Honorable Failure: A Practical Guide to Harakiri

Colonel Timothy Kirk
The Senior Afghan Hand
ISAF Joint Interagency Task

              Honorable Failure: A Practical Guide to Harakiri

Who doesn’t like a good Samurai tale of legendary honor?  Who can resist the appeal of a culture dripping with the nobility of Bushido – the way of the warrior?  Most folks can recite the storyline of the dishonored medieval Japanese warrior by heart: the disgraced, noble fighting man in ceremonial dress would kneel, draw his short tanto blade, and reverently plunge the knife into himself.  In committing this final ritual act of Seppuku (or Harakiri to us foreigners who read the letters backwards), a warrior could restore lost honor for a variety of failings by sacrificing his own life.  The implication of such a brutal and terminal practice is clear: true honor demands great sacrifice, a warrior must preserve it through the most serious means, and the notion of honorable failure is unthinkable.

Yet while myths of Bushido practices and codes abound, we now know that much of this “history” was not a medieval tradition as much as it was a modern distortion carefully crafted to exploit people.  The term Bushido wasn’t even really used much until the 20^th Century to support a specific agenda.  In the years prior to World War II, Japanese Imperialists created propaganda using Bushido legends as role models for Japanese citizens.  It certainly got men fired up to fight, but it also did a lot of harm to society.  In fact, it likely cost Japan dearly during the war.  The Bushido ethos resulted in fighter aircraft designed without safety features or self-sealing fuel cells, naval vessels without fire control equipment and procedures, and a de-emphasis on tactical communications—not to mention an unwillingness to negotiate terms in obvious strategic defeat.  How did Bushido create such harm?  The answer provides an excellent example for those of us interested in the study of how failure impacts our character.

Japanese myth-builders created an extreme notion of character and honor.  Warriors were expected to be self-sacrificing, lone-wolf-minded, and fatalistic.  The Emperor needed them to defeat the enemy, but should the enemy manage to win a battle, he expected warriors to accept their fate with silent, noble “honor” to the ultimate extent.  They dealt with failure through an arcane expectation of self-destruction.  If a warrior lost a fight, they wasted no time in accepting their ritualistic duty within the context.  It was better to die in battle than to return home with the shame of defeat.  The Bushido made failure in performance a moral equivalent of a fatal failure in character.  The impact was final.

The resulting mindset made learning very difficult.  Loss was not seen as an avenue for introspection and study, but a fatal blow in itself.  The implications meant that routinized attempts at saving defeated warriors’ lives were themselves shameful efforts.  Engineering, weaponry, tactics and operational design all bore the moral burden of this mythos—life was not worth preserving if damage came at enemy hands.  Bushido limited prospects for success by inculcating a spirit in men that obliged them to think about the wrong things, or the right things in the wrong way for success.  Performance suffered, and authentic character died.

Today, we don’t observe mythological doctrines, yet we still contend with the question of how to deal with failure, and it is helpful to draw a distinction between failure in performance and failure in character.  The lesson of the Bushido myth suggests we pay close attention to the nature of failure’s causes; while failure in performance can certainly result from failure in personal character, it is not always the root cause.  At the same time, it should remain among the suspects.  Misattribution of the causes lead to future failures, so success requires honest intellectual rigor.  When failure occurs, consequences certainly follow and must be accepted.  Those consequences may be dire, but they should never be so extreme that they are fatal to our learning.  Any intellectual, emotional or actual version of Harakiri upon failure distracts us from determining if such a causal relationship truly exists and how it can be fixed. 

As it was for the Imperial Japanese military, proof of character can be found in real-world performance.  Yet an idealized form of character that looks good on paper is no substitute for results in the field.  Positive results are the product of years of learning, trial and error, and observation.  Failure is an important part of that process because it draws our attention to lessons we must learn.  If we abort the learning process, we disrupt and limit performance.  If our intention is to perform well, whatever the context, learning from failure becomes a paramount virtue.  Dealing with small failures as they occur can also prevent much larger failures down the road.  The practice of ignoring or forgetting performance failure invites catastrophe and erodes personal character.

