, that it dawned on me that the thoughts that used to be just in my head are now public and exposed to the world – and since I’ve lodged this work in every State Library in Australia, they’ll never again be totally private.
I had thought I just wanted to publish my words, to release my book into the wild, as it were, to allow it to find its readers.
So it never occurred that I might have been benefiting in some way from the obscurity of the drafting process.
Not that I want to hide my voice – far from it.
Nor that I’m expecting a million readers. Again, far from it.
But the knowledge that I now have one unique reader – you – with whom my words will perhaps connect whether I bid them or not, well that changes things somehow.
And it’s certainly a revelation to realise there’s no going back.
My book, Shu Ha Ri: The Japanese Way of Learning, for Artists and Fighters, is out now. Please check it out.
Curious about Hypercuriosity
One reason I make notes and write is that I’m curious about everything.
I’ve written previously about how to be interested in everything. And I’ve also written about busybodies, hunters and dancers - three different styles of curiosity.
It was the ‘dancer’ style of curiosity that resonated most with me:
“This type of curiosity is described as a dance in which disparate concepts, typically conceived of as unrelated, are briefly linked in unique ways as the curious individual leaps and bounds across traditionally siloed areas of knowledge. Such brief linking fosters the generation or creation of new experiences, ideas, and thoughts.”
So I was interested to see that Anne-Laure Le Cunff, author of Tiny Experiments and founder of Ness Labs, Has been exploring what she calls ‘hypercuriosity’, which may be associated with ADHD.
Well, I guess I’m the living proof. I set out this evening to write about my book, Shu Ha Ri: The Japanese Way of Learning for Artists and Fighters but I ended up writing about something completely different instead: hypercuriosity.
Come to think of it, that’s how the book got written in the first place, by pursuing my curiosity. And come to think of it, that’s how I do practically everything.
In writing the book I was particularly attracted by the value placed on the Japanese concept of shoshin (初心), ‘beginner’s mind’ - a quality often downplayed in Western contexts, where experts are supposed to already know everything.
I’m more interested in not knowing - and then going to great lengths to find out.
Links:
Brar, G. (2024, November 14). The hypercuriosity theory of ADHD: An interview with Anne-Laure Le Cunff. Evolution and Psychiatry (Substack).
Gupta, S. (2025, September 16). People with ADHD may have an underappreciated advantage: Hypercuriosity. Science News.
Le Cunff, A. (2024). Distractability and impulsivity in ADHD as an evolutionary mismatch of high trait curiosity. Evolutionary Psychological Science, 10, 282.
Le Cunff, A. (2025, July 15). When curiosity doesn’t fit the world we’ve built: How do we design a world that supports hypercurious minds? Ness Labs.
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