Showing posts with label discussion. Show all posts
Showing posts with label discussion. Show all posts

Thursday, August 22, 2013

MIYAZAWA KENJI: Part I

Miyazawa Kenji: Part I


My wife Aoi and I are both students of Japanese literature. Of late, we have been interested in the literature produced during the Meiji, Taishō, and early Shōwa periods. One writer who unfortunately, I had not really taken much notice of until I received a book of his as a present — a children’s book titled Chūmon no Ōi Ryōriten (注文の多い料理店), The Restaurant of Many Orders, is Miyazawa Kenji. A few evenings ago, I had been rearranging my bookshelves, in the futile hope of making more room for more books (my study is now a repository of books positioned in any place that I don’t step on) and took a few minutes to leaf through The Restaurant of Many Orders again. I very much enjoyed the book and wanted to share with you what I discovered about the author.
I think to most Westerners, the name Miyazawa Kenji either means not much; or more frequently, it is confused with Miyazaki Hayao, the creator of the now classic My Neighbor Totoro, Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind, and Kiki’s Delivery Service. Not at all the same man, but both have indisputably given us some treasures.
Miyazawa (宮沢 賢治) was born August 27, 1896 and is most noted as one of the premier writers of children’s literature of the early Shōwa period. He was also a devout Buddhist and in later life, a social activist.
Unlike what one might expect in many stories of the time, the Meiji period, Miyazawa was not born into a poor humble household; rather, he was born in Iwate, in the town of Hanamaki-shi, north-central Honshū, as the eldest son of a wealthy pawnbroker. Even though he was a child of wealth and privilege, he was bothered by what he perceived to be a great social disparity between his moneyed family and the disadvantaged, often insolvent, farmers of the region, whom his family profited from by lending them money.
The young man attended the Morioka Agriculture and Forestry College (Now Iwate University), graduating in 1918. Records show that he was a bright student; so bright in fact, that his academic advisor hired him as an assistant professor. That in itself should have made young Kenji very happy indeed; yet, a wide chasm developed between him and his father, primarily over religion. Kenji had converted to a modern form of Nichiren Buddhism, Nichirenism or Nichirenshugi (日蓮主義), becoming a follower of the radical nationalist leader of the Nichrensugi, Tanaka Chigaku[i], to the extent of joining Tanaka’s Kokuchukai or “National Pillar” organization in 1920. That, and his growing disgust for the family pawn business, led him to leave Hanamaki for Tokyō, and to give up his financial inheritance in a complete break with his family.
It was in Tokyō that he was introduced to the works of the poet Hagiwara Sakutarō[ii] and was himself inspired to begin writing. He spent eight months in Tokyō, where he primarily wrote children’s stories, but was ultimately forced to return to Hanamaki due to the illness and finally death of his younger sister, whom he had loved very much.
Back at home, on tenuous ground with his father, Miyazawa found employment as a teacher of agricultural science at the Hanamaki Agricultural High School (花巻農学校) at a meager wage; but still, he was able to set aside enough money to pay for the publication of his first collection of children’s stores and fairy tales, Chūmon no Ōi Ryōriten, mentioned earlier, as well as a small collection of free-verse poetry, Haru to Shura (春と修羅), Spring and Asura. Although neither work was what could be considered a commercial success, they did gain the attention of Japanese poets Takamura Kōtarō[iii] and Kusano Shimpei[iv] who in turn, introduced his work to Japanese literary circles. As a teacher, Miyazawa was viewed as a bit eccentric, but also as a man of passion. He taught that learning could only come through actual, first-hand experience rather than solely by scholastic effort. In keeping with that, he often took his students out of the formal classroom setting, sometimes for training, but often simply for enjoyable walks in the countryside. He also encouraged his pupils to put on plays which they had themselves written.
From 1926 until his passing in 1933, Miyazwa did all that he could in order to improve both the material and the spiritual lives of the peasants of Iwate-ken. He introduced new agricultural methods and new varieties of seeds and plants. He went so far as to leave his teaching position in order to establish the Rasu Farmers Association, which met in a small house on his family’s property. Not only did he teach agriculture but also encouraged the performance of plays, music and other cultural activities.
He also, at that time, studied Esperanto, a contrived, constructed language, more of a fashionable fad or experiment, very popular at the time, especially within European intellectual and pseudo-intellectual circles. Nitobé Inazō was another fan of this language and went so far as to attempt to have it adapted as “the international language” by the League of Nations.
Miyazawa’s later work (1926-1933) shows an acute sensitivity for nature, the land, and the people who worked it. He became a prolific writer of children’s stores, many of which might seem light, humorous, even capricious, but which all contained some note of moral education. He wrote not only prose but penned stage plays, a large number of tanka, as well as free-verse, much of which was not published until after his death from pneumonia resulting from chronic pleurisy[v] September 21, 1933
Besides the works previously cited, his other major works include: Gingatetsudō no Yoru (銀河鉄道の夜), Night on the Galactic Railroad; Kaze no Matasaburō (風の又三郎), Matasaburo of the Wind; Cello Hiki no Goshu (セロ弾きのゴーシュ), Gauche the Cellist; Taneyamagahara no Yoru (種山ヶ原の夜), The Night of Taneyamagahara; Vegetarian Taisai (ビジテリアン大祭), Vegetarian Great Festival; Ryū to Shijin (竜と詩人), The Dragon and the Poet.