Character failures can be just as catastrophic and yet are far more insidious.  Lapses in integrity, stewardship and other elements of personal character are hard-to-see and hard-to-admit root causes of failure.  While these kinds of failures are hard to confront, even world-class performance cannot overcome uncorrected character flaws.  We must consider character implications in every failure and do our best to fix any errors we find.  Shouldn’t we expect such errors?  The truth is that all men are corruptible.  Good character is the exception to humanity’s rule.  None of us can expect personal perfection.  If we intend to improve upon that condition, it is important to admit the truth and realize that we commit ourselves to high moral standards in opposition to our own nature.  That is not to suggest we should tolerate such failures.  Tools do exist that help us to achieve excellent character in our lives; but lofty idealism, unrealistic expectations and mythic notions are not among them.  Accountability, transparency and authenticity are far more valuable and effective for this purpose, and with them our character can improve even in the midst of failure.

As leaders, we must contend with the reality that failure both reveals and impacts our character.  Self-destruction cannot restore lost honor, but the self-awareness failure produces can help us improve our character, developing honorable virtues like humility and perseverance.  The best leaders are not those who never fail, but rather those who perform and deliver despite many failures.  While Samurai folklore may have us believe that the only virtue in failure is in the Harakiri, the truth is the opposite. Failure has value not in the termination of thinking, but in the inspiration of thinking, and the latter is the beginning of honorable failure.

Developing character through failure: The most important lesson I have learned

Wm. T. (Bill) Robinson III

President, American Bar Association

Developing character through failure:  The most important lesson I have learned

As President of the American Bar Association, I am privileged to lead the largest voluntary professional association in the world.  Achieving this leadership position did not come easily.  Did I develop strength of character through disappointments, as well as successes, from time to time along the way?  Absolutely.  However, I would not describe those disappointments as “failures.”  Each and every time I faced disappointment, I learned a valuable lesson and became stronger to face adversity the next time. 

Over the course of my 40-year professional career as a lawyer in private practice, the most important lesson I have learned is that professionalism is never out of style.  Professionalism is embodied in how we conduct ourselves each and every day, even when we are not seen by others.  Professionalism includes the qualities we demonstrate with others, including dignity, equality and respect; as well as the goals we aspire to achieve, in our careers and in our lifetimes. 

 

As a lawyer, I have been privileged to represent a wide variety of clients, including individuals, companies and government agencies.  One of my greatest joys is to do something that lawyers all across America do every day:  stand before a judge in a courtroom and say:  Good morning, your Honor, Bill Robinson representing Jane Smith.”

 

I never tire of that or take it for granted, because  for me it symbolizes the essence of professionalism.  By representing the best interests of others, whether it is in a courtroom, at a deposition or a real estate closing, I always make every effort to put the interests of my clients ahead of my own as a matter of fiduciary responsibility.  That is professionalism at its core.

The first time I became aware of the potential value and positive impact of professionalism was when I was 9 years old.  I grew up in a working-class neighborhood in Cincinnati.  My dad held two full-time jobs, working as a postal clerk and a janitor, to support our family.  By the time I was 9, my parents were bringing me along to help clean medical office buildings.  They taught me the dignity of hard work and the importance of doing a job well.  They were the first to show me that, in their words, “doing the job right the first time,” no matter how menial the task, is essential to professionalism.  
 

At the age of 14, I left home to enroll in a local seminary.  The educational and spiritual experience of the next five years was constructive and beneficial in every way. Eventually, however, in the summer of 1964, I realized reluctantly that the clergy was not my calling.  I knew I wanted to serve others, but I was not sure how best to achieve that purpose.

