Early Modern Japanese Literature: An Anthology, 1600–1900

by Shirane, Haruo, ed.

  [Karonshū, NKBZ 50: 569–573, 579–580, introduction and translation by Peter Flueckiger]

  MOTOORI NORINAGA

  Motoori Norinaga (1730–1801) was born in Matsusaka in Ise Province (Mie), the second son of Ozu Sadatoshi, a wholesale cotton-goods merchant. When Norinaga was eleven his father died, and when he was nineteen he went to Yamada in the same province to be adopted as the son of a paper merchant. But things did not go well there, and he returned to his original family. A year later, in 1751, his elder brother died, and Norinaga became the head of the Ozu house. He found, however, that he was not suited to be a merchant, and in 1752 he moved to Kyoto at his mother’s urging to study medicine. At that time he changed his surname to Motoori. In Kyoto he read the Chinese classics under Hori Keizan (1688–1757), a Confucian scholar and a friend of Ogyū Sorai (1666–1728), the founder of the Ancient Rhetoric school. Keizan then introduced Norinaga to the commentaries of Keichū (1640–1701), whose philological methodology was a cornerstone of much of Norinaga’s own work.

  In 1757 Norinaga returned to Matsusaka to practice medicine, and around this time he produced his first treatise, “A Small Boat Punting Through the Reeds” (Ashiwake obune), an essay on waka. In the following year he began giving lectures on The Tale of Genji and wrote “Defense of Awaré” (Awaré ben), a short piece in which he introduced his theory that awaré (pathos) is the underlying theme of Japanese literature and transcends differences of genre. He followed these preliminary studies with two major works, both written in 1763, that present his literary thought in a form that remained largely unchanged for the rest of his life. The first of these, My Personal View of Poetry (Isonokami no sasamegoto), is a treatise on waka, and the other, The Essence of The Tale of Genji (Shibun yōryō), deals with the monogatari (tale/novel), specifically The Tale of Genji.

  Norinaga’s literary thought is centered on the notion of mono no awaré, or the pathos of things. He used this term to imply a certain emotional sensitivity to and capacity for empathy, as opposed to rational thinking or rigid morality, and regarded it as a key to understanding both literature and human nature. Norinaga describes human nature as fundamentally weak and emotionally susceptible and sees the strict moral self-control demanded by Confucianism and Buddhism as suppressing natural human emotions. On one level, Norinaga’s view that literature is an outgrowth of mono no awaré can be read as a kind of expressive theory, but he was ultimately concerned with intersubjectivity, with grasping the emotional essence (awaré) of others. For Norinaga, the objective of emotional self-expression was not only the release of pent-up emotions but also the process of understanding others, of becoming the object of emotional empathy. Modern scholars have argued that Norinaga’s idea of awaré, particularly his deep sympathy for the emotional plight of others, grew out of the sense of alienation experienced at the time by urban commoners (chōnin). They have also pointed out that his theory has much in common with the idea of ninjō (human emotion), which was the basis of contemporary kabuki and jōruri, and was also developed in the early nineteenth century in Tamenaga Shunsui’s (1790–1843) ninjōbon.

  After his early studies of Heian literature, Norinaga’s scholarship developed in a new direction when he turned his attention to Shintō and the earliest Japanese texts. He was interested particularly in the eighth-century Kojiki (Record of Ancient Matters), a mythohistory that describes the creation of Japan by the gods and the descent of the imperial line from its divine ancestors. It is said that Norinaga was urged to study the Kojiki by Kamo no Mabuchi, who was the foremost kokugaku scholar of the time. The two met in a famous one-night meeting in Matsusaka in 1763, soon after which Norinaga officially registered as a student in Mabuchi’s school and began corresponding with him, discussing poetry and scholarly matters. In 1771 he wrote the first draft of The Spirit of the Gods (Naobi no mitama), which encapsulates his view of the Way of the gods, or the ancient Way, and which later became the general introduction to the Kojikiden, his vast commentary on the Kojiki, which he completed in 1798. Norinaga valued the Kojiki as a pure example of the ancient Japanese language, and in the Kojikiden he tried to recover the original oral text that he believed lay underneath the obscuring layer of Chinese characters in which the Kojiki had been recorded. Other important late works of Norinaga include A Jeweled Basket (Tamakatsuma), a series of essays covering a wide variety of topics begun in 1793 and written over a period of several years; The Tale of Genji, a Small Jeweled Comb (Genji monogatari tama no ogushi), a revision of the earlier The Essence of The Tale of Genji (Shibun yōryō), completed in 1796; and First Steps in the Mountains (Uiyamabumi), a guide to studying the Japanese classics, written in 1798.

