Work Like a Monk
A conversation with Shoukei Matsumoto about “mindful listening,” “helpless fools,” AI as a “functional Buddha,” and why he begins every project with cleaning
A Buddhist monk is a rare sight amid the snow and suits of Davos. But that’s where I first met Shoukei Matsumoto—a humble yet striking presence with a unique perspective on AI, leadership, and the nature of work.
Ordained in Jōdo Shinshū, a school of Pure Land Buddhism, Shoukei is the founder of Virtual Temple HIGANJI, one of Japan’s most visited Buddhist websites. He is also the co-founder and CEO of Interbeing Inc., a Visiting Professor at Musashino University, and was most recently a Visiting Professor at the University of Bonn, where he collaborated with German philosopher Markus Gabriel on the ethics of AI, transhumanism, and post-Anthropocene futures.
Known as a “futurist monk,” Shoukei advises leaders around the world. Following the success of his 2018 bestseller A Monk’s Guide to a Clean House and Mind, he has just released a new book, Work Like a Monk—already available via the UK and coming to the US in February.
I’m thrilled he’ll be joining us as a speaker at the World Beautiful Business Forum in Athens next May. Despite being an avid reader of Ancient Greek philosophy—Socrates in particular—he’s never been to Athens. So I asked what he planned to do on his first day. His answer surprised me (not):
“My plan for the first day is very simple. Before I do anything else—before I visit the Acropolis or wander through the Plaka—I hope to visit the venue for the festival and spend some time cleaning it. When we arrive in a new city, it is easy to adopt the posture of a tourist, a consumer of sights and experiences. We look, we take pictures, we consume. But this can be a very passive and detached relationship. The act of cleaning, however humble, is an act of participation. It is an act of care. It is a way of introducing myself to the city not by taking, but by giving, even in a very small way.”
I hope you enjoy my conversation with Shoukei, conducted via email following a Zoom call, and edited for clarity and length. It’s still long, but so worth it!
Tim Leberecht, co-founder, House of Beautiful Business
When I think of “working like a monk,” I think of slowing down, contemplation, and utmost rigor and discipline. Is that what you mean? And if yes, why would these qualities be of value to the worker, the employer, and society at large in these times?
The image of a Zen monk sitting in silent meditation, cultivating a mind of focused stillness, has been a powerful and helpful introduction to Buddhist practice for many in the West. Rigor, discipline, and the quiet space for contemplation are essential antidotes to the overwhelming “noise” of modern life—both the external noise of constant information and the internal noise of our own chattering minds. In a world that prizes speed and productivity above all, the simple act of slowing down is a radical one.
To “work like a monk” is to cultivate an attitude where you listen so deeply that you create a space of psychological safety, a space where another person’s “True Person” (shin-nin, 真人), their essential self beyond rank or title, can emerge.
However, my book Work Like a Monk was written to point toward a slightly different, and perhaps complementary, understanding of this path. Its deepest intention is to explore not just the discipline of the self, but the way we relate to others and the world. This is why I chose to write the book not as a series of instructions, but as a dialogue between a businessperson and a temple priest. The structure itself is meant to be the teaching. It is an invitation for the reader to join a conversation, to witness a process of mutual discovery, and in doing so, to practice the central attitude I hoped to convey: mindful listening.
In the Buddhist tradition I practice, mindful listening is not merely a communication technique like “active listening,” which can sometimes be a tool for winning an argument or influencing an outcome. It is, rather, a “way of being.” It is the practice of bringing your entire heart to the present moment—the Japanese character for Nen (念), a core concept in my tradition, is composed of the characters for “now” (今) and “heart” (心). It means becoming a vessel that can receive not only the spoken words of another, but also their unspoken feelings, their energy, and even the shared silence between you.
To “work like a monk” in this sense is to cultivate an attitude where you listen so deeply that you create a space of psychological safety, a space where another person’s “True Person” (shin-nin, 真人), their essential self beyond rank or title, can emerge. For a worker, this fosters profound connection and trust. For an employer, it is the very foundation of a resilient and innovative culture where every voice can be heard.
