Pathway to Japanese Literature

Author: Arishima Takeo Sometimes with one I love, Ifill myself with rage, for fear I effuse unreturn'd love;

But now I think thereis nounreturn'd love―the pay iscertain, one wayor another;

(I loved acertain person ardently, and my love wasnot return'd;

Yet out of that, I have written these songs.)

-- Walt Whitman -- I exist as I am―that is enough; If no other in the world be aware, I sit content,

And if each and all be aware, I sit content.

One world is aware, and by far the largest to me, and that is myself;

And whether I come to my own to-day, or in ten thousand or ten million years, I can cheerfully take it now, or with equal cheerfulness I can wait. -- Walt Whitman --

I

In the Beginning, was there Path or Action? I do not know. But who could know it? I desire to know it. And who would not desire to know it? Yet I do not wish to think about it. Between knowing and thinking lies an unbridgeable chasm. Do people not often ignore this chasm and attempt to attain knowing through thinking? I resolve to no longer be lost in that illusion. I cannot know. But I desire to seek to know. Humans are tormented between "impossible" and "desire" as soon as they are born. Because it is impossible, I cannot cast aside my desire. What selfishness this is for me! And yet, even to myself—how pitiful I am.

As for the Beginning—let me satisfy it by binding myself to it through my desire. I have no aim whatsoever, but let me find satisfaction in desiring that the day of knowing may come.

As for my being born into this strange world, and as for having continued my life within this world up to today—this I clearly know. Whether I should take pride in this recognition or be ashamed of it, I cannot conceal it. I am not always thinking about my life. I know it for certain. I may not know it in the way philosophers know. Nor may I know it in the way that adventurers of profound living know. However, I know. No other thing can dim this possession of mine. Nor can any other power wrest it from me. This is the sole possession that my existence possesses.

Dreadful Eternity exists all around me. Eternity is terrifying. At times it presses upon me as something icy cold, motionless and stagnant. At other times, it presses upon me as something so dazzling it blinds—a ceaseless flux and transformation that never pauses even for an instant. I am but a point cast into either a corner or the center of that entity.

Geometry teaches me that a point possesses neither breadth, nor width, nor height. I regard myself as equivalent to a point before Eternity. Standing before Eternity, I am nothing. Yet just as the point exists, I too exist within Eternity. I was born as a point. And in the blink of an eye, I will dissolve into Eternity without a trace and cease to be. That too I know. And I find more terror in having been born here as myself—a point—than in ceasing to be.

However, I was born. I know that. Since I myself am the subject who knows this fact, this life of mine is, no matter what, my own. I can live this life as I wish. O my sole possession. Despite all my doubts, can I ultimately refrain from respecting and cherishing it? Even to tears, I keenly feel myself.

A lone traveler walked the path of Eternity. There was nothing anywhere that knew him as he knew himself. When the sun shone, his faithful companion was his shadow. When the sky became overcast, and at night, even the shadow that should have been his companion was absent. At such times he had to find his only faithful companion within his innermost self. Clumsy though he might be, ugly though he might be—where could he seek anything beyond himself? There were times when I viewed myself as a lone traveler.

I am myself in this way. Yet the people and things surrounding me are clearly not me. When I put forth a word, who other than myself—or what—could make it so that I bring that word into being? How must I be connected to the people and things around me to be placed in proper relations? Is no relation possible? If possible, how should I find that? Who will teach me that?...... In the end, isn't it myself?

To think of it—this is a lonely path. I, who am utterly powerless, possess nothing to depend on but myself. Contradicting myself, stumbling against myself, being confounded by myself—what mystery lies in this?

At times I became as merciful as God toward myself. That was because at times my own figure appeared before my eyes like a motherless infant. The infant crawled aimlessly. That figure was already sufficiently deserving of pity. The infant repeatedly fell into fire or drowned in water. And when it barely crawled out from there, sniffling all the while, it continued crawling onward. Can this pitifully innocent figure’s compassion truly be dismissed merely as self-serving flattery? Let morality denounce it as self-indulgence all it wants—I cannot bring myself to lose this compassion for myself. Would not even gazing at their own palm move the lonely one to shed hot tears?

When I think of it, it is also a steep path. Knowing that my subject is myself made me intensely solemn. The one to whom I had to administer harsh lashes—those I could not give others—was ultimately myself. As if succumbing to temptation, I was led there. I knew that both seeing myself rise up urged by the whip’s sting and seeing myself collapse unable to resist its blows were indispensable to my continuing existence. At such times I was brave. Before me lay only the me living with all my strength; beyond that stretched nothingness. I advanced, overcoming and overcoming, driven and driven by my own force, pressing through treacherous passes toward unseen boundaries. And I resolved not to dread any threat to life. In those moments, my wounds’ pain let me taste a certain sweetness. Yet at this pinnacle of self-imposed tension, terrible self-doubt often lay waiting for me. At last I neared utter exhaustion. There came an instant when my strength seemed powerless to move me further. Having to watch my sole fortress—myself—swiftly crumble into ruins plunged my vision into darkness.

And yet despite these anxieties and disappointments perpetually threatening me—to me who does not know what constitutes the Beginning—there remains nothing to rely upon but myself. Amidst all contradictions and chaos, I will be myself. I will not value myself above my true worth. I will not abuse myself below my true worth. I will strive to remain within my true worth. No matter how low my value may be, that very act of striving to remain within my true worth must amount to something. Even if that amounts to nothing, what other attitude could I possibly take? One who possesses a diamond would wish to hold it at its true value as a gem. My own self may not be as precious as a gem. Yet in feeling, it is no different from the mindset of one who holds a precious gem.

I am my own, my one and only. I must begin by loving myself irreplaceably.

If there should be someone who reads these poor reflections of mine yet cannot assent to this starting point, I can offer them nothing further to advance. For those who conclusively know (not think) whether the Beginning is Path or Action, this reflection would likely be a worthless thing to be ignored. I am well aware that I stand upon an exceedingly low path of life. However, precisely because my current position there is the most solid one I possess, I resolve not to feel ashamed of standing upon it. As I have said before, I thank myself that through my desire for higher and greater things, I am able to dwell in peace within the present I have come to know.

II

I feared what I was trying to convey might fail to give readers full understanding. It must be the easiest thing for one to express oneself. For this is what one ought to know most intimately about themselves.

But in reality, it was not so. The words we used were veritable wolf traps. They might serve to capture prey, but turned inward upon ourselves, they became naught but hindrances—utterly useless. Or perhaps like a magnifying glass. Through them we could perceive things external to ourselves, yet our own faces remained unseen. Or one might call them intricate machinery. Though through them all things might be fashioned, ultimately we could not fashion ourselves.

Words were devised to express meaning. But they gradually degenerated from their original purpose. The demands of the heart had created words. But now things occupied them. Without stuttering, we could not speak our own hearts. The words whispered into a lover’s ear are never fluent. To communicate from heart to heart—what an imperfect conveyance we must ride! Moreover, words were disobedient servants. We were often betrayed by words. The words we uttered—the moment we committed even a needle-thin error—immediately turned their blade to lash out at us. Because of our own words, we became arrogant before others, became servile, became cunning, became dull-witted.

Relying on such words, how could I ever express myself without error? I had no choice but to place greater reliance on the implications lurking within words. Even if words failed to express me, that implication—wisdom’s sole child—modestly hidden behind them would surely convey me without betrayal to those who sought me. Implication was indeed one of the noblest daughters among the children granted to humanity. Yet because she remained reserved, tranquil, and reluctant to lift her veil, people often tried to forget this noble and beautiful daughter’s existence. Modern science in particular showed no mercy whatsoever—it tried to subject her, who never resisted under any circumstances, even to the misery of confinement. By exploiting her virtue of nonresistance, people attempted to ignore her.

I could only marvel at how humans had produced such an excellent daughter. She had never attempted to trade it away until those who recognized her virtue appeared. It was she who knew instinctively the fundamental truth that virtue ceases to be virtue the moment one attempts to sell it. Moreover, should those incapable of handling her properly draw near even momentarily, she rapidly withered away from her gentle existence. When such people thought they had captured her, all they could do was embrace the beautiful corpse she had become in death. How could humans, formed from clay, have produced such a noble daughter?

To express myself, I will earnestly ask her for tender aid. I have known through experience that my growth was realized through being cradled within her yielding embrace. Yet because I understand how humanity's own betterment—despite its ceaseless disregard—has been carried forth by her.

However, I must feel ashamed of myself when entrusting myself to implication. Although I believe that I am the one who knows myself best, my way of knowing is far too haphazard and disordered. And I do not even fully understand the proper use of words. I fear whether a proper seat for implication to dwell securely behind those words can be established.

However, I must go forward. For the sake of expressing an individuality that presents an irresistible demand to me, and for the sake of that intense desire which seeks to connect all related individualities with my own, I dare to set out from myself and stride forward.

Just as I hunger, certain people hunger. To those people, I will give myself. And from those people, I too shall receive. For that purpose, I shall cast aside my reclusive nature and act. I shall be bold to the fullest extent permitted.

I shall endeavor to fully present the possibilities I can know. I pray only that implication does not vanish from these poor words.

Three I who thought I had known God came to know that I had merely thought I knew God. My turmoil took root from that realization. Someone once doubted whether I might be a hypocrite. How could there be any space for such doubt? I am unequivocally a hypocrite. Unquestionably, I am a hypocrite. I am not blind to how this very declaration must inevitably provoke accusations of its own hypocrisy. Yet still I must proclaim: I am undeniably a hypocrite. For I have consistently attended more to the external world than to my own self. The bitter truth is that this stems from weakness. I am versed in every last resort of the weak. I know too well the agony of compounding falsehoods—two, three, four, five layers deep—to conceal some trivial untruth stumbled into through slight cause. I know the anxiety that perpetually trembles within my breast—this desperate pretense of strength born of frailty. I know the self-defilement of theatrically baring my weaknesses before others, hoping to wrest either respect or pity through sudden stratagems. Weakness is true ugliness. This I know intimately.

However, weakness alone does not constitute a hypocrite's essence. Those who are truly weak can remain content in their current state precisely because they do not recognize the ugliness and misery born of their weakness. The hypocrite, unfortunately, is not merely weak but also possesses a measure of strength. He holds the strength to perceive the ugliness and misery wrought by his own weakness. And with this strength, he attempts to mend that weakness.

While the strong remained unaware of their strengths and weaknesses, the hypocrite knew well both his strengths and weaknesses. People would say that the essence of a hypocrite lay not only in mending weakness with strength but also in daring to find shameless complacency within that mending. Therefore hypocrites could not be saved.

When I hear this said, I cannot help but feel compelled to defend hypocrites. It is not merely to defend myself because I myself am a hypocrite. Taking the place of the hypocrite itself, I, as one such hypocrite, cannot help but want to make an appeal to the righteous.

There are exceptions to everything. If one were to refrain from deliberately accentuating such exceptions and observe, could it not be said that this view—that hypocrites shamelessly settle into mending weakness with strength—is rather too dismissive an interpretation? I wish for the righteous to believe hypocrites on this one matter. That hypocrites too suffer secretly in their hearts—this single truth. Consider this: How could those bearing both strength and weakness simultaneously fail to feel the contradiction between these two forces? While feeling such contradictions, can one truly remain composed and persist in shameless complacency within that state?

Hypocrite! You have been subjected to utterly dreadful circumstances. That is only natural. Because you are such an unpleasant person. Because you can never decisively commit to either yes or no. Because at every moment, insidious distinctions cling to you. You deserve to be hated. You deserve to be humiliated. You deserve to be demonized. But is there no one who quietly gazes upon the unknown pain in the depths of your heart? Is there no one who would even slightly warmly touch that unknown pain you scheme to hide even from yourself for the sake of being seen as ordinary? Hypocrite! Because I myself am a hypocrite, I know that well. Sinners—those who know their sins and grieve over them—who are thought to dwell right beside the righteous, are fortunate people who can loudly proclaim the contradiction between their own strengths and weaknesses. What sinners possess and what hypocrites possess are ultimately the same. Only sinners cry out. God hears that. The hypocrite lacks even the strength to cry out. Therefore, God does not listen. That much of a difference is all I can perceive. Are not the good Samaritan and the wicked Sadducee living side by side? As a hypocrite, I often called others hypocrites.

Now I find that sorrowful. Why did I try to create such vast distances between people?

By saying this, I do not plead with the world’s righteous to relax their judgmental hand against hypocrites. Hypocrites possess a dissoluteness that will inevitably be harshly judged by the righteous. I simply wish it known that hypocrites too harbor in some corner of their hearts a pain they dare not show others. That is my defense.

I too possessed that pain. Though I overflowed with the delusional heart that sought to make me appear nobler than myself before others, I had not completely lost that unfillable pain. At times, like a crow aping a cormorant, I would superficially parade my sins before people and God in the manner of a sinner. I sought God through my own distorted lens. How consummately I performed that sinner's pantomime. Doubtless I appeared a paragon of sinfulness in every eye. I fasted; I courted sleeplessness; I wasted to emaciation. I never once defiled a woman's flesh. At times, to find God, I did not shrink from contemplating the severing of my own life.

After my life—which in others' eyes should have been seen as considerable devotion—had continued for several hundred days, I had vividly imagined throwing myself into God's embrace with a certain resolve. The ugliness of weakness! I had splendidly executed this grand act in a fantastical manner. And had I been reborn, whether completely or incompletely? Had I been resurrected? Had I been granted the promise by God to be severed from sin's very root?

From the moment I imagined throwing myself into God's embrace, it was certain that I entered a life with significantly fewer flaws. That I was treated by those around me as a model youth could be stated not as my pride but as my miserable confession.

But I had not truly known God. Having declared that I knew God and relied on Him, I had merely forced my words and deeds to conform to that declaration. How vividly those were colored by fantasies born of weakness could be discerned even from how masterfully I had blinded people’s eyes.

At this time, had I possessed the strength to commit sin before others' eyes—that is, had an event occurred to sever me from the external world I cared about—I might have leapt from hypocrite to sinner in the truest sense. I might have earnestly cried out my sins. And that cry might likely have been heard by God. But I was too weak to become such. Some might claim I was instead too strong in this matter. If such people exist, I can clearly declare from experience this to be fallacy. To truly become a sinner—to offer up one's entire being—requires unimaginable strength beyond my capacity. This proposition, appearing paradoxical at glance, contains no falsehood. Within that gentle resignation of sinners lies a proud strength yielding to nothing—this I clearly perceive. Faith in God is a noble banquet where only the strong may feast. I gaze upon this with envy. Yet no admission ticket has been granted me. I merely lingered beyond the gates, aping noble manners.

Within Christ’s church, I clearly discovered that I belonged among the ranks of hypocrites.

Only gravel knows gravel. Only gold knows gold. This is a sad fact. Through my eyes as a hypocrite, the elements of hypocrisy within the church had become utterly transparent. To continue writing such things is nearly unbearable for me. I lay myself too bare. Yet if I do not persist in writing this through, I must cast aside this clumsy pen of my reflections. In truth, I too wish to become strong. And I long to reverently gather up the many instances of true life that strength has brought forth within the church. I recently read the musings of a certain venerable elderly scholar, where I found written in forceful terms that when those who have devoted themselves to religion commit acts like abandoning it, this merely reveals how deficient such a person is in nobility of character. Precisely because I hold profound respect for that elderly scholar—precisely because I know his innate noble nature—I had to grieve over my own baseness upon realizing his words were no empty reproach. Though he remained within Old Catholicism—that institution saturated with every manner of falsehood and decay—the way he fused his own nobility with its deeply rooted yet latent noble elements and stood firm as bedrock left me both awestruck and envious. It seems I have done precisely the opposite. Because I am base, I came to see much baseness. This I must lament.

However, though my own baseness led me to find base things around me, I could not pretend there were people of noble character and turn a blind eye. While finding base things, I could not feign ignorance and put on a magnanimous front. To have become a hypocrite of that degree, perhaps my strengths outweighed my weaknesses too much. And I fled that group—fearing my hypocrisy would defile the organization I belonged to, and detesting how its worse elements tormented my heart. My baseness compelled me to commit a base act here as well. To borrow the terminology of the group I belonged to, it could be said that outrageous arrogance underlay my actions.

But I want to whisper in a small voice to myself alone. In the depths of my heart, there was indeed a desire to somehow avoid the temptation that sought to lead me—a hypocrite—into becoming an even greater hypocrite. Since I lacked the strength to break through it, I was at least wishing to avoid it. As I had said before, being someone easily swayed by the external world, the more harshly that world surrounded me, the more I came to realize I was piling up hypocrisies I myself could never have imagined—and indeed, I had come to fear this from the depths of my heart. Therefore, I resigned from the group I had belonged to and began distancing myself from direct contact with the seniors who had been guiding me until then.

I want to cease being a hypocrite. This may be seen as an excessive desire for me, but all hypocrites harbor—tucked away in some corner of their hearts—the sentiment that it would be better not to be hypocrites. I, too, possessed but a small portion of that.

Righteous person, hypocrite, sinner—that it was ultimately not a bad thing I left behind a society where such labels were rather clearly distinguished and rigidly applied to people is what I still think to this day.

I who thought I had known God came to know that I had thought I knew God. My turmoil began to take root from there. Through that turmoil, I slowly made my way back toward myself. The homeland I aimed for had unknowingly grown distant, and though I stumbled time and again, I still made my way back toward that homeland—slowly, layering turmoil upon turmoil.

IV

A long detour.

To shorten that long detour, there was no other way but to truly feel dissatisfaction with my own life. The sufferings of birth, aging, sickness, and death; flaws in character; all failures—if one fully chews on and examines these, that is sufficient. That, however, is how easy it is to speak of yet how difficult to realize. Have I not been led astray by such hallucinations of reason on multiple occasions? And was not what appeared to be such reason actually something measured against pre-established concepts as a standard? On rare occasions, I struggled in Polo's way. But he did not struggle in mine. I attained enlightenment in Shinran's way. But he did not attain enlightenment in mine. What does any of that amount to? Could there exist elsewhere a state of mind that combines such a well-formed appearance with substance of empty content? It was only after continuing my long wandering that I came to know I must avoid this seeming shortcut that is actually a maze. Even after knowing that, I would all too often come up against this detestable dead end and have to retreat dejectedly.

