30th International Budo Seminar 2

Sunset from the dormitory hallway

The panel was followed by a keynote lecture by Okazaki Hiroshi-sensei (Hanshi 8-dan) on some characteristics of kyudo. Kyudo is a but different from the other 8 modern martial arts because there is never an opponent, unless you count the target as the opponent. What that means is that your opponent becomes only yourself, which makes the physiological/ spiritual battle especially difficult in kyudo. This is often expressed with the phrase that “the target is a mirror”. In mere sports, it is just about winning physically, which is why there are doping scandels etc. in the Olympics. But in budo, it is also a spiritual challenge. Afterall, anyone can hit a paper target with an arrow, but in kyudo there needs to be a spiritual stablity/fullness to the shot. Thus in kyudo there are considered three “sicknesses”: hayake (早気 realizing too soon), yurumi (緩み collapsing the release), and busuki (不数寄 not practicing enough). These sicknesses are caused less by physical characteristics, but by spiritual weakness. Personally, I have found this to be very much so in my own practice: if I am feeling depressed or bashful (something to which I am genetically prone), I find it very difficult to avoid lapsing into a yurumi style of release. Westerners tends to dismiss any idea of spirit having physical influence, but phenomena like the placebo effect and psychosomatic illness demonstrate how our mind/spirit affects our bodies physically. Anyway, Okazaki-sensei also talked about the importance of benevolence (仁) and human relations in kyudo, as illustrated by the proverb “To shoot is the Way of Benevolence” (射は仁の道也). Those skilled at kyudo (“senpai”) and act all arrogant are like small scared animals, puffing themselves up in the hopes of frightening away a larger preditor. Senpai should explain things simply to beginners and those less skilled at kyudo (“kouhai”), just as a mother uses babytalk to an infant, but proper language to a teenager. The lack of benevolence in overseas kyudo groups seems to be a widespread problem, but I won’t go into that now.

After these morning lectures, there were demonstrations of all the modern martial arts by the teachers and then we were able to experience different budos for two short sessions. I tried Jukendo (bayonet) and Karate. Jukendo is associated with the SDF, so the teachers were two kindly but brusk military men assisted by two extremely cute and talented girls. This time, we tried learning only the dagger, since that is generally with what beginners start. I really think Jukendo is so cool, which is why I chose it, but to be honest it doesn’t fit my timid personality that well. We practiced thrusting at the abdominen, head, etc. and I find being asked to strongly whack my poor opponent over and over again quite emotionally distressing. She insisted it didn’t hurt, but all the same I felt really bad for doing it. Despite this–or perhaps because of this–I found it a very good chance to understand the more energetic side of budo and I hope I have a chance to try it again. In the second session I tried Karate. Karate is of course well known in the West, but I haven’t had that much exposure to it. We practiced kata, which meant I didn’t have to physically hit anyone, which was nice. I was impressed by the importance of keeping careful control of your speed (ie: speeding up at only the last second) when punching. It reminded me of how the correct modernation of speed (faster at certain times, slower at other times) is so important in almost all Japanese arts, not just martial arts. I have a tendency to be too slow all the time, so it is something I need to work on.

In the evening, we had a cocktail party (懇親会), which was pretty fun. I surprised that it was only at this party that the 150th anniversary of Meiji was mentioned. I had expected it to be celebrated a bit more promently. The speaker said something like “you guys probably don’t care much about the anniversary of Meiji, but…”, which I thought was a bit of a sad statement. Personally, I do care about it because I am a great fan of the Meiji period and emperor, but even setting that aside, I felt like the speaker should have confidence and explain to everyone the importance of Meiji’s anniversary. There was pretty nice food and I was able to chat with my roommate and other participants. Randy Channell, a Canadian tea master (Urasenke school), also had a somewhat impromptu tea ceremony with a rather charming selection of tea utensils gathered from around the world: a metal chaki from India, an antique Chinese kensui, and a teabowl made by a Canadian potter in Japan. The chashaku was carved by the retired headmaster of Urasenke and was named (something like) “Friendship throughout the World”. It was quite interesting to see the casual tea ritual of someone who has been studying tea longer than I’ve been alive… In the evening, after nipping back to the kyudojo for a bit more practice, many participants gathered on the fourth floor for some raucous drinking and talent show. I am not generally one for late night drinking parties, but I enjoyed the Russians’ folk dancing and had a rather fasincating conversation with another kyudo practitioner. During this, an American participant kept flashing looks at me, so I brought him up to teach him a touristy hula (E Huli Makou) as a part of the talent show. It was quite an effort since I had to sing the song, as well as dance the hula, all while wearing kimono. I was a bit embrassed, but four or five people came up to me the next day saying how much they liked my hula (!), so it seems it wasn’t that bad. This experience did make me think about the creation and passing down of traditions however. Many people could just suddenly stand up and perform folk songs/dance or sing karaoke, or do magic tricks, but the American fellow insisted he didn’t have anything he could do. I think that is probably true for many Americans and it makes me think American culture is a bit impovershed in that aspect. In Hawai’i, ukulele music is often just randomly performed for fun in just anyplace, and likewise hula is often danced in an impromptu manner. But I can’t think of any art in general American culture which can be done in a similar manner.

