I’m currently reorganizing my blog. Some articles will be deleted or revised as part of this process. The aim is to improve readability and enhance the overall content, and I appreciate your understanding.
Seizing this moment, I’ve decided to start sharing my dream diary openly.
Before my father passed away, he recounted to me a story from the “Tale of the Heike.” Following the Heike’s fall in the capital, a nun of the second rank entered the waters with the young Emperor Antoku. The three sacred objects she carried with the infant sank to the depths, and only the replicas of the mirror and sword, excluding the magatama, were passed down to subsequent generations. These sacred objects were meant to remain unseen by the emperor, leaving him uncertain whether the ones still preserved are indeed the legendary items. My father would often remark, ‘It’s better not to talk about the imitations outside.’ For it is political to those of ignoble spirit. To renounce the beauty of illusion is an act more ignoble than witnessing the demise of myth itself. Yet, given the world’s perpetual ignobility, we alone are left to breathe life into these phantasms. My father’s manner of speaking, rich with the suggestion that such matters were best left unsaid beyond our walls, seemed to uniquely encapsulate his character. In its entirety, this became my own Tale of the Heike, a treasured story woven into the fabric of my existence.
This is what I dreamed:I found myself standing in a fine drizzle, feeling as if suspended between worlds. The sodden earth beneath my feet seemed to whisper of days upon days of unending rain. Sheltered under the conifers, uncertain if the rain would relent or intensify, I stumbled upon the imprint of a sheep’s hoof. Though I couldn’t fathom why I attributed it to sheep, there was a certainty within me that a verdant meadow lay just beyond, yet I felt unable to proceed further. The light of day was muted, never yielding to darkness.
“A psalm of David.”
“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.”
“He makes me lie down in green pastures,”
“He leads me beside quiet waters,”
“He restores my soul. For His name’s sake, He guides me in paths of righteousness.”
“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,”
Who recited that psalm? I was uncertain of the language in which it was spoken, yet it was evident to me that I was among the living, for I recognised it as the 23rd chapter of the Psalms. In the realm beyond, where life relinquishes its grasp, the ego and personality dissolve, and we transcend this passage as beings beyond imagination. Monks have said that in death, we become free of anger and sorrow. Yet, I felt not so privileged; I bore with me the full spectrum of emotions—joy, anger, sadness, and grief. Thus, it dawned upon me that this was all ensconced within a dream. The sound of my heart’s steady beat confirmed it; I was dreaming. I turned and posed a question that lingered in my mind: ‘I understood this psalm to be a trial for those who live, but does its reach extend to the departed as well?’
I asked this and then awoke.
Regarding this 23rd chapter, Augustine states that ‘the Church speaks to Christ.’ Who was it I intended to turn and question, who recited Psalm 23 to me? It was neither light nor shadow. The choice of interpretation seemed to rest solely with me. Boldly, I assert it was both. What lay within my grasp was both a void and a celestial realm, but I could never truly know it, for I couldn’t traverse it further.
This dream appeared to emanate from the mind. Impermanence, elusive to the senses, left me wondering whether the Holy Spirit had reached out and touched me beyond its speculation. The sacred, submerged in the depths of my mind, remains by my side as a discrepancy, a reproduction. Thus, it manifested as a ‘dream’.
The unsaid words and misplaced affections faded into eternity. For me, as a ‘phenomenologist’, the act of ‘bracketing’ (Epoché)these unidentifiable aspects and extracting only the experience from them was what I had been striving for all along.
Perhaps the fact that my father’s funeral adhered to the Jodo Shinshu tradition also played a role, yet I refrained from mentioning Christ altogether while delivering my eulogy before the coffin. I attuned myself to the atmosphere, contemplating what would be most appropriate for that particular moment. Neither did I delve into tales like the Tale of the Heike; rather, I spoke of more mundane matters. This approach brought a certain clarity, yet simultaneously compelled me to ponder my faith: ‘Could it be that the life devoted to emulating Christ is merely a “dream” during our mortal existence?’It might also signify an acceptance of having been defeated in thought. For me, such an entity had simply “vanished.” While dreams are chronicled in the Book of Daniel as a conduit to divinity, they can equally be construed within the human psyche. Innately, I could not assert Christ’s presence as “absolute” in the manner of a sovereign decree. And so, even if these were dreams of a fleeting existence, I found myself replacing a broken rosary.
‘Whose son are you?’
I wish to keep in mind that Jesus Christ, who drew nearest to the mystery of the ‘Father’, was executed. It is said in Revelation 2:17 that there exists a name known only to God and the one who receives it.My reflections often dwell not solely on his resurrection but also on his death. The question arises: what is truly sacred? Does Jesus reside within the rosary? The answer is no, and yet, why did I find myself compelled to repurchase it?
I have resolved to believe that these discrepancies between reality and mystery are what allow us to retain our humanity. More pressing, perhaps, is the question of what we would wish to do if we and our cherished existences were truly to dissolve into ‘nothingness’. Death is the ‘fruit’ that sinks to the ocean floor, prompting those who follow to strive to create substitutes for that which was lost. In the realm of the living, death assumes the guise of a dream, slightly misaligned with the otherworldly. Much like Jesus not residing in the rosary, yet the rosary remains an essential item. Hence, a certain misalignment must exist where this world intersects with the next. There are religious factions that oppose the three sacred artefacts, but the Christ shaped by skewed historical narratives and political ideology diverges from the true Christ. To skew mythologies within a favoured ideology betrays a lack of sincerity towards the sacred.
Some literary figures have remarked that literature often dwells more on death than on love. For me, a myth that stands in contrast to Jesus’ love and death is, for example, Orpheus. While Jesus bequeathed love to the world, Orpheus, overcome by love and awe, looked back despite his covenant with Hades. This fateful glance sent his wife Eurydice back to the realm of the dead, leaving only death in its wake. Even before his crucifixion, Jesus did not waver or look back when faced with betrayal by his disciples, rejection by the people, or the death of John the Baptist; he continued steadfast on his journey.
In narrative terms, both tales embody a form of love that brushes against the valley of the shadow of death, spinning a story that knows no end.Therefore, to accept only the impermanence of things or love alone was something I could never do.
Husserl’s phenomenology calls for fidelity not to the ‘things themselves’ but to phenomena as they manifest in consciousness, thereby implying that all that is seen, felt, or dreamt holds equivalent value to ‘reality’. My truth, as a phenomenon, possessed a surety. This dream may vary from Nebuchadnezzar’s dream, as interpreted by Daniel.
Yet within this, what do we decide to take from the scant items available before death claims us? Concerning this, I choose henceforth to employ the nebulous realm and vocabulary of dreams.
Within this domain, I seem to discover my core essence.
My conviction stands firm that my strength lies in accepting that absence, settled at the ocean’s depths.
As the first night draws to its close, were I to leave something unsaid,
Before the coffin, I longed to say: ‘You were, to me, like Joseph.’
In this context, it seems reasonable to conclude that Weil is referring to the Catholic Eucharist, or Eucharistia hostia. This is, of course, an intuitive conjecture, yet it remains plausible to suggest that Weil maintained a critical perspective towards the monotonous and arduous nature of factory labour. Moreover, she implies that the hostia has been reduced to a mere habit—an observation aligned with her critique of the increasing materialism and secularisation of the Church. I argue that this insight emerged from her personal experience as a labourer, leading her to realise that the act of consuming food and drink, devoid of the accompanying physical effort, could be seen as a more materialistic pursuit.
My preference for Weil, over many other philosophers and theologians, lies in her focused exploration of the condition of the ‘labourer’. Furthermore, her spiritual ‘turns’, which many find challenging to interpret, are consistently anchored in the figure of Jesus Christ. The issue of poverty tied to labour remains a pervasive and universal challenge, even in modern contexts. It is also worth noting that Jesus himself had a profound connection to labour, given that Joseph, his foster father, was a carpenter.
***
・Travail manuel. Pourquoi n’y a-t-il jamais eu un mystique ouvrier ou paysan qui ait écrit sur l’usage du dégoût du travail ? La pesanteur et la grâce
・(Manual labour. Why has there never been a labourer or peasant mystic who wrote about the experience of disgust towards work?)
・Travail manuel. Le temps qui entre dans le corps. Par le travail l’homme se fait matière comme le Christ par l’Eucharistie. Le travail est comme une mort.
(Manual labour. Time enters the body through labour. Through work, man becomes matter, just as Christ becomes matter through the Eucharist. Labour is akin to death.)
***
This assertion appears in Gravity and Grace (La pesanteur et la grâce), where Weil reflects on the mystery of labour, drawing a parallel between work and the transformation that Christ undergoes in the Eucharist. This connection evokes Christ’s anguished cry from the cross: “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?”—an expression of divine abandonment. Christ suffered fully as a human being, and conveying the meaning behind these beliefs can be profoundly challenging. Faith is often deeply intuitive and internal, making it difficult to articulate through rational discourse alone. From a Catholic perspective, reflecting on why one might embrace Catholicism involves recognising the inherent contradictions within the institution, which may serve as part of its appeal.
In early Christianity, the teachings of Jesus were transmitted orally and through personal encounters, embodying a distinctly spiritual and individual approach to faith. As the Church’s influence expanded within the Roman Empire, however, faith became increasingly institutionalised, with doctrines and rituals formalised over time. This evolution established faith as an entity rooted in institutional authority, often intertwined with political power. Catholicism continues to value mystery and intuition, yet these elements have also been absorbed into its institutional framework. Although Weil’s exact reasons for embracing Catholicism remain unknown, I believe it was the very contradictions within the faith that captivated her. Amidst the materialism and corruption that taints some members of the clergy, she found solace in her connection with the humanitarian Fr Perrin. When I challenged Fr Perrin on the Church’s practice of excommunication, he replied in writing, comparing it to an act of weeping. Regrettably, this letter never reached Weil.
Weil recounts three significant encounters with Catholicism following her factory experience. The first occurred in a small Portuguese village, where she witnessed fishermen’s wives singing sorrowful hymns. This encounter led her to perceive Christianity as a “religion of slaves,” realising that those who suffer need faith for solace—and that she, too, was one of these “slaves.” The second encounter took place in Assisi in 1937, where, for the first time, she knelt in a small chapel associated with St Francis, experiencing a profound reverence for God. She also immersed herself in the liturgy at Solesmes, enduring severe headaches but finding comfort in the beauty of the hymns and words. These experiences offered her a glimpse into the possibility of understanding divine love beyond human suffering, etching the Passion of Christ deeply into her spiritual consciousness.
For her third encounter, Weil committed to reciting the Lord’s Prayer (Pater) in Greek each morning with complete focus. During these prayers, she often experienced a profound silence, sometimes feeling as though her thoughts transcended her physical body, enabling her to sense the loving presence of Christ. This practice of prayer became a vital means of direct contact with the divine for her. Her engagement with Catholicism left a significant imprint on her thoughts and beliefs.
The term “Catholicism” in this context encompasses the formal doctrines, rituals, and institutions of the Catholic Church, along with its social and cultural impact. The Pope is viewed as the supreme authority, and Catholicism emphasises the institutional and public dimensions of tradition-based education and social action. It can be described as an “outward-looking” phenomenon, centred on the officially recognised doctrines and institutions of the Roman Catholic Church. Although personal “intuition” remains vital for practising Catholics, it is noteworthy that Weil—despite her deep involvement—never received baptism, or passed away before she could do so, suggesting that her spirituality transcended institutional boundaries.
Weil’s factory experience allowed her to empathise with the suffering of others and to recognise herself as a “slave.” This realisation profoundly shaped her spirit, leading her to see herself as an anonymous figure within society, much like Christ, who bore the weight of human suffering.
The Psalms of the Old Testament offer a poetic connection between God and humanity, expressing a spectrum of emotions through praise, prayer, and lament. Other biblical texts, such as the Song of Solomon, Job, Proverbs, Lamentations, and sections of Jeremiah and Isaiah, also contain poetic elements. However, the New Testament does not portray Jesus Christ in poetic form.
