Pathway to Japanese Literature

Author: Osamu Dazai

Jesus went out with his disciples to the villages of Philip Caesarea, and on the way asked his disciples, “Who do people say I am?”
They answered, “John the Baptist; others say Elijah; still others say one of the prophets.”
He asked them again, “Who do you say I am?”
Peter answered, “You are the Christ, the Son of God.” (Mark 8:27)

It was an extremely precarious moment.
In the extremity of his anguish, having lost sight of himself and overcome with anxiety, Jesus posed this abnormal question to his uneducated, illiterate disciples: “Who am I?”
He was attempting to rely solely on the answer of his uneducated, illiterate disciples.
But Peter believed.
He believed with simple steadfastness.
He believed that Jesus was the Son of God.
Therefore, he answered calmly.
Jesus, having been taught by his disciples, came to know his own destiny ever more deeply.

Even in the life of a twentieth-century foolish writer there existed a similar memory.
However，the result was utterly different.

He went out with his students to Inokashira Park on an autumn night and asked them along the way, “Who do people say I am?”
They answered, “An impostor.”
“Some say a liar.”
“Others say a scatterbrain.”
“Others say one of the belligerent drunks.”
He asked again, “Who do you say I am?”
A failing student answered and said, “You are Satan, the Son of Evil.”
He was astonished and said, “Farewell—let us part here.”

I parted from the students and returned home, my mind anything but calm over their having had the nerve to say such terrible things. However, I could not completely dismiss the failing student’s dreadful words. During that period, I had completely lost sight of myself. I didn't know who I was. I had no idea what was going on anymore. I work, and when money comes in, I play. When the money runs out, I work again; when a little money comes in, I play. Repeating such things, when I gave it a passing thought one night, I shuddered. What on earth did I think I was? This was no human life at all. I didn’t even have a home. This small house in Mitaka was my workplace. When I shut myself away here for a while and finished a piece of work, I would hastily leave Mitaka. So I fled. I went on journeys. But even when I traveled, my home was nowhere to be found. I wandered around here and there, yet I was always thinking about Mitaka. When I returned to Mitaka, I immediately started yearning for the open road again. The workplace was cramped. But travel felt daunting too.

I was always wandering around.
What on earth would become of me?
I seemed not to be human.

“What a terrible thing to say.”
I was lying down, spread out a newspaper and looking at it, but utterly vexed, I deliberately said in a loud voice so that the family member sewing in the next room could hear.
“What a terrible bastard.”

“What is it?”
The family member took the bait.
“You’re home early tonight.”

“Of course I am. I can’t have anything to do with those bastards anymore. What a terrible thing to say. That Imura bastard has the nerve to call me Satan. What’s his problem? For someone who’s been failing for two years straight now— He has no right to say anything about someone like me. That’s outrageous!”

There’s something about me that resembles a cowardly child who gets beaten up elsewhere and comes home to tattle.

“Because you’re always spoiling them,” the family member said in a cheerful tone.
“You always spoil everyone and make them impossible.”

“I see.”
It was an unexpected admonition.

“Don’t talk nonsense. It may look like I’m spoiling them, but I have a proper reason for doing what I do. I never expected to hear such an opinion from you. You think I’m Satan too, don’t you?”

“Well...” It fell silent. She seemed to be thinking seriously. After a while, she said, “You know,”

“Go on, say it.”
“Say whatever you want.”
“Tell me exactly what you’re thinking.”
I lay on the tatami mats sprawled out nearly in a spread-eagled position.

“Lazy person. That much is certain.”

“I see.” That wasn’t very good. But compared to Satan, it was at least preferable. “So I’m not Satan after all.”

“But if laziness goes too far, it starts to look like the devil, you know.”

According to a certain theologian’s theory, Satan’s true identity is that of an angel—that when an angel falls, it becomes what we call Satan—but somehow the whole story seemed too convenient. The notion that Satan and angels were kindred beings struck me as dangerous ideology. I simply couldn’t conceive of Satan being such a cute, kappa-like creature.

Satan was a mighty demon king so indomitable that even when battling God, he wouldn’t easily fall. That I could be Satan—what a foolish thing for Imura-kun to say. Yet after being labeled as such by him, I found myself preoccupied for about a month afterward, investigating various theories about Satan. I wanted to firmly grasp clear counterevidence proving I absolutely wasn’t Satan.