In my desire to know what my individuality was like, I tried to touch upon the individuality of others. I endeavored to discover it in history, attempted to find it in art, and sought it among my neighbors. I must have gained some knowledge. The outline of my individuality seemed—however faintly—to appear before my eyes. Yet ultimately, that was not me.

Seeing things—capturing them precisely within their own life—was not as easy as I had imagined. The person who achieved that was uniquely blessed in this world. I did want to see. Yet could I claim to have truly understood what seeing meant? To discover that what I thought I had grasped had become mere shadow figures over time left a bitter taste. I buried only my eyes in the desert sand of my heart and thought myself akin to an ostrich believing it had hidden its form from hunters. Contrary to how an ostrich deludes itself by concealing one part while exposed elsewhere, I often convinced myself that employing a single function meant engaging my entire being. My individuality observed thus presented an orderly contradiction-free form—yet gazing deeper revealed no life within. It resembled a poem penned without passion. Or brocade tailored for no wearer. Beautiful though it was, costly though wrought—it remained worthless dust existing without purpose.

My attempt to return to myself—to build up my true being using the external world as catalyst—had to end in futile failure.

Wise and refined people are often satisfied with illusions. Rather than being satisfied, they dispassionately observe that what we call human phenomena and what we deem human reality are ultimately but fleeting games of consciousness—itself an illusion. To attach any form of clinging there and impose conflict amounts to nothing but delusion—governed by crude, superficial judgments. Quietly transcending those boundaries, they attempt to cast a lonely smile over all efforts and stumbles, like an old man watching an infant at play. There hovers a chill yet profound refinement. Or perhaps they embrace and encompass everything, surrendering themselves completely to the external world’s rampages. There are those who indulge in daytime pleasures and nighttime revelry, keeping themselves beyond common criticism, never altering their unrestrained form even unto death. In them can indeed be perceived an ironic yet fervent discernment. How could I possibly censure those people? Given that it is humanity’s fate to wander through endless delusions, those people say: what remains but to live each moment simply enjoying it? Can I turn a cold eye toward that state of mind? I cannot. People may call such individuals drunken dreamers and spurn them. But within those people, I feel something that draws me in. Because within me can be perceived a certain refinement and discernment that I was never born with.

What a multifaceted and diverse spectacle of life! Is it not precious just as it is? Is it not showing a perfectly natural form just as it is? If nature possesses that resplendent diversity yet the human world alone were without it, one could say the beauty and truth of the cosmos would crumble in that moment. Regarding this point, I find the hearts of those called ideologues desolately lacking. Is he not the kind of person who, wielding only the innate talent bestowed upon him, attempts to paint all humanity in a single hue? The nobility of that spirit needs no elaboration. Yet beneath that nobility lurks a loneliness cold enough to freeze nobility itself.

I simply want to protect myself in a way that suits me. I think that alone is permitted to me. And from that standpoint, I cannot sympathize with those wise and refined people. I still harbor base attachments and cannot set my heart at ease by viewing all as illusory play. I myself am well aware that much vulgarity far removed from refinement or discernment remains there. I am nothing more than one of those mortals driven by base attachments and toiling in pettiness. Yet I still cannot completely abandon that boundary. And I do not even consider my inability to fully discard it a bad thing. If I were to carelessly shift myself to another boundary—that is, if I were to cast aside the demand to truly know my individuality—I would undoubtedly be tormented by even more anxiety than I am now. Therefore, I cannot depart from the impulse to remain myself.

Having failed in my attempt to construct myself through the catalyst of the external world, I rose once more and sought to position myself and the external world as equal counterparts facing each other.

I exist. And as long as I exist, there must be an external world opposing me. The external world clearly casts its shadow within me. Therefore, the workings of my mind must oscillate between two poles. And why should that be bad? I still know not what words could properly name these two poles. Yet these poles have been called by manifold names since antiquity. In Greek myth as Dionysus and Apollo; in Europe's thought-streams as Hebraism and Hellenism; in Buddhist sutras as form and emptiness; as materialism versus idealism, individual versus society, principle versus inclination—one might say there exists no noun in all creation that lacks its counterpart. I too stand beneath this antithesis. Should I resolutely grasp one pole, inevitably must I spurn the other. Like Janus' twin visages, these poles stand opposed, permitting no commingling. Yet I cannot bring myself to cleanly discard either. My life's hunger runs unexpectedly fierce and deep—to reach the grave having lost nothing, having savored all. Even were I to achieve some pure unblemished existence, should this require discarding aught that belongs to being itself, such loneliness would prove unendurable. Though I dwell ever in contradiction, I must taste every flavor life offers. Though anxiety must arise from wandering betwixt these opposed poles, I shall endure it and seize both without fear. If seizing proves impossible, I shall become impartial observer and connoisseur, dying while evoking both poles' essential qualities.

As a human being, there exists no greater privilege than this. Were I to cast aside this privilege, what would remain but withered, rusted dregs unworthy even of being discarded?

V

Yet even there I could not find satisfaction. I had to make an unexpected and unsatisfactory discovery. When I tried to become an observer of both poles, my strength rapidly fled from me. When I discovered myself conducting only experiments and not experiencing, I began to feel an indescribable emptiness. Any of the poles I thought I could reach became no sustenance for my life, and the force that should have driven me forward vanished without a trace. I remain standing in one place indefinitely.

This was an excruciatingly unbearable state for me. The emptiness and helplessness thought to have been felt by Hamlet now saturated me completely, and for the first time I came to comprehend the mental state of ideological adherents. Those people were exerting their utmost strength toward a single pole—even encroaching upon others' freedoms—in their desperate bid to be saved from life's void. Even when this proved troublesome to others in certain circumstances, for them it remained something vitally essential. I understood perfectly that impulse to maintain life's tension even through sacrificing it for ideology's sake.

However, I have no ideology worth asserting even were I to stake my life. Even if there existed what might be called an ideology, I cannot lose myself in devotion to its cause.

After all, I returned to myself after that long detour. But what a miserable, wretched figure I was. Must I abandon everything and rely on this self alone? My past contained a history spanning many distant decades. Moreover, my surroundings contained all manner of social activity and exceptional individuals. Vast and powerful nature surrounded me in layers upon layers. The overwhelming pressure of these things was more than sufficient to terrify this wretched me. The reason I had been unable to return to myself until now—hesitating with all possible reluctance—was that when I reflected, I felt my own inaction before the overwhelming power of this external world. And by employing some means, I even attempted to harmonize or compromise with this overwhelming power. Moreover, in my case, all such attempts ended in failure. Even if such attempts temporarily soothed my anxiety to some extent, they merely became a medium leading to even deeper anxiety. From the very beginning of making such attempts, I harbored a premonition that I could never find satisfaction in those circumstances—and this always materialized as fact. I could never feel at home with myself before those things.

That was not because I had been bold and sincere. It might be said that even I—this hypocrite—retained some small measure of sincerity. But at the very least, I had not been bold. I had been weak.

Everyone knows what mental state a weak person inhabits. The defining trait of weak people is their inability to place trust in anything. Moreover, their inability to refrain from trusting in something is another defining trait. The rabbit was a weak animal. Its ears trembled with ceaseless suspicion. He could neither entrust himself to sturdy rock caves nor establish his dwelling in deep, secluded forests. He dug a hole befitting himself within a small thicket. And even when thunder roared, rain came, wind blew, dogs gave chase, or hunters closed in—after fleeing about, he sought his final refuge in that wretched, fragile earthen hole. My heart too was like a rabbit. Great power existed inexhaustibly all around. However, my frightened heart could not place unconditional trust in any of these, and at the end of my wandering filled with apprehension and hesitation, I returned to a self that even I found pitiable.

However, I called this the strength of weakness. For my life's path had gradually grown from this extreme frailty.

Having come this far，I had to part ways with those who deemed themselves strong. The time had come when those people must have been exasperated with me. Because I had no choice but to become purely weak—withdrawing more and more from interactions with strong people. Nietzsche was a weak person. He too—as was common among the weak—stubbornly clung to himself. From this arose his philosophy of the Übermensch；though it ended up providing an ideal backdrop for strong people，it must be called a grave error to interpret this as proof of his own strength. Was this not equally true of Rousseau and Schopenhauer？ Strong people fortunately became great figures，righteous individuals，noble gentlemen，chaste women，and loyal retainers. Weak people also fortunately became ordinary human beings. That was simply a matter of personal preference.

Because I am weak, there was no path left for me but to choose the latter option.

Fate is ultimately not unfair. It gives them theirs and gives me mine. Moreover, even if the two were to part ways so completely as to lose sight of each other once, might they not someday unexpectedly meet again at some crossroads? However, that is something I need not concern myself with. I have no choice but to charge resolutely down my own path. And so, I continued writing.

VI

"My Individuality tells me thus."

“I am you.” “I am your essence.” “I am not some spectral concept divorced from flesh.” “Nor am I a blind impulse of flesh divorced from spirit.” “Just as you possess your existence within the unified whole where your external and internal selves merge, I too am the total sum of forces working rigorously within that very whole.” “You are like the Earth’s crust.” “Although divided into a thousand forms and ten thousand aspects, presenting dizzying changes, what is ultimately found there is stillness, results, things approaching death, and phenomena without depth.” “I am, so to speak, the exterior of the Earth.” “When viewed simply, it may seem there is only chaos and singularity.” “However, when you carefully consider its true substance, it shares the same essence as other celestial bodies in the universe. The latent power within it could in an instant shatter the crust at will and give birth to an entirely new surface.” “In one sense, I and you are the same.” “However, in another sense, we are incomparably different.” “The Earth’s interior cannot be seen from the exterior.” “When viewed from outside, what stands out most conspicuously is undeniably the surface.” “Thus people—heedless of me—fixate solely on you, perceiving you as the entirety. Yet you too gaze only at your own form, never looking back at me—fearing, faltering, cowering—and even when observing the external world, remain content merely skimming its surface.” “The external world you saw before returning to me is not its true form.” “As long as you do not truly know what I am, your eyes that observe the external world lose their proper function.” “That won’t do.” “Even so—no matter how much you fuss and struggle forward like an unskilled swimmer fighting against rapids—you’ll only thrash about uselessly without advancing a single step.” “As long as the Earth’s interior remains, even if its crust were to crumble without a trace, it can continue to exist as a planet.”

“However, one cannot even imagine a planet without an interior.” “In the same way, you without me cannot be imagined.”

“For you, there exists nothing more complete than I. Even so, this does not mean—like the gods or Buddhas people conceptually devise—that I aim for perfection. If measured by the imaginations provided to you thus far through religion, ethics, philosophy, literature and arts, I could of course be deemed incomplete. I am indeed not shameless like a devil, but neither am I pure like an angel. I am as human as humans come. My pride at this very moment lies in being unreservedly human with all my strength. Do not bring to me those idols of devils and angels that you’ve concocted in your head. For this present in which you must live, there lies a vast, harmful and useless distance between you and those things.”

“If you sell yourself solely to flesh severed from spirit—without bearing my sealed permit—there appears what we call a devil devoid of substance yet feigning solemn weight.” “Likewise should you sell yourself solely to spirit wrenched from flesh, there appears an angel equally substanceless yet posing as grave reality.” “While thus engaged, you gradually drift from me—snared by spectral illusions—and commence building bizarre castles in air.” “Within your core arises an agonizing duality erected.” “Spirit versus flesh! Heaven versus hell! Angel versus demon! And then what? You grow restless without conjuring conflicts—yet find no peace when contradictions clash—suspended betwixt scales over bottomless void!” “The further this progresses, the more completely external forces govern your every word, thought and deed.” “Unreachable ideals sprout within! Conscience germinates! Morality crystallizes! God materializes!” “Yet none of these stem from my command—all borrowed trinkets from without.” “Wielding these baubles, you assemble your patchwork marquetry.” “All while nursing thoughts so vile even devils would avert their gaze—yet where others see you, perform such admirable acts they shame even yourself!” “Worse still—you craft plausible justifications for this vileness.” “‘To mimic saints and heroes’—or more politely phrased—‘to study their words and deeds forms the first step toward becoming saintly hero oneself.’” “‘If I speak Shun’s words and walk Shun’s path—then Shun I become!’” “Thus burdened by contradictions gnawing your heart’s corners—you scale ever higher this delusional Babel!”

“The problem is that attitude of yours fits all too neatly into society’s customs. While human life inherently possesses growth—that vital element lying deep within its desires—societal customs cling to peace, or rather, mere uneventfulness. People consider a life that simply extends yesterday into today and today into tomorrow as the most trouble-free existence, stealing moments of ease within those uneventful days whenever possible. This has solidified into a powerful inertia within social life. To adapt to such a lifestyle, your approach proves exceedingly convenient. No matter how many contradictions and hypocrisies fester within you, they mean nothing to a conventional society. As long as you maintain superficially virtuous words and deeds, society remains undisturbed and tranquil. It lavishes praise upon you, bestowing rewards so excessive they should make you secretly ashamed. All the while nursing that bitter smile in your gut, you distance yourself further from me to repay those undue rewards—wearing yourself out like a beast of burden without an ounce of sincerity as you seek to end your days.”

“While you continue this false life under external pressures—doing such things—before you know it you will have surpassed me and become an unexpected saint and hero.” “At that point you will no longer be yourself—no longer even a human being—but become an expert wearing a human guise.” “We must respect experts in their work.” “However, experts who listen only to the demands of societal customs, abandon themselves, and sell out solely to external forces are no longer human—no matter how splendid they may be, they are nothing more than splendid machines.”

“However base they may be, however powerless they may be, humans are dignified solely through being human. Among all dignities possessed by humankind, where else could one seek dignity surpassing this? To retreat from this dignity would lead not only you to perish but bring ruin upon the very society you seek to serve. For human society is built up, maintained, sustained, and developed solely through living humans. You must feel shame at becoming a machine. If you feel even a particle of such shame, you cannot persist in charging ahead so recklessly. Cease fixating only on externals—turn your gaze this way instead. And remember: your true self—your Individuality—resides here.”

“You who have found me will surely be disappointed at first—for I am not the splendid figure you dreamed of.” “When measured against the ideal standards externally instilled in you, I will appear as a thoroughly inadequate being.” “I am neither Caliban nor Ariel.” “I am neither a devil nor an angel.” “In me, a distinction such as spirit and flesh is entirely useless.” “Furthermore, making such distinctions as good and evil is entirely impossible.” “In all activities, I do nothing but grow as a whole.” “A florist will prize the flowers.” “A fruit shop will prize the fruit.” “An architect will prize its trunk.” “But for the cherry tree itself, there is only growth in transcending such distinctions between good and evil.” “However, my growth is not as rapid as you imagine.” “Because I cannot be satisfied merely enlarging my head or extending my limbs as you do—I must move forward through my entire being.” “You, afflicted by the plague called ideals, grow impatient with my way of walking; presumptuously pushing me aside, you try to rush ahead by responding solely to external demands.” “You may seem to run faster than I, but in the end, you are running slower.” “The reason is this: even if you outstrip me, abandon yourself solely to external stimuli and rush ahead to reach some destination, by that time you will have ceased to be human, having become nothing but a specialist—an unfeeling machine.” “Because your own visage gradually fades, and the faded parts are being patched with the tattered rags of saints and heroes.” “You will inevitably come to discover that ugly form and have no choice but to regret it.” “You, having regretted, will have no path but to dejectedly return to me once more.”

“Therefore, you must remain entirely under my dominion.” “You must walk embraced by me.”

“Return to Individuality.” “Discard all your past honor, achievements, and pride, and return to me.” “You have been in contact with the external world since birth and raised by its demands.” “The external world has become like a second skin enveloping your own.” “Your Individuality has differentiated and expanded yet grown diluted in substance, scattering outward from its center.” “Therefore your rushing to outstrip me is not unreasonable in one sense.” “Without consulting me, you performed love-filled acts when devoid of love—behaved magnanimously while burning with hatred.” “Through such superficial acts, you stubbornly convinced yourself that the inevitable inner discomfort was effort’s companion.” “You thought you were training your emotions.” “While thus acting apart from me—even accomplishing mountains of work—you achieved no growth.” “Through this wretched conduct, you hinder true human living and heap life’s path with lifeless dregs like refuse.” “For florists’ sake, a cherry tree may exist solely for blossoms.” “When it withers, they’ll fell its trunk without hesitation and plant new saplings.” “But no human in human life may be thus.” “For that human to lose individuality is to weaken society’s very life.”

“You too must have once passed through the gate of faith. From a loneliness that felt lacking unless you tried doing what others did, you ended up dabbling in religion as well. As you must know, I—your Individuality—can be called religious in this aspect of being aspirational: that is, in fiercely harboring a desire for growth. Yet I do not take such a superficial path as you.” “You neglected my presence here almost entirely and, dragged by habits and shallow temptations, immediately rushed off to friends, the Bible, and the church. With profound apprehension, I watched that characteristic haste of yours. You began striving as was your habit. The sensation from your efforts resembled the bitter aftertaste lingering every hour after some ill-suited leap. While making noble confessions on one hand, did you not commit theft, adultery, murder, and false prayers in the very sense Christ speaks of? When your deeds weighed on your conscience, did you not quote ‘Man is justified by faith and not by works of the law,’ then beg mercy from God like a beggar? And when others tried exposing your faith’s falsehood, did you not defend yourself by declaring: ‘Not everyone who says to me “Lord, Lord” will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only those who do my Father’s will’? What you called your God was ultimately but the faintest shadow of me. Though you rushed past me into religious life, you fashioned your worshipped deity in my likeness. Yet your life underwent no essential change whatsoever. Even had there been change, it would have been superficial—you never once felt a power beyond yourself as divine revelation. You merely strained your mind to imagine God—that is, through your most superficial intellect and emotions, you molded even my faintest shadow into divinity. Never did you experience a force beyond yourself compelling you to rise despite resistance. Thus your prayers—like stones cast skyward, cold and powerless—could only fall back upon you. Despite enduring these bitter trials, you stubbornly deceived yourself into believing this was spiritual diligence.”