Why, then, is Jesus not praised through poetry? This absence may reflect the early Christian focus on spreading the faith and establishing communities within the material world. The practical need to communicate teachings clearly and accessibly took precedence over poetic expression, leaving any poetic sentiment about Jesus to the reader’s interpretation. The narrative structure and instructive parables used in the Gospels were essential for conveying the message to diverse audiences across different cultures and languages.
In this context, Weil’s concept of the ‘labourer’ serves as a symbolic connection to Jesus. It is not merely physical sustenance that labourers require, but rather the nourishment of the soul and imagination.
Even today, the issues surrounding poverty and labour are not easily categorised as either social problems or matters of personal responsibility; they remain deeply intertwined, presenting challenges without clear solutions. Viewing poetry solely as an act of creative expression reflects a subjective perspective, reminiscent of Plato’s theories. However, my focus has been on Weil’s engagement with Catholicism, despite her not being baptised.
Can we view labourers not as mere material beings but as individuals who share in Christ’s suffering?
While the hostia, representing Christ’s flesh, may exist within sacred rituals, it is undeniable that institutional corruption often reduces it to mere bread. Labourers need more than this—they require a poetic sentiment capable of inspiring and enriching their lives. Historically, poetry has expressed devotion and reverence towards God, articulating moral and ethical ideals. To what extent, though, can humanity embrace such ideals today?
Weil does not deny the necessity of bread in addressing physical hunger; rather, she distinguishes between this and the spiritual nourishment she seeks. Her writings call for a deeper exploration of suffering and the human experience, frequently referencing Jesus Christ as a guiding figure. In doing so, she reveals a profound religious intuition that underpins her perspectives on contradiction and transformation.
Ⅷ. Reflections
Perhaps you may glimpse poetic sentiment in the theme of ‘light and shadow.’ I wonder what thoughts stir within you as you observe the shadows cast by trees and the way light dances upon an outdoor wall. The delicate interplay between light and shadow conjures countless associations. Shadows, it could be said, are ephemeral—born from the presence of light, yet perpetually shifting and fleeting. If we draw upon Plato’s allegory of the cave, we might surmise that what we perceive as reality is but a shadow of the true essence, a projection on the wall that we mistake for the real. This enchanting scene offers only a fragment of truth, revealing but a glimpse of a larger whole.
In Japanese thought, this interplay evokes the concept of mujo—impermanence—capturing the transient meeting and parting of light and shadow. In Japanese literature, cherishing such seemingly insignificant moments is, in itself, a literary act. Gaston Bachelard, for his part, refrained from naming such experiences, instead drawing profound meaning from the essence of the fleeting moment.
While some may interpret this view as offering solace to labourers, my perspective has been shaped by Christian evangelism. Light and shadow, deeply symbolic throughout tradition, reveal beauty wherever the heart is open to see it. Yet if we are to embrace the full scope of Weil’s reflections on ‘labour,’ we must look beyond the mere interplay of light and shadow. We are called to confront the very symbol of ‘labour’ itself, not in its economic sense, but as a representation of poverty. Symbols, which merge the tangible with the abstract, demand both conceptual understanding and authentic engagement with reality.
One might say that while poetic sentiment grants us a certain freedom, we must also tread the path of poverty that Jesus embodies.
In Matthew 25:40, Jesus offers a parable that illuminates his royal worthiness: “Whatever you did for one of the least of my brethren, you did for me.” Conversely, he warns, “What you did not do for one of these least, you did not do for me.” These words convey that service to the most vulnerable is, in essence, service to Jesus himself. Yet bound within this message are daunting challenges, tangled with complexity, leading us away from the realm of poetry and heartfelt inspiration.
Indeed, those who place their faith in Jesus Christ may encounter moments of profound intuition, a deep sense of spiritual insight. Yet to articulate the poverty that Jesus embraced, and to share its meaning with others, is no easy task. The human heart, it seems, is caught in tension—yearning to draw nearer to the divine mystery, while fearing to lose itself within it. In recognising my own impermanence, I discover within myself a compassion tinged with humility—a challenge that mirrors my understanding of Jesus. This reflection becomes the essence of my redemption: not a pursuit of abstract beauty, but of a beauty that longs to take tangible form.
Amid the complexities of doctrine and the mysteries of faith, I have anchored my thoughts in the figure of the ‘labourer.’ Honouring Joseph, the earthly father of Jesus, I pay tribute to Simone Weil, whose words resonate with this enduring theme. Through her eloquence, Jesus walks the landscape of the heart, emerging as a poetic sentiment. Though the New Testament does not portray Jesus in the language of poetry, it was perhaps Weil who most profoundly conveyed that the journey to discover this poetic truth lies within us.
Lastly, I have chosen to translate “Work” consistently as “Labour.” In English, “Labour” encompasses not only work but also the pains of childbirth, whereas French distinguishes between these meanings with different words. For Weil, however, the shared Latin root may have embodied a deeper connection. She left us with these poignant words in her notebooks: “Writing is akin to childbirth. One cannot help but strive to the point of feeling limits.” This is an experience familiar to anyone who has engaged deeply in writing, regardless of their grasp of Latin. Yet knowing Weil, it is likely she uncovered within this act a profound mystery.
In this light, perhaps she was indeed a ‘teacher’ in the truest and most profound sense.
Comments:
*Although this work does not engage with Kantian thought, it is possible to reflect elements of Kant’s philosophy.
*Les travailleurs ont besoin de poésie plus que de pain is part of the “Workers and Mysteries” chapter in Gravity and Grace, and it continues with Seule la religion peut être la source de cette poésie. (Only religion can be the source of this poetry).
*I hope you will accept this critique, even though it references literature. While it does not mention Kantian thought, it can reflect it as well.
*Les travailleurs ont besoin de poésie plus que de pain appears in the “Workers and Mysteries” chapter of Gravity and Grace, followed by Seule la religion peut être la source de cette poésie. (Only religion can be the source of this poetry).
References:
• Simone Weil 『La pesanteur et la grâce』『La Condition ouvrière』『Attente de Dieu』『La pesanteur et la grâce』
• Tome VI, volume 2, Cahiers 2 (septembre 1941- février 1942), Paris, Gallimard, 1997.
• George G. Humphreys, Taylorism in France, 1904-1920: The Impact of Scientific Management on Factory Relations and Society
• Plato / Allen, R. (TRN), 『The Republic』
• 暗い時代の三人の女性, 晃洋書房
• シモーヌヴェイユ アンソロジー, 河出出版
Please note that, as of now, this paper does not provide references to literature specifically addressing Catholic sacraments. The relevant details will be submitted at a later date.
・Travail manuel. Le temps qui entre dans le corps. Par le travail l’homme se fait matière comme le Christ par l’Eucharistie. Le travail est comme une mort.
*Les travailleurs ont besoin de poésie plus que de pain.は重力と恩寵の「労働者と神秘」の章であり、Seule la religion peut être la source de cette poésie.この詩の源になれるのは宗教だけだ、と続きがあります。
*I hope you will accept this critique, even though it refers to literature. While it does not mention Kantian thought, it can also reflect.
**Les travailleurs ont besoin de poésie plus que de pain. is the ‘Workers and Mysteries’ chapter of Gravity and Grace, and Seule la religion peut être la source de cette poésie. only religion can be the source of this poem. It continues with.
参照文献
Simone Weil 『La pesanteur et la grâce』『La Condition ouvrière』『Attente de Dieu』『La pesanteur et la grâce』
Tome VI, volume 2, Cahiers 2 (septembre 1941- février 1942), Paris, Gallimard, 1997.
George G. Humphreys『Taylorism in France, 1904-1920: The Impact of Scientific Management on Factory Relations and Society
Simone Weil’s life and philosophy were characterised by numerous intricate twists, as reflected in her writings, which offer a breadth of interpretations that often elude certainty as to whether she herself foresaw them. Her notebooks comprise a collection of fragmented reflections, which, after her death, were organised, edited, and published by her friends and fellow believers. Among her works, the celebrated Gravity and Grace (La pesanteur et la grâce) stands as a masterpiece, owing in no small part to the editorial contributions of Gustave Thibon.
The recurrent themes of ‘turning points’ and ‘contradictions’ in her philosophy, I argue, demonstrate a persistent consistency throughout Weil’s thought, especially in relation to her spiritual quest and profound engagement with Jesus Christ. Weil’s exploration of Jesus Christ led her to confront numerous religious and philosophical questions, which, I believe, served as a central axis that imparted coherence to her seemingly disparate transformations. Her efforts to reconcile faith with reason, and to deepen her understanding of life’s inherent suffering, demand thoughtful reflection, no matter how often one revisits them.
For me, engaging with her work remains an enduring source of profound joy.
Ⅱ.Premonition
In 1932–1933, a year before beginning her work in a factory, Simone Weil travelled to Germany to gain deeper insight into the foundations of fascism. In a letter dated 20 August, she observed that the Nazi Party had garnered support not only from the petit bourgeoisie but also from a significant number of unemployed individuals and other vulnerable groups. Although her stay in Berlin lasted just over two months, she retained vivid impressions of the city’s atmosphere. Former engineers struggled to obtain even a cold meal, yet no military personnel were visible on the streets.
At that time, Germany was grappling with widespread unemployment and severe hardship. In 1942, Weil confided in a letter to Father Perrin, with whom she shared a close relationship, expressing an inner conflict: “I know that if twenty German youths were to sing a Nazi song in unison before me at this moment, a part of my soul would instantly resonate with that of the Nazis. This is my profound vulnerability, yet it is how I exist.”
Upon her return from Germany, her analysis of the country encountered criticism from orthodox Marxists. Nevertheless, she endeavoured to support German exiles to the fullest extent possible.
Ⅲ .Turning Points and Contradictions
In his book Strength to Love, Martin Luther King Jr. draws on a quote attributed to a French philosopher, asserting that “a person who lacks a clear and prominent antithesis in their character is not strong.” However, the identity of the philosopher in question remains uncertain. King frequently invoked philosophical concepts in his speeches and writings, often referring to thinkers like Hegel to emphasise the necessity of balancing opposing forces to achieve harmony and progress. Hegel’s notion that truth emerges through the synthesis of thesis and antithesis aligns with King’s message of deriving strength and understanding through the reconciliation of differences and unity. Moreover, King observed that Jesus also preached about the fusion of opposites, as seen in his admonition: “I am sending you out like sheep among wolves,” and the instruction to “be wise as serpents and innocent as doves.” Although this teaching is undoubtedly demanding, it reflects the expectations that Jesus placed on his followers.
That said, Hegel was a German philosopher, which raises the question: which French philosopher might King have been referencing? Given the period, Gaston Bachelard is a plausible candidate. However, I argue that Simone Weil is equally likely. In late 1934, having resigned from her teaching post, Weil began working as a press operator in a factory, driven by a determination to confront the demands of the “real world.” Before embarking on this factory work, she had been preoccupied with the idea of creating “masterpieces” and “posthumous works.” Yet, the ideals she cherished proved difficult to sustain in the face of the harsh realities of factory life. She reflected on these experiences, recording: “I can’t help but think that interchangeable parts are like labourers. The parts seem to have more citizenship than we do,” as she entered the factory gate, displaying her numbered ID.
Simone Weil left behind a pivotal statement that encapsulates her philosophy: “What labourers need is not bread, but poetry.” During her time in Germany, she observed the plight of the unemployed and expressed her feelings of inadequacy to Father Perrin. The contradictions she grappled with in her philosophical and theological inquiries reflect the inherent complexity of human existence. Indeed, the notion that human essence is fundamentally complex has been explored by philosophers long before the advent of psychology. Plato’s tripartite conception of the soul and Aristotle’s examination of human nature in relation to logical virtues laid the foundation for this discourse. The exploration of human reason, emotion, and self-awareness evolved through the works of philosophers such as Descartes, Kant, and Hegel during the Middle Ages and Renaissance, expanding our understanding of the human mind. In the modern era, Freud’s scientific approach marked a critical turning point in this tradition.
