Chapter 8: Keeping Your Word

The Kitchen That Would Not Be Ready

Bogdan is forty-five and runs a small building company with two employees. In spring, he agrees to renovate the kitchen of a young family, the Okonkwos, and promises that the work will be finished by the first of June, because their new baby is due in mid-June and they want the house ready. Bogdan is confident. He has done many kitchens.

Then things go wrong. A supplier delivers the wrong cabinets. One of his workers falls ill for two weeks. Old pipes behind a wall turn out to need replacing. By the twentieth of May, Bogdan knows that he will not finish by the first of June. He will need at least another ten days.

He is tempted to say nothing. He could keep working as fast as possible, hope for luck and, if he misses the date, blame the supplier or the pipes. Many builders do. He imagines the family's disappointment and their anger, and he dreads the conversation. He also worries about his reputation: if he admits the delay, will they tell their friends that he cannot be trusted?

On the twenty-first of May, he knocks on the family's door and asks to speak with them. He explains exactly what has gone wrong, admits that he should have built more time into his promise and tells them honestly that he now expects to finish by the twelfth of June. He offers to work on two Saturdays without extra charge and to make the kitchen usable for cooking by the first of June, even if some finishing work remains. The family is disappointed, but they thank him for telling them early. A year later, they recommend him to three friends, saying, "He is the most honest builder we have ever met." This chapter is about keeping our word, and about what to do when we cannot.

The Word of a Samurai

In Bushido: The Soul of Japan, Nitobe Inazō has a chapter on veracity and sincerity, which he considered essential partners of the other virtues. He mentions a phrase that expressed the ideal of truthfulness among the samurai: bushi no ichigon, which can be translated as "the word of a samurai" or "a samurai's single word".

According to Nitobe, a samurai's word was supposed to be so reliable that no written promise was needed. In his account, important agreements among samurai were often made by word alone, and asking for a written contract could be seen as an insult, implying that the person's word was not enough. Whether or not this was always true in practice, the ideal is clear: a person's word should be as firm as any written document.

Nitobe also writes that lying and deception were considered deeply shameful for a samurai, a sign of weakness of character. He connects truthfulness with courage, suggesting that people often lie out of fear: fear of consequences, of disapproval or of conflict. A person with real courage, in this view, does not need to lie, because they can face the consequences of the truth.

Here again, we should remember that this is an ideal, and that real samurai, like people everywhere, did not always live by it. History records many broken promises and acts of deception among warriors. But the ideal itself is valuable, and it speaks directly to modern life, where trust is often fragile and where many people have learned not to rely on others' words.

Bogdan's decision to tell the family the truth early was, in a sense, an act of the word of a samurai. He could not keep his original promise, because circumstances changed. But he kept a deeper promise: to be honest with them, to take responsibility and to do his best to make things right.

It is worth noticing what the ideal of a word without a written contract assumes. It assumes a community in which people know each other, remember each other's actions and care about their reputation for honesty. In such a community, a broken word is costly, because everyone will remember. Many modern lives are less connected than this, which makes it easier to break small promises without consequence. But it also makes those who keep their word stand out all the more. In a world of easy excuses, a reliable person is rare and valuable.

Sincerity as the Beginning and End

Nitobe connects the idea of truthfulness with a broader quality called makoto in Japanese, often translated as sincerity. He notes that this idea drew heavily on Confucian teaching, especially a classical text called the Doctrine of the Mean, one of the four books that formed the core of Confucian education.

In that text, in its twenty-fifth chapter, sincerity is given a very high place. In my own paraphrase, the text says that sincerity is the beginning and the end of all things, and that without sincerity, nothing could exist. This is a large and philosophical claim, but its practical meaning is simple: everything we build, whether a relationship, a business, a community or a self, depends on sincerity. Without it, nothing lasts.

Sincerity, in this sense, is more than not telling lies. It means being the same on the inside as on the outside. It means meaning what we say, and doing what we say we will do. A sincere person's words, actions and intentions line up. There is no hidden gap between what they show and what they are.