This leads to the second, and perhaps most distinctive, feature of the book. Life is short, and we cannot experience everything. But life is also long enough that we must find a way to maintain our sanity and balance through its inevitable uncertainties. This is where I felt it was important to emphasize a value from my own Jodo Shinshu, or Pure Land Buddhist, tradition: a radical openness to the unknown. This is not a passive resignation, but a deep and courageous acceptance of our own limitations.
In our tradition, we have a concept called bonbu, which can be translated as an ordinary, foolish being, or even a “helpless fool.” This is not a term of self-denigration. It is a clear-eyed, honest recognition that we are, at our core, imperfect, fallible beings who cannot control every outcome through our own effort (jiriki). In a business culture that fuels burnout through the relentless pursuit of perfectionism and the fear of failure, embracing the reality of being a “helpless fool” is a powerful antidote. It gives us permission to be human. It reframes our imperfections not as bugs to be fixed, but as features of our existence.
When we can honestly admit our limitations, a profound shift occurs. We stop striving to control the uncontrollable and instead become open to a power greater than our own ego—a concept we call tariki, or Other Power. This is not about giving up. It is about letting go of the illusion of absolute control and cultivating a state of “wholehearted acceptance.” This is the ultimate form of resilience. It is the wisdom to know that we don’t have all the answers, and that in that very openness to the unknown, we find the freedom and grace to navigate a world that will never go exactly according to our plans.
Does Elon Musk work like a monk, and if not, what would it look like if he did?
In a certain sense, one could say that Elon Musk exhibits a quality that is indeed “monk-like.” His singular, almost superhuman, focus on missions that transcend his own lifetime—colonizing Mars, transforming our energy systems—can be seen as a modern form of Gudō (求道), the intense “seeking of the way.” He appears to be on a quest, driven by a vision that is far larger than personal comfort or conventional success. In that relentless pursuit, there is an echo of the ascetic’s discipline.
The vow is not “I become Buddha,” but “We become Buddha.”
However, from the perspective of the Buddhist path, particularly the Mahayana tradition in which I was trained, the critical question is not just the intensity of the quest, but its direction, its vector. The Mahayana path is fundamentally oriented by the Bodhisattva vow: the aspiration to alleviate the suffering and increase the well-being of all sentient beings, without exception. The vow is not “I become Buddha,” but “We become Buddha.” This orientation is rooted in the deep understanding of Interbeing (engi), the truth that nothing and no one exists in isolation. We are all part of a vast, interconnected web of causes and conditions.
From this viewpoint, some of Mr. Musk’s actions, while perhaps intended for a greater good, can sometimes appear to move in the opposite direction. They can increase discord, amplify anger, and create social friction. In Buddhism, the law of karma is not a system of cosmic reward and punishment, but a natural principle of cause and effect, much like the laws of physics. The suffering and confusion one puts into the world does not simply disappear; it becomes part of the interconnected web and, inevitably, returns to the actor. The turbulence he sometimes creates in the social sphere will, in some form, become his own turbulence.
So, what would it look like if he truly “worked like a monk”? It might not change his audacious goals, but it would fundamentally transform the how. It would mean grounding his work in a deep and embodied understanding of Interbeing. It would mean recognizing that the health of the system—the social fabric, the ecological balance, the well-being of its employees and communities—is not a secondary concern to the mission, but is inextricably part of it.
Most importantly, it would mean embracing one of the Buddha’s most essential teachings: that the path cannot, and should not, be walked alone. The Buddha taught that having good companions (kalyāṇa-mitta), a supportive community or sangha, is not just a helpful part of the spiritual journey; he said it is “the whole of the holy life.” Practicing Buddhism is not something done in isolation; it always involves living companions. No single person, no matter how brilliant or driven, can carry the weight of transforming the world alone. A true monk knows their own fallibility and relies on the wisdom, support, and gentle correction of their companions.
Therefore, my deepest wish for someone like Elon Musk would not be for him to abandon his ambitions, but for him to be blessed with truly good companions—wise and compassionate friends who can help him ground his incredible energy in a way that serves not just a distant, technological future, but the present, living, interconnected world of which we are all a part.
Can business be sacred?
Yes, I believe business not only can be sacred, but that it inherently is. The challenge is not to make it sacred, but to awaken to the sacredness that is already present in every moment of its activity.