Returning to Simone Weil, her assertion that “What labourers need is not bread, but poetry.” might appear paradoxical when juxtaposed with the brutal conditions of factory work. In such an environment, uncovering beauty and poetry presents a profound challenge. This tension echoes Hegel’s dialectic of thesis and antithesis. However, Weil’s philosophy, I contend, offers a distinctive perspective that requires deeper engagement with the complexities of the human spirit and psyche.
Weil also recognised that poetry could seem irrelevant to labourers, given the harshness of their daily struggles. She herself experienced the exhaustion and disillusionment intrinsic to physically demanding labour. Her philosophical explorations, particularly those rooted in biblical engagement, reflected the inner turmoil she faced. She even recorded that her distress in the factory was so overwhelming that she contemplated suicide by throwing herself into the River Seine.
Weil’s intellectual transitions and fragmented thoughts seem to form an inclusio structure, wherein statements that appear contradictory—much like the reflections of Koheleth in the Old Testament—gain coherence when examined in relation to one another. While Weil acknowledged that artistic expression had little relevance in the context of labour, she also explored the interplay between timepieces and artistry. She remarked that a clock, even when crafted with precision, functions without love, whereas a work of art requires love to resonate meaningfully. One may wonder why Weil insisted that “What labourers need is not bread, but poetry.” Even if we were to systematically outline the logical implications of her statement, conveying the mental state induced by labour at that time remains an arduous task.
I intend to unravel this challenge in my own way.
Ⅳ ouvrière and ouvrier
The direct translation of Simone Weil’s La Condition ouvrière is The Condition of the Labourer. The term ouvrière refers to female labourers, and in this work, Weil distinguishes between ouvrière and ouvrier, using the former to denote female labourers, including herself, and the latter to refer to male labourers. This distinction follows standard French grammatical conventions.
-mais jusqu’à quel point tout cela résisterait-il à la longue ? – Je ne suis pas loin de conclure que le salut de l’âme d’un ouvrier dépend d’abord de sa constitution physique.-
I am close to concluding that the salvation of a labourer’s soul depends primarily on their physical constitution.” While this idea is subjective, her use of ouvrier reflects an awareness of the collective and universal role of labourers. This distinction thus signifies both the importance of individual existence and a broader, societal perspective.
“mais jusqu’à quel point tout cela résisterait-il à la longue ? – Je ne suis pas loin de conclure que le salut de l’âme d’un ouvrier dépend d’abord de sa constitution physique. Je ne vois pas comment ceux qui ne sont pas costauds peuvent éviter de tomber dans une forme quelconque de désespoir – soûlerie, ou vagabondage, ou crime, ou débauche, ou simplement, et bien plus souvent, abrutissement – (et la religion ?). La révolte est impossible, sauf par éclairs (je veux dire même à titre de sentiment). D’abord, contre quoi ?”On est seul avec son travail, on ne pourrait se révolter que contre lui –La Condition ouvrière Simone Weil
Next, we turn to:
“But to what extent would all this endure over time? I am close to concluding that the salvation of a worker’s soul depends primarily on their physical constitution. I cannot see how those who are not robust can avoid falling into some form of despair—whether it be drunkenness, vagrancy, crime, debauchery, or simply, and far more often, stupefaction—and what of religion? Revolt is impossible, except in fleeting moments (even as a feeling). First, against what? One is alone with their work; one could only rebel against it.”
Weil’s expressive power is paradoxically revealed through her encounter with the flower of evil, exemplified by her exposure to the Bessarabo Affair (l’affaire Bessarabo) in 1920, when a man was murdered by his wife, and his body transported by train. This incident reflects the human longing for goodness, even in the midst of moral decay. Weil argues that the concept of sainthood—particularly of a female saint—is ultimately flawed. She possessed the strength to maintain opposition to idealised moral righteousness. Furthermore, her factory experience gave her first-hand insight into the lives of individuals lacking the resilience she had cultivated.
By ‘individuals lacking resilience,’ Weil refers to those without the physical and psychological endurance necessary to withstand harsh conditions. In this context, the physiological and psychological composition of the individual becomes critical in resisting social and economic pressures. For those with limited physical capacities, the risk of succumbing to despair in difficult environments increases substantially, often manifesting in addiction, social deviance, delinquency, or emotional paralysis. Moreover, their rebellions are typically reduced to brief emotional outbursts; without a clear target of opposition, the potential for meaningful change remains blocked.
映画:「渇水」
(Drought -渇水)
This tension is also evident in the increasingly complex nature of contemporary poverty. The film Drought (渇水) portrays the struggles of a municipal water department worker tasked with visiting households and businesses in arrears on their water bills. When payment cannot be collected, he must carry out water shut-offs, cutting off access to water. During a summer heatwave, the residents affected by these shut-offs do not always present sympathetic cases. Some have fallen into despair, losing any sense of priority or financial planning. Others appear selfish, failing to pay their bills due to gambling addictions. In some cases, mothers in arrears prioritise their smartphones over their families’ essential needs.
In this context, the term labourers primarily refers to the water department employees. These workers often bear the brunt of public frustration, facing insults such as, “You’re just working for taxpayer money.” This conflict illustrates the tension between institutional policy and individual responsibility. Water shut-offs are implemented based on public policy, which must be applied uniformly to all users to maintain fairness and sustainability. However, these workers, despite being agents of the system, are human and must enforce these policies while facing resentment from those unable to pay. This dynamic extends to vulnerable groups, including single mothers, some of whom depend on men who leave them financially and emotionally stranded. In such cases, financial survival—not mere pleasure—drives their behaviour. Even under these circumstances, the water department employee may assist by helping families store water before shutting off their supply.
(Social Support and Institutional Constraints)
Support systems within institutions and society must continuously evolve to accommodate the needs of the vulnerable. Conversely, decisions to withdraw support on a personal level become necessary to safeguard mental health and the sustainability of shared resources. As individuals do not possess infinite emotional or material resources, boundaries must sometimes be established to preserve long-term relationships. In practice, however, people rarely have the clarity to assess these considerations when overwhelmed by hardship. This may partly explain why society often seems indifferent to individual tragedies.
Weil’s writings highlight how institutional inadequacies and injustices—such as precarious employment and insufficient social security—constrain individuals and perpetuate cycles of poverty. However, her reflections transcend the conflict between institutions and individuals by focusing on human fragility. Her philosophical inquiries explore what individuals can do and what emotions ought to be nurtured between people. Yet, the boundaries of these inquiries remain ambiguous. Weil’s search for meaning unfolds through the ‘hypothetical truths’ she articulated in her factory diaries. It is here that her concepts of ‘turns’ and ‘contradictions’ demand both lived experience and abstract understanding.
Ⅴ The labourer and Poetry’ (1) Plato, ed.
In the secondary literature surrounding Simone Weil’s renowned work “Poetry for the Labourer,” many interpretations suggest that labourers may find salvation by cultivating sensitivity and mystical richness through engaging with poetry. However, I find that this reading does not align with my understanding of her text.
First and foremost, poetry revolves around ‘intuition,’ a concept that both the author and the reader must grasp. Yet, articulating such a concept within an academic or self-help framework is exceedingly difficult. Intuition resides in a realm that language may only partially express, never fully resolving it. While language is a powerful medium for conveying human experience and emotion, it remains inherently limited.
Spiritual fulfilment and cultural experiences often transcend the boundaries of language, relying on intuitive understanding and sensitivity. This realm encompasses complexities, depth, and contradictory emotions that resist verbal expression, manifesting instead as inner transformations and profound realisations. Weil herself noted that persuading others is challenging when relying solely on impressions without concrete evidence, yet she asserted that human misery could only be expressed through impressions: “Misery is constituted solely of impressions.” Through her writing, she captures the nuanced layers of human experience that extend beyond words.
In early 20th-century France, Taylorism—a system of scientific management developed by Frederick Winslow Taylor in the United States—was widely criticised. Taylorism divided labour into smaller tasks to maximise productivity, clarifying the roles of individual workers. However, the outbreak of World War I forced France to adopt Taylorist principles to facilitate the mass production of munitions. The need for efficiency and large-scale output led to the application of task specialisation and standardisation, improving productivity but rendering the work more monotonous and exhausting. Labourers faced faster-paced tasks with reduced autonomy, and both women and children entered the workforce. After the war, France pursued economic reconstruction and industrialisation, often under difficult conditions. Many factories operated with lax safety standards, subjecting workers to long hours and constant risks of injury. Wages were low, leaving working-class families in crowded, dilapidated housing, barely able to meet their basic needs. In this environment, Weil encountered the dehumanising aspects of factory work and observed the suppression of labourers’ potential.
Despite its limitations, recognising the value of language remains essential for fostering empathy and holistic understanding. Beauty, sensitivity, and intuition play crucial roles in bridging the gaps left by verbal expression. At the age of 16 in 1925, Weil demonstrated an early appreciation for the symbolic nature of wisdom, observing that “Plato’s thought is most beautiful when revealed through myths.” Although she frequently referenced Plato, her interpretations of Books VI and VII of The Republic were uniquely her own.
Weil engages with Plato’s metaphor of the ‘gigantic animal’ (θηρίον μέγα) in Book VI of The Republic, in which the state and society are likened to a vast and ferocious creature. This creature possesses distinct likes and dislikes, controlled by a ‘keeper’ who knows its tendencies well. What the creature favours is deemed “good,” and what it rejects is labelled “evil.” The key insight of this metaphor is that moral judgments are dictated by the preferences of the masses, symbolised by the animal. Plato warned of the dangers posed by societies governed by such relative and arbitrary standards. Weil aligns with this critique, emphasising that social morality is merely the reflection of collective preferences—nothing more than the likes and dislikes of a gigantic animal. She contended that morality, governed by social necessity, is inherently relative and can only be transcended through divine intervention. True goodness, in her view, must be directly revealed by God to the human soul.
Weil extends her engagement with Plato by reinterpreting Book VII of The Republic through the lens of love and ethics. Using the famous allegory of the cave, she argues that “humans must turn towards the good and love beyond themselves,” advocating for ethical growth grounded in a relationship with God rather than in intellectual achievements alone. Her interpretation moves beyond Plato’s educational theories, emphasising the moral and religious dimensions of human development. In Plato’s original text, the allegory of the cave depicts the gradual progression from ignorance to knowledge. While the focus is not on love, Weil reinterprets the allegory as a meditation on the capacity to love and the impossibility of self-love, comparing the eye’s inability to see itself directly with the limits of self-love.
Even in modern times, based on my own experience, when I worked part-time as a newspaper collector in 2013, I had to visit households to collect payments. The area I was assigned to mainly consisted of elderly people living in poverty. As solicitation and collection were handled by different personnel, I often received complaints about discrepancies between what had been promised and what was delivered. When payments could not be collected, I had to visit the same households two or three times. In practice, several elderly individuals were locked into auto-renewed newspaper subscriptions, unable to read what they purchased or withdraw cash due to physical infirmities. In some instances, I found elderly women wearing adult nappies, unable to dress themselves, calling out for help. Despite their circumstances, collectors could only leave notifications of unsuccessful payment attempts. Rooms were often filled with neglect and strong odours, a testament to the overwhelming difficulties these individuals faced.
Collectors lacked the authority to cancel contracts, even when it was clear that the other party could not fulfil their obligations. Without an explicit request to cancel, I had no power to advise them otherwise. These experiences revealed the limitations of personal enlightenment and sensitivity in addressing poverty and incapacity.
Collection work, while straightforward, does not cultivate transferable skills or essential competencies. It is a task that even children could perform, offering those without experience or qualifications an opportunity to earn a modest income. However, it requires patience and a significant degree of inner resolve. In stark contrast, proficiency in my primary occupation, details of which I will withhold, directly correlates with skill development through the completion of tasks. Skills gained from collection work, however, rarely translate into other career opportunities.