 

Three pieces of literature helped guide me toward the law. I read about Alexis de Tocqueville, the political scientist and world traveler, who authored “Democracy in America” and toured this country in the 19th century.  He saw in America something he found nowhere else in his world travels.  He called it “a habit of the heart,” which I believe translates into the enduring spirit of volunteerism in our nation.

 

I had also studied “A Man for all Seasons,” Robert Bolt’s classic play about Sir Thomas More, the Lord Chancellor of England, who refused to compromise his values and was beheaded by Henry VIII.  Finally, I read “To Kill a Mockingbird,” the Pulitzer Prize–winning novel written by Harper Lee. 

Thomas More and Atticus Finch, the lead character in Lee’s book, were professionals who stayed true to their principles.  They followed the rules but knew there were certain compromises that could not be conceded without sacrificing one’s self respect and integrity.  They had a conviction of conscience that guided them and fortified their character in the law and in life.

So with those role models in mind, I grew increasingly interested in a legal career.  I started going to the courthouse and various law offices in my community to watch lawyers at work.  I was enthralled by what I witnessed.  It was then I decided to become a lawyer in the service of others.

My law school experience was satisfying but challenging.  I sold my car to pay for the first semester’s tuition and books.  I worked as a night watchman so I could study all night “on the job” and attend classes full time during the day.  Joan and I married and started our family with the birth of our first son.  Soon after graduation, I co-founded a two-person law firm with a close friend and classmate from law school. 

My partner and I took in every piece of business that walked in the door as we struggled to build a practice and name recognition in Northern Kentucky.  We learned early on that to be hired and re-hired, we had to get on a potential client’s radar screen; then show the clients that we were competent, dependable and efficient.  Our growing reputation as well as our professional handling of cases and client relationships helped sustain us as referrals from other lawyers and members of the community started to flow in.

 

During those early years, I was told by a friend that “we never learn anything while we are talking.”  That piece of advice has made a difference throughout my career, but especially in the beginning.  The more I listened, the more I learned about how to treat clients, co-workers and members of the community. I remembered birthdays and anniversaries, and I said hello to people on an elevator or in a hallway.  I wrote notes (and later sent emails, as technology improved) to new business associates or acquaintances as I tried to build a network — a growing community of relationships — for our firm and our growing law practice. 

Remember that compassion and kindness can go a long way, as can thoughtfulness.  That is another, less often mentioned, side of professionalism.  It is not enough to be responsible and reliable, it is also important to show consideration — and when needed, compassion — for others along the way.

Persistence is another part of professionalism.  There is no guaranteed success in the courtroom, in the organized bar or even in the civic arena.  Others taught me to take the high road early and often.  I ran for president of the student government at Thomas More College and lost … but then won the outstanding senior award.  I ran for president of the student bar at the University of Kentucky College of Law and lost … but then made the law journal and the moot court board.  I ran for president of the Kenton County Bar Association and lost … but continued to volunteer; I received the distinguished service award the next year.  With each defeat and subsequent victory, I learned that I could do well by doing good.  I could achieve more by working to make a positive difference in the lives of those I have had the privilege to serve.  

For lawyers, volunteer service for others — in addition to our responsibilities to our clients or our employers — is not just what we do, it is who we are.  Volunteer service is part of our professional DNA.  It expanded my network of contacts and enhanced my legal and time-management skills.  Most importantly, volunteerism, for me, reinforced two essential qualities of every great lawyer who shows the highest levels of professionalism: leadership and empathy. 

In these challenging economic times, one might suspect that professionalism might be subject to compromise.  But that is not the case.  Again, professionalism is never out of date.  It is timeless and essential to how we conduct ourselves in the face of adversity or success.

Whatever our career choice or path, professionalism should characterize everything that we do.  Always strive for the highest standards of performance and professional responsibility.  Look for ways to serve others.  Build constructive relationships that will enhance our career.  If we do, we will experience a rewarding career of personal and professional fulfillment.