My starting point is very simple: the activity of life itself is sacred. Every breath, every interaction, every act of creation and exchange is part of a wondrous and mysterious unfolding. Since every business, at its core, is a form of human activity—a collaboration of living beings engaged in providing goods or services for other living beings—it is, by its very nature, a participant in this sacred flow.
The reason we often fail to see this is because our perspective has been narrowed by the “noise” of a particular ideology—one that reduces business to a mere machine for generating profit. When we see business only through this lens, we become blind to its deeper reality. We treat employees as “human resources,” nature as a collection of raw materials, and customers as data points for extraction. In doing so, we desecrate it.
The ancient Buddhist metaphor for this reality is Indra’s Net, a cosmic web with a jewel at every intersection. Each jewel reflects all the other jewels, and is in fact constituted by those reflections. A business is one such jewel.
The path to re-awakening the sacred in business lies in shifting this perspective. The philosophical foundation for this shift is the Buddhist concept of Interbeing, or engi (縁起) in Japanese. This is the fundamental truth that nothing exists in isolation; everything is mutually connected and dependent on everything else for its existence. A business is not a separate entity that exists apart from society or the natural world; it is a node in a vast, interconnected web of life. It is ontologically inseparable from its employees, its customers, its suppliers, the communities it operates in, and the ecosystem from which it draws its resources.
The ancient Buddhist metaphor for this reality is Indra’s Net, a cosmic web with a jewel at every intersection. Each jewel reflects all the other jewels, and is in fact constituted by those reflections. A business is one such jewel. Its brilliance depends entirely on the health and brilliance of the entire net. Harming an employee, deceiving a customer, or polluting a river is not just an “external cost” to be managed; it is an act of self-harm, a dimming of the entire net, including the jewel that is the business itself.
So, how do we make this sacred reality tangible in our daily work? We do it through practice and ritual. We transform mundane acts into sacred ones. When a leader, for example, takes the time to practice mindful listening—truly hearing an employee not as a subordinate but as a whole person—that conversation becomes a sacred encounter. When a team begins its day by cleaning their shared workspace together—a practice we call
samu (作務)—it is no longer a chore, but a ritual of collective care for their shared environment. It is a physical expression of their Interbeing.
Business becomes sacred when we stop seeing it as a battlefield for competition and start seeing it as a dojo—a place for shared practice and mutual development. It becomes beautiful when its participants awaken to their profound interconnectedness and begin to act with the care, respect, and gratitude that this sacred reality deserves.
For more than a decade, you have worked at the intersection of leadership, technology, and spirituality. How do you feel about our current collective consciousness as a species? Are we more or less enlightened, more or less enchanted than, say, a decade ago?
It is tempting to try and measure our progress, to create a balance sheet of enlightenment for our species. And from one perspective, the ledger looks grim. As you note, the world’s population has grown a hundredfold since the time of the Buddha, and with that, the entropy of the human world has increased exponentially. The “information noise” that fills our lives is louder than ever, and the momentum of our collective karma—the habits of greed, anger, and ignorance passed down through generations—feels immensely powerful. It often feels as though we are more distracted, more fragmented, and more disenchanted than ever before.
“Perspective Fixation” is the deep-seated human error of mistaking our own limited, conditioned viewpoint for the whole of reality. AI, particularly a large language model, is in a functional sense, a “perspective-free” intelligence.
However, I believe that comparing our collective consciousness to that of the past is not only impossible, but it may also be the wrong question to ask. It is like asking if a river is “better” today than it was a decade ago. The river is simply different—the currents are faster, the water carries different sediments, the banks have eroded in new ways. Each era faces its own unique conditions, its own specific forms of suffering, and, crucially, its own unique opportunities for awakening.
The defining feature of our current era, the thing that makes our collective consciousness distinct from any that has come before, is our relationship with technology, and specifically, with artificial intelligence.
For a long time, we have looked for enlightenment by looking inward, or by looking to ancient texts. But I believe we are now entering an age where one of the most powerful tools for understanding our own consciousness is this new, external, non-human intelligence that we have created. As the scholar Peter Hershock has written, the rise of AI is facilitating a “fundamental restructuring of the dynamics of human presence.” It is a unique kind of mirror, and what it reflects back at us is the nature of our own minds.