It is important to acknowledge that the situations I witnessed in these homes could one day become my own reality. Life viewed through a strictly materialistic lens suggests that a severe brain injury could render me incapable of sustaining my current lifestyle. If existence is reduced to mere materiality, the erosion of human dignity becomes an ever-present risk.
It may be argued that Simone Weil’s exploration of love and God was profoundly influenced by Platonic thought, particularly by reflections on the absurdity of Socrates’ execution, which deeply affected Plato himself. Articulating such abstract concepts is no small feat, requiring the translation of intuitive insights into verbal expression. Yet, for Simone Weil, this task was indispensable.
Following the Platonic tradition, Weil believed that liberation from the tyranny of society’s ‘great beast’ could only be achieved by transcending egocentric perspectives and locating one’s value in a relationship with God. For Weil, the inherent human capacity for love manifests in turning one’s attention beyond the material world, discovering true goodness through divine connection. This pursuit, for her, embodied the Platonic “Idea.” Plato’s exploration of ideal societies and true beauty rested on the notion that material existence is transient, with real value residing in the intangible. This resonates with Weil’s yearning for spiritual depth, symbolised by her emphasis on “poetry.”
Continued in ‘Labour and Poetry (2): The Christ Edition.
シモーヌ・ヴェイユの「工場日記」はLa Condition ouvrièreと直訳すると、「労働者の条件」となる。ouvrièreとは女性の労働者を表していて、本作では女性労働者ouvrièreと男性の労働者ouvrierが分けて書かれている。基本的には自身を表している、もしくは女性労働者の場合が前者、そうでない場合は後者と、フランス語の文法通りのことだが、mais jusqu’à quel point tout cela résisterait-il à la longue ? – Je ne suis pas loin de conclure que le salut de l’âme d’un ouvrier dépend d’abord de sa constitution physique.と、ヴェイユが「労働者」の魂の救済は、何よりもまず体質に左右されるということに、すぐに結論づけてしまいそうになる、と主観的な考えであっても、彼女は労働者をouvrierとすることによって、労働者全体に対する普遍的で社会的な役割を意識しているようにも感じる。この使い分けは、個々の存在の重要性と、社会全体を見渡す視線の両方が含まれている。
そして次に続く
“mais jusqu’à quel point tout cela résisterait-il à la longue ? – Je ne suis pas loin de conclure que le salut de l’âme d’un ouvrier dépend d’abord de sa constitution physique. Je ne vois pas comment ceux qui ne sont pas costauds peuvent éviter de tomber dans une forme quelconque de désespoir – soûlerie, ou vagabondage, ou crime, ou débauche, ou simplement, et bien plus souvent, abrutissement – (et la religion ?). La révolte est impossible, sauf par éclairs (je veux dire même à titre de sentiment). D’abord, contre quoi ?”On est seul avec son travail, on ne pourrait se révolter que contre lui –La Condition ouvrière(工場日記)シモーヌ・ヴェイユ
I hope you’re enjoying the summer. Wishing you all the best for your health. Please take care of yourselves.
I plan to take some time off for introspection and study, so I may not update this page until September. I hope you understand. I haven’t decided yet, but there might be one more update coming. I might post it in the middle of next month. Thank you for your continued support.
In August 2014, I was baptized. However, before that, I had a dream. But prior to the dream, I had been reading the story of the ten maidens in chapter 25 of the Gospel of Matthew in the New Testament. At the time, I wasn’t really concentrating—I probably just skimmed the surface of the story and didn’t grasp what it was about. I was sleepy and not paying attention, so I thought it hadn’t registered in my mind. I didn’t even remember the characters clearly, which I’m sure happens to everyone occasionally. I read it casually and closed the book. If this had been a modern literature test, it would have been fatal. That’s how little I understood.
I didn’t even think about rereading it the next day. Without any second thought, I simply wrote ‘Matthew 25’ and the last verse I had read on a post-it note, stuck it on my desk, closed the book, and went to sleep.
When I came to, I felt a heaviness, but I realized I had been woken in my dream. A man grabbed my arm and asked if I had it, or not, in a language I couldn’t identify—whether it was Japanese or another language. The lamp I was holding was about to go out, so I felt like I didn’t have it. Yet I remembered going back home to get it and bring it with me. The woman beside me laughed, but I began to think I did have it. So, I answered, “I have it.”
And indeed, I had the oil and lit the lamp. The moment the light shone, it was like a wheat field glowing under the night sky. I clearly remember that moment when the lamp was lit. It’s been ten years, so perhaps that memory isn’t entirely accurate. The night sky seemed eerie, but as soon as the light came on, I felt a sense of relief as if my life had been saved.
Together with the other women and the bridegroom, I was told, “You go in too,” and walked out of the gate. Then, behind me, I saw a few women who didn’t have oil and didn’t make it in time—they turned into shadows, unable to pass through the gate.
In the dream, I realized, “Ah, you always need to have fuel, or you won’t be saved in times of need.” While I felt elated at my salvation, I was also pained by the thought of those left behind as shadows.
When I woke up, I thought it was an unusual dream, but it quickly faded into my daily routine. When it was time to read the Bible again, I looked at the post-it note and realized that it was from the “Ten Maidens” passage I had read the night before. However, at that time, before falling asleep, I didn’t understand any of the story. Yet upon reading it again, I found that it mirrored almost exactly what I had dreamt. I thought I had grasped it better, but it never appeared in my dreams again.
A dream is not something that is supposed to be connected to another person who appears in it.
Even if the events align with true memories, a dream isn’t about spending time with others. It is a story shown to me based on my own “impressions”.
I wonder if there is truly something beyond the grasp of the conscious and unconscious mind. This is sometimes debated among different schools of psychology, but if this wasn’t the unconscious mind, it would be challenging to explain otherwise. Mystical experiences delve even deeper. For a time, I had a personal theory about why the dream interpreters like Joseph, who interpreted Pharaoh’s dreams in Genesis, and Daniel from the Book of Daniel appeared in the Old Testament, but seemed to disappear when Jesus came in the New Testament. However, in hindsight, I realized this theory didn’t resonate with many people(few people). That seemed like youthful thinking. Over the past ten years, I’ve come to understand that Christianity cannot sustain itself on such ‘wonders’ alone. There were times I felt it was foolish to even talk about it.
Nevertheless, the memory of this dream lingered, leaving a distinct sense of mystery in its wake. The past decade has been a journey of witnessing miracles, only to realise that such experiences alone aren’t sufficient for evangelism. There were moments of joy and others of discontent. That dream, however, left an indelible mark, prompting a sense of certainty amidst uncertainty. The miracle lies not merely in its occurrence, but in the privilege of recounting it—a story I now preserve for future telling.
The paramount lesson here is the daily commitment to the practice of Jesus’ teachings and the labour He undertook amongst people. As Benedict XVI articulated, “The Father and the Son engage in a mutual exchange of pure giving and receiving, in which both abound. This unity is their fruition, wholly one.” He further noted, “the mystery of the Trinity, in this world, must be transmuted into the mystery of the Cross.”
This profound beauty inherently encompasses suffering. The Holy Spirit, manifesting from abundance, does not solely symbolize human joy. Many believers aspire to discuss these mysteries, seeking companions to converse about the Scriptures. Yet such dialogues cannot rest on superficial enjoyment alone, for empathizing with the essence of the Trinity proves significantly challenging. Much like our experiences, which remain solitary ‘dreams,’ forging deeper connections with ‘others’ isn’t effortlessly achieved despite apparent ease in some respects. The narrative of faith, I surmise, involves the exchange of suffering, a pursuit I no longer actively seek. To comprehend each other’s faith, recognising its profound complexity, is a mature realization.
Discussing such matters amidst diverse backgrounds and destinies often brings discomfort. It’s indeed challenging to reconcile varying degrees of misfortune. A single word cannot offer salvation, though a considerate gesture might be a preliminary step towards it, with outcomes remaining perpetually uncertain. It would be disingenuous to speak of Jesus’ acts of compassion purely as sources of comfort, yet there is truth in the solace they bring. The intersection of shared poverty and mutual suffering is intensely painful. Faith, though seemingly dormant, is ever alive—requiring constant sustenance.
Until the day the unrecognised maiden and bridegroom unite, fuel is always needed.
Ten years ago, I regarded that dream as a good one. To still hold it as such implies a transformation in my heart. The vision of who I might become in another decade, when I may still say “it was a good dream,” eludes my imagination.
・We talked of this and that. I should not have remembered the conversation at all, had it not been for the fact that in the course of it we talked of one matter which was of particular interest to me.
Sensei lived in complete obscurity. Souseki Natume:Kokoro Translated by Edwin McClellan
Few people today would feel enthusiastic about the victory in the Russo-Japanese War. However, the death of Emperor Meiji and the suicide of General Nogi had an immeasurable impact on the Japanese people and the literature of the time. The “Sensei” in Natsume Soseki’s “Kokoro” was also inspired by these events to take his own life.
Meiji era and K
In Natsume Soseki’s novel “Kokoro,” the character known as “Sensei” also chooses to end his life following the deaths of both Emperor Meiji and General Nogi. The story’s narrator, a young man referred to as “I,” encounters a man accompanied by a Westerner at a seaside tea house in Kamakura. This man comes to be called “Sensei” by the narrator.
If you, the reader, were a teenager picking up this book without any prior knowledge, General Nogi might not occupy your thoughts much. Initially, readers are likely to be drawn in by the narrative style of “Sensei” and “I,” the youthful student. Soseki skillfully has Sensei declare early on, “I am a lonely man,” which gradually draws the lonely young readers from the shore into the deeper, darker themes of death. This exploration extends beyond the simple end of life to questions of loyalty, righteousness, the enigma of suicide, and different views on life and death. Readers are left grappling with these themes, recalling that mourning is an act of the living, and are eventually brought back to reality, likely feeling profoundly moved by the experience.
At any age, and especially when young, people seek proof of ‘love’. This is why this story is so clever. The ‘Sensei’ tells ‘me’, who doesn’t know much about love, “But do you know, that there is guilt also in loving?”
The young man is drawn to the Sensei because he wants to love, and because he is already driven by love.
The Sensei explained that this was but a preparatory step (a staircase to love). In this way, both ‘I’ and the reader come to stand on the same ground.
With this groundwork laid, the stage is set. From here, the reader descends into the section of Sensei’s ‘testament’. This novel, composed of the sections ‘Sensei and I’ and ‘My Parents and I’, features a young calligrapher as the narrator. However, the ‘Sensei’s Testament’ chapter takes us back to Sensei’s younger days. Sensei became distrustful of people after his parents died of illness, and his uncle embezzled his inheritance. Here, Sensei also articulates one truth: money changes people. He then sold his family home, leaving only his parents’ graves intact, and decided never to return to his hometown. He continued his education at Tokyo Imperial University, lodging with a military widow in his youth. He noted that the widow’s daughter, Shizu, exuded a fragrance of the opposite sex. There, both the widow and her daughter took good care of him, providing him with the best room.
Initially, he was suspicious of their kindness, but over time, he grew to trust and develop an affection for Shizu. This affection was less about sexual love and more akin to ‘faith’. While Sensei had his doubts about money, he harbored hopeful and unwavering beliefs about ‘love’. Sensei had a childhood friend named K(initial)K was the son of a temple priest but was adopted by another family on the condition that he would become a doctor by attending medical school. However, K felt that the spiritual demands of ‘devotion’ did not align with medicine, so he went to a different university, lying to his adoptive family. Eventually, the burden of this deception became too heavy for K, and he confessed the truth to his adoptive family. Naturally, K was disowned.