Since this post is rather long, I’ve broken it into three parts: 1, 2, and 3.

 

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30th International Budo Seminar 1

View from the dormitory window

Last weekend, I went to the 30th International Seminar of Budo Culture. It is a 3 day seminar, split between philosophical lectures about martial arts and practical trainer. As for the practical training, there were two sessions of your own martial art (archery, in my case), two sessions to try out martial arts (I tried bayonet and karate), and then the last day had a lecture and session in kobudo, or pre-modern style martial arts.

Coming from the distant countryside of Hokkaido, I arrived late, missing the beginning of the first lecture which was by Takeuchi Seiichi. Prof. Takeuchi is the ethics/philosophy professor at Kamakura Women’s University, so he gave a lecture on some of the ethics found in Budo. In particular, he utilized the philosophy of Kuki Shuuzou to focus on the balance between “mizukara” (your deliberate efforts) vs. “onozukara” (the natural consequences of situations). In Budo, we must put in our own deliberate efforts, but it our mastery of it cannot be considered complete until it stops being a deliberate effort and becomes natural to us (onozukara, or “second nature” in the trite English idiom). This also ties into humanity’s relationship with nature, that is, that there needs to be a balance between our own efforts and having respect for what is the “natural” way of the world. Prof Takeuchi used as an example the terrible 3/11 Tohoku tsunami. We humans with our inventive nature built up many defenses and precautions against tsunamis and nuclear accidents, but they still were no match for nature’s ferocity. He wasn’t personifying nature here, but merely conveying no matter how inventive we are, no matter how much effort we put in, there will always been things in nature that are beyond us. So we should always keep that in mind and realize that we cannot have mastery without including the whims of nature as a part of it. Personally, this seems like a lesson many Westerners should take to heart more. Furthermore in response to one of the questions after the lecture, Prof Takeuchi noted how in Japanese culture, we emphasize the “onozukara” when discussing good things, but the “mizukara” when speaking of bad things. In other words, we give credit for good things to all the many people and circumstances around us, but when it comes to bad things, we take responsibility (the blame) all upon ourselves and do not pawn it off on the people/circumstances around us. Of course, in both cases our own efforts and circumstances played a part, but the socially ethical thing to do is give credit to others for the good while taking the blame for the bad only upon ourselves.

The evening consisted of Kyudo practice with Kubota-sensei (Hanshi 8-dan) and Tosa-sensei (Kyoushi 8-dan). Of course, I received some good advice from them, but I won’t bore you with that here. In kyudo, we have both “dogi” (uniform) and “Kimono” (clothing) that we can wear when we practice. Kimono is of course the more proper of the two. All but two persons wore dogi, which was generally considered a bit disgraceful. For lower-ranking practitioners, they might not own kimono or know how to wear them, but for those at 3-dan or above, a kyudo practitioner should know how to wear kimono. I wore dogi myself, however, so I promised to wear kimono next year.

The second day began with a panel of four participants. Mohammed Shihab, a Karate practitioner from Syria, talked about the difference he saw between sports and budo, and the importance of moral education. It was sometimes a little hard to understand exactly what he was saying, but he seemed to feel strongly that having a respectful heart–whether that is towards your teacher, or the art, or even the Emperor–is important. Then a David McFall, a Judo practitioner and commentator, presented three key proverbs to illustrate how budo is about learning how to interact properly with our fellow humans. It was a well-presented lecture. The three proverbs were:

虎穴に入らずんば虎子を得ず　”You cannot catch a cub unless you enter the tiger’s den.”
七転び八起き　”Fall down seven times, get up eight.”
一期一会　”A once in a lifetime experience.”