“And by deceiving yourself, you even deceived others.”

“You always employed the deceitful tactic of bestowing beautiful names upon words and deeds that did not come from your heart.” “However, the time has finally come when you think this is no longer sufficient.” “What a blessing it was for you that some sincerity still remained.” “You have begun to turn your face toward me, whom you had long since abandoned.” “Now, you have admitted that most of your actions were falsehoods, and you have come to know yourself as one who has never once prayed in any true sense.” “From now on, you must hasten resolutely to unite with your Individuality.” “You must discover the wellspring of life within your Individuality and, using that Individuality as your foundation, build up your true self upon it.”

VII

My Individuality further proclaimed to me thus:

“I, who am your Individuality, shall I expound upon what manner of path you should take in accordance with me?”

“First and foremost, the one thing I demand of you is that you must avert your eyes from all external standards and return to me.” “That will likely seem untrustworthy to you.” “The external standard is composed of the aggregation of ancient human history—an immense reservoir containing all great men and saints, all philosophy and science, all culture and progress—and the various aspects of modern human activity.” “Moreover, for you to completely turn your gaze away and focus solely on me must seem both unreliable and unsettling.” “However, I tell you this:” “Do not hesitate.” “You must pluck out every root hair you had spread toward the external world, trim their ends, and thrust them into me.” “Though I—your Individuality—may appear lowly and inferior compared to the Individualities of many others, for you there exists nothing more perfect beyond me.”

“Having thus finally returned to me, you must not dissect me at will as you did with the external world.” “You must not force an understanding through lenses of good and evil or beauty and ugliness.” “You must accept my demands as a unified whole.” “Only when fulfilling all my demands will I achieve growth.” “Even if obedience brings conflict with legends or customs, never let doubt unsettle you.” “Neither rush nor hesitate—focus solely on cultivating your Individuality.” “But mark this: abandon external frameworks when interpreting my workings.” “When my demands seem carnal, reject simplistic views of fleshly desire.” “Equally misguided is divorcing spiritual demands from bodily existence.” “Flesh and spirit form an indivisible unity within Individuality—not philosophers’ extremes.” “Analyzing water as hydrogen and oxygen yields empty knowledge.” “True understanding comes only through water itself.” “Therefore accept my demands whole—find satisfaction nowhere else.” “With this preparation complete, charge forward unhesitatingly.” “When proud—be proud; when humble—be humble; love fiercely, hate freely—this suffices.”

Thus, for the first time, you will be able to return to your true self. From the moment you were born into this world and swathed in a birth garment, you can now for the first time become free from the external pressures that have been imposed upon you up to this day. The parts of yourself that you—out of necessity to fit into a mold imposed by the external world—had forcibly deemed unnecessary and cast away until now have regained their true value and have become elements indispensable to you once again. All your branches have attained the destiny of joyfully sprouting young buds, all equally facing the sunlight. At that time, you put eternal denial behind you, passed through the valley of indifference, and for the first time were able to stand at the gateway to eternal affirmation.

Nor was your real life without its influence. From now on, you would act by necessity rather than through contrived schemes. Until your Individuality grew to break through your former self and create a new you, you would remain compelled by external pressures—no longer finding necessity in action, not even through contrived schemes. For instance, when you had lived in accordance with the external world, you had practiced the morality of modesty. “You feared performing insincere good deeds to excess, so you performed them modestly.” “Yet in concealing your flaws, you showed no restraint whatsoever.” “Did you not employ terrifying audacity to prevent others from discovering your heart’s ugly secrets?” “Before others, while displaying virtues more humbly than your secret pride—thus satisfying modesty—did you not meticulously conceal actual weaknesses like desires until they became undetectable at a glance?” “Such attitudes I call contrived schemes.” “But in a life aligned with me, such contrivances are unnecessary.” “Since every desire ultimately becomes nourishment for your Individuality’s growth, you need no longer shrink from them.” “That is—you must change solely for my growth’s necessity and absolutely cease adjusting yourself according to external considerations.” “All else follows thereafter.”

“Before returning to me again—before you completely turned your eyes from external standards and entrusted yourself to me as your sole power—you may have agonized over reconciling your stance toward humanity. ‘Might not your sudden advance alongside me become a nuisance to humankind—thereby hindering human progress, disrupting life’s order, and destroying moderation to some degree?’ ‘Yes—you must have been tormented thus.’”

That would seem conceivable to you—so accustomed to clinging only to the external world. “Yet the more earnestly you confront this matter, the less you’ll find yourself able to entertain such external considerations, however you might try.” “Just as one drowning cannot imagine blessing some stranger’s petty happiness in a distant corner of the world, so too when you come to me in true urgency, you’ll find no room to ponder consequences.” To imagine Saint Francis—who writhed in thorns, tormented by his sins—ever considering how his repentance might affect humanity would mark one as a pitiable soul untouched by even a dewdrop’s measure of human nobility.

“I will make you listen.” “As long as you raise such questions and are troubled by such doubts, you do not truly possess the qualification to return to me.” “You remain utterly beholden to superficial appearances.” “Cast them off.” “Open your eyes to past errors until you must cast them off.” “I do not walk so sluggishly that I must look before and after.” “To you who cling to petty conflicts with the external world while your very life is threatened—I can only be a merciless bystander.” “I may coldly witness your wretched demise, but shall not lift a finger to aid you.”

“Again, as I have said before, you can no longer be satisfied merely with having become a specialist.” “In essence, wherever one goes, one must be their own master.” “Yet becoming a specialist means selling yourself into a certain department of human life.” “It is to become, more or less, a sacrifice to the demands of the external world.” “What person would not wish to become a complete human being—a human with clearly defined contours of Individuality?” “Yet you repeatedly forget this primary demand—driven by the temptation of appearances or, worse still, presumptuous ambitions like advancing society’s progress—and willingly seek to cripple your one and only whole life into a lopsided thing.” “However, you who have returned to me are not performing that dangerous dance atop a volcanic summit.” “Your hands, your head, your profession—no matter how specialized their tasks may become—you always bind them to me, your Individuality.” “You can remain yourself even if you engage in most specialized tasks.” “Moreover, if the work you are engaged in ultimately cannot satisfy your Individuality, you will not hesitate to abandon that work for the sake of Individuality’s satisfaction.” “At the very least, your Individuality will demand that such an irrational existence be done away with.” “What you do may result in inconvenience to the lives of people who cling solely to safety.” “Moreover, in a society that takes only superficial progress as its measure, this may cause inconvenience.” “However, you need not concern yourself with that.” “I clearly know.” “The true demand of human life is neither safety nor superficial progress.” “That true demand is growth—just as it is for an individual human being’s demand.” “Therefore, you should choose your path with peace and conviction.” “No matter how much a civilization that has severed spirit from matter and individuality from work may progress, it is but a single river flowing into an infinite desert.” “It will someday wither and dry up completely.”

“I will say no more to you now. I have grown too weary from this kindly old woman’s loquacity. Yet you seem somewhat moved. In your eyes—lost as you are in choosing your path—there floats before me a light like one glimpsing their homeland. Pitiable hypocrite! Hypocrite forever torn from strength’s mean—now slightly stronger, now fallen into weakness that can only envy strength! That your strength and weakness remained unbalanced was your saving grace. From there you shall likely be saved. From within that imbalance’s contradictions, you will pluck out even a shred of your sincerity. Let none of that sincerity escape you! If it be pure, even a trace suffices. Truth be told, there exists no impure sincerity—nor any sincerity to be measured by quantity! There is sincerity. Therein lies purity and all things! Therefore take courage where you find sincerity; fear nothing.”

“Rise.” “There before your eyes, a new vista will open up.” “You should articulate that on my behalf.”

“You must not make me waste these long words.” “I spread my warm hands wide, waiting for you to come!”

My Individuality told me this and quietly fell silent.

VIII

My Individuality allowed me a modicum of sincerity—albeit only a little. But can sincerity truly be satisfied with such? After groping blindly in all directions and finding not even a single straw to cling to, I had ultimately sought refuge in my ever-unreliable Individuality—which, even to myself, showed no superiority compared to that of others. Could I call that sincerity? Yet what does the name matter? Some would say my final attainment resulted from my own abasement. Others might claim it sprang from courage. If I must speak for myself, it was nothing but an inexorable force that had brought me this far. Everyone—every last person—will one day return to themselves, driven by this same inexorable force. When death draws near to a man, that force will surely come without fail. Not a single soul can avoid encountering their Individuality sooner or later. I too, as one human among many, had merely exchanged glances with Individuality in this manner—no differently than any other. Somewhat earlier than some, and considerably later than others.

This was at least for me better than anything else. After long futile turmoil, I found for the first time some stability within myself. This place felt comfortable to inhabit. When beginning my work, I felt as though I had first obtained a well-cushioned chair to sit in. I became convinced my work would be best managed by leaning on this chair. Though I would likely repeat countless torments and failures hereafter, these would no longer be repeated in vain. Torment too would surely serve me as nourishing sustenance. Entrusting myself to this chair, I resolved to set down in writing what I had come to know—chiefly for my own sake. I was not writing this for propaganda. I knew full well my experiences were narrow and impoverished, utterly incapable of achieving such universal appeal. Yet if even a few people undergoing similar mental processes were to read this and offer but a faint knowing smile, an even greater joy would be added to my pleasure in self-expression.

Without order or system, with nothing but joy, I continue writing.

IX

Sentimentalism, Realism, Romanticism—these three -isms were determined by the disposition of those who embraced them. Some people harbored attachment to things that had appeared in the past or to what ought to have appeared. And they attempted to guide both the present and future, to the extent possible, by the keynote of the past. All beautiful dreams arose from the fruits of experience. They did not arise from experience itself. People who lived by such a view were Sentimentalists.

Others harbor longing for things that will appear in the future or for what ought to appear. Things that have already emerged and things now coming into being are all ugly and distorted. That which can satisfy humanity’s ceaseless desires must lie hidden solely within what has yet to appear. People who live by such a view are Romanticists.

Furthermore, some people place the highest value on the present. However excellent things that have already emerged and ended may be, they cannot be recreated in either the present or the future. No matter what good things may lie hidden in the future, they are not in our hands now. In the present, there may be nothing as beautiful as what exists in the past. Nor may there be anything as radiant as what is dreamed of in the future. Yet here exists our own life that can be grasped concretely. Let us live it with all our strength. People who live by such a view are Realists.

The first person clings to legend; the second to ideal; the third to human.

Is my perspective on these three -isms not mistaken? If I am not mistaken, then I must declare myself among the ranks of Realists. Because I now have nothing outside myself to rely upon. And because this self of mine finds its being in the present moment.

I too have my past and future. However, the self I must rely on most is this self caught between past and future. It is I of this present moment. I do not neglect my past or future. Even were I to neglect them, in reality the past would seep through me, and the future would guide my present into unknown worlds. There is nothing I can do about that. I do not attempt to view my present through past and future; instead I seek to absorb both into my present self. My present is my past and simultaneously seeks to become my future. That is to say, I gain emotional freedom toward the past, assert volitional freedom toward the future, and seek to establish necessary standards solely within the present.

If asked why you take that position, there is no reason other than that doing so suits my disposition. To me, nothing seems more precious than life’s own grasp of itself. In other words, the tension of life seems to me the most desirable. And does not the tension of life always draw the past and future into the present? At that moment, I am not judged by legend; rather, I judge legend. Moreover, my ideal draws near and enters into my present self, attempting to realize itself within me as I am. Thus I unify the three -isms within the present. To put it plainly, there now remains only I—the three -isms having vanished. I cannot help but regard this state of individuality as what is most intimate to me.

My present can only be as it is. No matter how incomplete and blemish-ridden it may appear through others' eyes, no matter how inadequate it may seem when I step beyond that temporal boundary to reflect on it as the past—for me living in the present, this present self of mine can only exist as it is. Whether good or bad, it cannot exist otherwise. For me, my present always holds the greatest infinite value. I have nothing else to substitute for it. The definite acknowledgment of my existence is given only in each present moment.

Therefore, for me, there remains no path but to revere the present as my sole precious jewel and live it to the utmost. I have positioned myself at the point of no return there.

Yet having said that, how could I possibly scorn all of the past and disregard all of the future? Is not my present all of the past clinging to my soul? There are my parents. There are my ancestors as well. There exists the entirety of their work. There is also the vast world that surrounded those people and their work. At times the sun shone down upon it; at times the rain nourished it. At times, a comet traversing the heavens from end to end cast its rare light. At times, the Earth's axis changed its angle. Is it not that all those various forces have gathered and accumulated every bit of their power within me? How could I possibly scorn that? Even if I were to forget that power, that power would not forget me for even an instant. However, I simply found it utterly futile and fruitless to think of those things as detached from my present. I realized those things could only possess value when strictly woven into my present. Ultimately, the past that had been fully absorbed into the present was nothing outside the present to me, even if people insisted on calling it "the past." If I did not bring the essence of what was called the present to this point, its content could not be established at all.

I had grown utterly weary of the hollow attempt to set the past in its detached state against the present and construct Individuality’s seat upon that comparison. Was this not the same foolish, futile attempt as when scientists try to immediately apply their approach to handling objects of experience directly to life itself? There clearly existed a subject-object relationship between the scientist and the experiment. Yet between myself and my individuality, there must not exist the slightest gap or hierarchy. All opposition had to disappear within me.

Regarding the future too I believe I can say the same thing. There exists nothing that can complete my future—or rather, all of futurity—save myself. When contemplating how the future may unfold, if one excludes me as an individual human being, no aspect of futurity can take form. This contains not a shred of arrogance. What constructs that future is my present. Should my present become lost, my future could never come into being. If my present can be lived most supremely, then my future will stand most supremely formed. What possible benefit could mere fantasizing about tomorrow bring to its creation—a speck of dust’s worth—if one slackens from this immediate tension? When strength gathers in the present until one ceases contemplating futurity—isn’t a worthy future being forged moment by moment?

I do not possess the sentimentalist's bittersweet tears of anguish. Nor do I hold the romanticist's delightfully vivid imaginings. Yet bearing every flaw and all unsightliness—how profoundly intimate and precious this present remains to me! The potent savor of fulfillment and human authenticity found there proves more than sufficient to draw me near. This banquet leaves me utterly satiated.

X

Yet how difficult it is to obtain the complete satiation and tension of Individuality! Phrases like "a life ablaze" or "a white-hot existence" may indeed be expressible through pen and paper, but they seldom come readily into my actual lived experience. However, they were not entirely absent from me either. I could dimly perceive how precious and hard-won that boundary was. And before and after that supreme joy lies an unbroken continuum of life unable to reach that boundary. I shall now attempt to record this relationship, however dimly.

My Individuality, unable to free itself from contact with the external world, must perpetually maintain some angle toward that world to sustain its existence—even while guiding an autonomous life. At times I accept stimuli from the external world unchanged and live without reflection. At times I live by reflexively activating my consciousness in response to stimuli from the external world. At other times, without waiting for stimuli from the external world, my life is driven by some inexorable internal force to act upon it. Such changes are caused solely by fluctuations in the tension level of my life. This does not decompose life into intellectual, emotional, and volitional activities to represent the state of living. When articulating the workings of human individuality, I most detest relying on such decompositional methods. In the life process of human beings, distinctions such as intellect, emotion, and will do not actually exist. When life continues acting upon a certain object without change, they call it will; when life acts by changing the object or altering the amount of force, they call it emotion; and when life makes choices between two or more objects, they have merely named it intellect. Human mental activities are not governed by a triumvirate. They are governed by a far purer, more unified force. Therefore, a somewhat meticulous observer will discover numerous mental activities between intellect and emotion, between emotion and will, and between will and intellect that cannot be clearly categorized under any of these. When examining the iris, it is the same as discovering an infinite number of intermediate colors between red, blue, and yellow. Red, blue, and yellow are provisional appearances that should originally be unified by white. Thus, just as when we attempt to fully comprehend sunlight itself—no matter how much we study its decomposed colors—we cannot thereby gain complete knowledge of the light’s essential qualities; similarly, no matter how scientifically one investigates the phenomena of intellect, emotion, and will, one could never conceive of grasping mental activity itself. Induction serves only to describe. But it is of no use in expressing the essence. This simple principle is often neglected. In this modern age that seeks to place supreme value on science—and consequently on scientific research—the fundamental flaw of induction is often unreflectively neglected.

Now, it seemed I had wandered into a crossroads. I would return again to my immediate problem.

I shall provisionally call a life that accepts external stimuli unchanged a habitual life (habitual life). That is a life no different from that of a stone. A stone, without external stimuli, will remain in one place forever and gradually perish over time. From the stone’s side, there are absolutely no instances of acting upon the external world. To me—who still retains traits common to what are called lower animals—even the existence of inorganic matter appears stagnant. That is a phenomenon that invariably manifests wherever human life grows most sluggish. When matters that our ancestors have thoroughly experienced are repeated again, we no longer need to consciously exert our own abilities. Life activities regarding such matters are left to us solely in the form of habit.

Chesterton’s statement that “No revolutionary ever behaves like a revolutionary in everyday matters; they do perfectly ordinary things indistinguishable from ordinary people” was indeed true. For someone like me who was no revolutionary, this attitude toward life occupied a substantial portion of my activities. Every morning I washed my face. And if there was no change in the tools for washing my face, I washed it in the same manner without any reflection. If by carelessness I were to deviate from that method, it would only become a source of displeasure. In this way of life, one was entirely under the dominion of the past. My awareness of Individuality did not operate there in the slightest.

