タグ: Catholicism

The Beauty and Poetry of Labour（１）　Simone Weil /English

Les travailleurs ont besoin de poésie plus que de pain.
La pesanteur et la grâce　Simone Weil

  1. Ⅰ.Introduction
  2. Ⅱ.Premonition
  3. Ⅲ .Turning Points and Contradictions
  4. Ⅳ　ouvrière and ouvrier
  5. Ⅴ The labourer and Poetry’ (1) Plato, ed.　
  6. Continued in ‘Labour and Poetry (2): The Christ Edition.

Ⅰ.Introduction

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.

The Beauty and Poetry of Labour（２）　Simone Weil　/English
1

Righteousness according to Soseki Natsume’s consideration of ‘Kokoro’.English

・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

  1. Synopsis　
  2. Meiji era and K
  3. Death and Righteousness
  4. What is the contemporary ‘kokoro’?
  5. (Introduction)
  6. Japanese
  7. ＊＊＊＊

Synopsis　

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.）

Japanese

・Chris Kyogetuの宗教と文学　⑭夏目漱石の「こゝろ」からみる愛と義　

＊＊＊＊

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.

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‘Mob Justice’ embodies a yearning for acknowledgment of the downtrodden and marginalized soul.

1

Man’s Search for Meaning （English）

All of us in the camps knew and told each other that there was no happiness on earth that could compensate us for our troubles.

…trotzdem Ja zum Leben sagen:Ein Psychologe erlebt das Konzentrationslager
Viktor Emil Frankl
  1. First
  2. Second
  3. Third
  4. Fourth
  5. Fifth
  6. Last

First

Room 18 in the basement of the Auschwitz camp was the prison where Father Kolbe was held. Why is there a small window there?　What did the sunshine mean? It was such a space, a mediocre room that a painter could paint rest in a poor hut, if analogy could be made. It smelled like dust and rust on my nose, and I don’t remember what the temperature was that day. Painful seems to rob me of a sense of the four seasons. I continue to listen to the color of my skin floating in the dark space and the description not in my native language, and I only pay attention to the words of my phase. Cruel places where many people have died, in fact, are neither special nor exist in Japan. For example, the station where the sarin gas attack on the underground took place. I passed there many times when I was a student. Sometimes it is hard to describe the weight of the souls that were cruelly taken away from us.

Not only that, but the Auschwitz camp was also a place where God and Jesus Christ did not come to save. Evidence of this can be seen everywhere in the other prisons, where crosses were dug into the ground with nails. They would have begged and pleaded, but salvation never came. It signals the despair of the invisible soul.

Second

In the concentration camps prepared by Nazi-Deutschland, it was not only people who died in gas chambers or from poison. Others died of suicide, starvation and disease. Deaths in the facilities, all of which are lumped together in the death toll of the camps, make concentration camps the root of evil. There were other dictatorships in other countries, but it seems to be a chosen place that has been so clearly narrated and left behind. We cannot easily ask locals about dictatorships in other countries. Comparatively speaking, the camps in Poland, which can be visited like Auschwitz, are an asset.

Why would something that was a democracy produce such a tragedy, I will not go into the details of German history this time. However, the birth of Nazi Germany was also a democracy for its time. In the case of Japan, the first thing that comes to mind is national review. How effective the national review is (Article 79 of the Constitution of Japan) is not clear to most people, although we know how it works, because none of the judges have yet been dismissed from the national review.

Realizations always spring up ‘after the fact’. There is a delusion about ‘democracy’ and democratic politics, but if there is cruelty, it is now hidden in the micro rather than the macro. Emotions from personal experience are not a problem, but the emotions of incidents happening on the other side of the world are just ‘excitement’ when you get right down to it. For example, If a celebrity commits suicide, you have feelings about it as if it were your own family. but Today, that would be a nuisance to the bereaved family.

Even if the bereaved family cries for understanding in a TV broadcast, if viewers sympathies with them and post it on social media, they are sued for defamation. For the victims, they make a fuss about being told by others without their knowledge. Only equivalent celebrities have the right to sympathy for the people on the other side of the television. That has become the modern age. More and more we are being meta and not exposed to the phenomenon.

Thus, in contemporary discourse, the view that it is not the fault of a single building, such as a camp, becomes natural. medical malpractice, or the problems in the schools, about what happened in that one space. It was suicide, so it was self-inflicted – it was starvation, so it had nothing to do with it – the cause of death was illness. ‘They didn’t all die the same way in the same space. So there is no scientific basis for it’ That is the modern world.

The ‘counter-existence’ is formed by what is given by the ‘counter-other’. One, if it is called ‘death without evidence’, its existence is determined. How do we accept the gaze that determines it? Do we take on that gaze honestly, or do we have a subjective self as a ‘counter-self’ in the Sartre sense? The difference between the objective gaze and the subjective self is ‘freedom’. V. E. Frankl in Man’s Search for Meaning　also held on to ‘hope’ in Auschwitz, against the positioned decision. This is not a particularly unusual story, as it has been a guiding principle since the time of the Epictetus regarding servitude and freedom.