Sympathetic to K’s plight as he ran out of funds for his education and began to suffer a nervous breakdown, Sensei brought K to his own lodgings. K, influenced by his Buddhist upbringing, was a sincere and honest man. Therefore, it wasn’t long before he began to suspect that Sensei was becoming too friendly with Shizu. Ultimately, K confessed to Sensei that he had fallen in love with Shizu.
The Sensei wanted Shizu more than loyalty and friendship for his longtime childhood friend. So he offered to marry the young lady to her mother, without even telling Shizu directly.
The Sensei and Shizu got engaged, but he never told K. However, the young lady’s mother had already informed K about the engagement; K knew about it and talked to the Sensei in a normal way.
Then K committed suicide.
Death and Righteousness
The last part of the Sensei’s farewell letter referred to the fall of Emperor Meiji and the suicide of General Nogi. He tried to count the years during which General Nogi had contemplated suicide. But in the end, the Sensei could not understand General Nogi’s desire to commit suicide. And he left in his will that no one should understand his own death. Regarding this first-person and third-person death, the philosopher Jankélévitch described death as first-person death, second-person death, and third-person death, but this story encompasses all deaths, including suicide. As for second-person death, the Jewish rabbi Grollman says that it can take away the past, present, and future of the ‘I’. The Sensei may also have been deprived by K’s death. For us, the deaths of both Emperor Meiji and General Nogi are in the third person and psychologically distant, but Soseki nevertheless reflected the complexity of the human interior through “Kokoro”. The Sensei’s loneliness, guilt, and desire for love show that human nature remains the same, even if the historical background has changed. The Meiji era itself was a time of great change, and people’s attitudes and values were shaken.
Unlike the Christian concept of Logos—“the Word” that was with God from the beginning (John 1:1)—the Japanese notion of kotoba (言葉) does not carry the sense of a transcendent principle. Its etymology points instead to human utterance, something finite and situated at “the end of speech” rather than its divine origin. However, as Kitaro Nishida also mentioned, ‘There is something hidden in the very root of Japan, something akin to perceiving the form of the formless and hearing the voice of the voiceless,’ there exists a culture that finds beauty in impermanence and change, such as in the Tale of the Heike and Sonezaki Shinju. Therefore, when discussing Natsume Soseki, it might be desirable to view Japanese literature in light of the significance that cannot be intellectually constrained by what presently exists, keeping in mind the formless and voiceless meanings.
While there are indeed similarities between Christianity and Japanese literature in their pursuits to grasp the intangible, the barrier of language often obstructs my efforts to fully convey the concept of the transcendent God when translating Christian-related material. Nevertheless, I believe it is crucial not to equate ‘differences’ with ‘wrongness’ due to this, and I do not hold the belief that other countries are inherently superior. I see the act of incorporating the absent, the seeds sown by God, as essential for reaffirming our essence as Japanese individuals. It could be argued that we, from this side, might already be acquainted with the beauty in darkness if it seems a dark place from the other side. I take pride in understanding the beauty of the tragedy of the eight-year-old Emperor Antoku and the nun in the Tale of the Heike. Their deaths tell of what is to come, signaling the passing of time into oblivion. Despite my numerous visits to the shrine in Sonezaki, Osaka, there remains no trace of what the lovers contemplating suicide must have felt. This serves as a reminder that the vibrancy that once thrived there has not endured in the same way. This, one might say, is aesthetics.
Death is an impartial, inevitable aspect of our lives that disregards our thoughts and desires. Love, on the other hand, is subjective and mutable, adapting to individual emotions and values. Love may sometimes evoke feelings of remorse and inner turmoil. Death can be seen as a static entity, while love is dynamic and intimately personal. In ‘Kokoro,’ each character bears the burden of their own sins, with K carrying the guilt of lying about studying medicine and ultimately choosing suicide akin to Hamletesque. It remains uncertain when the Sensei contemplated confessing his sins.
Lastly, I would like to conclude by recounting the story from Luke 18:9-14. The Pharisees, convinced of their righteousness, prayed internally with self-righteousness. ‘I thank you, God, that I am not like others: swindlers, unjust, adulterers, or even like this tax collector…’ In contrast, the tax collector humbly prayed, ‘God, have mercy on me, a sinner.’ Jesus regarded the repentant tax collector as righteous.
In the midst of this, it seems that the Sensei was unable to live up to any of the former Bushido morals of “righteousness, bravery, humanity, courtesy, sincerity, honor, and loyalty”. Even the young woman he married was not important to him. In terms of modern values, how selfish he was! He didn’t work, he only had assets, and he died just so he could leave his fortune to his wife.
He was like a ‘nobody’ in this world. Prophetically, this ‘floating’ existence does not seem like something from the distant past. This is because many people today are still unclear about the meaning of existence and social responsibility. And the striking phrase “Love is a crime” expresses the state of “Kokoro,” which cannot be righteous even through love, in response to General Nogi, who committed suicide following the death of Emperor Meiji.
It could be said that death is something that does not require our input or opinion. But the soul speaks to us and questions us: was K’s irrevocable, unilateral ‘death’, in the context of Adlerian psychology, an act of ‘revenge and accusation’? Or did he carry out the ‘suicide’ that the proud Hamlet refrained from committing? Or perhaps it was like Melisande in Pelleas et Melisande, dying from wounds that even a little bird might not have succumbed to. K left behind a will and then died. The Sensei attempted to reconcile K’s demise in a manner analogous to Salome holding Jokanaan’s head. The Sensei was unable to demonstrate either righteousness or courtesy from start to finish. The Sensei could not believe that K’s will truly reflected his innermost feelings. Taking solely from the will’s contents, it would seem to convey a simple message: ‘I am a weak-willed person with no prospects for the future, so I choose to end my life.’ However, the Sensei stumbled upon the added words, seemingly inscribed by K with leftover ink, saying “I should have died earlier”, which caused him much consternation.
It seemed as if the will was blaming him, saying, ‘It’s your fault,’ but in reality, it was different. while the deliberate omission of certain truths could have eroded the Sensei’s sense of self-worth. It’s possible that there existed a language only comprehensible to the Sensei, and that there seemed to be a language that only the Sensei could hear, as if the shadow of his death loomed over him.The Sensei knew that comparing himself to General Nogi was presumptuous and, realising their differences, he continued to see his own existence as lacking value. Ananda left Buddha’s teachings for later generations, but the Sensei had no means to leave anyone a reason for K’s death.
For a long time, he had kept this burden, until he decided to leave his account, the ‘will’, to just one student. Not even Sizu, whom he married, understood why her close friend K had died. Her innocent sense of isolation was transient, yet there remained a single glimmer of hope amidst the uncertainty. That hope could perhaps be the young scribe reading the last testament on the train at the end. In that act, The Sensei may have finally transitioned from being an obscure individual to becoming a ‘master’ with a meaningful purpose.
I do not intend to connect the Sensei’s conscious repentance akin to that of the tax collector. His ‘death’ is not that. It seems he aimed for righteousness towards K and what could be likened to martyrdom towards the end of the Meiji era, fully aware that he was not akin to Emperor Meiji or General Nogi. Unable to discuss K even with his wife, he penned his life story to a youth who seemed lost. To me, this final act felt like a resistance against an aesthetic leaving no trace. This act of resistance could be seen as what’s ultimately beautiful. Despite declaring love as sinful, the Sensei persistently advised the young man on loving others. He seemed to insinuate that the subject of his apology would vanish. It’s a common misinterpretation among many Christians that a mere apology to God suffices, resembling the self-assured Pharisees. Shouldn’t this passage be interpreted as that Jesus does not wish for pursuits that fail to achieve righteousness? The Sensei could have shown more bravery throughout. He appeared cowardly, choosing to focus on himself rather than his wife. However, what he truly depicted is the inevitable truth that all things tangible will eventually fade away.
What is the contemporary ‘kokoro’?
An important part of addressing the challenges facing the modern Catholic Church is to listen to the complaints of victims. Calls for an apology should be seen as the voice of God and should be met with kindness and understanding. Even if the events happened decades ago, we must not trivialize them. If clergy receive criticism from believers, they should accept it as an opportunity for conversion.
In “Kokoro,” the characters are portrayed at the intersection of love and death, shifting from the first person to the second and third persons, making empathy as a third party significant in the relationship between this book and its readers. In the modern internet age, the right thing is not always received correctly.
I once translated ‘私刑’ (shikei) as ‘mob justice,’ which at the time might have been considered a mistranslation. However, recent events and public opinion have made me realize that this was not a mistake. In Japan, due to the lack of interest in Catholicism, there has been no mob punishment. However, when school teachers have committed similar acts, they have already suffered ‘private punishment,’ with their identities and photos being exposed online by mobs.
The proliferation of social networking sites has made the death and pain of others more immediate, yet the violent nature of mobs under the guise of sympathy is a significant issue. People working on the internet view this violence through the lens of “traffic.” In the future, AI may control inappropriate posts, but individual restraint will still be required.
Today, there is a growing need to distinguish oneself from others. Distant deaths should be considered irrelevant to oneself, and information about wars and disasters is often mingled with fake news, making verification difficult. Expressions of sympathy for victims can sometimes cause more harm, requiring prudence and discretion.
When you hear of someone’s death, intended kind words to the bereaved can be misunderstood and perceived as slander. In such an environment, those who can exercise self-control learn to distance themselves from others, while those who cannot may act violently as part of a mob.
Especially in the Catholic Church, it is crucial to acknowledge past sins, review doctrines and canon law, and take the lead in exercising self-control and self-discipline. We must respect the voices of the victims and understand the pain of revisiting past events. At the very least, we must not participate in any cover-up.
It is important to maintain a conscience, much like the shadow of K that haunted his Sensei. Just as Jesus acknowledged that some people are not righteous, ‘Kokoro’ includes characters ignorant of right and wrong, because the depths of the soul encompass a profound ignorance of good and evil
Everyone, always remember to be grateful for your life and the loved ones in it.
(Introduction)
– To be honest, I don’t really see the “Sensei
” as particularly virtuous, kind of like Osamu Dazai in his way of life. Instead, I got the impression that the character “I” who found the “Sensei” shows potential. The way he picks up and collects memories about the Sensei, acting practically as a disciple, suggests he’s quite a personality. Now, obviously, it’s just a story, but real life isn’t that straightforward. If it were real, then the guy’s memory-gathering skills would be impressive. However, when I lean towards more morbid themes, mistakes seem to happen more often. Recently though, I’ve become more objective and I’ve written more naturally, without the same depth of immersion as before.
In terms of content, through Natsume Soseki’s “Kokoro,” I touched on the aesthetics of impermanence and the struggle against it. Given that K was a Buddhist, I chose elements of Buddhism, and for Christianity, I picked “The Pharisee and the Tax Collector.” Ultimately, this piece reflects the confusion of changing values from the Meiji era, pointing out that in modern times, it’s no longer always right to take the perspective of a third person as if it were your own.
Finally, he addressed the issue of injustice within Catholicism, noting that ethics have changed.In Japan, there is little interest in the matter of Catholic injustice, leading to no occurrences of ‘mob justice.’ (vigilantism)However, sometimes in Japan, ‘school teachers’ who have been involved in incidents are portrayed, including their faces, on social networking sites (SNS) on the internet.While mob power is undoubtedly violent, it’s not entirely evil. There are facts supporting that some found salvation in those situations, for those who couldn’t find help through official channels. Hence, I hope Christians exercise restraint before making such judgments. I also think I’ve brought a touch of contemporary interpretation to Jankélévitch’s “Death” of the third person.
I included Hamlet(Suicide in Conflict with Faith)and Pelléas and Mélisande(Deaths Unseen by Others, Where the Individual’s Strength Fades Away),Salome (because the figure gently lifts his head with both hands, as if to hold it, to see his face in death) to temper the portrayal of suicide.
I juxtaposed these two to soften the sensational depiction of suicide. I regret that I can only express this vaguely, but I do wonder if the metaphor still holds.(I’m not sure if the metaphor is still dead.)