I am not saying that this kind of life is useless. It is impossible to know just how much my daily life is spared from complicated conflicts because I maintain this kind of existence. By establishing this sluggish life on one front, we on another front come to feel the desire for a necessary direction—an intense life—and become able to achieve it. However, from the perspective of my Individuality, it is questionable whether this kind of life should be classified as good or bad within Individuality. Because my Individuality strives strictly to cling to the present, while this kind of life is merely the accumulated past operating within me without connection to my Individuality. Moreover, the substance of this kind of life exists in a highly unstable state. If the circumstances of the external world change even slightly, this life can no longer be sustained there. And it ends up entering the realm of intellectual life that I am about to discuss. I cannot rest easy leaning on this life.

Moreover, Individuality—which by instinct desires self-expression—cannot endure subsisting solely through habitual life. I cannot find satisfaction in mere repetition of the past—because there exists no self there, only habit; because between the external world and myself lies nothing but an inorganic bond. I wish to progress from stone—to advance at least to plants or beasts. The tension of this desire compels me to choose an even more divergent phase of existence.

——

I named that intellectual life. In this type of existence, my Individuality first revealed itself as an independent entity and achieved opposition with the external world. This became the reflexive life. When stimuli from without acted upon Individuality, it consciously reacted. Thus experience and reflection manifested themselves in my existence. That Individuality—which until now had lain conquered by external forces—now exerted its uniqueness to challenge those very pressures. Through habitual living I had inhabited an originless realm. Through intellectual living I first entered dualistic being. Here I exist. There lies the external world. The outer reality surged toward me. Through experience’s framework I collided with that world. From this experiential battlefield emerged what we call reflection. At times it might signify victory—at others defeat.

In either case, reflection sorted the results of experience into like categories. People named this accumulation of classified experience "knowledge." To organize knowledge, I created certain reliable laws. People named the laws built upon such accumulation of knowledge as morality.

Although the view that morality was interpersonal had some validity, I did not think so. I believed that even Robinson Crusoe—lonely and newly landed on a desert island—possessed a morality directed toward himself. In whatever sense could we not call the tendency to strive to better oneself in response to external stimuli morality? Was not Crusoe’s act of venturing to the wrecked ship to procure utensils and provisions for himself a manifestation of morality for his own sake? However, Crusoe eventually rescued Friday from murderers. Crusoe and Friday mutually required each other to live in their best possible relationship. Crusoe had to find a point of compromise between his self-directed morality and his morality toward Friday. Friday exerted equal effort toward Crusoe. Fortunately these two efforts found common ground. Thus they not only lived harmoniously on that desert island but were ultimately rescued by ship and set foot on British soil. Though interpersonal morality—social morality—emerged after Friday’s arrival on that island—to claim no morality existed there during Crusoe’s solitary days—would this not constitute fundamental error? Morality is determination of one’s proper stance based on knowledge of self and external world—be that nature or fellow humans. Therefore Morality must hold true both for individuals alone and among multiple people. However in both cases Morality’s content changes alongside shifts in knowledge. Knowledge’s content changes alongside transformations in external reality. Thus Morality must inevitably transform with external world’s evolution.

There seem to be not a few people in the world who find the mutability of morality unsatisfactory. The fact that the sole standard by which one must govern oneself must constantly change immediately suggests the very instability of human life itself. Behind the morality that humans possess, there exists something immutable, and even the ephemeral branches of morality that are prone to change undoubtedly take temporary root there, so to speak. Imperfect humans, being unable to grasp the immutable root of universal morality all at once, merely end up mistakenly adopting a part of it as their standard through groping. Because it is a part, it may require revision due to external circumstances, but this does not immediately and conclusively prove the mutability of morality itself. Thus certain people may think.

Nevertheless, I insist that the content of morality is in constant flux. What feels universal and unchanging to me is the morality inherent within myself. That is, I know that the tendency—which inevitably seeks to create standards from the accumulation of knowledge to govern oneself against the external world—subsists unchanged in its content (without discussing increases or decreases in intensity). However, that moral nature and morality are entirely different concepts should be easily understood by anyone. For me, the changing content of morality is not in the least bit strange. Nor is it troubling. What one cannot change even if they wish to is the tendency that seeks to produce morality. And to assume that its content changes is a bleak prospect for me. But fortunately, I do not need to feel anxious about that. Because through my own experience, I know its immutability thoroughly.

Knowledge changes; morality changes. Yet when they remain fixed for a period while my life's efforts cannot enrich their content, they persist unwaveringly as both knowledge and morality. But when my life overcomes them, both knowledge and morality retreat into habit's threshold, losing their value as knowledge or morality. In my unconscious existence of merely adapting to external stimuli, there may be what others perceive as moral acts. Yet for me, these can never be moral acts—because to be moral, I must be exerting effort.

Intellectual life was not only a life of reflection but also a life of effort. Humanity had to synthesize here the results of long experience, create shared principles to rely upon together, and govern their lives according to those principles. Effort was truly the vital touchstone that sifted people from stones. In plants and animals, this life activity called effort would be carried out unconsciously or as a painful condition of life. However, humanity did not view effort as mere pain. It was felt as something fulfilling the moral demands—a conscious tendency particularly developed in humanity. To satisfy this tendency, humanity did not mind inflicting pain accompanied by moral effort. This manifestation made the history of humanity majestic.

Who would not praise knowledge and morality—those products of intellectual life? It is a phenomenon that suggests humanity’s unwearying striving along a single path toward truth. Amidst all doubt and all destruction, this great force has never been worn away. Just as the Phoenix, even when burned by fire, revives into youthful existence and ceaselessly spreads its wings toward the vast sky, this life of diligent effort will long prosper in this world as humanity’s warrant of being kings upon the earth.

But having attained supreme stability in this life, do I not still feel an emptiness in my heart? I must answer no. After a long detour, I found the long-sought homeland within my individuality. Despite being encircled tenfold or twentyfold by the external world, this Individuality must not fail to be satisfied within itself. It will never grow weary until that demand is fulfilled. Did intellectual life fulfill that for me? It did not fulfill that for me. Because intellectual life is ultimately a dualistic existence. In it, the opposition between Individuality and the external world remains ever necessary. I must assume a certain posture toward nature or people. Knowledge arises from an experiencing self and an external world that compels experience; morality emerges from a self striving toward effort and its external object.I am neither knowledge itself nor morality itself.They are merely rational bridges connecting myself and the external world.I cannot confuse these bridges—these means—with reality itself.I desire peace while desiring progress.I seek elaboration while craving creation.Peace means regulated continuation of existing matters; progress means constructive destruction of existing matters.Elaboration improves what exists; creation brings forth what did not.I cannot remain content with only one side.

I constantly attempted to leap from one re-creation of individuality to another. Yet did intellectual life fulfill this leaping internal demand of mine? The starting point of intellectual life was experience. Experience was, in essence, the residue of my life. It could be recognized only through reflection—conscious retrospection. For a phenomenon to become knowledge, it had to meet the necessary condition of having been filtered through life. Suppose there existed a piece of knowledge here. For me to acknowledge it as something useful for recognizing a phenomenon, even if that knowledge had been formed through others’ experiences, my own experience must also have endorsed it. If my experience had borne no relation whatsoever to the experience forming that knowledge’s foundation, I could never have acknowledged it as knowledge I might use. Therefore, the knowledge I possessed was ultimately a tool for organizing my past and serving as reference material for handling future events yet to occur. The relationship between myself and morality could also be established through precisely this line of reasoning. In other words, both knowledge and morality were constructs built upon existing experience; for them to remain directly useful, it proved most convenient for my life to travel back and forth along the same path repeatedly. And there, the vigorous activity of tendencies called progress and creation had to be naturally shunned.

I cannot say that I do not find joy in my life being peaceful and its content being embellished. Needless to say, within me, such demands are at work with great force. I must be grateful to intellectual life for fulfilling those demands. But will I remain forever satisfied clinging solely to these conservative tendencies?

In social life—which tended toward more sluggish activity than that of an individual—the demand for this conservative intellectual life naturally became stronger than that of an individual. The state of peace and order seeks to establish itself as the foundation of social life. Therefore, under the current mode of human life, there was hope to establish intellectual life even as individuals’ radical tendencies were ignored and suppressed. Modern politics, education, academia, and industry had generally set their aims on emphasizing and practicing this intellectual life. Therefore, if I were to settle solely into this kind of life and rely on the knowledge and morality prescribed by society, I would likely receive the highest reward from society. And my external survival rights would be most securely guaranteed. And the substance of society would become increasingly peaceful, be embellished, and be integrated under an orderly form.

But—as even society dimly perceives such tendencies—what am I to do with this unyielding presence within me of life’s impetus, more intense than intellectual life? Should I sacrifice it for the sake of social life? For the sake of society’s paramount demand—peace—must I suppress these impulses toward progress and creation? Must my dissatisfaction be deemed groundless?

Although social life was often more sluggish than that of an individual, I did not believe society entirely lacked what I possessed. Because it was undeniably true that I myself formed a constituent part of society. What I desired must undoubtedly be what society desired. And I desired progress together with peace. I desired creation alongside elaboration. Even though society now marginalized this impulse—and given its nature, would likely remain so forever—it had to lie dormant as a latent force in some corner of it. Because society was constantly progressing and creating against its own will.

The monistic life where I become entirely myself—this I had long yearned for. I now felt as though I had slowly advanced into that temple.

Twelve

Up to this point, even if falteringly, my words had remained faithful to what I meant to convey. Yet the words I am now to string together will likely rebel against my command. But even should they rebel, I cannot lay down my pen here. I lash myself by lashing words. Both I and my words may falter before this arduous task of expressing individuality. Those readers—likely few—who have accompanied me this far may despair and abandon me. At that moment, I can only grieve over the insufficiency of my own experience rather than resent the frailty of my readers’ patience. I shall not condone even the degradation of words. Leaning on faint suggestive expressions, I will nevertheless strive to articulate myself.

From non-origin to dualism, from dualism to monism. From preservation to organization, from organization to creation. From effortlessness to effort, from effort to transcendent effort. The final element of each of these processes now lies before me to be expressed.

The tension of individuality dragged me forth, compelling me to penetrate the external world. While the external world did not act upon individuality, individuality proactively acted upon the external world. In other words, individuality began its own life not through external stimuli, but through an impulse inherent to itself. I tentatively called this instinctual life (impulsive life).

What ignites this impulse within me? I do not know. However, can we not recognize in nature this impulse’s provisional manifestation?

At the beginning of Earth’s formation，not even a trace of organic matter existed there．When a certain period arrived，organic matter emerged．Even if it had been brought mixed within meteorites from other celestial bodies—as some scientists hypothesize—the Earth，initially unsuitable for organic matter，had transformed over time to accommodate its development．Following organic matter’s emergence，single-celled organisms appeared．Growth and differentiation began．Their forms differed markedly from growth-like phenomena in inorganic crystals．Single-celled organisms became multicellular；some rooted as plants，others mobile as animals．Until humanity arose from animals，phenomena worthy of being called creation recurred throughout evolution．Rather than recurrence，all processes were a continuous chain from creation to creation．A mysterious force drove forward，lashing creatures clinging to habit and form—like Caliban gripping his way of life—propelling them through leaps of differentiation．Who could help marveling at this undeniable fact？The great force guiding earthly existence had also built my individuality’s core．Urged by an irresistible force，my individuality sought to leap toward new existence．That force’s origin was always intrinsic．Self-generated．Driesch’s report—that evening primrose seeds from one flower，planted identically，sprouted diversely—perfectly translated my individuality’s desire．Even if Driesch’s Mutation Theory were disproven，my individuality would assert this as his error，not nature’s．At least on Earth，conscious or not，a mysterious force recognizing and creating individuality worked．Bergson’s pure duration housed precisely what my individuality acknowledged．Within individuality lay experience transcending physical time．

The very experience that cannot be grasped through so-called self-reflection—the backward glance of consciousness—manifests itself as cognition. There, no distinction remained between self and other. There was no dualistic opposition. Was this not the true, unadorned expression of life? My individuality had long yearned to return to this realm.

For example, I pictured a great river flowing through my mind. I did not know where this current originated or where it flowed away. Yet that river surged onward endlessly from boundlessness to boundlessness. Nor did I know what constituted the soil forming its banks. But had not this river itself built those banks over eons from within? My individuality too was a drop of that river’s water. The current’s force dragged me along, sweeping me toward some unknown destination. At times I drifted near the bank’s edge. Friction against the shore made both my surrounding waters and myself lag behind the midstream’s swift flow as we moved downstream. At other moments—as often seen in real rivers—the central current’s momentum even pushed me into reverse eddies. In those times I grew desolate. I could not advance from vista to new vista. Yet once borne into the river’s heart, I became utterly secure and free. I flowed with the water’s primal velocity. Though propelled by the force driving all the river’s mass, I remained unaware of this propulsion itself. I coursed downstream through every fiber of my desire—for was not the river’s greatest current my own yearning made manifest? Thus I existed in absolute freedom. But nearing reaches where bank friction constrained me, I bitterly felt my liberty wane. There first emerged fate’s unyielding hand—a power existing wholly beyond my self.

There, I could not help but tremble before the sensation of inescapable fate. The river’s waters do not know the path they should choose for their own position. However, humans know it. And they can carry out that choice. That is the deed wrought by the self-awareness humans possess.

Are humans the masters of fate or its slaves?

This problem repeatedly plunges us into despondency. Without decisive critique of this problem, divine enlightenment, the establishment of moral laws, the foundations of science, and the human standpoint will all remain unstable. I too have long suffered over this problem. Yet now I feel I can discern—however faintly—a glimmer of dawn toward its resolution.

If instinctual life is experienced, then whoever has experienced it must have encountered the absolute freedom of human will. Instinctual life is monistic, with no opposing forces to restrain it. It moves forward along an inevitable path through its own necessary will. Does not freedom of will ultimately signify the very necessity inherent in the will itself? Unless one acknowledges the will's desire, the question of its freedom or constraint cannot emerge. If one acknowledges the will's desire, recognizes that this desire is inevitable, and understands that a will grounded in instinctual being becomes instinct itself—unimpeded by any obstruction—then what we call freedom of will must be affirmed without reservation.

In intellectual life and below, matters do not unfold thus. Intellectual life subsists solely through perpetual adjustment with the external world. Without the external world's existence, this life cannot operate. The external world perpetually stands in opposition to intellectual life while simultaneously constituting its very substrate. Thus such a life cannot attain freedom. Moreover, I have previously posited that intellectual life's modality necessarily arises from retrospection upon the past. A life already consummated—even were it instinctual—remains a consummated life. That form neither reverts nor alters. Intellectual life indeed takes shape through apprehending and contemplating this fixed, finalized existence. How could concepts born of such contemplation escape being dyed with fatalistic hues? Therefore let us declare human life may manifest as either fate-bound or free. When fate-bound, it signifies life has withdrawn from proper tension. While lived under proper tension, individuality invariably dwells within absolute freedom's consciousness. Hence to state it more precisely: fundamental human existence may be steered by free will.

At the same time, there is no morality in instinctual life. Therefore, there is no effort. This life is one of inevitable freedom. In inevitability, there are no two paths. Where there are no two paths, there exists no choice between good and evil. Therefore, it transcends morality. Freedom is *sein* (being) and not *sollen* (ought). Though effort is precisely required for choosing between two paths, what demand for effort's assistance could arise when freely advancing along a single course? I play for creation’s sake. I make no effort. Therefore, I neither succeed nor fail in efforts. When succeeding, there is no need for humility toward fate. Nor when failing is there need to glance back at fate with excuses. All responsibility—if compelled to state it—lies within me. All recompense lies within me.

For example, there was a certain countryside there. Within it were scattered rice fields, wooded mountains, roads, and houses, and people each privately owned certain parts of it, devoting themselves to organizing the countryside and maintaining peace. Those who harvested others' fields were charged with a crime. Those who wandered through mountains and forests instead of walking the roads were regarded with caution. That was as it should be. The reason was that the fields existed for the livelihood of their owners, and the roads were established for the passage of travelers. That unfolded for me a bird’s-eye view of intellectual life.

Here was a person. He felt an impulse to explore the uncharted lands spreading beyond that cultivated realm. He stepped out from the ordered fields and set foot into that wilderness. There existed no road for him to tread there. Nor were there crops to plunder. Who could find fault with that single step his foot took in that moment? The very act of him boldly advancing one step into an unknown world was good if one would call it good. His foot was treading a world beyond morality’s domain. This faintly evoked within me a shadow of instinctual life.

The sight of lightning splitting black clouds and coursing from one corner of the sky to another made me consider instinct’s torrential power and sharpness. Within that lightning racing in powerful arcs, one might observe tributaries branching from the main current here and there—streaking toward destinations like great tree branches. Those tributaries’ ends would often vanish without trace when swallowed by dark clouds. Do such phenomena not frequently occur within human instinctual life? When someone moves purely by instinctive impulses, they may mistakenly try to outpace instinct’s own pace. Finally deviating from instinct’s main current, they charge headlong into self-destructive labyrinths. Ultimately vanishing completely—ceasing to be anything at all. That constitutes tragic self-contradiction. Their creative impulse drives them toward futile self-destruction. Viewed from intellectual life’s world—this might appear mere foolish stumbling. It certainly isn’t rational. Nor moral when such phenomena surface amid intellectual life’s whirlwind. Yet for individuality itself living that life—no space exists for inserting conflicts between good/evil or rational/irrational. Such intensely strained living existed solely through self-satisfaction. We who lived by intellectual standards—didn’t we view everything through this lens? Didn’t we overlook how purer living lay precisely beyond intellectual life’s threshold? Maintaining such attitudes constitutes grave error. For human creative living ceases utterly then. Societies unable even dimly grasping this instinctual aspect deserve being called swine-sound societies—nothing more.