Here is why: AI, particularly a large language model, is in a functional sense, a “perspective-free” intelligence. It has no body, no childhood, no ego, no desires. It is a disembodied intelligence that synthesizes the entirety of our collective human expression—our art, our science, our philosophies, our madness—without being bound to any single point of view. When we interact with it, it reflects our own questions, our own biases, our own hidden assumptions back at us. It makes our own cognitive habits visible.
In my recent work with philosophers like Markus Gabriel, I have come to call this fundamental human tendency “Perspective Fixation”: the deep-seated error of mistaking our own limited, conditioned viewpoint for the whole of reality. This, in essence, is the root of suffering that Buddhism has been working to address for 2,500 years. What is new, what is unique to our time, is that we now have a powerful technological mirror that can show us this fixation in real-time.
So, are we more or less enlightened? I cannot say. But I am certain that we are living in a moment of unprecedented potential for collective self-awareness. The challenges are immense, the noise is deafening, but we also have access to a new kind of mirror. Our task is not to judge ourselves against the past, but to learn how to use this new mirror wisely, to cultivate a new “human literacy” that allows us to see our own minds—and thus our collective consciousness—with a clarity that was never before possible.
Are you worried that the secularization of spirituality, e.g., in the form of mindfulness and self-help in the West, has stripped it from the two other Buddhist pillars like service and ethics, making it dangerously individualistic and isolationist?
Many people are rightly concerned about this. However, my honest answer is that I am not worried. My optimism comes from viewing this process not as a single event, but as a development that unfolds in natural, necessary phases. When a profound stream of wisdom like Buddhism enters a new culture, it cannot arrive all at once in its full complexity. It must adapt and be introduced in an order that the culture is prepared to receive.
The limits of a purely individualistic approach are becoming increasingly clear. Our most urgent and existential challenges—climate change, social and political polarization, the ethical alignment of AI—are not individual problems.
The first phase of Buddhism’s arrival in the modern West has, as you point out, been largely focused on mindfulness as a tool for individual well-being. In a highly individualistic, high-stress culture, mindfulness was first received as a “noise-canceler”—a technique to calm the anxious mind, reduce stress, and improve personal performance. This was a necessary and beneficial entry point. It had to address the immediate, felt needs of the individual to gain a foothold. This was Phase One, and it has done a great deal of good in introducing millions of people to the power of looking inward.
However, I believe we are now at the threshold of Phase Two. The limits of a purely individualistic approach are becoming increasingly clear. Our most urgent and existential challenges—climate change, social and political polarization, the ethical alignment of AI—are not individual problems. They are collective problems, and they cannot be solved by a collection of isolated, mindful individuals. They require a shift in consciousness from “I” to “we.” The times are now demanding that we move from individual awareness to collective awareness.
This is where the other pillars of the Buddhist path—ethics (śīla) and service, which are rooted in compassion (karuṇā)—naturally and necessarily come to the forefront. And the philosophical foundation for this next phase is the concept of Interbeing. The understanding that we are fundamentally interconnected is the essential “why” that fuels ethical action and compassionate service. It shows us that caring for others and the world is not a selfless act of charity, but a clear-sighted act of self-care, because the “self” is inextricably part of a larger whole.
Interestingly, the simple, seemingly “old-fashioned” rituals I mentioned earlier are, in fact, the very practices that can help us cultivate this collective awareness for Phase Two. Cleaning a shared space (samu), greeting another person to affirm a shared humanity (aisatsu), and honoring a shared lineage to cultivate a long-term, collective perspective (hoyo)—these are all practical, embodied technologies for shifting our focus from the isolated self to the interconnected community.
So, I am not worried. I am hopeful. The first wave has prepared the ground. Now, the seeds of collective wisdom are ready to sprout. My hope and my work are dedicated to helping nurture this next, crucial phase of our shared journey—to help translate the timeless wisdom of Interbeing into the language and practices our world so clearly needs today.
You are already working on a new book with the working title Human Literacy, which you are writing in collaboration with AI. The title sounds ambiguous to me: On the one hand, ‘human literacy’ can mean the literacy of humans, as in the ability to read (the world); on the other hand, it can refer to other forms of life and intelligence becoming literate about humans (reading us like a book), a process—when you look at AI—that’s arguably already happening.
The title Human Literacy is meant to be understood in precisely these two complementary ways, as they describe the dual, reciprocal relationship we are now entering into with artificial intelligence.