The third panel lecture was by Per Flood, a Kyudo practitioner from Sweden. He discussed how what is important in budo is your interaction with others, especially aiding those below you. Some people can practice so hard yet never become technically good, while others might never practice yet quickly become technically good. This technical skill is much less important than aiding those around you, which will also help you morally grow. The final panel lecture was by an Australian Aikido practitioner, Rionne McAvoy. He had a very casual, but amusing presentation style. Unfortunately, he used a lot of cuss words, which lent a rather uncouth feeling to the lecture and embarrassed poor Prof Tanaka Mamoru, whose duty was to comment on each of the panelist’s presentations. Anyway, Mr. McAvoy’s lecture discussed how experiencing/learning other arts can help one understand the main martial art one practices. Overall, the panel lectures were quite interesting and I enjoyed hearing about the diverse perspectives of the participants.

This post has gotten too long, so I’ve broken it up into parts: 1, 2, and 3

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Do Kami Actually Exist?

 

At Shiroishi Jinja

A while ago I read a book called “Kannushi Life” by NAKAO Muneyasu (2010, 169-71), who is, unsurprisingly, a kannushi (Shinto priest). Specifically he is the guji at Takenobu Inari Jinja in Kyoto. The book is an easy read–even if your Japanese isn’t that good I recommend it–but goes into some of the complex aspects in between the various anecdotes of his life as a Shinto priest.

 

One of the mistakes people make when talking about Shinto is asking the wrong questions. People tend to assume, even if being charitable, that Shinto is like a Japanese form of modern Christian religion and “kami” are polytheistic gods. The following passage from Nakao’s book explains how asking the wrong questions leads to impossible answers.

Do Kami Actually Exist?
“Do Kami-sama actually exist?” is a question I am asked surprisingly often. If I am forced to answer “yes” or “no” to this question, I would answer, “No.”

You are probably surprised to hear a kannushi (Shinto priest) answer like that. Since I am worried you will misunderstand my answer of “no”, let me talk a bit more about the word “exist” in this question “Do Kami-sama actually exist?”

Kami-sama are not a thing that either exists or doesn’t exist. You could say that the category of “exists/not-exists” is wrong, or that the question doesn’t quite match the object, or that the nuance is different. For example, what if I asked a similar question to you:

“Does today’s weather exist in your room?”

You know what weather is. You also are aware of what your room is. But you can’t really say whether the weather exists or doesn’t exist in your room. So to answer the question you would probably be forced to say, “No.” There is a problem with the question.

“What sort of form do Kami-sama have?” is another question I am asked. There is a general pattern to how people generally imagine Kami-sama look. The first kind of image is a person with hair parted in the middle and bound up in bundles about the ears, wearing loose white clothing with a sort of cord binding the trousers at the knees…. and so on. This is just an image of what people wore in the Yayoi period of history. Another image people have of Kami-sama is an old man with long white hair and a beard holding a gnarled wooden staff, or perhaps a beautiful young woman et cetera.

With questions like “Do they actually exist?” and “What form do they have?”, people are trapped by the idea that Kami-sama have a physical form. But Kami-sama have never had a certain established form.

The question “Do Kami-sama actually exist?” assumes that Kami-sama have a single physical body just the same as you and me. So if you are asking me if such a physical Kami-sama exists, I would say “No.” However, if you asked me if, although lacking a physical form, do Kami-sama exist, I would say, “Yes.”

To put it shortly, this world exists and that reality itself is Kami-sama.

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Challenge and Honour

Raistlin and Crysania

Recently, I’ve been working making demo recordings with a volunteer group that is trying to produce an english version of the amazing Russian musical The Last Trial (“Posledneye Ispytanie” in Russian). This musical is based on the even more extraordinary Dragonlance series, a work that should one day come to be included within the annals of Great American Literature. But as the case of Nikola Tesla and Thomas Edison shows, it is not Great Works, but rather Popular Works that usually end up being included. Sigh.

Anyway, the musical (rock opera?) tells the story of the two brothers Raistlin and Caramon, and the Revered Daughter, Crysania. The story is quite complex with a lot of profound themes running through it, but the story begins with Crysania–a priestess dedicated to the gods of Good–receiving a dream asking her to redeem the dark mage Raistlin’s soul from evil. One of the songs she sings is her vowing to accomplish this task bestowed upon her: “I’ll save what remains of his soul// or I’ll die [trying]!” It reminds me of the Japanese saying, 死而後已 (“Cease only after death”). It is a beautiful song for which I sang a demo.

Among the many beautiful lyrics in the song, there is one part that I have found particularly moving. It sings:

Fate thrust this challenge upon me
and I accept the honour!