Satan is ordinarily translated as “devil,” but it is said to derive from the Hebrew *Satan* and the Aramaic *Satan* or *Satanā*. As someone who—needless to say Hebrew or Aramaic—can’t even read English properly due to my scholarly indolence, it’s mortifying to spout such academic matters, though in Greek it’s apparently called *diabolos*. The original meaning of Satan remains unclear but is thought to likely mean “informer” or “rebel.” *Diabolos* serves as its Greek counterpart. Frankly, it pains me to pontificate about things I’ve just looked up in dictionaries as though they were my own knowledge. It sickens me. Yet to prove I’m not Satan, I must reluctantly elaborate further.

In essence, Satan’s primal meaning appears to have been that of one who sows discord between God and man, dampening their communion to drive them apart. However, in Old Testament times, Satan didn’t manifest as a potent opposing force against God—indeed, within the Old Testament, Satan existed even as part of God Himself.

A certain foreign theologian reports thus regarding post-Old Testament developments in Satanic thought: “Namely, ‘During their prolonged residence in Persia, the Jews became acquainted with a new religious framework. The Persian people adhered to the teachings of a great prophet called Zarathustra or Zoroaster. Zarathustra conceived all life as perpetual strife between good and evil—a wholly novel concept for the Jews, who until then had recognized only Jehovah as the sole sovereign of creation.

“‘When misfortune struck—lost battles, illness—they invariably attributed these calamities to their people’s deficient faith alone. They feared none but Jehovah. The notion that sin stemmed from an evil spirit’s solitary temptation had never crossed their minds. Even Eden’s serpent seemed no worse in their eyes than Adam and Eve, who willfully defied God’s command.’”

However, influenced by Zarathustra’s teachings, the Jews now began to believe in the existence of another spiritual being seeking to overturn all the good that had been perfected by Jehovah.

“They named it Jehovah’s enemy—that is, Satan,” states [the report], though this is a simplistic theory.
Now Satan began preparing to make his entrance as a fierce spirit.
And when the New Testament era arrived, Satan stood resplendent in opposition to God, raging unrestrainedly in all directions.
Throughout each page of the New Testament, Satan is referred to by a variety of different names such as the following.
In Japanese Kabuki, having dual names seems to describe villains, but Satan has far more than just two or three.
Diabolos, Belial, Beelzebub; chief of evil spirits; ruler of this world; god of this world; accuser; tempter; evil one; manslayer; father of lies; destroyer; adversary; great dragon; ancient serpent; and so on.
What follows is the theory of Japan’s sole credible theologian, Mr. Tsubamoto Koji: “As can be roughly inferred from these names themselves, the Satan of the New Testament stands in opposition to God in a certain sense.”
That is, he governs it with a single kingdom and has servants just as God does.
The evil spirits are his subordinates.
The location of that country remains unclear.
It seems to lie between heaven and earth (Ephesians 2:2), perhaps in a place called the heavenly realm (Ephesians 6:12), or possibly resembling the depths of the earth (Revelation 9:11; 20:1 and following).
In any case, he rules over this earth and seeks to inflict as much evil as possible upon people.
He rules over humankind, and people are under his power from the moment they are born.
Therefore, he is ‘the ruler of this world’ and ‘the god of this world,’ possessing all the authority and glory of the nations.

There, that failing student Imura-kun's theory had been demolished down to its last thread.
Imura's argument was proven thoroughly fallacious from beginning to end.
It was a falsehood.
I was not Satan.
Strange though it may sound to phrase it this way, I am nowhere near Satan's stature.
That he is called ruler of this world and god of this world, said to hold all authority and glory of nations—what utter nonsense!
Even in Mitaka's grubby oden stalls I meet with contempt; far from wielding authority, I get flustered when scolded by serving girls.
I was no great personage like Satan.

No sooner had I let out a sigh of relief than another strange anxiety welled up. Why did Imura-kun call me Satan? Surely he hadn't meant to say I was some great saint and accidentally called me Satan instead. He must have intended to say I was a bad person. But I was absolutely not Satan. I possessed neither the authority nor glory of this world. Imura-kun must have misspoken. Being a failing student who neglected his studies, he likely didn't understand Satan's true meaning and simply used it to mean a wicked person. Was I wicked? I lacked the confidence to flatly deny it. Even if not Satan himself, there should have been evil spirits among his subordinates. Perhaps Imura-kun meant to call me one of those servant demons but, in his ignorant misery, mistakenly said Satan instead.

According to the Bible dictionary: "Evil spirits are spiritual beings who followed Satan into depravity, strongly inclined to bear grudges against people and seek to defile them, their numbers legion." Truly loathsome creatures. These were the ones who boasted "My name is Legion, for we are many," only to be rebuked by Christ before panicking and fleeing as if tumbling into a herd of two thousand swine, plunging off a cliff to drown in the sea. Undisciplined wretches. I resembled them. I seemed to resemble them. The way I groveled before Satan—wasn't that exactly the same? My anxiety reached its peak. I meticulously examined my thirty-three years of life.