  In his writings on Shintō and the ancient Way, Norinaga argued against the position of Ogyū Sorai, who believed that before the appearance of the Confucian sages in ancient China, the world had no ethical order. Instead, in Norinaga’s view, the true Way was a creation of the Japanese gods, not of human sages, and allowed both the individual and the state to be governed without the need for the explicit rules and rigid moral codes that he saw as characteristic of Confucianism. In his commentaries on the Japanese classics, Norinaga, like Mabuchi, believed that Japanese texts provided not only pleasure but also ethical, aesthetic, social, and political norms—that is, a “Way” (michi), which he regarded as a superior alternative to the Confucian and Buddhist “Ways.” After coming under the influence of Mabuchi, Norinaga began to attack the notion of the “Chinese spirit” (karagokoro), a term that he used not only to refer to the adulation of Chinese cultural artifacts, such as the Chinese writing system and Chinese texts, but also to indicate the infiltration of a foreign mode of thought, an ethical rationalism that divides all things into good and bad. Norinaga argued that before the importation of such external artifacts, the Japanese had expressed tender, honest emotions, as depicted in the thirty-one-syllable waka and monogatari of the early periods. Today, however, owing to the influence of the “Chinese spirit,” the Japanese have lost touch with their “real emotions” (jitsujō) or “sincerity” (makoto) and have no choice but to seek them again in ancient and classical Japanese literature.

  Norinaga’s work was continued by his disciples, who at first were clustered in the Ise, Mino, and Owari Provinces, with Matsusaka, Norinaga’s birthplace, at the center, but gradually spread throughout the country. Norinaga’s son Motoori Haruniwa (1763–1828), Suzuki Akira (1764–1837), and Ishizuka Tatsumaro (1764–1823) continued his linguistic studies, and Ishihara Masaakira (1760–1821) and Fujii Takanao (1764–1840) carried on his literary studies. Norinaga’s philosophy of the ancient Way was further developed by Hirata Atsutane (1776–1843), who molded it into a religious-political ideology that had a powerful influence on the movement that culminated in the Meiji Restoration. The following is Norinaga’s most famous waka.

  shikishima no If I were asked

  yamatogokoro o to explain the Japanese spirit,

  hito towaba I would say it is

  asahi ni niou wild cherry blossoms

  yamazakura hana glowing in the morning sun!26

  A SMALL BOAT PUNTING THROUGH THE REEDS (ASHIWAKE OBUNE, 1757)

  In the following selection from the opening of “A Small Boat,” Norinaga advocates an autonomous role for waka poetry by declaring that it should be subordinated to neither politics nor personal moral cultivation but should simply be an expression of authentic human emotion. As one example, he challenges the view that Buddhist monks should not compose love poetry, arguing that even though their religious practices may demand that they suppress such emotions as love, in the realm of poetry these emotions are accepted unconditionally in their natural state. While at first Norinaga may appear to be advocating nothing more than the direct expression of raw emotion, he reveals a more complex view when he introduces the idea that historical decline has also degraded people’s emotions, leading to a somewhat paradoxical state in which natural emotions no longer arise naturally. For people of his own age to compose
poetry, he then argues, they must recapture the elegance of the past by immersing themselves in the world of classical texts.

  The essence of poetry is not to aid in governance, nor is it for personal cultivation. Rather, it consists of nothing but simply expressing what is felt in the heart. . . .