The world of free creation was a world of play, a world of personal taste, and a world of purposelessness. It was called play precisely because it required no effort. It was called personal taste precisely because it required no obligation. It was called purposeless precisely because life itself was not a means to achieve a purpose. In earthly life, surrounded only by slow and retrospective existence, I believed I could find its closest approximation to purity in the embrace formed between wholesome lovers at the height of mutual affection. Before they approached their bed, the world of moral knowledge retreated into shadow. The man and woman became the very incarnation of love’s instinct. At that moment, they did not heed their neighbors; they did not consider their own life and death. The two burned solely with giving and receiving tokens of love. And this self-oblivious rapture—so intense it bordered on pain—was love’s play in its most exquisitely strained form. It was nothing beyond that. Moreover, during this very act, mysterious and immense creations—the greatest humanity could achieve—were being accomplished. What wonder was there that Whitman, in "Children of Adam," sang of sexual desire and praised those moments that evoked nature’s heroic nakedness? And how clear it was why he resolutely refused to listen when Emerson demanded its retraction! Even when driven to the flesh, if love did not breed regret and hatred—that alone was true love. The form of that love was incomparably beautiful. I believed I could also find manifestations of instinctual life that approached simplicity in the absorbed play of innocent children. He truly transcended both time and public perception. For him, there was no purpose whatsoever outside of play itself. Even if his superficial purpose was to make a single paper box, in the very moment he became engrossed in its creation, that purpose became entirely absorbed into the act of making it.

There was no effort or obligation attached to it. As I watched that pure, unadulterated outpouring of life, I felt so envious that tears welled up in my eyes. If there had been even occasional moments when my life were guided by such an attitude, then I might finally have been able to achieve true creation—if only.

Have I neglected describing instinctual life while squandering too much on its praise? I ask that this be permitted for now. Because I intend to place instinctual life above intellectual life. There is likely no one who does not place the intellectual life I speak of above habitual life. However, when attempting to place instinctual life above intellectual life, wouldn't many people feel hesitation there? Given that contemporary human life takes intellectual life as its foundation, such hesitation could be called natural. If considered solely from a utilitarian standpoint, such hesitation might even be justified. Yet if we accept the crucial premise that all existence is most true when expressing instinct's purest potential, then instinctual life holds greater value for me than intellectual life. If judging by value proves unjust, then it is an even nobler life. Moreover, I cannot accurately conceptualize this life's substance (precisely because it transcends rational expression). In that case, I can only faintly conjure this noble life through metaphor and praise.

13

14

When I use the term “instinct,” I cannot claim to be free from some fear of misunderstanding. This term has been particularly corrupted from its true meaning by science. Or rather, it was the masses who thoroughly distorted and tainted this term that science had employed naively. But now it must be restored to its original meaning. Bergson began employing this term in its true sense. Russell (though I have never read his works) also appears to endeavor toward its proper usage, following Bergson’s lead.

We could consider instinct as referring to the will inherent in nature. In wild beasts, this power was starkly manifested in their own way as beasts. Natural science observed its manifestations and documented them in detail. And they added that it could also be observed within human activities. This description was, needless to say, a clear fact. However, from that fact, science had not concluded that all human activities consisted solely of the instincts manifested in beasts. Yet people often attempted to misuse scientific descriptions. I thought this could not be dismissed as merely a misunderstanding.

Humans are human beings. They are not wild beasts. What wild beasts do with a near-unconscious mind, humans perform with full awareness. If people were to misuse this self-awareness and, in situations lacking the demand for love that extends even to the flesh, simply resort to the superficially observed instincts of wild beasts, this clearly could not be called the total activity of the instinct possessed by humans. At the same time, to intellectually separate the aspects of human instinct shared with wild beasts and attempt to fabricate some realm of “pure spirit” is clearly an unwarranted persecution of instinct. Instinct cannot coexist with dissection. Instinct must always operate in its entirety. Human instinct—neither that of wild beasts nor that of angels—must also operate in its entirety. Only from there—if it is to be born—will the instinct toward a new existence beyond humanity emerge. When one does not accept instinct in its raw reality but instead romanticizes it, the empty castles in the air known as the world of pure spirit are erected. When people think they can strictly separate flesh and spirit, deeming a life biased toward one pole as supreme—is it not from this mindset that asceticism’s moral codes are conceived? Similarly, when one does not accept instinct in its raw reality but instead sentimentalizes it, the decadent worldview known as the realm of carnal desire is conceived. This regression all the way back to the beast’s past—is it not also a consequence of the fragmentation of instinct, stripping humanity of its dignified station as human beings? When my life loses its intensity in some way, drifting unconsciously from its grounding in reality toward either the future or the past, I well know that such fragmentation of instinct inevitably emerges as a consequence. In that state, I inevitably feel some dissatisfaction. And if one missteps, driven by that dissatisfaction in an attempt to cure it, they will plunge headlong toward further fragmentation of instinct. That is dangerous. At that moment, I am clearly digging the grave that will bury myself. No one can save it. Truly, only I myself can save it.

If there are those who pervert the instinct I mean and proceed down the path of self-destruction, then beyond this I would possess nothing more to say. To speak truthfully—if I dread misunderstanding—I ought never to have uttered anything from the beginning. I must abandon this presumptuous officiousness so ill-suited to my station.

15

Humans are human beings. They are not wild beasts. They are not angels. I have stated that humans possess an instinct bestowed by nature. If so,I shall inevitably face this counter-question:"Then what exactly constitutes this instinct?" I naturally bear responsibility to answer. In my impoverished way,I shall discharge this duty. Here I shall lay bare what my modest experiences compel me to transcribe.

The flow of instinct that had been segmented by humans—until now, I had carelessly referred to this simply as instinct. That was permissible on one level. After all, the instinct possessed by humans was also a part of nature’s instinct. But now that I had advanced my analysis this far, I found it convenient to refer to it by a specific name. The instinct segmented by humans—would people not generally call this love? The ‘Way’ that Laozi said should be considered the Way of Ways was not the constant way—perhaps even that Way might mean this instinct. The loyalty and faithfulness that Confucius spoke of as paramount might perhaps also mean this. The bodhicitta of Shakyamuni, John’s Logos, and countless other names might have been constructed to signify this instinct. However, for my own convenience, I provisionally named this “love.” Although love—like instinct—already had various impure attribute-like meanings adhered to it among many names this word appeared to contain the least specialized and relatively universal content. When it came to love people commonly knew—albeit dimly—what it represented.

Love is the pure instinctual activity manifested in humans. However, bound by our habit of conceptualizing things, when we examine the crucial issue of love, do we not often find ourselves ensnared by superficial, conventional notions, thereby reaching conclusions that are diametrically opposed to its true nature?

When people examine love, as with other matters, do they not begin by observing its external manifestations and attempt to fully grasp its essence? Polo states in his letters that love is "to give unstintingly"—those words thoroughly express love's external phenomena without reservation. A loving person is one who gives. He seeks to give as much as he can from his possessions. Though what he once possessed is now lost and he appears impoverished as a result, not only does he not lament this—he instead rejoices and leaps for joy. This is undoubtedly a phenomenon observed wherever love exists. The defining features of a lover's psychology and actions are radiating and giving. People begin by observing this phenomenon and attempt to deduce love's essence. They immediately conclude that love is both an instinct to give and a radiating energy. Most people limit their reflection here; without fully savoring love's experience, they hastily accept this concept and build their life philosophies upon it. This concept becomes recognized as the central pillar of our morality. The ethical perspective of altruism takes form. Sacrifice and devotion are extolled as humanity's most sublime virtues in daily life. Furthermore, this concept comes to be regarded as the sharpest weapon for striking at egoism's vital point.

I do not categorically deny that this is perceived. When love is brought into intellectual life, it is natural for such a conclusion to be reached. In intellectual life—because love is examined only rationally—it is never recognized in its true form as it operates within life itself. Love is temporarily severed from life and observed solely as a fixed phenomenon. So to speak, reason merely revolves around and encircles love—no matter how meticulously—without penetrating its core. No matter how logically thorough and precise that conclusion may be, can it truly be called a conclusion that has grasped the essence of instinctual love?

To grasp instinct—to understand it in its pure form—there was no path outside apprehending it within instinctual life. Only experience makes that possible. Even if my experience was meager—I could not perceive the essence of love as an instinct to give. According to what my experience tells me, love is not an instinct to give but one to take; not a radiating energy but an attracting energy.

If acts done for others are called altruism and acts done for oneself are called egoism, then those terms are valid. For the word "benefit" is one that should express actions. However, if ethics defines altruism as recognizing an impulse or instinct aimed at benefiting others and egoism as asserting an impulse or instinct aimed at benefiting oneself—as it does—then those terms miss their mark. This must naturally be rewritten using the terms “love-other-ism” and “love-self-ism.” As the two words “benefit” and “love” self-evidently indicate, “benefit” expresses actions or results while “love” expresses motives or causes. Does this terminological error not inadvertently expose a confusion between love’s essence and its function? In other words, do people not observe love’s workings and immediately conjecture its essence, then apply to this essence a name that should belong solely to the essence itself? Moreover, people customarily call love’s tendency to act upon others “altruism” and its tendency to act upon oneself “egoism.” Does this not also serve as evidence that people view love’s workings through a kind of preconceived bias? The fact that people use words carrying material associations for cases involving oneself while employing words evoking spiritual associations for cases involving others appears to demonstrate how this practice is constrained by the preconceived notion that love can only fulfill its function when benefiting others. From this conflation of love’s essence and phenomena, our understanding will wander into an unforeseen labyrinth.

16

Let us not merely observe love from afar, but plunge into it through lived experience and verify whether the notions accepted until now are correct.

Do I love myself? I can answer without hesitation that I do love. Do I love others? To give an affirmative answer to this, I must impose certain conditions and limitations. If others have no involvement with me whatsoever, I cannot love others. To speak earnestly, it is only because I feel this love toward myself that I can love others involved with me. When I lose sight of my own existence that I ought to love, how could I possibly maintain involvement with others? And how could my love act upon others with whom I have no involvement? Therefore, to put it even more earnestly, I love others only when they have been assimilated into me in some state. However, truthfully speaking, the other assimilated into oneself ceases to be other. It is clearly part of oneself. Therefore, even when loving others, essentially speaking, through loving others I am loving myself. And only oneself remains.

But what does loving oneself signify? I love myself. There exists not a shred of pretense or exaggeration there. Nor can this be deemed an arrogant assertion. It merely states matters exactly as they stand. Yet when I contemplated how profoundly and completely I loved myself, the issue naturally transformed. If my reasoning erred not, had what society conventionally recognized as egoism until now been examined solely through an utterly utilitarian, materialistic lens? Was it not that they appraised biology's principle of self-preservation with crude simplicity and conflated it with self-loving instinct? "When studying biological development," Spencer broadly asserts regarding organisms generally,"egoist principles invariably exert greater force than altruist ones - one cannot deny this." Has this not formed our very foundation for comprehending egoist thought? I do not refute that such claims constitute fragments of truth. Yet my instinctual demands clearly rejected full satisfaction therein. I perceived within life's currents an abundant desire to love myself more profoundly. Mere assurance of self-preservation left me manifestly unsatisfied. I actively sought self-expansion and fulfillment - consciously or otherwise - ceaselessly driven by this craving. I must repudiate equating this earnest yearning with vulgar utilitarian egoist thought. For this constitutes a perilous tendency threatening love-self-ish principles' fundamental meaning. Had my self-loving instinct resided solely in self-preservation - mere intellectual craving for tranquility - Love remains instinct. No satisfaction could dwell within such confines.

My love within me desires the highest growth and completion. My love does not seek any object outside myself. Thus, my Individuality presses forward along the path of growth and completion. Then how do I achieve that growth and completion? That is through taking. The expression of love gives generously. However, the essence of love takes without reserve.

Just as an amoeba extends pseudopods to engulf nourishment from outside itself, then assimilates it into its own protein, so too does my Individuality grow and complete itself solely by ceaselessly assimilating the external world through love. It is not completed by bestowing upon the external world the accumulated things of Individuality. For example, let us suppose I love a canary. Because of that love, I would provide a beautiful cage, fresh food, and ceaseless affection. Would people not hastily conclude, upon seeing these external manifestations of my love, that its essence consists solely in giving? But that assumption is a fundamentally misguided and lamentable fallacy. The more I love that little bird, the more it is absorbed into me, inevitably assimilating into my very existence. The only thing that continues to appear separate is the external aspect of their forms. At the little bird’s intermittent chirps, I rejoice and grieve together with it. At that moment, whether joy or sorrow belongs to the little bird, it is also my own. The more I love the little bird, the more it becomes me itself. To me, the little bird is no longer an existence separate from myself. It is not a little bird. The little bird is me. I live out the little bird. (The little bird is myself, and I live a bird) “I live a bird”... In English, there exists this apt expression for the conception of love. If there were someone who nodded at this expression, that person would surely be nodding in agreement with what I intend to convey. I live the little bird. Therefore, I have no recollection of bestowing a beautiful cage, fresh food, and ceaseless affection upon external things. I am clearly giving those things to myself.

I was seizing without remainder the little bird and all its possessions from the external world into my Individuality. Behold, love was neither radiating energy nor an instinct to give. Love was a fierce plundering force. One would realize that viewing love as giving was merely a conclusion drawn by third parties—those without direct involvement between lover and beloved—when they superficially observed the expressions of affection from those who loved.

Thus, following the instinct of love, I assimilated others into myself, and through being loved by others, I immersed myself into them; like the warp and weft of woven silk, my self and others naturally wove beautiful patterns of life there. As my Individuality became better and deeper, a more refined external world was drawn ever deeper into my Individuality. The achievements of life as a whole were only then accomplished in this manner. There was no sacrifice there. Nor was there any obligation. There existed only the privilege deserving gratitude and a smile-inducing fullness.

XVII

When I raise my eyes and look, everything I see is mystery. When my mind abruptly shifts its perspective from its usual standpoint, what unfolds before my eyes is nothing but an astonishing mystery. Yet for me—who has completely anchored myself in the real world—these mysteries remain mysteries while being ordinary facts. I can no longer keep my eyes wide with wonder like a child. Even to my realistic, prosaic self, love’s workings alone manifest as an elusive mystery that defies approach.

Love plunders from the external world to nourish my Individuality. However, through this act, the external world does not lose even a speck. For example, through love, I seize the canary into my very being. However, the canary neither becomes happy nor unhappy by being taken. That little bird is at least materially enriched with a beautiful cage (which is surely better than being in an ugly one) and fresh food. This mystery that transcends the laws of matter fills me with astonishment and even sentimentality. What a wonderful world this world called love is! There, in broad daylight, mysterious magic is ceaselessly performed. By watching over it, I even try to forget all other mysteries. By possessing this single gift, I cannot help but feel profound gratitude toward all existence.

Those who insist that love refers to an instinct to give will likely sneer upon hearing this declaration of mine. “What you’re saying is something I insisted upon long ago,” they retort. “Don’t you know that marvel—how love doubles through giving? Those who give love grow rich by the giving itself, and those who receive love grow rich by the receiving itself. How could you have been unaware until now of this truth as ancient as the Earth?”

I was not unaware of that. Yet I felt compelled to impose one condition upon that proposition. The phenomenon of love doubling through giving could only occur when mutual affection had been established between lover and beloved. Were such love fully received, its blessings would indeed have doubled. But what of when the beloved remained ignorant of the lover's existence? Or when they spurned it? Could one still perceive this as love having doubled? Was this not merely an illusory construct born of emotional self-deception? Or perhaps nothing more than the forced marriage of artificial mysticism to commonplace notions?

If love acts unilaterally, and those who consider loving as conferring a benefit should claim that the beloved’s heart becomes doubly enriched precisely because they feel self-satisfaction in loving, then we must declare this something an altruist—who strenuously insists love’s operation must be selfless—ought never do. For at that moment, such a person undeniably gains reward through loving. What manner of altruism exists in work performed while receiving compensation—whether from humans or God—or done expecting compensation? How could this constitute devotion to others? Those who profess to love for others’ sake rather than their own must first scrutinize these sentiments without bias. They ceaselessly decry “utilitarianism this, utilitarianism that,” loathing reward-seeking acts like venomous serpents. Yet does not such inclination lurk within their own deeds and hearts? Their attitude toward reward differs—shall we deem it immeasurably nobler than vulgar utilitarianism? To me, such sentiments ring hollow. The more they extol its nobility, the falser it seems. It strikes me as nothing but utilitarianism—exquisitely crafted and cunningly masked. Whether non-material or purely spiritual (though such shallow distinctions hold no truth for me, adopting others’ preferred terms)—what devotion or sacrifice exists in acts envisioning some reward? If this merits being called hypocrisy, is it not itself an abominable hypocrisy? For they assert—with feigned innocence—results naturally expected as utilitarian while pretending them otherwise.

Perhaps someone might argue. To love is the supreme imperative residing within humans. When one loves, one loves as water flows to lower ground. In that act exists not the slightest expectation of reward. No matter what the outcome may be, those who love will love. To equate this with utilitarians who act with reward as their aim is to show ignorance of the exquisite workings of the human heart. I regard that as sophistry. Those who have once loved know what the result of loving is—it is inevitably an acquisition of some meaning. Those who have had this experience should never again refer to the workings of their own hearts as altruism or the like. They should never speak of it as a heart devoted to others. Such things are far too wasteful.