Failing Well Enhances Character Development

Commander Scott Waddle
Former Skipper of the USS Greenville

Failing Well Enhances Character Development

Life isn’t fair. There will always be someone who is smarter, stronger and better than you.  Your best effort will sometimes fall short and never be good enough no matter how hard you try.  It seems the only equalizer in life is death.  Even in death the path some follow to get there doesn’t seem fair.  So why even try if failure is certain? The resilience of the human spirit is what makes us unique and separates us from the rest of the creatures on earth.  When faced with failure we basically have three choices: withdraw and quit, waffle and do nothing, or try and figure out what went wrong, learn from it and try again until we succeed.  Learning to fail well provides an opportunity to push beyond barriers once thought to be impenetrable and a chance to develop ones character.

I envy toddlers (children ages one to four) and ankle biters (think pre K).  When kids play and begin to socialize with their peers, they have an uncanny ability to embrace setbacks, cast them aside and try again with greater vigor and determination until they achieve success.  They are fearless and know no boundaries or limits.  The fear of failing does not register with them.

Playing is a vital part of a child’s life and an opportunity for them to socialize experiment and try new things.  As children mature and they become more self aware, the consequences of their failures and how they deal with setbacks shapes their behavior and character.

When I graduated from the Naval Academy in 1981 I was unable follow in the footsteps of my dad, an Air Force pilot, because I didn’t have 20/20 uncorrected vision. I chose the submarine service instead and embarked on what would be an incredible twenty year journey. 

Getting to command was not easy.  Competition was fierce and opportunity for failure was high. Success was primarily achieved by balancing risk versus the gain.  If you were too cavalier or risk averse the chances of getting to command became more difficult.

Early in my command of the GREENEVILLE, during one of my weekly meetings with my squadron commander, I learned some of my fellow commanding officers were experiencing high turnover and attrition.  The same problem existed on my boat which I attributed to command climate.  In my boat’s case it was a matter of stopping the verbal abuse and hostility that existed on board.  As the Captain when I demonstrated that I cared for the professional development of my crew, their personal and family well being I won their confidence and trust. The hostility ceased and the crew worked as a team.  In the end my crew would be the best recruiters, pulling talent from across the globe.

Some of my crew members were disenchanted and simply hated their job.  My challenge was to help them understand the importance of their contribution to the boat’s operations, the team and mission success.  Often it wasn’t easy trying to convince an 18 year old, who was scrubbing out urinals and toilets, doing some other crewmember’s laundry or peeling potatoes how their efforts were contributing to protecting our nation from the bad guys.  I worked hard at it and in the end was successful.

Other captains were giving up on sailors and kicking them out of the Navy at an alarming rate.  When I shared with them my success stories they responded, “Too much effort.  It’s easier to give them the boot.”  Disappointed with the response I asked my squadron commander and his boss Rear Admiral Al Konetzni the Commander Submarine Pacific to transfer the hard case sailors from other boats to my command.  Over a two year period 29 careers were salvaged.  Those that had suffered defeat and chronic failure blossomed and succeeded on the GREENEVILLE.  My crew and I embraced these sailors and found the right fit for them onboard.  We knew each person was of value but they needed encouragement and guidance to succeed.  Once they learned how to fail well, success for them just took a little more effort on their part. While working with these sailors I would learn that for a sailor to respect their leaders they had to first respect themselves.

Leadership success aside; in command, the rules were simple. Don’t run your ship aground.  Don’t hit anything.  Don’t kill anybody (unless it is the enemy) and keep the core covered (think reactor safety).  I violated two of the rules on 9 February 2001 and on 1 October 2001 was invited to leave the Navy.

 At age 41 on February 9^th 2001 while in command of the submarine USS GREENEVILLE (SSN 772), an improved LOS ANGELES Class Fast Attack Submarine operating off the coast of my home port Pearl Harbor, I experienced a life changing event.  That Friday afternoon with civilian visitors on board I ordered an emergency surface maneuver that caused my submarine to collide with a Japanese fisheries training vessel the Ehime Maru killing nine civilians.  The accident took the lives of four seventeen year old students, two instructors and three crew members.