Unfortunately, there was.
There had been a period when I was currying favor with Satan.
When this realization struck me, I couldn't bear it and rushed to the house of a certain senior colleague.

“This may sound strange, but I believe I sent you a letter requesting a loan five or six years ago. Do you still have that letter by any chance?”

The senior colleague answered immediately.

“I have it.”
He looked straight at my face and laughed.
“It seems you’ve finally started worrying about that letter.”
“I’d planned to take that letter to your place and blackmail you once you got rich.”
“What a terrible letter.”
“You wrote nothing but lies.”

“I know.”
“I wanted to investigate just how skillful those lies were.”
“Let me see it for a moment.”
“Just a moment is enough.”
“It’s safe.”
“I won’t snatch them away like a demon’s claw.”
“If I take a quick look, I’ll return it right away.”

Laughing, my senior brought out a document case, searched through it for a while, and then handed me a single letter.

“The blackmail was a joke.”
“From now on, take better care.”
“I know.”

What follows is the full text of that letter.

——Brother ○○.
I have a once-in-a-lifetime request to make.
Having exhausted every possible means yet finding no solution, I took out and put back the writing scroll five or six times before finally composing this.
Please try to comprehend my feelings in this matter.
As I can assuredly repay it by month's end without fail—could you perhaps borrow twenty yen from the ×× household? If that proves impossible, even ten yen would suffice.
Rest assured this will cause you no inconvenience whatsoever.
Simply say, "Dazai has met with some minor misfortune and requires assistance," when making the request.
The funds will unquestionably be returned by March's end.
Should you send the money directly or—better still—bring it yourself during your leisure outings, no greater happiness could be imagined.
Shameless. Selfish. Presumptuous. Impudent. Shiftless—I stand ready to humbly accept any reproof or correction.
At present I am engaged in work.
Completion of this endeavor will bring financial compensation.
Each day earlier would prove each day more helpful.
Though I require it by the twentieth...
Should delay occur, I could manage arrangements on my end...
With your gracious understanding of all circumstances, I most earnestly entreat you.
Words fail me utterly.
Further details shall be disclosed when we meet face-to-face.
March 19.
"Sincerely, Osamu."

To my surprise, red-ink comments from my senior colleague had been written here and there in this letter.
The parts in parentheses were that senior colleague’s comments.

——Brother ○○.
I have a once-in-a-lifetime request (any human act being but a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence) to make.
Though I exhausted every means (firstly—did you send this to three or four others?), finding no solution I took out and put away the scroll five or six times (this part strains credulity) before finally writing.
Please sympathize with my position here (I grasp it, yet find it peculiar). As I can assuredly repay by month's end, might you borrow twenty yen from the ×× household—or if need be, ten? ("household" being an odd choice of words).
"I shall never trouble you, Brother (even were this true, it remains unreliable). Please say 'Dazai has blundered modestly and needs aid' (to 'say' rings suspicious and impudent) to secure the loan."
Repayment will surely come by March's end.
Should you send funds or deign to deliver them yourself during leisure hours (he shows even less inclination to move—doubly impertinent), no greater joy exists ("joy" may hold truth, yet he too has sunk low).
Shameless, willful, self-serving, presumptuous, slovenly—I stand ready to accept all rebuke (preparedness being your sole virtue).
You know yourself thoroughly.
(Yet knowledge alone suffices not.) I am presently engaged in work.
This task completed (here I commiserate), funds will follow.
Each day sooner brings greater relief.
Though needed by the 20th (the timeline seems padded—scrutinize this), delays could be managed here (pure pretense.
(Your mockery exceeds bounds)) With your gracious comprehension of all matters, I humbly entreat.
Powerless to express more (like some New School melodrama—how you toy with men), details await our meeting.
March 19.
Respectfully, Osamu.
(As a loan entreaty, this reaches peak ineptitude.)
In essence, not a mote of sincerity gleams.
All fraudulent prose)

“This is awful.”
I unintentionally let out a sigh.

“Terrible, right? You’re appalled, aren’t you?”

“No, your red-ink comments are worse.”
“My writing wasn’t as bad as I’d thought.”
“I’d imagined it as a letter wielding the utmost cunning, but reading it now, I’m almost disappointed at how unexpectedly decent it seems.”
“And above all, being so thoroughly seen through by you like this... this...”
I tried to mutter “What kind of bumbling demon does that?” but choked on the words.
Some part of me still believed I might be deceiving this senior somehow.
As I faltered, the senior said “Let’s see” and plucked the scroll from my hands,

Muttering, "It was so long ago, I’ve forgotten what it even said," he burst out laughing while reading.
“You’re a fool too,” he said.