[i] Tanaka Chigaku (田中智學) (1861–1939) was a Japanese Buddhist scholar and preacher of Nichiren Buddhism, orator, writer and nationalist propagandist in the Meiji, Taishō and early Shōwa periods. He is considered to be the father of Nichirenism, the fiercely nationalistic blend of Nichiren Buddhism and State Shinto espoused by such figures as Inoue Nissho, Ishiwara Kanji and Kita Ikki.
The 1890s saw Tanaka's spiritual philosophy evolve in an increasingly nationalistic manner, taking to concluding his works with the twin salutations of “I Take Refuge in the Scripture of the Wondrous Lotus Blossom” (南無妙法蓮華経, Namu myoho rengekyo) and “Imperial Japan for Ever and Ever” (日本帝国万々歳, Nippon teikoku ban-banzai). The decade saw him carry out extensive lecturing tours throughout Japan and establish his Nichiren study group, Rissho Ankokukai (立正安国会) from his new base in Kamakura. A noted anti-Christian and staunch opponent of Christian missionaries in Japan, he applauded Japan’s triumph in the Russo-Japanese War in 1905, stating that “The war with Russia is divinely inspired to make Japanese citizens aware of their heavenly task.”
In 1908, he moved his base to Miho, Shizuoka Prefecture, where he would write his most famous work, “The Doctrine of Saint Nichiren” (日蓮聖人の教義, Nichiren shonin no kyogi) in 1911, in which he casts the radical 13th century priest Nichiren as the champion of the Japanese nation, and called for world unification through Nichirenism, with the emperor as its core. “Japan’s very purpose of existence,” he writes, “is the implementation of this plan, as a country conceived for building Nichiren Buddhism.”
In 1914, Tanaka amalgamated all of his followers into a single organization, the Kokuchukai (国柱会, National Pillar Society), based in Miho. He maintained a busy lecture schedule until illness curtailed his activities in the late 1930s, and travelled not only throughout Japan but also on speaking tours of Japanese-occupied Korea and Manchukuo, where he supported and gave lectures to Emperor Puyi. His nationalist and imperialist convictions only hardened with age, believing that Japan’s 1931 takeover of Manchuria was divinely ordained and part of a divine plan to spread the “true" Nichiren Buddhism throughout Asia. He even went as far as to compile diagrams of the states in which the “Nichirenization” of the world would take place.

[ii] Hagiwara Sakutarō (萩原 朔太郎, November 1, 1886 - May 11, 1942) was a Japanese writer of free-style verse, active in the Taishō and early Shōwa periods of Japan. He is credited by some as having “liberated Japanese free verse from the grip of traditional rules,and he is considered by many as the “father of modern colloquial poetry in Japan.” He published many volumes of essays, literary and cultural criticism, and aphorisms over his long career. His unique style of verse expressed his doubts about existence, and his fears, ennui, and anger through the use of dark images and unambiguous wording.