  Poetry is something that properly expresses feelings. It expresses the feelings in the heart, regardless of whether they are good or evil. So what problem is there with expressing the amorous desire that is felt in the heart? If the poem comes out well, then why should it not be praised? If it is an excellent poem, we should not be concerned whether it was composed by a monk or a layman. The judgment of a person’s conduct and the correctness or incorrectness and good or evil of his heart should be critiqued and discussed according to the Ways that are appropriate to this.27 In the Way of poetry, though, one should not argue such matters; in this Way, one should determine only whether a poem is good or bad. Why should one make baseless arguments about why monks should not compose love poems? People seem to think that just because someone takes the tonsure, his heart becomes completely like that of a buddha or bodhisattva. They show greatly different attitudes toward monks and laymen in the way they severely reprimand a monk if he shows even the slightest amorousness, treating it as a great evil. It is true that amorousness is what the Buddha warned against most strongly and that nothing else binds people more to transmigration and delusion, so it is of course something that monks should despise and avoid. Still, monks are no different from laymen in nature. At bottom, they also are ordinary humans [bonbu], so we should not expect their human emotions [ninjō] to be any different. . . .

  Poetry is a Way that uses language and that properly expresses feelings. If we were to say what we felt, without artifice, it would not be a poem. Even if it did result in a poem, it would be a bad poem unworthy of consideration. Therefore we should carefully consider our language. As long as our words are beautiful, even if the conception underlying our poetry is not deep, it will naturally be carried along by the beauty of the words and become deeper. Conversely, even deep emotions will sound shallow when poorly expressed in words.

  Ancient poetry used beautiful language and was moving even when it expressed real emotions just as they were. The reason is, first of all, that in the past, even ordinary language had ancient elegance. Also, when people of that time composed poetry, the poetry was proper and well ordered, so it was naturally beautiful. Furthermore, their hearts were genuine and their human emotions were deep, so without even trying, their words were beautiful, their hearts were deep and meaningful, and they naturally achieved an indescribable effect in their poetry.

  But as the world changed, we entered an age in which ordinary language greatly changed, becoming filthy, and human emotions have naturally turned shallow. Therefore if we composed poetry that expressed what we felt, without refining our language, it would surely be extremely bad poetry. If we composed poetry that expressed the emotions of the present age in the language of the present age, it would no doubt be very unseemly. . . .

  The expression of human emotions reveals weakness like that of a woman or child. Manly and proper steadfastness does not represent human emotion. . . . For example, on the battlefield it is the custom of the loyal warrior to die honorably for his lord and country, throwing away his life without the slightest regret. But at the moment of death does he not think sadly of the wife and children he has left behind at home? Does he not wish to see his aged parents just one last time? When on the verge of death, how could even the most demoniac ruffian not feel sad? To think of one’s family at such a moment, to be moved by sorrowful pathos [awaré], and to feel mournful are natural human emotions shared by all people and do not differ between sages and ordinary humans. . . .

  As another example, when a dearly beloved child dies, the parents are extremely saddened, and both father and mother surely must feel the same sadness. But while the father appears little affected, the mother is overcome by grief and lost in tears. The reason is that the mother does not suppress her true emotions and expresses them just as they are, while the father is concerned about how he appears to others. Lest they think him weak he brings his heart under control and keeps himself from shedding a single tear. The sorrow welling up in his breast is not revealed on his face, and he puts on the appearance of brave resignation. The mother, on the other hand, appears frantic and disorderly and improper, but this is the state of emotions just as they are. The appearance of the father is truly manly and steadfast, and it is admirable that he does not lose control at all, but these are not his true emotions. If he were really like this from the depths of his heart, he would be extremely cruel, like a tree or a stone. . . .

  If we constantly devote ourselves to the Way of poetry and constantly read The Tales of Ise, The Tale of Genji, The Pillow Book, The Tale of Sagoromo, and other works of pathos [awaré], our heart will naturally become polished and gentle and will become one with the heart of the ancients. We will be captivated by the flowers and birds, and our eyes will be delighted by the moon and the snow. Our heart will naturally be captivated by the appearance of the changing of the seasons and by the other joyful and sorrowful things of this impermanent world and will come to be refined, so that the poetry we compose will also come to embody natural emotions. The virtue of poetry, then, is not just to express emotions and give vent to feelings but also to assimilate the ancient elegance, to come to possess the heart of the ancients, and to compose poetry like the ancients.