A fool.
By this word, I was saved.
I was not Satan.
Nor was I a demon.
I was a fool.
I was a fool.

When I thought about it, my misdeeds seemed to have been seen through one after another by everyone, scorned and laughed at. I simply couldn't achieve a perfect deception.
My tail was showing.

“I was called Satan by a certain student.”
I relaxed slightly and explained the situation.
“It’s so infuriating I can’t stand it—that’s why I’ve been researching—but do devils and evil spirits truly exist in this world?”
“To me, people all just seem like good, weak creatures.”
“I can’t bring myself to blame others for their mistakes.”
“I can’t help feeling that’s only natural.”
“I’ve never seen a genuinely bad person.”
“Isn’t everyone more or less the same?”

“Because you have demonic qualities, ordinary evil doesn’t faze you.”
The senior said with an unfazed expression.
“From a true villain’s perspective, everyone in this world would appear naive and weak.”

I was plunged back into gloom.
This won’t do.
When I was saved by being called a "fool" and started feeling pleased with myself, things took a terrible turn.

“I see.”
I was resentful.
“So you don’t trust me either after all.”
“I guess that’s how it is.”

The Senior Colleague burst out laughing.

“Don’t get angry.
You’re no good because you get angry so easily.
Since you were going on about how you can’t blame others for their mistakes or whatever—spouting grandiose things like Christ—I just had to make a sarcastic jab.
You say you’ve never seen a truly bad person, but I have.
I read about it in the newspaper two or three years ago.
There was a man who would throw lit matches into postboxes, burning the mail inside and taking pleasure in it.
He wasn’t a madman.
It was a purposeless game.
Day after day, he went around burning the mail inside postboxes everywhere.”

“That’s awful.” He was the devil. There wasn’t an ounce of room for sympathy. That bastard was rotten to the core. If someone were to find such trash, even I could beat him to a pulp. They should give him a punishment beyond death. He was the devil. Compared to that, I was indeed nothing more than a “fool.” Now it was settled. I had seen this world’s devil. He was something completely different from me. I was neither devil nor demon. Ah, my senior had given me such valuable insight. I felt grateful—for four or five days after that, my heart remained clear—but once again, it didn’t last. Just the other day, I was called “Devil!” again. Would this thought haunt me all my life?

In my novels there had been absolutely no female readers, but since September of this year I began receiving letters almost daily from a certain woman. That person was a patient. She appeared to have been hospitalized for a long time. Out of boredom—as if keeping a diary—she wrote me letters every day. It seemed she had gradually run out of things to write about; this time she began saying she wanted to meet me. “Please come to the hospital,” she said—but I thought: I did not want to show a woman my appearance or attire. I would surely be despised. Above all, even I was appalled by how terrible I was at conversation. It would be better not to meet. I postponed my reply. Then this time she sent a letter to my family member. Perhaps because she was a patient, my family member was lenient. “You should go and visit her,” she said. I thought about it for two or three days. That woman must surely have been seeing beautiful dreams. If she were to see my ruddy strange face she might faint from the shock—even if she didn’t faint it was a foregone conclusion that her condition would worsen. If possible I would have wanted to meet her even if it meant wearing a mask.

Letters from the woman kept arriving one after another.
To be honest, without realizing it, I had come to feel affection for her.

Finally, the other day, I put on my best kimono and visited the hospital.
The tension was enough to kill me.
I would stand at the doorway of the hospital room, say just one thing—"Take care of yourself"—give a bright smile, and then part ways immediately.
That would leave the most beautiful impression.
I carried it out exactly as planned.
In the hospital room were three chrysanthemums.
The woman was astonishingly beautiful.
Wearing a blue towel nightgown with a silk haori draped over it, she sat on the bed and laughed.
She didn’t seem like a patient in the slightest.

“Take care,” I said, smiling as beautifully as I could manage.
There—that should suffice. Lingering any longer would only wound her mercilessly.
I took my leave swiftly.
On the way home, I felt an emptiness within.
To tend to another’s dreams, I thought—what a lonely endeavor.

The next day, a letter arrived.

“In my twenty-three years of life, I have never experienced such humiliation as today.”
“Do you know how I felt waiting for you?”
“The moment you saw my face, you turned your back sharply and left.”
“Disillusioned by my meager hospital room and my disheveled, ugly appearance as a patient, you were overwhelmed and left.”
“You despised me like a rag.”
“[..] You are the devil.”

There is no epilogue.