[iii] Takamura Kōtarō (高村 光太郎 March 13, 1883 – April 2, 1956) was a Japanese poet and sculptor. His sculptural work shows strong influence both from Western work (especially Auguste Rodin, whom he idolized) and from Japanese traditions. He is also famous for his poems, and especially for his 1941 collection Chiekoshō (智恵子抄, literally “Selections of Chieko,” in English titled Chieko's Sky after one of the poems therein), a collection of poems about his wife Chieko Takamura, who died in 1938.

[iv] Kusano Shimpei (1903 – 1988) a poet who won the Order of Cultural Merit in 1987, was called “Mr. Frog” by the local people of Iwaki. The reason why he got this nickname was because, as a featured theme of his poetry, he often wrote about frogs. “Mr. Frog,” whose birth place was in Iwaki, is still talked about by its residents as a pure and honest person, almost childlike, how his facial expressions as a poet had some kind of attractiveness and so on. Locally, there are more legends of his unique personality. Shimpei was very poor when he married. He sent a telegram to a total stranger, Miyazawa Kenji, asking, “Would you please send us a bale of rice.” What he received from Kenji were thick books and a letter which said “You can exchange these books to money.” Later on, Shimpei opened a bar, which name was “Hi-no-kuruma” (hard up for money). However, the business did not go well because he started drinking with his customers.

[v] Pleurisy (also known as pleuritis) is an inflammation of the pleura, the lining surrounding the lungs. There are many possible causes of pleurisy but viral infections spreading from the lungs to pleural cavity are the most common. The inflamed pleural layers rub against each other every time the lungs expand to breathe in air. This can cause sharp pain when breathing, also called pleuritic chest pain.

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

THOUGHTS FROM A TAKAYAMA ROOFTOP: Musings on a View of History

Musings on a View of History


kishamichi ni
hikuku kari tobu
tsukiyo kana

low over the railroad
wild geese flying –
a moonlight night

-Shiki


The warm days of summer are now gone and the soft, gentle breeze that drifted through the open doors of my study and rustled the papers on my desk has grown teeth. In summer, it would make its way through this old “samurai house,” blending indoors with out, lending a certain tenderness and ease to life. Today, sweater replaces yukata, iced tea is now traded for steaming coffee. Last night the wind shook the closed shutters over our doors and windows, as though demanding entry: equal time with the zephyrs of mid-year. Now our warmth comes from the electric heater and the fire which crackles and snaps from the pit in the main tatami room, on which rides the smoky incense of oak rather than the perfume of flowers and fresh grass.

As I look through the sliding glass door of my refuge, filled with the volumes of Japan past which stir my imagination and answer my questions, only then give birth to new queries, I can see the cats at play in the garden; enjoying the day in their newly fluffed coats. The old puss perches high up on the gate, surveying her domain, as though she is some ancient daimyō watching over her han (domain). The two young ones dart here and there; games of hide-and-seek or perhaps imagining themselves as tigers in the wild; hiding in the now brown grass; waiting for some elusive prey to venture too close to their place of cover. Occasionally one cat ventures out to the edge of the pond and looks in. Yes, the koi are all still there in their places. Then he’s off again to pounce on his preoccupied sibling who just found a mouse. All too soon, the pond will be covered with ice, the ground will be blanketed in snow, and the garden mice will be safe in their nests below the porch.

One cannot help but to smile a bit at the moment, and then I look at the volumes of history that line the walls of my room and think about autumns long ago. Did Tokugawa Ieyasu look out his window at Edo Castle, or later at Sanpu in Suruga, and see similar scenes? Some might say no, he was without doubt too busy plotting and scheming. I think he did see such things and probably thought deeply upon them in his later years. Nevertheless, that is a difference in the viewing of history.