Now, as Catholics, we have become more critical of the mob and our interpretation has evolved somewhat, yet it remains the elusive ‘evil’ that many people seek. In February 2022, it was still before the assassination of former Prime Minister Abe, and we were able to publish this article. However, criminal psychology is one of my research interests.
It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of Annabel Lee; And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me.
Edger Allan Poe : Annabel Lee
(This is a column. Japanese version from the link below.)
I came across this poem when I was very young, and I may not have known what it meant at the time. But I liked the sound of that “Annabel Lee”. Language barriers may be insurmountable without experience and understanding, but ‘sound’ transcends them. For example, Jabberwocky in Lewis Carroll’s Alice Through the Looking Glass is an incoherent poem because it is made up of what the author calls ‘coined words’, but you can get an idea from the rhythm of the sound and, “For example, as the protagonist Alice remarked, when she said, ‘However, somebody killed something,’ she indicated that this much could be discerned from the nonsensical poem.”
The words that stick with me in Annabel Lee are: beautiful, kingdom by the sea, angel, demon, “Of the beautiful Annabel Lee” Even if it was in Japanese, that was enough for me, because each word has a ‘synesthesia’, but as I learn to understand English, I can tell that the poem is from a male perspective and that a girl, the beautiful Annabel Lee, has died. Then,as you develop a deeper appreciation for literature, you get to know the background of this poetic sentiment. We learn that this reflects the author Poe’s love for his first wife, Virginia.
I found that it reminds me of Novalis, the German writer and poet who died young. He too lost the love of his life at a young age; however, he was unable to complete what Freud called his ‘work of mourning’ (Trauerarbeit) — making peace with death to continue living in this world and prioritizing the living over the dead. For a long time, I had no doubt that Annabel Lee was such a poem. However, when I learned that Poe was engaged to another woman in the year the poem was written, and later died under suspicious circumstances, I simply thought it was not Novalisian, my mind lost its consistency, and the poem’s significance gradually diminished for me.
One rainy day, I went to my usual English Mass. Despite using an umbrella, both my clothes and hair got wet. Before Mass started, we said the rosary. Perhaps distracted by the droplets trickling down my hair, or perhaps subconsciously drawn to the notion of ‘water,’ I accidentally said “Kingdom by the sea” when we reached the word ‘Kingdom’. That phrase is from Poe’s poem. However, this slip of the tongue made me realize something. It dawned on me that the use of ‘kingdom’ in that poem was inherently Christian. ‘Thy kingdom come,’ where ‘thy’ is an archaic form of ‘you,’ translates to ‘adveniat regnum tuum’ in Latin.
In Latin ‘adveniat regnum tuum’, ‘adveniat’ is a conjunction, it does not mean ‘I’ or ‘you’, but expresses the desire for something ‘One’ to come; regum corresponds to dominion, sovereignty, to . This is a passage in which we pray that the world we live in may be reached by the Lord, if we were to put it ‘safely’ according to Japanese values.
After we die, while we imagine moving from this world to the heavenly kingdom (heaven), for those of us still living, ‘come’ is a prayer for God to turn towards us. I realized that the ‘kingdom’ in Poe’s poem represents a seaside cemetery, a site desiring God’s gaze.
There appears to be another true American story that served as inspiration for Edgar Allan Poe’s poem ‘Annabel Lee’, details of which were published in a newspaper two days after Poe’s death. The tale unfolds as follows: a young woman and a sailor, lovers despite differing social status, clandestinely met in a cemetery. Tragically, the maiden passed away. Her father refused to disclose the cemetery’s location to the sailor. Despite this, the sailor, who cherished her, persistently sought out her grave.
In his book ‘Departure from Love and Recognition,’ Japanese writer Kurata Hyakuso wrote: ‘I felt that I could not do without the soul that embraced me.’Kurata was in his twenties when he wrote this, and I believe it serves as a good example of poetry’ love.”
However, love alone is not enough. To actualize love, ‘sensation’ is necessary, requiring sensitivity.
I have always regarded ‘susceptibility’ and ‘gift’ as equivalent. Love inherently has an object, yet Confirming the ‘existence’ of sensitivity is not achieved by holding hands with someone or by asking someone. It simply resides within the heart, at a crossroads between being deemed ‘nature’ or a ‘gift’(god). While the two are inseparable, labeling susceptibility as ‘sacred to oneself alone’ leads to inherent contradictions. As Poe’s poetry illuminates, the vitality of susceptibility is rooted in its empathy on ‘others’, and should they neglect it, it risks withering into obscurity.
In Christianity, especially Catholicism, including the Catechism and Balthasar’s theology, faith involves more than just individual sensitivity and experience—it’s also about being rooted in the Church, society, and community. This point is often misunderstood; it does not imply depriving individuals of their sensitivity. When considering non-religion, a question arises: does it truly safeguard individual sensitivity? One advantage of non-religion is the freedom it offers from church involvement and the obligation to return one’s ‘gifts’ to God. Moreover, regardless of whether Jesus existed, the need for societal appreciation, contribution, and the necessity for a writer to present their work to society raise a question about ‘expropriation.’ What is the difference between being appropriated solely by secular standards and having one’s soul achieve something that is returned to God? This distinction is significant in the context of faith.
Well,See the end of Poe’s poem.
For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling — my darling — my life and my bride,
In her sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.
The poem prominently features refrains and a rhyme scheme toward its conclusion. Refrains like ‘Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE;’ and ‘Of my darling — my darling — my life and my bride,’ emphasize the poem’s rhythmic and emotional depth. The rhyme pairs ‘dreams’ and ‘Lee’, ‘rise’ and ‘eyes’, ‘side’ and ‘bride’, and ‘sea’ and ‘sea’, reinforcing the auditory harmony and the poem’s meter. These grammatical elements are distinctive of Poe’s style, lending unique sound and rhythm to his poetry.
In the poem, the narrator lies ‘till dawn’ beside ‘Annabel Lee’s’ grave, located in a ‘kingdom by the sea.’ The imagery of the sea’s tide, coming and going, mirrors the words ‘bride’ and by the ‘side’. The choice to call the seaside tomb a ‘kingdom’ suggests Poe’s intention to portray it as a divine meeting place, a ‘kingdom’ awaiting God’s arrival, akin to a prayer invocation. Despite its melancholic tone, resonating with the essence of death, the poem is imbued with enduring love and happiness.
The ambiguity of both the girl and the narrator in the poem, with neither fully understanding who they are, realistically portrays the process of forgetting a love. In a state of being emotionally enveloped—or ‘soul-hugging’—such poetry could not be written. Instead, a more direct expression of love would likely emerge. The poem starts with ‘It was many and many a year ago…’, indicating a psychological distance, suggesting it represents a fading memory. Poe’s first wife, Virginia, was mentally handicapped and only 13 years old at their marriage. He also wrote hymns to Catholicism. Given these few circumstances, it’s difficult to ascertain his faith, especially since he left much mystery about his own awareness of impending death while loving and proposing to another woman. Yet, his attempt to preserve these feelings in his poetry might be considered a mysterious kind of ‘expropriation’.
Why do we discuss human love, or recite poetry? Why does human love prompt such associations?
The best proof of love’s existence could be two people hand in hand, living in their own small world without any divine intervention—surely a sweet existence. However, the body is not eternal; both ‘existence’ and consciousness fade and vanish. It is sensitivity that may light this reality on fire. And whether noble or impoverished, a couple in love eventually becomes ‘a story from long ago’. If, in realizing their disappearance, the couple sleeps in a ‘kingdom’, would that not equate to an eternity with God? It seems this was even the girl’s wish.
In the realm of literature, there resides a soul of a microcosm. Even for Catholics, the words of their prayers are repeated together with the remnants of souls left behind.
Because it has been recited by so many, it has become a prayer returning to God.
*Annabel Lee is said to have been modelled on his first wife, Virginia, who is the most likely candidate, but The actual model is not certain, as it was often sad for Poe to meet and part with women.
*There was a story that the story of the sailor and the girl was published in a newspaper during a competition in London, but no reliable source has now been found. Similarly, we asked if Virginia was mentally handicapped, but could not find a reliable source.
*Balthasar’s theology attributes obedience to Christ to the authority of God manifested in the claims of Jesus. Claim – poverty – expropriation – obedience to the cross Claim – poverty – ‘expropriation’ – obedience to the cross is the axis of his theology.
Die Aufzeichnungen des Malte Laurids Brigge / by Rainer Maria Rilke
Original text
①Und ich war es in der Tat. Ich war beschäftigt, ihn mir vorzustellen, ich unternahm die Arbeit, ihn einzubilden, und der Schweiß trat mir aus vor Anstrengung. Denn ich mußte ihn machen, wie man einen Toten macht, für den keine Beweise mehr da sind, keine Bestandteile; der ganz und gar innen zu leisten ist. Ich weiß jetzt, daß es mir ein wenig half, an die vielen abgenommenen Christusse aus steifigem Elfenbein zu denken, die bei allen Althändlern herumliegen. Der Gedanke an irgendeine Pietà trat vor und ab –: dies alles wahrscheinlich nur, um eine gewisse Neigung hervorzurufen, in der sein langes Gesicht sich hielt, und den trostlosen Bartnachwuchs im Wangenschatten und die endgültig schmerzvolle Blindheit seines verschlossenen Ausdrucks, der schräg aufwärts gehalten war.
②Ich wußte sofort, daß meine Vorstellung wertlos war. Die durch keine Vorsicht oder Verstellung eingeschränkte Hingegebenheit seines Elends übertraf meine Mittel.
(Zeitungsverkäufer)
③Ich will nur sagen, daß sie an ihm waren wie das Weicheste auf eines Vogels Unterseite. Er selbst hatte keine Lust daran, und wer von allen (ich sah mich um) durfte meinen, dieser Staat wäre um seinetwillen?
④Mein Gott, fiel es mir mit Ungestüm ein, so bist du also. Es gibt Beweise für deine Existenz. Ich habe sie alle vergessen und habe keinen je verlangt, denn welche ungeheuere Verpflichtung läge in deiner Gewißheit. Und doch, nun wird mir’s gezeigt. Dieses ist dein Geschmack, hier hast du Wohlgefallen. Daß wir doch lernten, vor allem aushalten und nicht urteilen. Welche sind die schweren Dinge? Welche die gnädigen? Du allein weißt es. Wenn es wieder Winter wird und ich muß einen neuen Mantel haben, – gib mir, daß ich ihn so trage, solang er neu ist.
⑤Es ist nicht, daß ich mich von ihnen unterscheiden will, wenn ich in besseren, von Anfang an meinigen Kleidern herumgehe und darauf halte, irgendwo zu wohnen. Ich bin nicht soweit.
English translation
①And indeed it was myself. I was busy imagining him, I undertook the work of imagining him, and sweat broke out on me with exertion. For I had to create him, as one creates a dead man, for whom there is no longer any evidence, no components; to be entirely accomplished within. I now know that it helped me a little to think of the many detached Christs made of stiff ivory lying around at all the antique dealers.The thought of some Pietà came and went -: all this probably only to evoke a certain inclination in which his long face held itself, and the desolate growth of beard in the shadow of his cheeks, and the final painful blindness of his closed expression, held obliquely upwards.
②I knew immediately that my representation was worthless. The unbounded surrender of his misery, unrestricted by caution or pretense, exceeded my capabilities.
③I only want to say that they were on him like the softest thing on a bird’s underside. He himself had no desire for it, and who among all (I looked around) could think that this state was for his sake?
④My God, it occurred to me with impetuosity, so this is how you are. There is evidence of your existence. I have forgotten them all and have never asked for any, for what a tremendous obligation would lie in your certainty.And yet, now it is revealed to me. This is your preference, here you find delight. If only we could learn to endure above all and not judge. What are the burdensome things? What are the merciful ones? You alone know. When winter comes again and I must have a new coat – grant me that I may wear it so long as it is new.