After two years in command I was comfortable and confident in my ability to lead my crew.  We had achieved unprecedented success up until the day of our collision.  After the accident, the two week long Court of Inquiry would document the details that contributed to the cause of the accident.  I was found guilty of dereliction of duty and intentionally hazarding my vessel.  The actions I took that day I thought at the time were prudent.  I was wrong.  That’s usually the case with hindsight being 20/20.

The accident had a dramatic impact on my life, my crew and the family members who lost loved ones.  My personal failure caused significant emotional and physical stress. Despite the strong desire to preserve my personal and professional reputation, by trying to place blame elsewhere, I chose to keep my integrity and character intact.  I took responsibility for my actions and the actions of my crew.

I ended up losing the job I loved the most because of arrogance and the belief that accidents happened to other ships and not to us.  My crew was extremely talented.  We backed each other up.  I thought we were better than those that had bitten the big bullet.  Unfortunately that arrogance exists today in commands across the military and in board rooms around the globe.  The challenge is to recognize the flaw and ferret it out.

Nothing in my training provided me with a formal procedure or instruction as to what to do if I “fell on my sword”.  All I had to go by were leadership classes at the Academy.  In the operational fleet there were incident and mishap reports as well as case studies that documented collisions, groundings, equipment damage, personnel injury and loss of life.  In the fleet most of the resources were part of a continuing training program that required periodic review.  Learning how to balance the risk was a skill acquired through personal failure and observing others fail.  I learned early in my career that it was less painful to learn from someone else’s mistakes. One of my old captains used to say, “If the heat’s on you it ain’t on me.  Remember Waddle to keep the spot light off you and on the other guy.”

Had I not learned to “fail well” early in life the choices I made following the incident most likely would have been different. Thoughts of placing blame elsewhere and trying to dodge the bullet were instinctive but I pushed the thoughts aside.  The reason I chose to take the moral high ground was simple.  It was the right thing to do.  In command accountability and responsibility is absolute. The same holds true in the corporate arena.  It is sad that most leaders that experience failure of this magnitude do not fail well. They spend their efforts covering their rear end.

Some of the role models I had growing up were my parents, teachers, coaches, clergy, bosses and scout masters. Each offered encouragement when I failed and sometimes provided a reality check when my goals were too lofty or unrealistic.  As I matured success was measured in small incremental steps. The failures served to humble me and teach me humility as well as perseverance.  Over time I would learn what my strengths and weaknesses were.  Dealing with weakness is tough but a necessity.  I learned to shore up areas that warranted work and supplement my weakness by recruiting those who were strong in areas where I was not and openly acknowledging my weakness.  The process built trust and respect with those I worked with.

Eleven years later I still reflect on what could have happened or would have happened if only the accident not occurred.  Most of us have had our “There by the grace of GOD go I moments.”   You might call them something else. In my post Navy career I am a public speaker, executive coach and consultant.  The audiences I speak before and customers are leaders who have experienced success in the past but for the first time in their lives are facing failure.  The challenge for most of them is they have not learned how to fail well.  My job is to help people get back on track and move forward.

I challenge you to look in the mirror and candidly determine if you fail well.  If you do not fail well find a mentor and learn how to.  If you do fail well help others learn the skill.  Your character development will only suffer if you chose the easy path by waffling, doing nothing or giving up.

Many successful leaders have learned to fail well. A few of them are Thomas Edison, Henry Ford, Walt Disney, Bill Gates, Sir James Dyson and Steve Jobs.  Take a few minutes and search for Steve Jobs’ 2005 Stanford commencement speech. You won’t be disappointed.

At some point, you will fail.  Don’t give up.  Fail well!