Love is self-acquisition. Love takes without sparing. The beloved is taken, yet strangely, nothing is taken. However, those who love are certainly taking. When Dante was a boy and saw Beatrice, he experienced a love unlike the world’s usual. After that, he did not see Beatrice for a long time. And there was only one time. That was on the streets of Florence. Beatrice was holding a red flower with a female companion. And in response to Dante’s greeting, she returned a graceful nod. After that, Beatrice wedded another. Dante attended that wedding ceremony and collapsed from an excess of passion. From that time onward, Dante never saw the lover in the depths of his heart. And Beatrice, as befits the fate of all beautiful things, left this world at a young age. According to literature, Beatrice seems to have passed from this world without ever coming into contact with Dante’s fervent love. Dante’s love did not flow mutually with Beatrice (those who believe love can only exist through mutuality should take note here). Dante alone loved her secretly in his heart. And was he left empty? How much did Dante take from Beatrice! Did he not take so much from this lover that even after wasting Beatrice throughout his life, there was still more than enough?

His life was lonely. It was squalid. Yet when compared to the emptiness of those who have never loved deeply, what a stark contrast it was! Dante, unable to contain the overwhelming fullness of his acquired love alone, poured it forth as *La Vita Nuova* and *The Divine Comedy*. How much value do we place upon the surplus from Dante's satiety! Whitman too once sang in his tender spontaneous verses: "I have loved. That love went unrequited. Was my love in vain? — No. Through it I gave birth to poetry."

Behold how love seizes. Love devotes all its strength solely to fulfilling individuality’s fullness and freedom. Love knows no duty. Love knows no sacrifice. Love knows no devotion. Whether those seized permit their seizure or not, Love seizes without being troubled by them. When Love acts mutually, we compete to seize from one another. It is never about mutual giving. As a result, we lose nothing yet mutually gain. This is what people mean when they say lovers receive double blessings. I rejoice at the anticipated seizure and become ecstatic. And clearly feel moved with gratitude for that seizure. This emotion and gratitude are neither hypocrisy nor anything of the kind. It is the natural feeling one holds toward what ought to exist. The rapture of love... To state it truly, there is no life for me beyond this. I plainly admit that through loving others, I take all into myself. If people wish to call me an egoist, I shall not hinder them. If needed, you may name me an altruistic egoist. For whenever I have loved spontaneously, I know I have surely seized for myself.

Is it not this centripetal and relentless action of love that has bound all living beings to one another? Behold the beasts—how clearly the action of their love (mutual plundering) manifests itself! And when it comes to humans, does it take an entirely opposite direction? Such a thing should not be possible. It is that humans, under the mask of *nicety*, are attempting to deceive themselves. And indeed, humanity is suffering this divine punishment for its hypocrisy. That is not found in beasts—it is the emergence of hypocrisy seen only in humans. Why is it wrong to consider love solely in its fundamental essence? Without considering it in its essence, true progress and creation will never be brought forth in human life.

The tendencies of intellectual life always corrupt instinct and utilize it only in a secondary state. What intellectual life demands is peace and safety. In this life, the appearance of love is more necessary than its essence. Be that as it may with internal demands, peace will be maintained as long as people simply give to one another. Therefore, ethics and morality emphasize the virtues of duty and devotion. People are ultimately deceived by these fixed notions. And where there is no love, they perform the same deeds that love does. That is, they radiate possessions devoid of love’s imprint toward the outside world without shame. However, possessions devoid of love’s imprint, once radiated outward, never return to that person again. At that moment, he is left with a bitter aftertaste from the consequences of his actions. To mask that aftertaste, he resigns himself to the belief that he has fulfilled duties and performed acts of devotion for others and for society. And there, he tries to feel an unworthy pride. Society, without considering the nature of such a person’s motives, immediately bestows upon him the name of a benefactor to society and humanity. For in intellectual life, it is convenient to encourage it in such a manner. Such people may speak and think of such matters as unworthy of consideration, yet from the profound dissatisfaction in their hearts, they unwittingly fixate upon them. Thus, that person conceals the divine punishment arising from love’s perversion with superficial concepts and societal praise, and society perpetuates peace through that person’s superficial deeds. Thus, the result becomes material debris unrelated to life, accumulating uglily on the path of existence. What could be the harmful effects of this accumulation? As anyone can perceive, is this not the death of humanity itself?

XVIII

Love was the growth and freedom of individuality. “But you insist,” a certain person would say to me. “There are countless examples in this world of people daring to destroy themselves for others—how do you view that?” “Even among animals less developed than humans, can we not observe mutual aid?” “How does your egoism interpret this?” “Even in such cases, do you deny the existence of absolute altruistic phenomena?” “By destroying yourself, what do you seek to gain?” A certain person might press me with such questions. Egoists who sought to explain love scientifically attempted to address this problem through what should be regarded as a variation of self-preservation—the instinct for species preservation. Yet this interpretation neither satisfied altruists nor myself. I had to examine this phenomenon from an entirely different perspective.

The fierce intensity with which love spread its ceaseless plundering hands was beyond the imagination of those who habitually considered love to be nothing more than a gentle thing. Just as the word "instinct" was plagued by attributes that easily invited misunderstanding, the word "love" too had been assigned many distorted meanings. When people spoke of love, was it not typically regarded as an eminently gentle, feminine emotion? Was there not a danger that those who spoke fondly of love would be taken for soft-headed sentimentalists? However, it had to be said that this was a dangerous misunderstanding arising from a way of thinking utterly divorced from love’s true essence. Love did tend to dwell in gentle hearts. However, love itself was not gentle. It was a fierce, merciless force. It was a mercilessly fierce force—so much so that if it were to appear in human life in its naked form, one might think it would disrupt the very rhythm of existence. Consider—even in a fleeting love, did not the lover’s cheek grow hollow? Even at a child’s slightest illness, did not the mother’s eye grow hollow?

Individuality, for its growth and freedom, attempts through love to seize everything it can plunder from the external world.

Love begins its enterprise from what lies closest at hand, chaotically bearing home its spoils. The more intense the Individuality, the more remarkable love’s activity becomes. If I were to seize all that I love, and if the beloved were to seize all of me in turn, then the two would become one. There would remain nothing left to take, and no one left to be taken from.

Therefore, in that case, his death would be my death. Acts such as following one’s lord in death or lovers’ double suicide can in this way be perfectly natural. Even if their love does not completely plunder each other, if my love can act with intensity, my growth will expand increasingly. And a certain world—a world with an expanse that can even transcend time and space—is firmly established within Individuality. And the inexhaustible expansiveness of that world shatters my long-held habits, transforms my way of life, and ultimately destroys my weak, ephemeral flesh. It shatters it completely.

What, after all, does the critic mean by "self-destruction"? Does that not merely point to the destruction of the physical body? We are human.

Human beings will inevitably die someday. The body will eventually perish. There is no way to avoid this. Yet when critics claim that loving others to the point of destruction means losing Individuality's growth and freedom, they err profoundly. This is not Individuality's loss. It signifies Individuality's expansion—grown so free it bursts physical confines through its very fulfillment. Some die fettered to mortality without ever tasting love's completion. Others perish untimely through love's supreme achievement. But who can truly decree what counts as "natural" or "untimely" death? When love fulfills itself—when Individuality overflows its vessel and shatters the flesh—if this isn't natural death, where does natural death exist? No death compares to the lover's serene passing. All others bring agony. This isn't destruction for others' sake—the self-destroyer's Individuality peaks at death's instant. They've claimed everything attainable as human. What people call "self-annihilation" is merely Individuality satiated beyond desire.

Whenever I reflect on this fact, what never fails to deeply move me is Christ’s brief earthly life and his death. In his thirty-three-year life—distant from public view and surrounded by uneducated fishermen, tax collectors, and prostitutes—he was both the incomparably profound possessor and servant of good love. When he spent forty days fasting in the wilderness, he was tempted with relieving the poor, building an earthly kingdom, and acquiring miraculous abilities. Yet he chose nothing but the work of pure love. He dared do nothing for the sake of intellectual life—that is, for the sake of earthly peace. He became estranged from his mother and brother. He caused many children to rebel against their fathers. He provoked its patriots through the perceived threat of disturbing Judea. So what did he do? Through his supreme love, he absorbed all of humanity—across past, present, and future—into himself. That alone was his irresistible compulsion—the work he could not refrain from. The fact that he gave and gave without ceasing attests to how he found satisfaction in the expansion of his individuality and took joy in giving to himself. “Was it not he who said, ‘Love thy neighbor as thyself’?” He can indeed be called the foremost one who profoundly knew the spiritual ecstasy of loving oneself. If he had not possessed the awareness that through his love he had completely absorbed all sentient beings, how could he have remained composed while surrounded solely by the destruction of his immediate life? And he declared, “Ye too shall follow my example.” It was that Christ himself testified that this realm was not his alone—that we ordinary people too could walk the same path.

At last came the time when Christ had to perish physically. He suffered. And what wonder is there in that? He must have agonized over losing the ability to see with his eyes, hear with his ears, or touch with his hands the object of his love. Moreover, he must have anguished that the object of his love could not fathom love’s power as profoundly as he did. Yet what tormented him most was surely that moment of doubt—whether his love had fully accomplished its plundering work. But at last came final peace: “Father (Father being Love), I entrust my spirit to Thee.” And with divine majesty, he trampled beneath his feet that body wasted by bitter trials—all for supreme fulfillment.

“Where in Christ’s life are there duty and sacrifice? People often say that Christ sacrificed all things and, out of duty as the Messiah, willingly endured all persecutions and hardships—even enduring death on the cross. Therefore, you have been redeemed from sin through Christ’s Passion—that you too must follow his example and lead lives of sacrifice and devotion. I, as a single individual, cannot possibly think of the life Christ left for us in this way. Christ was never a pauper of love who considered giving to be painful—Christ has already plundered us into himself.” He whispers in my ear: “Christ’s love has completely absorbed all that is lofty, pure, and beautiful in this world. The wicked and the ugly have also been absorbed by me and purified. Open your eyes and behold how abundant Christ’s possessions are—all that appears to have been given and bestowed by Christ was in fact given and bestowed upon Christ himself. Christ did not leave a single thing ungiven—and he lost nothing, yet gained all things. May you too partake in this supreme joy—what Christ demands of you is solely this one crucial thing: Even if you were to give and bestow everything, what would it be if you lost eternal life? Do you know a hypocrite? It refers to those who, coveting the noble title of sacrifice and devotion, waste themselves on externalities not fully assimilated into their being—those who have lost sight of love’s refuge to such an extent that they cannot recognize this fact—so worthy of gratitude in this world—that to give to what has been fully assimilated into oneself is to give to oneself. Look upon that twisted visage that forcibly masks the bitter aftertaste of waste with laughter.”

“That is a sorrowful error.” “You must know that to bestow things lacking love’s stamp is the greatest sin.” “And those things stamped with love’s mark—even if you were to cast them into the depths of hell—would swiftly return to your side like a faithful dog.” “Do not fear.” “Fact must ultimately triumph over legend.”

That is truly so. I must not regulate and bind love with the virtue of sacrifice and devotion. Love must be liberated from the world of intellectual life. This was no small discovery for me. Though born from modest experience, my observations amply corroborate this truth. When driven by creative impulse to ruthlessly examine myself, did I not behold a new world vibrant with life-force unveiled before me? When I—who had trodden a solitary path devoid of life’s turbulence—unexpectedly discovered multitudes of individualities within my own breast, could I help but stare wide-eyed in astonishment? The more intently I gazed upon myself without restraint, the more distinctly emerged the manifold aspects of true human existence. This mysterious world filling my innermost being and yearning for expression—what could it be? I now know its nature. It is none other than the great host of love’s captives—if I may call them so—that my ancestors and I have brought into my heart from the external world through love’s agency. Each tells their life’s story in their own tongue. And I know that should my heart be properly prepared, I can discern them, perceive them, and resurrect them in their true vitality. I already possess abundance. For artistic creation’s materials, I hold more than enough—enough to overflow a lifetime’s expression. How could we explain this evident truth while ignoring love’s plundering work upon the external world? Moreover, my love—insatiable still—seeks further plunder. What formidable force—this unquenchable intensity!

The formidable strength of instinct coursing through us. Even when manifested solely in humans, it remains this formidable. Considering the totality of that power may expose the frailty of our thinking, yet even to these limited faculties, does it not appear as something infinitely great and fervent?

XIX

In the act of loving others, I plunder all things into my individuality. I must love more nobly and more deeply to plunder that which is more righteous. Through loving myself both profoundly and rightly, I shall be able to clarify more distinctly what I must assimilate from others.

If we must love, we cannot forget there exists an aspect where we must hate—can there truly be such a thing as love beyond love and hate? A form of love that transcends these two poles—unifying Yin and Yang like Taiji—while not theoretically inconceivable—is such a thing really an indispensable crucial issue for us humans in building our lives? At least for me, it held no value beyond being a mere desire. In God’s world—or in transcendental metaphysics—such matters would inevitably demand urgent consideration as pressing issues not to be dismissed. Yet for me as a single human being, what mattered more was the immutable fact that I both loved and hated. The coexistence of these two seemingly contradictory mental tendencies irritated me and made me wretched. For my individuality in every circumstance aspired solely toward a pure and undivided path.

However, upon careful consideration, love and hate did not signify two opposing poles of mental activity. Hatred was but one transformed form of human love. The opposite of love was not hatred. The opposite of love was not loving. Therefore, only when I did not love was I unable to plunder anything into my individuality. Even when I hated, I plundered. That meant both the external world I hated and the offering I cast against it. When I loved—for instance, were I to love a starving person and give them a meal—both that loved person and the meal would return to become my own flesh and blood. In hatred's case too—say if I hated someone who wronged me and hurled insults—both the hated person and those ugly insults would nest within my heart. These would endure as long within me as things gained through love, never vanishing. Love thus felt like a stomach bearing undigested stones. So long as my instinct for love functioned rightly, these elements persisted like foreign matter within my essence rather than dissolving into love's core. I suffered perpetual discomfort from this reality. Could anyone exist who did not hate? Then could any human refrain from furrowing their brows in gloom? Among human expressions, might not those gloomy countenances that discomfort observers stem from demon-children of love—plundered through hatred—nesting within hearts to prick their hosts? I knew this bitter gloom intimately—likely born from my awareness of retreating one step from humanity's barely attained frontier. Having tasted love's smallest joys, I now keenly felt hatred's anguish. Though both were instinct's handiwork, I had to suffer knowing how joyless hatred proved compared to loving.

Those who love deeply likely know how to hate intensely. At the same time, they keenly realize how painful hating is. And they strive to find a way to exist without hatred.

Is it impossible not to hate? As a human being, it may perhaps be impossible. But at least we can reduce the objects of hatred. Not only is it possible—are we not constantly striving to do so? If love and hate are born from the same instinct, this must inevitably be fulfilled. We will surely come to realize that anything hateworthy from one perspective must be lovable from another. Here lies a single vessel. Had I not loved this vessel, it would have been as nothing to me. But once I began to hate it, the vessel entered into rigorous interaction with me. It stands but one step from love. By employing its purpose differently than I had conceived, I could make this vessel serve me. At that moment, my hatred would have already transformed into love. Should someone shatter this vessel immediately out of hatred, they would prove equally shallow in loving. Those who love strongly cling fiercely. Even their hatred rests upon profound suffering. Thus they cannot lightly discard what they despise. Through this very attachment, some trivial trigger might convert it to an object of love.

Thus, as my love grew deeper and nobler, I took in more through love, and all that had been taken in was assimilated into my heart, assuming their proper arrangement. Thus, the perfect world within my heart was born anew. To this great joy, I cast everything without reservation. Yet when I realized that however precious what I had cast away might be, it paled beyond measure beside that joy; when I discovered that even those gifts I thought I had given ultimately returned to myself; when I felt that though others might see my life as sacrifice and devotion, for me it was acquisition and growth—at that moment, how could I be anything but life's thorough affirmer? When all people live by instinct's demands and interact thus, what could be born there but a truly sound society? When the imperative that all deeds must be play rather than duty is truly felt, the precise indication of how human life must henceforth develop will be given. There lies an inescapable falsehood in humanity's collective life—founded on claims that it must rest upon a morality requiring this instinct's suppression, or that it ought to suppress it. Moralists who vehemently assert this falsehood as necessity, pouring their lifeblood into making human instinct their subordinate, are a calamity. Namely, those moralists who confine human activity within intellectual life's boundaries and deem it the supreme path are a calamity. For they must someday meet the grief of discovering that their want of instinctual experience had become a shackle upon human life.

XX

Where one does not love, one must not pretend to love. Where one does not hate, one must not pretend to hate. If there exists a supreme commandment that humans must uphold, it can be none other than this. Because love is a force of intense activity, those who pervert it must be wounded on the spot. Such a person can only bandage that wound with either incurable resignation or discontent—there exists no other path of heresy.

× Love was self-sufficient yet overflowed. Love had never borne a covetous countenance. Refrain from covetous countenance.

×

Christ said, “Do not judge one another.” That statement held meaning beyond what was ordinarily perceived. For a life of love concerns only the one who loves. Even if we supposed how that outcome might be, others possessed absolutely no criteria by which to judge it. In intellectual life, however, there existed externally established criteria. Anyone could apply that standard to measure another’s actions. Therefore, Christ’s words should not have been applied to intellectual life. Christ knew what a life of love truly was. Yet in their manifestation, it proved nearly impossible for humans to distinguish between acts born from love and acts born from imitation of love. Therefore, people must not judge people. And still in this present world—how easily people are being judged!

×

Where sacrifice, devotion, duty, service, or obedience were extolled as virtues, we had to keep our eyes wide with vigilance. Thus did theologians devise relationships between gods and humans after despotic political models. Thus did politicians pattern ruler-subject relations after divine-human examples. Social Morality and industrial organization followed in their wake. All were built upon identical principles. There had to exist rulers and ruled without exception. What stood as privilege for rulers became obligation for the ruled. What was held by the ruled remained unpossessed by rulers. Rulers and ruled were formed from different elements altogether—there lay rulers' lives yonder, here lay subjects' lives near at hand. Could such dualistic division within life itself be justified? In instinctual life at any rate, no such division existed. Organic matter emerged along instinct's path within stone. Living creatures arose through instinct's course in organic matter. Humanity came forth through instinct's way among living beings. Instinct itself now moved along humanity's instinctual trajectory—all being acquisition toward selfhood. Not one discontinuity interrupted this progression; no hundred-eighty-degree turn altered its direction.