⑤It’s not that I want to differentiate myself from them when I walk around in better clothes that are truly mine from the beginning and insist on settling somewhere. I am not that far yet.
Consideration
If I were to introduce him, I would say that he is not a philosopher or a theologian, but a poet. It wouldn’t be enough to simply say he is a poet from the beginning. It is through these denials that the true value of being a poet emerges. Rainer Maria Rilke, in my opinion, is such a person.
Although I have not yet reached a conclusion, the theological and philosophical inquiries raised by the quotations (1) to (5) remain unanswered.
This is Rilke’s autobiographical work, but it appears as if he is writing “in disguise” as the character Marthe. However, this is also a creative piece with an underlying confessional aspect. He acknowledges that he perceives God (Jesus Christ) in a state of poverty, yet he confesses that he is unprepared for the unimaginable life of a newspaperman. Simultaneously, he raises questions about the Kantian notion of representation, suggesting that it is an essential faculty for comprehending external objects, but also viewing it as an activity of the individual subjective mind rather than an independent existence separate from the object.
Descartes attempted to provide a logical proof for the existence of God, while Kant argued that existence cannot be deduced solely from concepts, emphasizing the significance of “faith” (practical principles). In Christian theology, specifically without aligning to any particular denomination, “Vorstellung” refers to the concrete concepts and images that individuals hold about God, often associated with the concept of “Form.” For instance, in Catholicism, “Form” represents the embodiment or essential qualities of God’s divinity. Additionally, the emphasis lies on the incarnation, sacraments, and the recognition of the unseen mysteries concealed beneath the “visible.” Despite this ambivalence, Rilke acknowledges the limitations of capturing the representations of Christ and Mary in the Pietà as a questioning of existing religions.Rilke, although embracing this dual nature, expressed the poetic sensibility of one dressed in his Sunday best in modest attire, bearing the weight of profound responsibility in confirming the presence of God. (Mein Gott, fiel es mir mit Ungestüm ein, so bist du also )Nevertheless, Rilke personally encountered a sensation of connection between God and the world.
He seeks to explore the existence of God and delve into the experience of limits(Grenze), but this is done as a poet, confessing his fear of becoming impoverished. What were the limits for Rilke?
An antique statue of Christ, Mary of Pietà with historical value, keeping one feeling like wearing a new coat, the expensive clothes of the poor, the life of an unnamed bird?
Rilke does not explicitly define them as “poetry,” but rather portrays them in a sincere manner as the ascent and descent of the “soul,” which cannot be directly described by philosophy and theology.
****
*Grenze, also explored by philosophers such as Kant and Hegel, are also pursued theologically by Bonhoeffer.
*This is a thoughtful note. There are no answers. If you have any comments on the translation, please write them in the comments section.
Die Aufzeichnungen des Malte Laurids Brigge by Rainer Maria Rilke
原文 マルテ・ラウリス・ブリッゲの手記(ライナー・マリア・リルケ著)
①Und ich war es in der Tat. Ich war beschäftigt, ihn mir vorzustellen, ich unternahm die Arbeit, ihn einzubilden, und der Schweiß trat mir aus vor Anstrengung. Denn ich mußte ihn machen, wie man einen Toten macht, für den keine Beweise mehr da sind, keine Bestandteile; der ganz und gar innen zu leisten ist. Ich weiß jetzt, daß es mir ein wenig half, an die vielen abgenommenen Christusse aus steifigem Elfenbein zu denken, die bei allen Althändlern herumliegen. Der Gedanke an irgendeine Pietà trat vor und ab –: dies alles wahrscheinlich nur, um eine gewisse Neigung hervorzurufen, in der sein langes Gesicht sich hielt, und den trostlosen Bartnachwuchs im Wangenschatten und die endgültig schmerzvolle Blindheit seines verschlossenen Ausdrucks, der schräg aufwärts gehalten war.
②Ich wußte sofort, daß meine Vorstellung wertlos war. Die durch keine Vorsicht oder Verstellung eingeschränkte Hingegebenheit seines Elends übertraf meine Mittel.
(Zeitungsverkäufer)
③Ich will nur sagen, daß sie an ihm waren wie das Weicheste auf eines Vogels Unterseite. Er selbst hatte keine Lust daran, und wer von allen (ich sah mich um) durfte meinen, dieser Staat wäre um seinetwillen?
④Mein Gott, fiel es mir mit Ungestüm ein, so bist du also. Es gibt Beweise für deine Existenz. Ich habe sie alle vergessen und habe keinen je verlangt, denn welche ungeheuere Verpflichtung läge in deiner Gewißheit. Und doch, nun wird mir’s gezeigt. Dieses ist dein Geschmack, hier hast du Wohlgefallen. Daß wir doch lernten, vor allem aushalten und nicht urteilen. Welche sind die schweren Dinge? Welche die gnädigen? Du allein weißt es. Wenn es wieder Winter wird und ich muß einen neuen Mantel haben, – gib mir, daß ich ihn so trage, solang er neu ist.
⑤Es ist nicht, daß ich mich von ihnen unterscheiden will, wenn ich in besseren, von Anfang an meinigen Kleidern herumgehe und darauf halte, irgendwo zu wohnen. Ich bin nicht soweit.
There are various accounts of how Lafcadio Hearn, also known as Koizumi Yakumo, lost the vision in his left eye. Some claim that a rope from a swinging carousel struck his eye, while others attribute it to a cricket incident. What is clear is that he lost his father at a young age, struggled to fit in at Catholic school, and always concealed his blind left eye by keeping his head down. He wrote a story that goes like this. A young samurai was impoverished by the fall of his lord. The woman he took as his wife was beautiful and kind, but he began to think that he wanted to marry a more respectable woman from a more respectable family and rise in the world. So he left his wife and took a new one, and achieved the position he longed for, but all he could think of was his former wife in Kyoto. Years went by, and when the term of his master, the provincial governor, expired, this man again selfishly left even his new wife and went to Kyoto to see his former wife. His former wife’s house was so dilapidated that it seemed uninhabitable, but when he reached her favourite room, the light was on and she was sewing.
“When did you come back to Kyōto? How did you find your way here to me, through all those black rooms?”The woman greeted the man who had abandoned her, still as beautiful as the memories she held of him.
The man acknowledged his past mistakes and asked the woman to forgive him. The woman showed no sign of anger and quickly accepted the man, saying that he had left because he was ‘poor’ and that she was ‘happy’ with the time he had spent with him. The man decided that he would no longer be with anyone but her and lay down on the floor. The man and woman talked all night to make up for the time they had been apart. The man felt satisfied with their conversation and eventually fell asleep. However, when he woke up in the morning, he was shocked to find himself in a dilapidated mansion. He realized that the woman he thought he had been talking to was, sadly, a rotting corpse.
When the man pretended to be a stranger to his neighbour and asked “what had happened to his wife’s house”he person questioned said.”It used to belong to the wife of a Samurai who left the city several years ago. He divorced her in order to marry another woman before he went away; and she fretted a great deal, and so became sick. She had no relatives in Kyōto, and nobody to care for her; and she died in the autumn of the same year,—on the tenth day of the ninth month….”
The death of his wife represents the transience of this world. The critic Kobayashi Hideo wrote: ‘Because memories rescue us from becoming mere animals.’ This young samurai, being self-centered, also abandons his wife for the sake of his career, but he suffers from it and longs for the beautiful memories, thinking he can regain them. However, he comes to understand the impermanence when he realizes that his wife has long since become a rotting corpse. This is how I came to know the transience of the world. In contrast to transience, this could be called grace in Christian terms, as some people die without having the chance to learn about impermanence.
There is an anecdote in Buddhism that when the Buddha entered Vesali, he became aware of the rapid decline of life. However, he was willing to live beyond the normal human lifespan by divine power if his disciples and the people desired it. He told Ananda that he would live longer and serve others−if only they truly wished it.However, Ananda seemed somewhat preoccupied. He could not understand the Buddha’s true intentions. Apparently, an evil spirit had attached itself to Ananda, and his mind was being deceived by it. Upon seeing Ananda’s attitude, the Buddha decided to enter Nirvana after three months.
Just as the young samurai in the story chose to leave his beloved wife for his own benefit, so Arnanda remained selfish and did not try to understand the Buddha’s true intentions. It is this selfishness that hinders the understanding of impermanence. Koizumi Yakumo’s blindness in his left eye signifies loss and absence, while simultaneously reminding us of the ever-changing nature of things. He likely wanted to leave behind the ‘moment’ of his first wife’s life, which he had to cherish.
People tend to realize the importance of something after they have lost it and often forget their responsibilities. We must be prepared to understand the extent of our betrayal towards others.
However, I chose this story because this woman waited for her husband even while she was a ‘phantom’ (ayakashi). Some of the ghosts in Yakumo’s ‘Ghost Stories and Strange Tales’ are stories of demons who have become evil spirits. The woman had a tragic fate like that of Gretchen in Goethe’s Faust or Ophelia in Shakespeare’s Hamlet, mentally trapped but devoted. It may be true that true beauty and eternal love reside in the soul, as the Lord said to Samuel in the Old Testament: “For man sees those things that are apparent, but the Lord beholds the heart.” (1 Samuel 16:7). The being that became a phantom was not embellished or poisoned by “time”, but in a preserved state, “reconciled” with the man who abandoned her and remained in the world. The shadow of the phantom was there to remind the samurai of the impermanence of the world. Love encompasses feelings of jealousy and attachment, but it also possesses a selfless aspect that is not solely driven by personal gain and selfish desires.Therefore, love is always seeking direction as it carries significance for the soul.To others, this phantom may seem pathetic. Yet this is why it may bring grace to places overlooked by human perception.
“To me, this story was a delicate gear—driven by love, memory, and loss..”
Note on Koizumi Yakumo: Born as Lafcadio Hearn in 1850, Koizumi Yakumo was a writer of Greek-Irish descent who later naturalized as Japanese. His blindness in one eye, troubled youth, and eventual fascination with Japanese folklore deeply informed his ghost stories. Though rooted in Buddhism and Shinto traditions, Yakumo’s work often reflected a universal longing for grace, memory, and the unseen. His vision—both physical and literary—remains a powerful lens through which impermanence and devotion continue to resonate.
Und leider auch Theologie Durchaus studiert, mit heißem Bemühn. Da steh' ich nun, ich armer Tor, Und bin so klug als wie zuvor! And, alas, I studied theology too, with great zeal. Here I stand, poor fool, and am as wise as before! Goethe, 'Faust':Der Tragödie erster Teil Nacht
I. Die teure Gnade(2)Nachfloge:Dietrich Bonhoeffer
・Aus der Rechtfertigung des Sünders in der Welt wurde die Rechtfertigung der Sünde und der Welt. Aus der teuren Gnade wurde die billige Gnade ohne Nachfolge.
・Sagte Luther, daß unser Tun umsonst ist,・・
Die Erkenntnis der Gnade war für ihn der letzte radikale Bruch mit der Sünde seines Lebens, niemals aber ihre Rechtfertigung. Sie war im Ergreifen der Vergebung die letzte radikale Absage an das eigenwillige Leben, sie war darin selbst erst eigentlich ernster Ruf zur Nachfolge. Sie war ihm jeweils „Resultat“, freilich göttliches, nicht menschliches Resultat. Dieses Resultat aber wurde von den Nachfahren zur prinzipiellen Voraussetzung einer Kalkulation gemacht. Darin lag das ganze Unheil. Ist Gnade das von Christus selbst ge-schenkte „Resultat“ christlichen Lebens, so ist dieses Leben keinen Augenblick dispensiert von der Nachfolge. Ist aber Gnade prinzipielle Voraussetzung meines christlichen Lebens, so habe ich damit im voraus die Rechtfertigung meiner Sünden, die ich im Leben in der Welt tue. Ich kann nun auf diese Gnade hin sündigen, die Welt ist ja im Prinzip durch Gnade gerechtfertigt. Ich bleibe daher in meiner bürgerlich-weltlichen Existenz wie bisher, es bleibt alles beim alten, und ich darf sicher sein, daß mich die Gnade Gottes bedeckt. Die ganze Welt ist unter dieser Gnade „christlich“ geworden, das Christentum aber ist unter dieser Gnade in nie dagewesener Weise zur Welt geworden.