She is saying that it is an honour that fate has presented her with this challenge. The many hardships and difficulties life thrusts upon us–they are not to seen as injustices to be vainly raged against or the malice of a spiteful fate. No, these challenges are an honour bestowed us. If we were a weak and worthless thing, life would not present us with this challenges. Rather it is because we have strength that god deems us worthy of facing such difficult challenges.

In Japanese, the english word “challenge” is used often by teachers and students, but the meaning is a bit different than in native english. If a teacher says to a student, “Challenge!” it means the teacher hopes the student will challenge themselves. That the student will try to solve a problem that is at the very boundry of that student’s abilities. “Challenge!” is a word of encouragment in Japanese.

I have been so fortunate in my life, blessed with a loving family, with kind friends, with a safe and healthy upbringing. But I also have difficulties in life. There are times when these difficulties are overwhelming, how I wish to give up, to retreat. But then I think of the great honor it is that I have been deemed worthy enough to face them, and I say to myself, “Challenge!”

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The Pain of Existence

Achilles desecrates Hector’s corpse

There are many kinds of pain. We often only think of pain as real if we can give it a physical source, that is, only if there are actually neurons being physically damaged and thus telling our brains to feel pain. But pain is in fact a far broader phenomenon. In the case of psychosomatic pain, mental conditions can cause actual physical pain symptoms. And there is certainly evidence that people can, indeed, “die from a broken heart.”

Although I am fairly weak in body, physical pain isn’t something I spend a great deal of time considering in depth. After all, physical pain is merely part of the human condition. This is easy to accept. But there is another sort of pain I experience frequently. That is the pain of existence.

This pain is something that has often accompanied me and thus when I was younger, I thought a lot about death even though I had no special desire to die. Rather I had so much sympathy for Hector when he sang:

Will my weary soul find release for a while? At the moment of death I will smile.

Hector did not seek death, but what a sad joy he felt when it found him outside the walls of Troy. This is similar to the first Noble Truth that Gautama realized: that all is suffering. But the pain of this for Gautama was even worse than for Hector, for reincarnation meant that not even death would at last bring peace.

Not to compare myself to heroes and sages, but I suspect all we humans suffer from this pain of existence. The brightly colored, sanitized society of the West does nothing to ease or even explain this pain. Rather, it tends to encourage us to drown our pain in the amusements and distractions of physical and mental pleasures. But we should not merely drown ourselves in pleasures, even constructive ones like academic study.

I think this pain of existence comes from a sense of meaninglessness. Philosophers like Satre have dealt with this meaninglessness by suggesting there is no meaning to life, and therefore we should create our own meaning. What beautiful freedom! But I can have no sympathy with this point of view. Any meaning I construct for myself is still just that: a constructed meaning that has no foundation. Why should one go on living this painful existence for some random reason I myself just made up? That does not soothe the pain of existence that increases each living day.

Rather, I’ve found that looking for a reason to live is vanity. It is better to look for a reason to die. This may sound morbid, but we live everyday. Everyday we have a chance to continue living. But to die! We only have a single chance to die. It is like Yoshida Shoin wrote:

The warrior must ever have in mind that the only death he has to give should not be suffered in vain. It should be kept, in other words, as if he were holding an intemperate steed in rein.

In this day and age, in the safe and prosperous countries in to which I have been born and in which I live, it is unlikely I will find a truly good reason to die. But thinking this way makes the pain of existence bearable. I don’t need a reason to live. I can continue living, continue struggling to do what I feel is right despite the pain, because I haven’t yet a good reason to give up the single precious life I currently possess.

 

Addendum. I should note that this is only part of my thoughts on this matter. It is a complex thing, connected to the heart of human nature and the nature of reality itself.

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Carefully In Balance

My Bento Box

A short translation from the book, “The Bento Box the Kami Give Us” by OKAMOTO Akio, a former Shinto priest of Kasuga Taisha.

Kami grant only as much happiness as they do sadness.

“If there are enough objects, there are things lacking. If there are enough things, there are objects lacking.” So it is said.

To explain this simply, is means that if the material is plentiful, then the circumstances will be poor. Then if the circumstances are quite good, then this time the physical materials will be lacking. On the whole, there is no one in this world who feels that their life is complete in both materially and in circumstance. No matter how happy a family might look, if you take a step inside you will find that family has untold anxieties.

If something happy happens, there will be something sad too. The kami keep it carefully in balance.