Third

I was shown the Gulf War on television when I was in primary school. Classes were interrupted and we kept watching the bulletins, which showed people lying under the rubble. Night vision technology was a hot topic at the time, and we were shown how easy it was to hit the target, even in an operation to set fire to an oil field on the Iraqi side to spread smoke. After saying that they would have been killed, the comment was made that it was probably a mother and son. Whether it was a US soldier, my memory is not clear. It was so disheartening that I wondered if people had really died at this moment. The homeroom teacher at the time explained that if there is a war now, it will not be like Grave of the Fireflies, and that weapons have evolved like night vision devices.

Grave of the Fireflies

As well as not doubting that all human beings are equal, we vaguely believed (as a certainty) that we had peace with Article 9 of the Constitution. Nevertheless, having children write about their thoughts on peace was as if to say that they can only write about it when they are children. Why do adults make children write, and why do adults stop saying it?　Why do parents and homeroom teachers end up ‘teaching’ children? Why are people who talk about peace guests? Teachers and people close to them do not talk about what they know. People whose personal lives are not affected go home talking about their war experiences.

Eventually, as they grow up, some of their friends wake up and realis that what they have received was a left-wing education. Why is Article 9 supposedly admired around the world, but the world does not emulate it? Other countries have armies as normal. When ‘we’ raise questions about it, the world accuses us of leaning to the right. Yet the world calls that awakening ‘evil’. But that is only a fragment of the world. We don’t know the essence of the world. Article 9 of the Constitution is only a corner of it. The country of Japan is not as ‘known’ as it should be. But this is just another world I have walked through. The world is a wide place. The right answer is probably just as complex and wide.

It is not certain that even the Gulf War images seen at that time were real. The only reliable fact that can be traced back is “Stock price”. Stock price records seem to be the universal language. Analysis is subject to interpretation, but the figures do not lie: after Iraq invaded Kuwait on 2 August 1990, stock prices fell vertically. This is followed by a slump in October and November, but a slight rebound in December.17 January 1991, the Gulf War begins with the bombing of Iraq by Multinational Force Iraq.

Afterwards, it recovers to the same level as before the invasion of Kuwait. What was the tragedy we saw in the classroom then, and did the parents and children really die then? As an adult, I look at stock prices and other prices as if to overcome my childhood fears. When the contingency of war is also a certainty, the market raises expectations. Stocks recover as if the feeling of fear is ignorance.

Fourth

I had a strong sense of existentialism when I went back to my memory. Probably the generation that saw the Gulf War as children tended towards existential philosophy. (Strictly, with the ideal that existentialism could change the frustration that builds up) And those who educated us were inclined towards structuralism. Even John Paul II praised the structuralist Lévi-Strauss as a good philosopher.

Sartre and Husserl phenomenology were overshadowed, but the more they were hidden, the more I followed my ‘uncertain certainties’, because there was no being close at hand to answer the experiences I felt. Is what you see reflected in my mind something that is connected to the world? Yet it exists, even outside of consciousness. Even while we are asleep, the real world is stirring outside our consciousness. News of war is only part of reality. Of course, it is difficult to make a clear distinction between structure or existence as to why I felt the way I did about what is handed to me by the world. In all of them there is something to sympathies with and feel.　

Our generation was educated by those who did not benefit from the bursting of the Economic bubble, so the world was seen as ironic. At the same time, we were given a lot of dreams that never existed, such as ‘people are equal’. And even after a crisis like 911 in 2001, the economy always recovered: a 10% fall followed by a quick rebound. In fact, it was the Enron collapse in December 2001 and the WorldCom accounting fraud in June 2001 that caused the big drop. War would end the world, and it was only natural that this perception would fade.

Fifth

What do you think of Auschwitz?　When asked that question, existence itself is a wall away for those of us who don’t think of everyday life in terms of war. What mattered was the world of peacetime. Man’s Search for Meaning were reinterpreted for 911 in a new translation in 2003. While the brutal images from the camps in the old translation have been erased, we have seen only the fireworks of peace slogans in the reality of the Iraq war. We bemoan the youth who don’t know human pain, but when we were children, we compensated for it with our imagination. But it didn’t mean anything when we understood it. The metadata personality of ‘not knowing human pain’ was formed that way even after the war. That would be an undeniable fact.　

Hannah Arendt warned that people imprisoned at Auschwitz would be forgotten over time. She referred to the tortured deaths of those held at Auschwitz, and the deaths forgotten with the passage of time, as a double death. This would be the Auschwitz camp I visited. The records as historical are not imbued with the space. In Room 18, where Father Kolbe was, there was just an empty space inside. He lived his life without thinking in terms of contingencies, and that is a testimony. What would this place look like if you came here with no prior information and an English translation for tourists? Events do not speak beyond information. Existence precedes essence “We mean that man first of all exists” It is an endlessly silent, somehow felt suppression. The meaning of the building’s existence continues to be expressed by human beings. The marks of the cross engraved with nails do not name the scribe. The proof that God did not come is still only despair. They say that it was futile to pray, or that Sartre was an atheist, but Frankl, who was imprisoned in Auschwitz, as a psychologist, left ‘hope’ behind.