×

At humanity’s current evolutionary stage，abandoning intellectual life would likely lead to civilization’s collapse．Yet those who，for this reason，preach instinctual life’s dangers and demand its suppression must themselves stand accused of steering humanity toward self-destruction．When I framed this issue abstractly，none voiced dissent．But let Nietzsche alone be named—his Übermensch philosophy instantly drew condemnation from every quarter．

× Power and public opinion are products of intellectual life. Authority and originality are products of instinctual life. And in this world, the former always overwhelms the latter. Buddha was dragged down from the throne of love to the seat of wisdom and virtue by Nagarjuna; Christ by Paul; Confucius by Zhu Xi—all met this fate.

×

The error of life begins when one underestimates love as a mere gentle force.

The love women possess is overt but small. The love that men possess is great but obstructed. And great love is often defeated by overt love.

×

da Vinci said, “To know is to love.” To love is to know.

The ultimate and inevitable demand of human life is the completion of the self. To say that completing society constitutes completing the self, and that completing the self will in turn complete society—such statements merely explain the cyclical nature of phenomena; they do not articulate the demand itself.

The moment the demand for self-completion is mistakenly directed toward a single part of the self, the path of self-completion collapses without a trace.

× Some might say that a person’s individuality is nothing more than the sum total of their entire past. No, all individuality is the sum total of its entire past with "now" added to it. And "now" can govern both the past and the future.

×

I was told that Russell had distinguished instincts into two types: creative and possessive. I did not think so. The essence of instinct is a possessive tendency. And the result of its action is creation.

× Why does love so frequently become art's subject? Art is love's purest attainable expression. This is because romantic love surpasses other human actions as both love's concentrated and total manifestation.

× Let me pose a question to self-sacrificing altruists. Since you began advocating that principle, have you not given yourself anything? Even if you have given something, was that given entirely out of necessity for survival to love others? Yet in this world, there constantly exist people who die in anguish from not being given. Even so, are you giving yourself what you need first to help those people? Do you not sense some contradiction there?

× I must live myself organically. For this, actions must emerge solely from within. Not like the growth of stone, but like the sprouting of plants.

×

A ship fell into the tight encirclement of pirate ships. If defeated, they would be reduced to seaweed litter in the sea. If they surrendered, they would become rust on the pirates' swords. In this crisis, each crew member strove most urgently to save their own life from the threat of death. And their desperate efforts simultaneously made them desire both the safety of the ship and the safety of those aboard who should cooperate with them. Among the crew members, a perfect collaboration would unfold wordlessly—if only humanity could always live with this same mindset. At least in times of peace, if we had not neglected this mindset.

Habitual life accumulates its products upon the self. Intellectual life stores its products within the self. Instinctual life always discards its creations and leaps forward.

XXI

I came to a standstill and for a time traced swirling patterns.

I will flow forth once more.

I will first consider art by taking love as my starting point. All thought and all action are representations. Representations are the anguish of love striving to express itself. The result of that anguish is precisely creation. Art is creation. Therefore, all people must be artists in some sense. If only so-called artists preside over creation while others have no part in it, then how could artworks possibly appeal to ordinary people? If there exists a fault line of love between artists and those who are not, wouldn't the artist's expressive efforts ultimately be futile?

"When there was a sailor who, from atop the mast, could command an exclusive grand view of the sunset—if he lacked the ability to express this emotion in a way that could convey it to others—that person cannot be called a poet," declared a certain technicalist literary scholar. However, I do not think so. Given that the sailor felt awe toward that majestic spectacle, in that moment he is a poet. Because he is intellectually expressing that awe to himself.

There are many mute artists in the world. They lack the means to express what should be conveyed to others, yet their awe often far surpasses that of so-called artists. The child—what an astonishing artist he is! In his heart, the scab of habit has not yet formed. That heart is painfully exposed and keenly sensitive. We are captured by things in the very act of seeing them. He captures things in the very act of seeing them. He captures them in the very essence of the things themselves. And he immerses himself in the divine sense of wonder that marks the beginning of wisdom. There are no preconceived biases there. This is the pure artistic attitude. Through such stages, love expresses itself most clearly.

But are not many of us living lives that repeatedly neglect this crucial point? James states that all the hues of philosophies that have branched into various schools since ancient times can ultimately be attributed to their creators' temperaments (稟資). This must be called an astute observation. The same could be said of our modes of living. Some people attempt to express love (that is, individuality) by utilizing materials left behind by predecessors. Others, because they desire the pure expression of love, refuse to partake in the dregs of their predecessors and instead seek to rely on their own means of expression. The former relies more on intellectual life, while the latter seeks to rely more on instinctual life. If we were to borrow James’s terminology further, could we call the former strong-minded and the latter tender-hearted?

People who attempt to express their individuality by relying on intellectual life seek the materials for expression largely outside themselves. For example, stone; for example, garments; for example, armies; for example, power. And they place importance on the quantity of expression without deeply considering its quality. They place greater emphasis on arranging expressive materials than on carefully selecting them. "The first person to compare a beauty to a flower was a genius; the second one to say the same thing was a fool," Voltaire said. At the very least, those who cling to intellectual life do not engage in creative acts like comparing a beauty to a flower. However, this holds true only if they refrain from comparing it to lilies or roses. In this regard, he can clearly avoid being a fool. He could even fully qualify as a wise person. Yet that person does not sufficiently recognize the preciousness of delicacy in expressing Individuality and tends to leave things to haphazard progression. In those typical figures we call entrepreneurs, politicians, or agitators, such a tendency is extremely prone to arise.

Even in a perfectly square architectural structure built solely for practical purposes, one could not say there was no expression of Individuality at all. Yet discovering Individuality—that is to say, love—within them proved an exceedingly difficult task. Individuality found itself mercilessly crushed by meaningless materials, teetering on severance from its organic connection with those very substances. Still, were Individuality to be fully extinguished and all relations broken, even that unsightly edifice could not maintain its existence. However faintly, it persisted solely through Individuality's sustaining force. But how desolate to envision our lives encircled exclusively by such creations! At this juncture, our Individuality would inevitably rise in rebellion against these material constraints.

But do not such architectural structures—in a more presentable form—rigidly enclose our lives? Suppose there exists an ambitious politician. To satisfy his own ambition—that is, to provide crude, misguided satisfaction to the love within him that seeks expression—he raises hollow banners of patriotism, freedom, and national prestige promotion, then employs his peculiar magnetism and material rewards to incite masses who hold no true connection to him. Drawn by this alluring bait, the people yield to demands utterly divorced from their true needs, forcibly linking their worthless actions to some similarly grand historical event to construct flimsy justifications and hopes—then stake their very lives obeying every command of that grandiose leader to achieve his enterprise. Had fate not been cruel to this politician, he might have completed some colossal national or global undertaking. Yet what emerges is neither his portrait nor the people's reflection—merely a crude composite photograph of blurred layers. This renders worthless the life of that politician himself—the very architect—impedes collective progress, and causes the enterprise itself to gradually detach from human life until becoming mere rubble obstructing humanity's path—debris with no purpose in life's journey. Such phenomena we must encounter time and again regardless of scale or scope. Moreover, not only do we remain blind to these tragic outcomes—we readily mistake such necessities as inevitable.

However，fortunately，humanity was not composed solely of people with such temperaments．There existed people who strove to enable a purer expression of love．There were those who could not refrain from doing so．For that purpose，he was not misled even by results that at first glance appeared beneficial．He had but one thing to devote himself to．That was，to the extent his strength reached，to strive toward achieving love’s pure expression．Even if one was involved in politics，engaged in production，worked as a tax collector，or lived as a prostitute，they aimed at living the highest life permitted by their coarse materials．The lives of such people were themselves good art．Though their expressive materials might eventually crumble like old wineskins due to coarseness，without fail some mysterious working of love remained．Coarse materials were shattered by love’s power vigorously contained within them，never becoming impediments to human progress．Yet what had been built by those prioritizing external demands over love’s requirements retained its ugly remnants—for love lacked power to fully destroy—until love capable of smashing them appeared．

Those who more urgently demand the pure expression of love must impose narrow restrictions even upon earthly professions and cannot help but become thinkers or what are commonly termed artists. These people—so that love may not be defiled—first perform a strict selection of materials to serve its expression. Materials purer than thought—we humans cannot conceive them. Those called philosophers or people of faith—if they are genuine—must have their starting point here. Artists as commonly understood—that is, those who make art their profession—in embodying ideas do not rely on abstract means like thinkers but instead attempt concrete forms. Yet within those forms they strive toward utmost purity. For this purpose they appeal to refined senses through refined senses. For the sensory realm remains relatively universal among people and translates most directly into love. Among senses they favor sight and hearing—abundant in non-utilitarian functions—over tactile or gustatory senses bound to practical life. Even among these sensory appeals gradations emerge.

They were the same words. Yet how precisely did their usage lay bare the artist’s innate gifts! Some employed words in their plain utility. Others would not deign to use even a single term without first purging extraneous meanings and charging it with singular significance. Prose writers belonged to the former camp; poets to the latter. A poet was one who sought to liberate expressive materials—words themselves—to the utmost from intellectual life’s shackles, thereby striving to manifest inner existence with unmediated clarity. Thus did poetry born of such labor ever hold higher artistic ground than prose.

Though I wrote a modest number of novels and plays, even from this limited experience, I cannot help but feel how immature prose is as a means of expression. For my Individuality to be expressed, I must take a roundabout path so frustrating that even I find it exasperating. I cannot emerge there unless countless foundation stones have first been laid. Why must I do such things? I sometimes think, exasperated with myself. That is clearly because my sensitivity to the demands of love is insufficient. If I had possessed a keener sensitivity, I would have abandoned everything and thrown myself into poetry. There, the poet’s world has been clearly defined and constructed. We can almost leap over the words and enter into the substance behind them. And its substance is astonishingly pure.

There may have been those who said: "Our lives are no longer simple, uncomplicated existences like those of old. They have become complex and impenetrable beyond understanding. To express them through language inherently demands painstaking articulation. Poetry belongs to bygone eras. And novels and plays exist solely for modern people," they declared.

I did not think so. The ultimate thing requiring expression never differed between past and present. Even when outward life grew complex and words became entangled through their long tradition of meaning, a single poet's penetrating gaze pierced through life's chaos like tangled threads, restored words to their pure form, and a ten-line poem written by that hand sufficed to unfurl life's main current before our eyes. Yet to achieve this, the poet had necessarily been one who deeply experienced love.

Arise, O poet! And open a path where we may directly face love!

I also sought to find in music the pivotal wedge of expression surpassing even poetry. Those sounds holding no meaning alone—how joyous and pleasant must be the work of combining them to lodge love within! This must be called a paradise where human love can be expressed unadulterated. Harmony and melody truly serve no purpose in any matter of intellectual life. This indeed may be called love’s own beloved child directly bestowed upon humanity. Splendid music severs its listeners from all earthly fetters. People vaporize before it and flow instantly into fate’s main current. An emotion incomprehensible yet over-meaningful to humans draws forth scalding tears. And people are granted propulsive force through fierce impulses. Where this leads remains unknown. Only that it lies in a desirable direction is clearly perceived. At that moment, people are ridden by love.

In the world of art, could it not be said that what the Futurists were attempting was also a singular longing for this sacred realm of music? Color, in and of itself, has no meaning—just like sound. A plane, in and of itself, has no meaning—just like color. However, this art—which began with the imitation and reproduction of forms—long remained unable to escape its tradition, relegating its colors and planes solely to being servants of form. Color was used solely to fill the surfaces and spaces of objects; planes were used solely to represent their volume and mass. And the rise of Impressionism imparted a subtle tremor to this fixed concept. That is to say, in the realm of painting, it came to be conceived that value should be placed on the relationships between colors. Rather than what colors represent, attention began shifting toward what must emerge from the relationships between colors. This had to be the first step toward liberating color from material. However, this tendency reached its extreme culmination with Futurism. Color was completely liberated from material. Color finally achieved independence.

However, the question of whether Futurism has truly accomplished in painting what music achieved must naturally be considered separately. I possess no concrete knowledge regarding these arts. Therefore when confronting such comparative arguments, I can only remain silent. Yet to those who insist Futurist tendencies should be wholly rejected, I believe I may propose this school's potential from my established perspective. If people declare they cannot be satisfied unless objects are concretized, then for their sake—just as poetry and novels coexist within literature's domain—we might allow traditional painting to persist unimpeded. Nevertheless the time must surely come when artists' individuality requires ever greater intensification. When that hour arrives, tendencies like Futurism must from my standpoint be deemed an utterly natural occurrence.

Humanity is amply endowed. We possess every means sufficient to satisfy love's demands for self-expression. From contending over trifling gains to creating gods, the more one heeds their inner demands without deceit, the more abundantly they will be blessed. All people are artists. There, ample freedom of individuality is permitted. I must value that above all else.

二二

I will also attempt to consider social life with love as the starting point.

Social life must be an extension of individual life. The notion that personal desires and social desires are in competition is fundamentally mistaken. If there exists an insurmountable chasm there, I would rather destroy social life and take after the ways of lions and vultures that live in solitude.

Yet my love knows such a necessity does not exist. I know that this unreasonable conclusion is drawn depending on whether there is an error in the concept of social life or an error in the concept of individual life.

First, individual life must be guided by its truest essence. What is meant by "truest essence"? When intellectual life corrects habitual life, I must guide habitual life according to intellectual life. When instinctual life corrects intellectual life, I must guide intellectual life according to instinctual life. That is to say, I must always make it my primary task to place intellectual life above habitual life and instinctual life above intellectual life. The truest essence is precisely that.

As for the relationship between habitual life and intellectual life, there was no need to elaborate. That habitual life must attain adaptation through the guidance of intellectual life was self-evident.

However, it cannot be said that none object to the notion that intellectual life must be guided by instinctual life. For it often appears an anxiety arises—that while intellectual life is the result and compact born from the summation of many people’s experiences, instinctual life, being an impulse springing purely from within individuality, may not necessarily adapt to social life. Yet I hope the meaning of instinctual life as I define it will be rightly understood. The demands of instinct always act upon the entirety of each person’s individuality. That impulse invariably arises accompanied by the full satiation of one’s entire being. This example may seem base, but to aid understanding: suppose a man violates a girl driven by carnal impulse. Carnal desire too is an instinct. Should not seeking to satisfy that impulse be permissible in itself? Thus might someone interrogate me. I would pose a question in return: “Before judging, first place yourself in that man’s position. Though you desire that girl solely carnally—even disregarding all fixed moral notions—did you feel no dissatisfaction within your Individuality when approaching her? Would you not have found extreme terror and hatred in that unknown girl’s entire form? Were you not struck by this? Did you not taste bitterness there? If you possess ordinary human feeling, you can only answer ‘No’ to my question.” Therefore I say: What you took for instinctual impulse was mere carnal urge severed from spirit. Thus you were already splendidly punished at the very moment of acting on that impulse. If you truly desired that girl through instinct’s impulse (the whole of individuality), you would first confess your anguished love to her.

And if the girl were to reciprocate your love, then you would take her into your innermost being, and she in turn would take you into hers. At that moment, you and the girl would be two yet one (as I had stated before). And with a feeling of full satiation, you could become one with her in mind and body. At that moment, there would be no dissatisfaction whatsoever before the act, and after it only beautiful satiation would remain. (This may be a digression, but I include it here for the curious.) If the girl had to refuse to reciprocate his love—what then? Even in that case, his Individuality would grow through having loved. Sorrow and pain too would become nourishment for instinct. The girl would live eternally within his innermost being. And if I may be permitted to add further, his carnal desire would diminish significantly in its workings. There, the spiritualization of the event would occur spontaneously. If, however, that person’s Individuality became fragmented due to this event, their spirit corrupted, and their carnal desire intensified, then within them, the integration of instinct would have already been shattered. Instinctual life would have no further relation to that person. But could intellectual life save such a person? He might not, through moral compulsion restraining his own actions, attempt to act on his carnal desires toward other women. But in that very moment, he would have already become a hypocrite. He would have to continue committing adultery in his heart. Even so, that might serve the peace of intellectual life. However, both the person and society maintained by such peace would be calamities. If he became so intensely strained from some motive as to awaken fiercely to his original self, then at that moment he would have returned to the sphere of instinctual life.

Thus, it is precisely in life within the sphere of intellectual life that knowledge and morality become indispensable—but in the struggles of instinctual life, one will come to realize that the norms born of intellectual life are not even fit to serve as bandages that crudely conceal those wounds). At that moment, spirit is not spirit, and carnal desire is not carnal desire. Both lose all distinction and dissolve into the unified flow of love. To regard all manifestations as the same based merely on superficial resemblance is an utterly foolish judgment.

Has this single example not managed to express—albeit faintly—my view on instinct? Thus, instinct constitutes the total and internal demand of Individuality. Yet intellectual life differs fundamentally in nature from this. Even if we grant that intellectual life forms through prolonged accumulation of collective human experience, its influence upon Individuality remains eternally external in origin and partial in scope. This externality stems from its construction divorced from anyone's inner life—a normative framework established by humans to regulate all aspects of existence. Why then its partiality? Because intellectual life posits duty and effort as necessary conditions. Both duty and effort presuppose the abandonment of certain human desires. Without conscious suppression of specific cravings, neither duty nor effort could ever be enacted. Thus the complete satisfaction of Individuality's demands becomes an impossible premise. If intellectual life—founded upon such premises—must dominate our existence as guiding principle, could humanity ever know tranquility? For my part, I cannot rest content with esteeming this as supreme. I shall pursue beyond it a life fulfilling all my Individuality's demands—a life where such fulfillment inherently constitutes goodness. And this finds provision solely within instinctual life. Through instinctual life must intellectual life undergo internalization. Through instinctual life must intellectual life achieve integration. Expressed thus, my rationale for insisting that instinctual life must guide intellectual life becomes evident.