So, if something sad happens, there will always be something comforting as well. In the same way, if something happy happens, then there will be something which needs to be thought over too. There is no need to be depressed about things, thinking you are the only one suffering unhappy things. If you look around yourself, you will find there are lots of small bits of happiness that only you have not noticed. So, please walk with your head held high, thinking “I have all these happy things around me!”

In this world, there are tons of people who keep getting more and more depressed thinking too much about all their misfortunes. But it is better think that “A pinch is a chance!” and look for the fortune that comes after the misfortune.

In this life, fortune and misfortune walk hand in hand. If this is complete, then that is lacking.
Don’t get depressed thinking you are the only unhappy one.

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Modern Day is Crazy

Modern day is so crazy.

Today, we had a typhoon. It wasn’t life-threatening. No one’s roof blew off their house. I don’t even think any large trees were blown over. So, naturally school wasn’t cancelled. I still went to work. My students showed up for their classes.

But walking to the train station I thought, Modern day is so crazy! Why I am walking in pouring rain, with wind so strong I can’t use an umbrella, to work? People should stay home on days like this. They should stay in their warm houses, not wasting energy on heating their work place. The family should gather together by the kotatsu. I am not saying just because its a storm means people should think it is a holiday. Not at all. The children should still study by reviewing their textbook or homework sheets. Adults should teach the children or get indoor tasks done. We shouldn’t ignore the weather, ignore nature. We shouldn’t struggle through the wet and cold when we could do more beneficial things at home. We shouldn’t live 9 to 5 and ignore the sunlight. Why do we do these crazy things?

Because we can. We have cars, so we can ignore the rain from inside our gasoline heated machine. We have electric lights, so we can ignore if the sun is up or if the moon is out. Technology isn’t bad. In fact, I believe it can truly be good. But people don’t have the wisdom to use it properly. Today, I had wonderful classes with my students. I don’t resent going to work. But I can’t understand how this modern way of thinking is good.

Modern day is crazy, and I want to go back to being normal.

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Book: Kojiki-den (Book 1)

Kojiki-den (Book 1)
by Motoori Norinaga, Trans. by Ann Wehmeyer

I became a fan of MOTOWORI Norigana from the time I first read about him in the notes of Chamberlain’s translation of the Kojiki. His scholarship was rigorous, but motivated by his heart, and he left a lasting impact on Japanese philology and philosophy. And as my Japanese is still a work in progress, I was terribly happy to find the first volume of his Kojiki-den had been translated into English. I’ve just finished reading it recently, so here is a record or some of my thoughts on it.

First, I love the academic culture that thrived in the Edo period. Motowori came from a merchant family, but being ill-suited to that sort of business, he studied hard and became a doctor. Entering this educated society, he could attend lectures by teachers and keep up an amazing correspondence with friends and scholars across the country. In the end, he founded his own school. But when I say school, it isn’t the clear-cut prison-like structure of modern schools, but was more of a formalization of a group of like-minded friends, who have gathered around an intelligent man they respect as a teacher. Like Jesus and his disciples, really. The sort of writing that this period produced is also a joy to read. It is respectful, but slightly arrogant; clearly worded, but full of passion. I often get the impression that it pains and saddens him that although he explains even such obvious facts, people still can not yet see the truth that lies so clearly in the ancient texts and are deluded by fancy Chinese writing. It is a sort of argumentative style that fiercely criticizes the opponent, but isn’t mean spirited at all. When I read books like this (in Japanese or in good translation) of authors of this period, my heart feels so happy that it hurts.

Anyway, here are some things Motowori talks about:

Is Shinto a Way?
Shinto or “Way of the Gods” is a term developed in response to the Way of the Buddhas or (Chinese) Sages. Motowori argues that in China and other countries, society was very corrupted, so people had to make up these ways to help correct society. But in Japan, people lived naturally in accordance with the Gods, so they needed no way to correct the already perfectly harmonious society. The Ways of Buddhism and Confucianism/Daoism teach some good stuff, but since they are based on correcting a godless corrupt society, they are foolish for Japan to follow. Japan should merely follow her natural traditions as described in the Kojiki. Thus Shinto is not a Way.

Action vs. Feeling:
Motowori quotes a poem of the kami-sama Michizane which says, “心だにまことの道にかなひなば、祈らずとても神や守らん”, ie: if you follow the truth in your heart, even if you don’t pray, the gods will protect you. Motowori disagrees with this and saying active worship of the kami-sama, presenting them with food or dance etc. is very important. Just “feeling it in you heart” is not good enough. I’m afraid here I am not sure I agree with Motowori. While I feel that the honest feelings of your heart are what matter in the end, I think if we don’t take material action in accordance with those feelings (ie: by offering kami-sama food etc.) then it is easy to trick ourselves into thinking our heart are honest, but in actually merely shallowly wanting to believe that is so.
I wonder if this matter can be compared to the issue of good works vs. faith found in Christianity.