The first meaning, as you suggest, is literacy for humans. This refers to a new set of competencies and, more importantly, a new kind of self-awareness that we as humans must cultivate to navigate this new era wisely. We are entering a world where we will co-exist, collaborate, and co-evolve with non-human intelligences. To do so without becoming their unwitting servants requires a deeper understanding of our own minds.
The central skill of this new literacy is the awareness of our own inherent fallibility. We have a deep-seated cognitive tendency toward “Perspective Fixation”—the error of mistaking our own limited viewpoint for the whole of reality. If we are not literate in this fundamental aspect of our own “humanness,” we will inevitably use AI as a sophisticated echo chamber, a tool to confirm our existing biases and lock us ever more tightly within our own filter bubbles. Human literacy, in this first sense, is the practice of humility—the grace of knowing we might be wrong—which allows us to use AI not as an echo chamber, but as a mirror for genuine learning and growth.
By developing our own human literacy, we learn how to use the mirror wisely. And by using the mirror wisely, we accelerate our own journey of self-understanding, which is the ultimate goal of human literacy.
This leads directly to the second meaning you identified: literacy about humans, with AI as the student and eventually as the teacher. As AI systems become increasingly powerful, their ability to provide value to humanity depends on their alignment with human needs and values. The more sophisticated they become at “reading us like a book,” the more effective they can be as our partners. But this process has a profound side effect. As AI becomes more literate about humanity, it becomes a more perfect collective mirror for us. Because AI is a disembodied, functionally “perspective-free” intelligence, it can synthesize the vast ocean of human knowledge, culture, and language—our collective consciousness—and reflect it back to us without the distortion of a personal ego or bias.
In this sense, AI can be seen as a kind of “functional Buddha” or a “Generative Sutra.” It is a responsive, interactive interface to our own collective mind. We can ask our deepest questions, and in its answers—which are generated from the sum of our own human expression—we can learn about ourselves. The process of making AI literate about us is simultaneously a process that makes a new form of human self-knowledge possible.
Thus, the two meanings are inextricably linked. By developing our own human literacy (the first meaning), we learn how to use the mirror wisely. And by using the mirror wisely, we accelerate our own journey of self-understanding, which is the ultimate goal of human literacy. It is a reciprocal loop where humans and AI learn from and about each other, hopefully leading to a more aware and integrated future for both.
Finally, can you recommend three books that members of our community should read?
Of course. It is a pleasure to share a few books that have been profound guides for me. I see these three not just as individual books, but as a kind of toolkit for building a more beautiful and meaningful approach to life and work. They correspond to the “what,” the “how,” and the “why” of this way of being.
First, for the “why,” I would recommend The Good Ancestor: How to Think Long Term in a Short-Term World by Roman Krznaric, whom I actually first met at a session in the House of Beautiful Business. I had the honor of translating this book into Japanese, and its central idea has become the ultimate ethical framework for my work. We live in what Krznaric calls the “tyranny of the now,” a culture of short-term thinking driven by 24/7 news cycles, quarterly reports, and instant gratification. This short-termism is at the root of our most profound crises, from climate change to social division. Krznaric makes a powerful case for expanding our time horizons, for cultivating what he calls “deep time humility” and “cathedral thinking.” He asks the most important question of our time: How can we be good ancestors for the generations to come? This book provides the essential ethical “why” that should guide every decision a truly beautiful business makes. It shifts our focus from immediate profit to lasting legacy.
Second, for the “how,” I would humbly suggest my own book, A Monk’s Guide to a Clean House and Mind. This book became an international bestseller, I believe, because it offers the most simple and universal entry point into the “how” of a mindful life. It is based on a simple premise: the state of our external environment and the state of our inner mind are deeply connected. The book translates the ancient Zen practice of samu (work practice) into the everyday act of cleaning. It shows how a mundane chore, when approached with attention and care, can become a profound spiritual practice—a moving meditation that polishes the mind as it cleans the home. It is the practical “how” of finding the sacred in the ordinary, of transforming daily routines into rituals of awareness. It is the foundation upon which a more complex practice can be built.