  [MNZ 2: 3, 28–29, 31–32, 35–37, 42, introduction and translation by Peter Flueckiger]

  MY PERSONAL VIEW OF POETRY (ISONOKAMI NO SASAMEGOTO, 1763)

  In My Personal View of Poetry Norinaga further develops many of his ideas about waka poetry that he had first presented six years earlier in “A Small Boat Punting Through the Reeds.” In My Personal View of Poetry he describes poetry as the product of the emotional experience he refers to as mono no awaré, or the pathos of things. For Norinaga, one who “knows mono no aware” has the capacity to be deeply moved personally, as well as to sympathize with the sufferings of others. One of the most important ideas in My Personal View of Poetry is the notion that by making our deepest emotions known to others, poetry serves to establish feelings of mutual empathy that form the basis for our relations with others. Norinaga argues that deep emotions can be communicated only through language that possesses aya, or design, a term he uses for an elevated form of language associated with the oral recitation of poetry. He then discusses the mutual understanding achieved through poetry as having certain political and social benefits. While this may seem to contradict Norinaga’s earlier statement in “A Small Boat” that the essence of poetry is not to aid in governance, he is careful to point out that these political and social benefits are a secondary effect of poetry and are not part of its essential nature, which is simply to express human emotions. Another key point presented in the selections translated here is the idea that poetry is the repository of an essentially Japanese spirit, a view that has much in common with Norinaga’s later writings on Shintō.

  Poetry is not just something that we compose when we are unable to bear mono no awaré [the pathos of things] and that naturally relaxes the heart. When we feel awaré [pathos] very deeply, composing alone will not satisfy our heart, so we have a person listen to us and are comforted. When another hears what we have composed and sympathizes, it greatly clears the heart. Moreover, this is something natural. For example, if a person feels something strongly about something that is difficult to keep bottled up in his heart, even if he talks to himself about it in great detail, his heart will not be cleared. So he tells someone else and has him listen, and then his heart is cleared. And if the person who hears agrees with what he says and sympathizes, the poet’s heart will be cleared even more. Therefore it is difficult not to tell others about the things that we feel deeply in our heart. When we see and hear things that are unusual, frightening, or amusing, we always want to tell others
about them, and it is difficult to keep them bottled up in our heart. Although it is of no use to ourselves or others when we tell them about such things, it is natural that we cannot help but do so. This is the nature of poetry, so having someone listen is truly the essence of poetry and not an accidental aspect of it. Those who fail to understand this principle say that true poetry consists simply of saying what we feel, just as we feel it, whether well or poorly, and that the aspect that relates to the listener is not true poetry. Although this seems reasonable at first glance, it fails to grasp the true principle of poetry. . . . It is important that poetry be heard by another who sympathizes, so it is the essential nature of poetry that we create design [aya] in our words and sing in a drawn-out and well-modulated voice, and it has been this way since the age of the gods. . . .

  Ordinary language can explain the meaning of things in great detail, and its logic sounds precise, but without poetry it is difficult to express the indescribable emotions of awaré. The reason that such deep indescribable awaré can be expressed through poetry is because poetry has design in its words. Because of this design, even limitless awaré can be expressed. . . .

  Our august28 country is the august country of the sun goddess Amaterasu Ōmikami. It is the beautiful and magnificent august country superior to all other countries, so people’s hearts and actions, as well as the words they speak, are straightforward and elegant. In the past, the realm was governed peacefully without incident, so unlike in other countries there was not the least trace of anything bothersome or troubling. But then writings came over from China, and people began to read and study them. When people saw things written about other countries in these writings, they were impressed that everything appeared to be wise and profound, and they came to think of these writings as splendid. Soon they came to do nothing but emulate their spirit, and in the Nara period everything was as it was in China. But even at this time, poetry, alone, was different from all other things, as both its spirit and its language remained in accordance with the natural spirit of our august country from the age of the gods. . . .