Kanji as Decoration:
Writing in Chinese, or in a Chinese-influenced Japanese had been the standard in Japan for many hundreds of years by Motowori’s time. In fact, the pure Japanese of old had been nearly forgotten. Motowori’s work in reconstructing ancient Japanese from the Kojiki and other classics was the most significance. Ancient Japanese, such as in the Koijki, was written in Chinese characters used for sometimes sound and sometimes meaning. Japanese was originally only sound and had no native writing system, so the meaning of the words was all in the sound. Thus the choice of what kanji to use when writing the meaningful sounds was merely a choice of decoration. Actually, I feel very moved by this theory. In modern times, what words are written with what kanji has been completely standardized. But I feel this is a great shame. When we write with both kanji and sound, we can impart a far more complex meaning to our text.

Life isn’t fair:
One of the problems Motowori has with Chinese philosophy is it holds that life is sort of fair. In Confucianism, bad things happen to bad people and good things happen to good people. But in real life, clearly this is not always so. Buddhism makes a little more sense in explaining that due to karma, bad things happen to good people because they were bad in a past life and vise-versa. Motowori explains this by a sort of Manichean dichotomy of good kami-sama vs. bad kami-sama. Good kami-sama like Amatersu are happy and helped when worshiped. But sometimes even the great power of Ookami cannot overcome the evil workings of bad kami-sama like Musubi-na-nantoka. In that case, all we poor people can do is try to appease the bad kami-sama by worshiping them and avoid things like pollution which helps the bad kami-sama in their works. While it is clear that life isn’t always fair, I can’t really agree so much with Motowori’s explanation here.

The Mandate of Heaven:
The mandate of Heaven in Chinese philosophy is a sort of divine sanction of a ruler’s reign. When Heaven is pleased, things are good and the ruler to allowed to rule. But if the ruler becomes corrupt, then Heaven will take its mandate away, various disasters will occur, and it is the obligation of the people to overthrow the government and set up a new ruler upon whom the mandate of Heaven has been bestowed. Motowori criticized this theory as merely an pretty way of excusing “might makes right”, and pointed out that Japan’s unbroken Imperial line from the age of the Gods was a sign of Japan’s divine superiority.
Now, Japan’s imperial line remains only unbroken by a rather sympathetic look at Japanese history, and China’s mandate of Heaven philosophy was certainly an improvement of Europe’s divine right of kings theory. But Motowori points out here a significant difference between Japanese and Chinese(foreign) culture. Conflict is often framed in a dichotomy, of the right vs. the wrong. But Japanese culture, viewing conflict like this is avoided if at all possible. Instead of two sides, there is only the right side and the other opinions are merely distortions or misunderstandings of this original correct view. Thus even in conflict, Japanese culture encourages unity/harmony.

Anyway, this is just some for my surface thoughts upon having finished reading the Kojiki-den. A large part of the book was dedicated to matters of Japanese linguistics, which tho fascinating, I am not well informed enough of the topic to state any opinion of those matters. Someday, I intend to reread this book, and think more deeply about the many theories he presents.

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Encouragement of Madness 1

1「ただ狂え！」
He introduces some poems from the Kanginshuu, a Muromachi compilation for commoners.
One is “Well it can’t be helped I’m turning 70 years old.”
The next says “The world is gone in the twinkle of the eye.”
The last says “Despite how serious its treated, life is but a mad dream.” He takes the name of the book “An Encouragement of Madness” from this poem.

Philosophy is a weapon of the weak against the world. No one helps the weak, such as us and poor Muromachi period peasants  Strong people can live easily in the world and don’t need philosophy. The world is their apple so to say. But we shouldn’t hate the world. Maybe just look down on it.

2太鼓持になってはいけません
Strong people are just people to whom the word is a sweet soup.How can we weak people survive in the world (世間）? Some people are flatterers （ゴマをすり) and sycophants. But we musn’t do this. The philosophy of the weak is not called philosophy, but called “common sense”.

Can we trust the world? No we can’t. It constantly changes, like in WWII when extravagance was BAD and then after WWII extravagance was GOOD. Or like in that Chinese parable. So don’t try to please the world. Instead, become a free person (自由人). By free, he means basing [your actions] on yourself rather than the world.

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