This connects closely with the chapter on politeness. Nitobe saw sincerity as the necessary partner of politeness. Politeness without sincerity becomes flattery or empty performance. Sincerity without politeness can become harsh. Together, they make a person who is both kind and trustworthy: someone who treats others with consideration, and whose words can be relied on.

Sincerity also has an inward side. It means being honest with ourselves about our motives, our feelings and our mistakes. Many people tell themselves comfortable stories: that they are always reasonable, that problems are always someone else's fault, that they are doing their best when they are not. Sincerity asks us to look at ourselves as clearly as we can, without harshness and without excuses. This inward honesty is often the hardest kind, and it is the root of all the others.

Small Promises

Most of us will rarely make the kind of formal promises that samurai made to their lords. But we make small promises all the time, often without noticing that they are promises.

"I will call you back in ten minutes." "I will send you that document tomorrow." "I will be there at seven." "I will look into it." "Let us meet for coffee soon." "I will pay you back next week." Each of these is a small promise. And each time we keep one, we build a little trust. Each time we break one without explanation, we spend a little trust.

Many people treat these small promises lightly. They say "I will call you back" without really intending to, or "Let us meet soon" as a polite way of ending a conversation. The other person may not take these words seriously either. But over time, a habit of small broken promises teaches others, and ourselves, that our words do not mean much.

The ideal of the samurai's word suggests a different approach: treat small promises as real promises. Before saying "I will call you back", ask whether you really will. If not, say something else: "I am busy now, but I will try to call you this afternoon," or "I am not sure when I can call." This may feel less smooth at first. But it makes your words reliable, and reliable words are a great gift to the people around you.

A simple practice is to make fewer promises and keep more of them. It is better to promise less and deliver what you promise than to promise much and deliver little. People who are known for keeping their word, even in small things, are often trusted with larger things.

There is a practical habit that can help: writing promises down. When you tell someone you will do something, add it to a list, a calendar or a notebook. Many broken promises are not the result of bad intentions, but of forgetting. A simple system for remembering small commitments can turn a person who means well into a person who can be relied on.

When You Cannot Keep Your Word

Life is unpredictable. Sometimes, despite our best efforts, we cannot keep a promise. Suppliers deliver the wrong goods, people fall ill, emergencies happen, circumstances change. The ideal of the samurai's word does not require us to be perfect or to keep promises at any cost, such as doing harm or abandoning a greater duty.

What it does require is honesty about the situation. The difference between Bogdan and a builder who simply misses the deadline without warning is not that Bogdan kept his promise. He did not. The difference is that he told the truth, early, took responsibility and did what he could to make things right.

A few principles can help when we cannot keep our word. First, tell the other person as soon as you know, not at the last moment. The earlier they know, the more they can adjust their plans. Second, explain honestly what has happened, without making excuses or blaming others more than is fair. Third, take responsibility for your part, including any mistakes in how you made the promise. Fourth, offer what you can to make up for it: a new realistic promise, extra effort, a partial solution. Fifth, keep the new promise.

These steps take courage, because they involve facing someone's disappointment. It is often easier to avoid the conversation, hope for luck or hide behind excuses. But, as Nitobe suggested, lying and avoidance often come from fear, and facing the truth takes courage. Telling the truth about a broken promise is itself a way of keeping faith.

It is also worth learning from broken promises. Bogdan realized that he had not built enough time into his original promise. In future, he adds a safety margin to every date he gives. This is not dishonesty; it is realism. Promising what we can reliably deliver is part of making our word trustworthy.

It can also help to make promises in a way that matches reality. Instead of "I will definitely finish on the first of June," Bogdan might say, "I expect to finish around the first of June. If anything changes, I will tell you at once." This kind of promise is more honest, because it includes the uncertainty that every real project contains. It may sound less impressive, but it is far easier to keep, and it builds trust rather than spending it.

Honesty and Kindness

Sincerity raises a difficult question: what about situations where the truth might hurt? Should we always say exactly what we think, even when it is unkind?