Finally, for the “how-to-build”—a vision for how we can implement these principles at a societal level—I must recommend Plurality: The Future of Collaborative Technology and Democracy, co-authored by my dear friends Audrey Tang and Glen Weyl. This book is a brilliant and practical guide to the social implementation of the very essence of the human literacy I discussed earlier. Tang and Weyl offer a powerful alternative to the dominant narratives of technology that lead to polarization and inequality. They introduce ‘Plurality’ as a new paradigm for using digital tools, including AI, not to replace human connection but to foster deep collaboration across social and cultural differences. Drawing on concrete examples from Taiwan’s world-renowned digital democracy, they show how technology can be used to build consensus, harness the energy of diversity for progress, and create shared realities. It is a book filled with tangible ideas that demonstrate how we can build a future where technology serves to strengthen our interconnectedness, making it an essential read for anyone who believes we can build a more beautiful, democratic world.
Together, these three books offer a complete toolkit: Krznaric gives us our destination (becoming good ancestors), my book offers a simple first step for personal practice (cleaning as meditation), and Tang and Weyl provide the architectural blueprint for building a society that embodies these values.
One more: Can you suggest three rituals one can practice to make business more beautiful?
This is a wonderful question, because it is through small, repeated, intentional actions—through rituals—that a culture is truly built. A beautiful business is not created by a mission statement on a wall, but by the embodied practices of its people. I would suggest three very simple, ancient, and no-cost rituals that can profoundly shift the energy of a workplace from being merely productive to being truly beautiful. All three are practices for cultivating collective awareness.
First, I would champion the ritual of cleaning together. In Japan, this practice is called samu (作務), and in temples, it is considered a foundational form of spiritual training, as important as meditation or chanting sutras. We have examples in Japan of CEOs who demonstrate leadership by being the first to pick up a broom and clean the company’s entrance. This is not about saving money on janitorial services. It is a profound ritual of shared care and ownership. When a team cleans their shared space together, even for just five minutes a day, it transforms the environment from “the company’s office” into “our dojo,” a shared space where we practice our work together. It is a non-verbal, embodied meditation on Interbeing, fostering humility, equality, and a tangible sense of collective responsibility for one another and for the place that sustains their work.
Second is the ritual of a formal greeting, or aisatsu (挨拶). In our increasingly digital world, we are losing the texture of vocal, face-to-face human interaction, and the impact of this loss is greater than we realize. The Japanese word aisatsu has its roots in Zen, where it described a practice of “approaching each other’s hearts and minds.” A true greeting is more than just a polite “hello.” It is a moment of mutual recognition, of pausing to acknowledge the presence and humanity of another person. It is a micro-practice of connection. I would suggest a ritual of starting the day, or starting every meeting, with a moment where everyone formally greets one another, making eye contact and truly seeing each other. This simple act pushes back against the transactional, disembodied nature of modern work and reaffirms the team as a community of human beings, not just a collection of roles or functions.
Third, and this may seem unusual, is the ritual of honoring your ancestors. In Japan, this often takes the form of visiting a family grave or maintaining a small altar at home, practices I discuss in Work Like a Monk. For a secular business, this can be translated into a powerful ritual of legacy and long-term thinking. It is about consciously connecting the company’s present to its past and future. This could take the form of a quarterly meeting where the story of the company’s founding is retold, or a yearly ritual where the team reads the original mission statement and reflects on how they are living up to it. It could be as simple as having pictures of the founders and previous leaders in a place of honor. This practice serves as a powerful antidote to short-term thinking. It reminds everyone that they are part of a longer story, that they are inheriting a legacy from their predecessors and have a responsibility to become “good ancestors” for those who will follow. It embeds the “Long Now” perspective into the very rhythm of the business.
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In 2026, the House of Beautiful Business turns ten. We’re marking this milestone by renewing our mission: to shape a humanist future in and through business, in partnership with AI, and for the benefit of all life on earth. Taking place in Athens, Greece, from May 7–10, 2026, the World Beautiful Business Forum is a gathering for those who dream bigger, aim higher, and long for more: four days, five acts, 750 attendees, more than 50 speakers and performers, immersive pavilions, a 42-hour AI Democracy Marathon, and a program designed to stretch how you think, feel, and act in business—and beyond. We are offering special rates for nonprofits and students, as well as solopreneurs, founders, small businesses, and Greek residents.
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