・Wenn Faust am Ende seines Lebens in der Arbeit an der Erkenntnis sagt: „Ich sehe, daß wir nichts wissen können“, so ist das Resultat, und etwas durchaus anderes, als wenn dieser Satz von einem Studenten im ersten Semester über-nommen wird, um damit seine Faulheit zu rechtfertigen (Kierkegaard). Als Resultat ist der Satz wahr, als Voraussetzung ist er Selbstbetrug. Das bedeutet, daß eine Erkenntnis nicht getrennt werden kann von der Existenz, in der sie gewonnen ist. Nur wer in der Nachfolge Jesu im Verzicht auf alles, was er hatte, steht, darf sagen, daß er allein aus Gnaden gerecht werde.
English translation
・
Luther said that our actions are in vain.・・・etc
The recognition of grace was for him the final radical break with the sin of his life, but never its justification. In seizing forgiveness, it was the final radical renunciation of the self-willed life, and therein itself truly a serious call to discipleship.It was always a “result” for him, a divine result, not a human one. However, this result was turned by his descendants into a fundamental precondition for their calculations.
If grace is the “result” of Christian life given by Christ Himself, then this life is not exempt from discipleship for a single moment. But if grace is the fundamental prerequisite of my Christian life, then I already have the justification of my sins that I commit in my life in the world beforehand. I can now sin in light of this grace; after all, the world is justified in principle by grace.
So I remain in my bourgeois-worldly existence as before, everything stays the same, and I can be certain that God’s grace covers me. The whole world has become “Christian” under this grace, but Christianity, under this grace, has become the world in an unprecedented way.
・
When Faust, at the end of his life, says in his work on knowledge: “I see that we cannot know anything”, the result is quite different from when this sentence is adopted by a student in his first semester to justify his laziness (Kierkegaard). As a result the sentence is true, as a premise it is self-deception. This means that an insight cannot be separated from the existence in which it is gained. Only those who follow Jesus by renouncing everything they had can say that they are justified by grace alone.
*Kierkegaard was also a Faust scholar.
Consideration
In this text, Bonhoeffer focuses his discussion on ‘grace’. According to him, ‘grace’ is described as the ultimate deliverance from his sins and a sincere call to follow him for its bestowal. However, he points out the problem of his descendants merely accepting this ‘grace’ through rational calculation. Many Christians assume that ‘grace’ forgives sins and act as if they can continue to sin. By doing so, they assure the world of being protected by God’s grace. It is mentioned that the entire world has become ‘Christian’, but as a result, it has become more secular than ever before.
The understanding of God’s grace is described as his final radical conversion and decisive break with the sins of life.
The main clause “When Faust at the end of his life says in the work of knowledge” is the previous sentence.
“Gnade als Voraussetzung ist billigste Gnade; Gnade als Resultat teure Gnade. Es ist erschreckend, zu erkennen, was daran liegt, in welcher Weise eine Es ist dasselbe Wort von der Rechtfertigung aus Gnaden allein; und doch führt der falsche Gebrauch desselben Satzes zur vollkommenenen Zerstörung seines Wesens.”
It corresponds to. Grace is the cheapest grace, and the grace that follows is a costly grace. Understanding what lies behind the way Christian truth is stated and used can be surprising. It has been equated with justification by grace alone (justificatio). But the wrong use of the same word leads to the complete destruction of its essence.
Thought
Some clergy argue that in Catholicism, “forgiveness” and rituals are more important than Lutheranism. There are many prominent priests who currently avoid discussing the issue of deceitful clergy. They often present superficial and empty statements, despite their growing influence. The same can be said for the faithful who reflect on these matters. It is a sin to not pay attention to the essence of things and this group paralysis affects these victims. They should realize that they are depriving themselves of faith.
Even in Catholicism, Pope Francis, in the Apostolic Constitution Paschite Glegem Dei, has made the observance of disciplinary penalties an obligation that cannot be separated from pastoral duties. Specifically, the responsibility for correctly applying these penalties lies with the pastor and the superior of each community. I can only lament the Church’s continuous tolerance and “wait-and-see” attitude towards the shameful acts and offenses committed in the sacrament of absolution that have been revealed this time. Bonhoeffer’s emphasis on the relationship between knowledge and being, faith and action, and his assertion that true knowledge is connected to liberation from self-deception; could this also be applicable to Catholicism?
reference
“From an actual lawsuit in Japan:
“A victimized woman shares her real name and confesses, having believed in “being saved from suffering by following the priest,” the approximately five years of “sexual violence” she endured from a Chilean priest in the Catholic Church and the unjust actions of the religious order.””
Und leider auch Theologie Durchaus studiert, mit heißem Bemühn. Da steh' ich nun, ich armer Tor, Und bin so klug als wie zuvor!
口惜しいが神学までも、熱心に勉強し、底の底まで究めて、こうしてたっているが、ずっと変わらず 愚か者のままだ! ゲーテ・ファウスト「夜」Der Tragödie erster Teil Nacht
I. Die teure Gnade(2)Nachfloge:Dietrich Bonhoeffer
・Aus der Rechtfertigung des Sünders in der Welt wurde die Rechtfertigung der Sünde und der Welt. Aus der teuren Gnade wurde die billige Gnade ohne Nachfolge.
・Sagte Luther, daß unser Tun umsonst ist,・・
Die Erkenntnis der Gnade war für ihn der letzte radikale Bruch mit der Sünde seines Lebens, niemals aber ihre Rechtfertigung. Sie war im Ergreifen der Vergebung die letzte radikale Absage an das eigenwillige Leben, sie war darin selbst erst eigentlich ernster Ruf zur Nachfolge. Sie war ihm jeweils „Resultat“, freilich göttliches, nicht menschliches Resultat. Dieses Resultat aber wurde von den Nachfahren zur prinzipiellen Voraussetzung einer Kalkulation gemacht. Darin lag das ganze Unheil. Ist Gnade das von Christus selbst ge-schenkte „Resultat“ christlichen Lebens, so ist dieses Leben keinen Augenblick dispensiert von der Nachfolge. Ist aber Gnade prinzipielle Voraussetzung meines christlichen Lebens, so habe ich damit im voraus die Rechtfertigung meiner Sünden, die ich im Leben in der Welt tue. Ich kann nun auf diese Gnade hin sündigen, die Welt ist ja im Prinzip durch Gnade gerechtfertigt. Ich bleibe daher in meiner bürgerlich-weltlichen Existenz wie bisher, es bleibt alles beim alten, und ich darf sicher sein, daß mich die Gnade Gottes bedeckt. Die ganze Welt ist unter dieser Gnade „christlich“ geworden, das Christentum aber ist unter dieser Gnade in nie dagewesener Weise zur Welt geworden.
・Wenn Faust am Ende seines Lebens in der Arbeit an der Erkenntnis sagt: „Ich sehe, daß wir nichts wissen können“, so ist das Resultat, und etwas durchaus anderes, als wenn dieser Satz von einem Studenten im ersten Semester über-nommen wird, um damit seine Faulheit zu rechtfertigen (Kierkegaard). Als Resultat ist der Satz wahr, als Voraussetzung ist er Selbstbetrug. Das bedeutet, daß eine Erkenntnis nicht getrennt werden kann von der Existenz, in der sie gewonnen ist. Nur wer in der Nachfolge Jesu im Verzicht auf alles, was er hatte, steht, darf sagen, daß er allein aus Gnaden gerecht werde.
「Wenn Faust am Ende seines Lebens in der Arbeit an der Erkenntnis sagt」の主節はその前の文章の
“Gnade als Voraussetzung ist billigste Gnade; Gnade als Resultat teure Gnade. Es ist erschreckend, zu erkennen, was daran liegt, in welcher Weise eine evangelische Wahrheit ausgesprochen und gebraucht wird. Es ist dasselbe Wort von der Rechtfertigung aus Gnaden allein; und doch führt der falsche Gebrauch desselben Satzes zur vollkommenen Zerstörung seines Wesens.”
Was wäre auch Gnade, die nicht billige Gnade ist? Billige Gnade heißt Gnade als Lehre, als Prinzip, als System; heißt Sündenver-gebung als allgemeine Wahrheit, heißt Liebe Gottes als christliche Gottesidee. Wer sie bejaht, der hat schon Vergebung seiner Sünden. Die Kirche dieser Gnadenlehre ist durch sie schon der Gnade teilhaftig. In dieser Kirche findet die Welt billige Bedeckung ihrer Sünden, die sie nicht bereut und von denen frei zu werden sie erst recht nicht wünscht. Billige Gnade ist darum Leugnung des lebendigen Wortes Gottes, Leugnung der Menschwerdung des Wortes Gottes.
・・・
Billige Gnade ist Predigt der Vergebung ohne Buße, ist Taufe ohne Gemeindezucht, ist Abend-mahl ohne Bekenntnis der Sünden, ist Absolution ohne persönliche Beichte. Billige Gnade ist Gnade ohne Nachfolge, Gnade ohne Kreuz, Gnade ohne den lebendigen, menschgewordenen Jesus Christus.
Translation
・What is also grace that is not cheap grace? Cheap grace means grace as doctrine, as a principle, as a system; it means forgiveness of sins as a universal truth, it means the love of God as a Christian concept of God. Whoever affirms it has already received forgiveness for their sins.The church that holds to this doctrine of grace is already a partaker of grace through it. In this church, the world finds a cheap cover for its sins, which it does not repent of and from which it certainly does not want to be free. Cheap grace is therefore a denial of the living Word of God, a denial of the incarnation of the Word of God.・・・
・Cheap grace is preaching forgiveness without repentance, baptism without church discipline, communion without confession of sins, absolution without personal confession. Cheap grace is grace without discipleship, grace without the cross, grace without the living, incarnate Jesus Christ.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer(1906年2月4日 – 1945年4月9日)
Dietrich Bonhoeffer, born in 1906, was a Lutheran pastor and theologian. Under the Nazis, most churches collaborated with the Nazi regime, but Bonhoeffer, among others, founded the Confessing Church, which he fiercely and righteously opposed. He was executed in Flossenbürg concentration camp (KZ Flossenbürg) for his part in the assassination of Hitler. The present translation is an extract from I. Die teure Gnade from his early work, Nachfolge.
His writings are not characterized by metaphor or rhetoric, but they are not only theologically profound but also logical, ethical, and moral, and enlightening. Bonhoeffer interpreted “billige Gnade” as a disregard for the word of salvation, accepting it as a mere theory or doctrine without seeking repentance or transformation. According to him, such an acceptance of grace is not authentic grace but a “rejection of the living Word of God” and a denial of the doctrine that “the Word of God appears as a person.” Bonhoeffer argues that authentic grace must be more than a mere theory or doctrine but must have the power to transform the heart and life of the individual. Therefore, authentic grace is seen as going beyond doctrine and theory and should be practiced in the heart and life of the individual so that genuine transformation and conversion can take place. His interpretation of the Sermon on the Mount is particularly noteworthy, but above all, his discernment of what is right in the midst of the distortion of worldly morality and ethics. There are few Christians today who can accompany their practice in the face of the injustices that are happening throughout the Church.
As for accepting the guilt of assassination in a liminal state (Grenzfall) under Hitler’s regime, I would choose my words carefully.His reference to the ‘word of the living God’ (des lebendigen Wortes Gottes) should still be felt today.
*”This is a translation and analysis done in the usual fragmented style of the ‘Cahiers’ journal. I acknowledge that it may be insufficient, but I appreciate your understanding.”