Nitobe touches on a related question when he discusses polite customs, such as the habit, common in his country, of describing a gift one is giving as something small and unworthy, and he compares this with the habit in other places of praising one's own gift. Each custom, he suggests, has its own logic of courtesy. Whatever one thinks of such customs, the question behind them is real: how do we balance honesty with kindness?

For us today, a useful approach is to distinguish between lying and tact. Lying means saying what we know to be false, in order to deceive. Tact means choosing carefully what to say, how and when, out of care for the other person's feelings. We can be truthful without being brutal. If a friend asks how their new haircut looks and we do not like it, we need not say "It looks terrible." We might say "It is a big change. How do you feel about it?" or mention something we do genuinely like. This is not lying. It is kindness in how we tell the truth.

There are also situations where the truth is important, even if it hurts: when someone is about to make a serious mistake, when they are being harmed, when they ask for honest feedback that will help them. In these cases, sincerity may require us to speak, gently but clearly. A friend who always says what we want to hear is pleasant, but not very helpful. A friend who tells us the truth with kindness is a treasure.

The combination of sincerity and kindness is one of the hardest balances in human relationships. But it is also one of the most valuable. People who can be trusted to tell the truth kindly are the people we turn to when it matters.

There is also courage in admitting what we do not know. A person who always has an answer, even when they are unsure, is not being sincere. Saying "I do not know, but I will find out" or "I am not sure that is right" is a quiet act of truthfulness. In many workplaces and families, people are afraid to admit uncertainty. Those who do so honestly often make it easier for others to do the same, and decisions improve as a result.

Keeping Your Word to Yourself

There is one more kind of promise that matters greatly for confidence: the promises we make to ourselves. "I will start exercising on Monday." "I will finish that project this week." "I will call my mother more often." "I will stop staying up so late."

Many of us break these promises constantly, often without noticing. And each broken promise to ourselves teaches us, quietly, that our own word cannot be trusted. Over time, this can damage our self-confidence. If we cannot rely on ourselves to do what we say, how can we feel confident?

The ideal of the samurai's word can be applied to ourselves as well. We can treat our promises to ourselves as seriously as our promises to others. This means, first, making fewer and more realistic promises to ourselves. Instead of "I will exercise every day for an hour," which we may not keep, we might promise "I will walk for fifteen minutes three times this week," which we can. Second, it means keeping those promises, even when we do not feel like it. And third, it means being honest with ourselves when we fail, adjusting the promise and trying again, rather than pretending or giving up.

Keeping small promises to ourselves is one of the most reliable ways to build self-confidence. Each promise kept is evidence, like the evidence of practice in the chapter on training, that we can rely on ourselves. Over time, this evidence accumulates into a quiet, solid trust in our own word. That trust is the foundation of the kind of confidence this book is about.

Some people find it helpful to begin with a single small daily promise to themselves, kept without exception for a month: making the bed, a ten-minute walk, reading a few pages, writing one sentence in a journal. The task itself matters less than the keeping. At the end of the month, they have thirty pieces of evidence that their word to themselves can be trusted. From that foundation, larger promises become easier.

Four Lives and Their Word

Siddharth is twenty-four. A close friend asked him to help her move house on a Saturday, and he agreed. On Friday, other friends invite him on a weekend trip to the coast. He is tempted to cancel on the friend who is moving, telling her he is ill. Then he thinks about how he would feel if she did the same to him. He goes to help her move. It is hard work, but at the end, she hugs him and says she does not know what she would have done without him. Siddharth realizes that keeping his word was worth more than the trip.

Annika is fifteen. Her best friend told her a painful secret about her family and asked her to keep it private. A few weeks later, other girls at school are gossiping and ask Annika what she knows. It would be easy to share the secret and become, for a moment, the centre of attention. Annika says, "That is not mine to share," and changes the subject. Her friend later finds out that she was asked and did not tell. Their friendship becomes even closer. Annika says that keeping the secret made her feel strong.

Moses is seventy-seven and promised his late wife that he would look after their old friend, a widow who lives alone and has few visitors. Every Wednesday for six years, he has visited her for tea, brought her shopping and fixed small things in her house. Some weeks he does not feel like going. He goes anyway. The friend says that his visits are the brightest part of her week. Moses says that keeping this promise has given his own life a steady rhythm and meaning since his wife died.