History is merely an attempt to write about events that belong to the past. What is written depends on documents: manuscripts, essays, and articles from the period being written about. Modern-day topics and events are often regarded as being too ordinary and thus, unworthy of documentation except as television newsbytes or a few short columns in a newspaper.
I often find myself wondering how historians, perhaps two or three centuries from now, will regard the last few years, and especially this year of 2009, in viewing Japan or the United States. Will they describe 2009 as a year when America began to once again find direction and to re-assume a position of world leadership, this time for the betterment of the world in general and in particular for its own citizens; or, will they perhaps hold 2009 up as enduring evidence that a once great notion grew too big to sustain itself and its ideals, and in the end failed?

Will they say that Japan continued its socio-political decline, and that its culture continued to erode, giving way to the forces of globalization, just as a beach is consumed by the waves of an approaching typhoon, or will they perhaps say that 2009 was a year when Japan, at last, broke free from the miasma from which it suffered, beginning at the end of World War II? Did Japan at last find its feet and stand up to demand equity with the United States among the nations of the world and cast off its acquiescence to Western domination?

Recently I wrote a short essay on the topic of Bushidō and its core. The article, much to my delight, stirred more than a little controversy and debate, which in itself, was a very good thing; for in my mind, such writing has little point unless it stirs thought and stimulates discussion. The essay and resulting commentary became the subject of conversations among myself and other Japanese with a more than passing interest in Japanese culture and history. Some were outraged by the views expressed by a group from the San Francisco Bay Area: others were simply dismayed. More than one comment was made that they should “admit their shame and end their life.” The comment was also made that some, whose samurai heritage had been insulted, would be more than willing to assist the group in the called for acts of seppuku. Some may indeed by surprised that one’s samurai heritage can be insulted, more than one hundred and forty years after the conclusion (note I did not say fall) of the Tokugawa Era. Most Japanese, even those who we might term as “liberals” are far more conservative than their American liberal cousins are. Most Japanese still attach great significance to their family histories: their clans and their samurai heritage. That is being Japanese.

Certainly, the group, Asians Art Museum, which parodies the San Francisco Asian Art Museum, has every right to express their views and opinions; indeed, I encourage it. Yet, the Japanese who read it and expressed their opinions to me, felt that the group’s views were tainted, that there was a certain “agenda” not too well hidden beneath their words: expressions marked with an irony that does not translate to Japanese thought. Among the Japanese students of Japanese history, none of my associates regard themselves as scholars but simply as students, sincehistory is an unending process of study and analysis– a process we often engage in over coffee, tea, sake and snacks (we try to do things with a bit of flair), the view was frequently expressed that aspiring or pseudo-historians tend to notice or to select records which match their own pre-conceptions of the past and support (or can be bent to support) their own personal, revisionist agendas; that is, they have an ax to grind.






Certainly there exits confusion about the complexities of Japanese history, even among Japanese. In this particular case, however, we have Western historians giving interpretation to Japanese history. In the West, modern historians still are greatly influenced by 18th century theories of history and long-past Age of Enlightenment in Europe. They still regard the European medieval age as the “dark ages” and as a corollary, the age of Japanese feudalism: cruel, dark, dismal. Certainly some Japanese historians and intellectuals (such as Nitobé Inazo) are equally as guilty of this view, having themselves imported ideals of Western feudalism and overlaying them on unique, Japanese concepts. Add to that a certain taint of Marxism interlaced with the American penchant for political correctness, and the overall result becomes skewed. A result is the compartmentalization of Japanese history into Japan’s “Classical Era,” Japan’s “Feudal Era” or Dark Ages, and the Modern or “Post-Tokugawa Era”, when it is far more complex than that. This tends to perpetuate the selective (and often simplistic) reporting of history: ignoring the complexities of Japanese history, which can be likened to the weaving of some fine tapestry.

Nevertheless, the overall result of the discussions was twofold. First, that certainly, everyone should be free to express their thoughts and opinions, even though it may lack wisdom or good manners – expression is essential. The second conclusion was that Japanese history and its interpretation should be left to Japanese, since the West is not equipped to understand and appreciate Japanese thought and the depth of Japanese culture and the intricacies of its history.

(To be continued)

-Tokugawa H.










Copyright 2009 by H. Tokugawa and Shisei-Do Publications. All rights reserved.