In Auschwitz, a place where there is no creative freedom, he remained strong that only his inner life would not be taken away from him. There would naturally be a hidden escape. Those who believed they would be liberated by Christmas committed suicide on Christmas Day with the current of the iron bars. That is why Frankl feared easy hope. In the camps, some people gave alms to others even though they were suffering, while others became mad demons. In the absence of any soul-operating experience, he said that only the value of attitude would not be taken away, even in a place where it was not known whether God would come or not. It includes ‘prayer’.

When Man’s Search for Meaning was published（new translation）in 2003, it was introduced that those of us who had not experienced anything as bad as Auschwitz should naturally have ‘hope’. I thought at the time that was a little different. I thought about the meaning of why Frankl wrote about ‘hope’, which he portrayed in the midst of cruelty, rather than the ‘cruelty’ of Auschwitz.

The historical fact of Auschwitz comes in different forms. That is because human misery is inevitable. I think, even in retrospect, that I was a Sartre ‘condemned to be free’. We have always been forced to feel happy because we are at peace. But in fact, this is not the case. Only those who have known misery can realis this. Even if there is no war, everyone has misfortune, like Hisako Nakamura, who lost both arms. Hisako, who lost both arms due to illness, was brought up strictly by her mother. Like her, everyone falls into a situation where the ‘home’ itself is like a prison camp. Hisako, who was missing both arms, was given a sewing kit by her mother. Without arms, sewing means using the mouth. Naturally, saliva would get on it, but her mother did not allow it. When Hisako learned to sew, she showed the audience how she sewed as the ‘Daruma Maiden’ at a freak show, still holding a grudge against her mother.

Hisako Nakamura

Nevertheless, Hisako forgave her mother and was grateful. While this was based on her Jodo Shinshu teachings, she did not take what she was taught for granted. She realized that it was because of her mother’s strictness that she was able to become independent. But even today in Japan, although this idea is a beautiful story, the mother’s position is that of ‘abuse’. Society must provide ‘comprehensive’ support through welfare and other means to prevent this from happening. Frankl quoted Nietzsche on the most painful human suffering. ‘Suffering itself is not the problem. It is the lack of an answer to the cry ‘what is the cause of suffering’ that is the problem.”

This idea is a ‘freedom’ held by subjectivity, objecting to a given ‘being’. Frankl was also given the ‘fate’ of a dying Jew. But he held out hope. It is freedom but suffering. How freedom is a responsibility, and how heavy it is. Hisako is no different. From her position of being without both arms, she achieved a feat that was almost impossible. It is suffering, and it is ‘freedom’ that tried to overcome her position. All they are integrated into life as untold history. Auschwitz has become a metonymized entity: in Room 18, Father Kolbe took over the dying fate of other Jews. The world does not speak of them. It is ‘man’ who records them to the world. And yet, how many years can one leave behind? Why is it that the faces of anguish in paintings from centuries ago are still recognizable today? For example, Will Shakespeare still be around a hundred years from now?　Why is it that what Father Kolbe did is still great today? It is man who makes sure that records are kept, but who creates the destiny that allows them to be kept?

Last

Sartre, who was a genius, missed his prediction before the Second World War when he said that Germany would not go to war. How did a dictatorship arise in Germany, which was supposed to be a democracy? The question can still be asked today. However, there is inevitably no end to speech and violence. This is because there is a ‘will’ in people. The will cannot be unified: the Covid19 epidemic has not subsided, the war between Russia and Ukraine, and in Japan the controversy continues after the assassination of former Prime Minister Shinzo Abe on 8 July 2022. I cannot recall a word from my childhood when I could so easily reject these conflicts. Children today may be cleverer, but a child’s words are not allowed to cross the world. Maybe that is why it is children who can go to the Kingdom of Heaven. (Matthew 19:13-15)　

Our pursuit of human goodness is not always beautiful. We move away from heaven little by little as we defile our souls, as we defile ourselves, as we struggle. We cannot abandon it because we must live with ‘will’. Even if we put an end to today’s challenges, is it something that will dissolve into history and be forgotten, or is it something that will be imprinted on individual souls?

Keeping silent, like the adults of the past, certainly seems like a bad thing. But what if we cannot protect our precious beings if we do not answer the demands of fate? If adults fight, children lose their place in the world. If teachers have made deviant statements, children feel insecure. Maybe that’s why they kept quiet back then. Was it adult self-deception?　Or was  ‘consideration’? It is not possible in heaven to know the complexity of human beings. Is that not the will to struggle to live? If the dead sleep-in peace, the living must awaken. It will come, even in silence.　

We must have experienced hardships and cruelty in each of our growing up years. We should not compare our misfortunes with others. Invariably, there is some trivial love left in people. The driving force behind Frankl’s books can be said to be Agape. Faith in human goodness would be to remember that. Even if, in any future situation.

Weeds were beautiful in Auschwitz.

――Like Mary at the feet of Jesus.

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