Bogdan, from the beginning of this chapter, finishes the kitchen on the eleventh of June, a day earlier than his revised promise. The family's baby is born a week later, in a house with a working kitchen. Bogdan now adds a margin of time to every estimate he gives, and when problems arise, he tells clients immediately. His business grows steadily, mostly through recommendations. He says that he has learned that being trusted is worth more than being fast.

Siddharth, Annika, Moses and Bogdan each faced a moment when keeping their word was hard: a tempting trip, a chance for attention, a tiring routine, an unexpected delay. Each chose sincerity. And in each case, keeping faith built trust, with others and with themselves.

Practical Steps

First, notice your small promises. For a few days, pay attention to the small promises you make, such as "I will call you" or "I will send it tomorrow".

Second, promise less, keep more. Before making a promise, ask whether you can really keep it. If not, say something more honest.

Third, treat small promises as real. Keep the small promises you do make, as carefully as you would keep large ones.

Fourth, when you cannot keep your word, tell early. Explain honestly, take responsibility, offer what you can and keep the new promise.

Fifth, combine truth with kindness. Choose carefully how and when to say difficult truths, without lying and without cruelty.

Sixth, keep your word to yourself. Make small, realistic promises to yourself, and keep them. Let each kept promise build your self-trust.

A Short Exercise: A Promise Inventory

This exercise takes about twenty minutes. It helps you look honestly at the promises in your life.

Take a page and draw three columns. Label them "Promises to others", "Promises to myself" and "Status". In the first column, list promises you have made to others that are still open: things you said you would do, help you offered, debts you owe, visits you planned. In the second column, list promises you have made to yourself that are still open: habits you meant to start, projects you meant to finish, changes you meant to make.

In the third column, next to each promise, write one of three words: "keeping", "behind" or "broken". Be honest.

For each promise marked "behind" or "broken", decide what to do. You might keep it now, renegotiate it honestly with the other person, adjust a promise to yourself to something more realistic or let it go openly, explaining to the other person if it involves them.

Choose three actions to take this week and write them down. When you have taken them, cross them off.

Finally, look at your inventory as a whole. What does it tell you about how you make promises? Do you tend to promise too much? Do you neglect promises to yourself? Write one sentence about how you would like to make promises in future.

Questions People Often Ask

"Is it ever right to break a promise?" Sometimes. If keeping a promise would cause serious harm, or if circumstances have changed so much that the promise no longer makes sense, breaking it may be the right thing to do. In such cases, the sincere approach is to explain honestly, take responsibility and try to make amends. What sincerity rejects is breaking promises carelessly or secretly.

"What about promises made under pressure or deception?" A promise obtained by threats, manipulation or lies does not carry the same weight as one freely given. If you were pressured into a promise that harms you, it is reasonable to step back from it, ideally explaining why. If the situation involves abuse or danger, please seek help from appropriate services.

"How can I rebuild trust after breaking my word?" Rebuilding trust takes time and consistent action. It helps to acknowledge what happened honestly, apologize sincerely and then keep small promises reliably, again and again. Trust is rebuilt not by words, but by a pattern of kept promises over time.

Chapter Summary

Nitobe's chapter on veracity and sincerity describes the ideal of the word of a samurai, bushi no ichigon, so reliable that no written promise was needed, and connects lying with fear and truthfulness with courage. He links this with makoto, sincerity, drawing on the Confucian Doctrine of the Mean, which calls sincerity the beginning and end of all things. Sincerity means that words, actions and intentions line up, and it is the necessary partner of politeness.

Small everyday promises matter, and it is wise to promise less and keep more. When we cannot keep our word, telling early, explaining honestly, taking responsibility and making amends is itself a form of keeping faith. Sincerity can be combined with tact and kindness without lying. Keeping small promises to ourselves builds the self-trust on which real confidence rests.

In the next chapter, we look at benevolence, and at the idea that true strength shows itself in kindness to the weak.