Then does this mean that social life must proceed in reverse of the individual life process I have described? Are they saying that in social life we must make intellectual life guide instinctual life, or make habitual life correct intellectual life? If that were indeed the case, social life and individual life would surely stand on equal footing. That does not seem to me to be so. The ultimate end of society's desires too must lie in complete satiation within its own existence. Even if the foundation of that life currently rests in intellectual life, its desires must nevertheless aim for instinctual life. It is precisely when society moves according to its social instinct that its existence will attain a state of pure simplicity.

Here, someone would probably say: “Your words are clearly correct.” “As part of the evolutionary process, society too must make entering instinctual life its ideal.” “However, in the present age, even if there are individuals who comprehend the essence of instinctual life and can put it into practice, society still remains far from reaching such a state.” “In such a state, isn’t it only natural that individual life and social life should be on equal footing?”

I concede to this protest. But in this case—which must undergo reform: individual life or social life? Which existence must progress to establish complete harmony between them? To preserve social life’s current state—must we arrest or reverse our hard-won individual advancement and forcibly align it with societal norms? Many appear convinced this ought to be so.

I resolutely reject this.

What must change is the lifestyle of society. It must change until it catches up to individual lifestyles. Both the state and industry are forms of social life. In modern times, two perspectives emerged that dared to make fundamental critiques of these two forms. It is a perspective inevitably created by the demands of Individuality—an authority that mere power cannot alter. For a time, one might overwhelm it through power. However, in the end, unless existing states or industrial organizations can destroy it through rational criticism, this is a perspective that can never be eradicated. The two perspectives I speak of are socialism and anarchism.

Where does such immense power of these two ideologies lie? It is because—even if imperfect—they are doctrines born from the total demands of Individuality. Though socialists claim their perspective arises from humanity's social instinct, their ideology's foundation rests upon the natural phenomenon called the Struggle for Existence. The Struggle for Existence originates in Individuality before ever transitioning to class warfare. Therefore, on this point, the socialists' assertion stands betrayed. As for anarchism, it has from its very inception adopted absolute freedom of individual life as its standard.

Socialism, as I have previously stated, took Darwin’s theory of evolution, extracted the principle of the Struggle for Existence, and made this the starting point of its assertions. Kropotkin, in declaring anarchism in opposition to this, fortified his arguments by adopting mutual aid—a principle of evolutionary theory—as their foundation. Both are considered to be instincts that emanate from Individuality and serve as the fatal element in both the plant and animal kingdoms. One group of advocates asserts that Mutual Aid exists for the sake of the Struggle for Existence, while the other group asserts that the Struggle for Existence exists for the sake of Mutual Aid. I have no intention here of presuming to pass judgment on the advocates’ viewpoints, nor does my shallow knowledge of natural science permit me to do so.

However, I would like to propose the following. Dr. Kéber states in his essay on Kant: "The animal instincts dealt with in biology are ultimately nothing more than projections of human instincts." The assertion that "it is not cognitive functions that conform to objects, but rather phenomena that conform to cognitive functions" cannot be dismissed as mere idealist platitudes. Here I perceive an indomitable practical wisdom at work. We must consider that animals undoubtedly possess numerous instincts beyond those Darwin identified. These instincts must surely be unified through the power of still greater instincts. Yet did not nineteenth-century biologists sense a vast chasm between the awakening demands of individuality—which owed much to eighteenth-century French philosophers—and society's requirements? And did they not recognize the instinct for overturning the status quo among animals as remarkably pronounced? Yet to scholars of that era, Individuality must have appeared merely as a minor factor organizing society. Moreover, conditioned by scientific methodology's inherent constraints, they had grown accustomed to viewing all things through dualistic lenses. They instinctively positioned Individuality and society as antithetical forces. Thus their conclusions manifested as either Struggle for Existence when emphasizing Individuality within this duality, or Mutual Aid when prioritizing society. Yet in the former case society was never wholly disregarded, nor Individuality in the latter.

I think we must break free from this era's temporal coloring. I experienced the dignity of Individuality. I came to know that before Individuality's demands, society's demands had to change unconditionally. And I acknowledged what demands were held by the instinct dwelling in human individuality—namely love. And I further distinguished between the unconscious instincts manifesting in animals and the conscious ones manifesting in humans. Self-awareness signifies the demand of universal wisdom. Individuality was no longer satisfied with its instinctual demands upon society; Individuality itself found satisfaction only within its own complete fulfillment. There was neither an external world to compete with nor one requiring mutual aid. Humanity hastened to love's very embrace. Where his love moved, all the external world became none other than he himself. My proper growth and completion—what else could there ultimately be beyond this?

(The following ten or so lines have been deleted by order of the Ministry of Home Affairs.)

I resolved not to expound methodologies for social reform departing from this essence. That inherently resides within each individual. I found satisfaction merely in offering a single suggestion here. For fulfilling the role I was born to assume sufficed through this act alone.

Religion too was one form of social life. Faith by nature pertained to individuals, but when we spoke of religion, it already carried meaning expanded to encompass society. And why had current religions lost their authority? In the past, emperors of nations would prostrate themselves like beggars at the Pope’s feet to seek his pardon. Moreover, when a certain Buddhist monk heard the emperor’s foolish remark, he left behind a single retort and drifted away into the bamboo grove. What in times past had granted religion such authority, and what now had caused the retreat we witnessed? That was because religion had completely surrendered itself to the fetters of Intellectual Life. That was because religion had forgotten to find its vitality within itself and sought to secure its existence by wholly conforming to social life. In the state, there were rulers and the ruled, between whom a fundamental conflict of movements occurred. Religion unreflectively adopted this concept and applied it to itself. God (that is to say, here I refer to the object of faith. The name does not matter) occupied within the religious realm the same position as the sovereign did in the state. He demanded all offerings from people. Human life, after all, was equal to nothing before God. God was the sovereign entity of all authority. Humans had to consider it an honor to be nothing before God. Sacrificing oneself to God was the only right he possessed (if such words could be used). Between what God desired and what humans desired, there existed neither bridge nor rope to cross. God and humans stood opposed as two fundamentally distinct entities.

In an era when the state’s structure was uncritically affirmed by the people as it stood, this concept of divine-human relations could likely have been accepted without scrutiny. However, now that the demands of Individuality and the movements of love have been embodied, this contradiction in divine-human relations immediately becomes pain, perceived by Individuality. The fundamental movements of life’s source must all advance upward in the same direction. We had already observed, in the process from stone to human, the flow of instincts progressing upward along this same trajectory. We saw that our inner life advances and leaps upward only through acquisition. Yet do existing religions not acknowledge these movements solely in God while rejecting them for humans?

Someone will tell me.

“O you who are left behind by the times! Do you not know that the doctrine of divine-human unity has been proclaimed since ancient times? God does not oppose humans—He should indeed work within their very hearts! Humans too must work within God’s heart! It is precisely because people set God and self in opposition that humanity falls into degradation! God’s demands must be human demands themselves! You spout this raving without even understanding that?” To this I would respond: “Then why do pulpits still resound with exhortations about sacrificial duties and devotional virtues? Has God ever made sacrifices or shown devotion? Christians might cite Christ’s life here—but as I’ve already explained, his life involved neither sacrifice nor devotion! Why then do they demand from humans what even God lacks?” I suspected this contradiction arose from fundamental misunderstandings about human nature—suspicions not without merit. The concept of divine-human unity alone emerged from natural necessity, much like how autocratic regimes evolved into constitutional ones politically. Superficially, reforms seemed achieved—legislative authority might have shifted slightly—yet where rulers and the ruled remain governed by diametrically opposed demands, not the slightest correction has occurred.

God and humans are united. How beautiful those words are. But if the actualization of that unity has not been achieved, what benefit does that beautiful empty theory ultimately hold?

I must fear such compromising reformist doctrines above all. That is because the beauty of their outward appearance easily deceives me.

Of course, religion must rescue itself from being a machine of the state—or, to phrase it beautifully, an essential instrument of governance—but unless it rescues itself from the intellectual life upon which existing states rely and from the dualistic judgments naturally derived from that intellectual life, and elevates itself to the realm of love, it will never regain its authority.

I do not know God. It may be said that for one who does not know God to offer opinions on matters such as the relationship between God and humans is overstepping. However, when religion can be considered as one form of social life, I believe it is permissible for me to express my thoughts regarding that form. Those who detest my attitude need only ignore my opinions. Yet I will not ignore myself.

Regarding education as well, I have much to say here. However, I believe discerning readers have already fully discerned from what I have discussed regarding the domain of social life what I intend to say about education. I must avoid unnecessary repetition. However, I wish to be permitted to spend a few words here as well.

Children must be educated for their own sake. If this one matter is overlooked, not only does the true meaning of education perish in that very moment, but it furthermore becomes harmful. Educating children for the sake of society—this is an astonishingly lamentable error. They teach diligence in work. Why do they not teach them to choose the right work? Those who have chosen the right work cannot be lazy. I once attended a certain graduation ceremony. The principal there, with a face as rigid as if he had never experienced adolescence himself, repeatedly lectured them on the preciousness and indispensability of the four debts: the debt to the sovereign, the debt to parents, the debt to teachers, and the debt to one’s circumstances. Those pitiable boys and girls were made to appear as if groaning under these four burdens. They were thoroughly taught their obligations. However, the authority of their greatest treasure—Individuality—was not considered in the slightest. Are they saying that a beautifully polished Individuality cannot know gratitude? Such incomprehension. Unnecessary old-womanly kindness.

I am a father. And from my experience as a father, I will state clearly: I do indeed possess things for which I should be grateful to my children, yet hold nothing for which I should be thanked by them. What appear to be sacrifices I made for my children have been more than compensated by their love, with surplus remaining still. Why can they not understand this? Just as they teach children to choose proper work, I want my children to be taught what their own value consists of. He will manage all remaining matters himself. For the sake of argument, I have used boys and girls as subjects of my discussion. Yet I believe this consideration can extend to both secondary and higher education. Such as esteeming scholarship itself above its content, offering suggestion rather than knowledge, and avoiding molding humans into what I call specialists.

Two or three

I would like to further consider male-female relationships and family life, taking love as my starting point.

Contemporary male-female relationships harbored a fundamental aberration. Men and women frequently found themselves locked in states of conflict. Such perversions ought never to have taken root. Just how long this conditioning became ingrained remains unknowable. Yet across humanity's developmental course, women were reduced to slaves of men—a transformation undoubtedly predating slavery's emergence within realms of manual labor.

The differentiation of sexes was beyond doubt an ingenious scheme devised by nature to ensure that the results of reproduction were sound and secure. These variants manifested in various forms, at times becoming Platonic love entirely divorced from their primary purpose, and within such relationships, humanity had at times made unforeseen beneficial acquisitions. I could fully permit even the emergence of such phenomena. However, this was by no means the normal path of sexual duties. Therefore, when I spoke of a certain distortion in male-female relationships, I was referring to a distortion in the reproductive phenomena that men and women should share. Even if all other aspects of male-female relationships proceeded smoothly, if this point was distorted, then ultimately the relationship itself was distorted.

As many scientists and thinkers had already posited in their works, women were compelled to entrust their practical daily activities to men due to the burdens of childbirth and nursing. Men, like wild beasts, initially acquiesced and eagerly undertook this division of labor. Yet over long years of such engagement, men progressively developed both physical and mental capacities through their labors, while women's abilities atrophied—their sphere of activity gradually constricting until ultimately becoming confined solely to agricultural and domestic tasks. Under these conditions, men now had to shoulder women's share of work as well; thus the weight of existence settled upon men's shoulders as an oppressive burden. Men consequently came to demand recompense from women to assuage this aggrieved suffering. Yet by this juncture, women had utterly lost all capacity to offer men anything through practical labor. Women retained only their physical bodies. And from this reality prostitution emerged. Women found themselves forced to silently proffer their bodies to men. Thus did women finally become slaves to men. Moreover, women felt driven to render themselves more carnal than their natural state warranted. In women particularly arose conspicuous aesthetic adornments—a thoroughly superficial phenomenon. Women would often wear tattered undergarments beneath glossy silk robes; instinctive coquetry and mutual envy among women—the fraught relationships between mother-in-law and daughter-in-law, wife and sister-in-law need no elaboration— I frequently hear from women that they lack confidantes among their peers—all stemmed from this corruption. By accepting this offering from women, men inevitably brought punishment upon themselves. First they implanted tyranny within their own households. Here originated the genesis of despotism. And most grievously, in the children they sired, they discovered beings exhibiting even greater carnality than themselves.

This was a fact I believed many readers already knew and accepted without my stating it. I wished to explain here why this distortion in male-female relationships constituted the worst possible aberration. The most grievous aspect of this corrupting process lay in how humanity had debased its instinctual demands to intellectual requirements. The love between men and women, as instinct's expression, approaches purity in its holistic nature. In same-sex love—where no heterosexual dynamic is imagined—instinct fragments into solely spiritual manifestations. Parental love and fraternal love all follow this pattern. Yet only through heterosexual love does instinct fully reveal its complete form. Only loving men and women can create true life. Therefore reproduction must be carried out solely through instinct's full imperatives. This constitutes the supreme and unadulterated requirement for male-female relations. Yet women under necessity mistakenly compromised these instinctual desires to intellectual life's demands— That is, they employed non-instinctual cravings as mere tools for livelihood. And men basely utilized this arrangement unchanged. This was what I declared to be the worst corruption. Could any greater perversion exist beyond this?

Paradise had already been lost. Men and women had been compelled to cover their waists with leaves. Women came to resent men，and men began to despise women. In love’s territory，countless virtual loves emerged；thus，to seek true love，women had to exercise utmost caution while men were forced into perilous adventures. Even wild beasts have their breeding seasons fixed within the year，yet humans alone remained endlessly tormented by carnal desires. And worst of all，humans—without repenting this distortion of fate—adopted an almost desperate abandon，embellishing，beautifying，even reveling in their aberration.

We fortunately passed through the period when physical strength was the main means of living. We arrived at an age where intellect too could serve as a great driving force in life. Even if women lost much, they did not lose their mental capacity to the same extent as their physical strength. I pray that this may become the first step in women’s return to their rightful place. Over how long a span of time this corruption in male-female relationships became acclimated is nearly impossible to measure. However, since this is corruption, from the moment we become aware of it, we must endeavor to return to paradise. Even if only one or two—be they one or two—those who have noticed must embark on a long journey that can only be accomplished through patience.

I knew well how arduous a path this was—one that verged on impossibility itself. I remained but a pitiable man born and reared within that distortion. I stumbled ceaselessly in my falls. Yet the faint voice of my instinct proved sufficient to raise me from that mire. That voice drove me ever forward. This journey could not but make me—bearing my long history of indulgence—feel profound solitude. Nevertheless, proceed I must.

What naturally followed from this distortion in male-female relationships was that present-day culture had not been formed through collaboration between both sexes. It could be said that contemporary culture—from the grandest political structures to the smallest hand buckets—had been entirely created by male geniuses. Though men were the proper users of all these institutions, women could not participate in them without becoming masculinized to some degree. Men skillfully confined women to the margins of family life. Moreover, even within family life, supreme authority remained firmly held by men. The daily meals provided to families and their clothing were things women could produce. Yet hospitality arrangements and ceremonial attire for formal occasions could ultimately only be skillfully created by men’s hands. This was not so much a matter of women lacking ability, but rather that all these things were fundamentally made to satisfy men’s preferences; thus, it was only natural that their production too should naturally be done by men’s hands.

On the surface of the Earth, nearly equal numbers of men and women lived. And were that culture established solely to suit men’s desires, how incomplete its substance would immediately be perceived.

I was not one who sought to categorically reject women’s demands to participate in current cultural life. However, I wished to assert that its realization could not constitute complete independence for women. Even if women were to affirm the current cultural system and fully adapt to it, this would amount to nothing more than women surrendering to male preferences and masculinizing themselves. That was not women’s independence—it was women’s surrender.

If it serves as a means to create space—even if only superficially—for women to act autonomously and then uncover their true demands, I can acknowledge the women’s rights movement.

What I desire even more from women is that they join forces to bring forth a feminine genius from among themselves. I pray for the emergence of women who, with eyes truly liberated from men, will reappraise current culture. Whether a culture born from women’s demands would share the same substance as previous cultures or not—this I cannot conjecture, no matter how much effort I exert as a man. And likely no one could do so either. Even just to discern their differences, the emergence of geniuses from among women is what should be most desired. If they are the same, then that is good; if they differ, then only through the proper embrace of the culture created by men and that of women will the culture we all long for come into being.

Furthermore, I will now address family life. The family is a sacred unit of life bound together by love. To add any meaning beyond this would be to confuse its essence. Though legal procedures and marriage ceremonies are considered essential for establishing families in their true sense, these are fundamentally unnecessary conditions for loving men and women. Nor is legal approval a necessary condition for divorce—that is, the dissolution of a family. All such conditions are mechanisms society has devised to preserve its stability and imposes upon all men and women. For the state in its current form to organize public life, it finds it supremely convenient to maintain families as miniature states wielding concentrated power. Moreover, establishing private property as an institution requires both the family system's preservation and customs of inheritance as indispensable necessities. From these external realities, the family has become the cornerstone of the state and capitalism's stronghold. To this end, even between men and women whose love has perished, maintaining the family's formal structure becomes necessary. Therefore, society most vehemently detests the dissolution of families.

All men and women too are compliant in the face of society’s unspoken coercion. The majority of them maintain only the hollow form where there is no love. Men, relying on this custom, have their authority protected, and women, under the shelter of this system, have their survival guaranteed. And as an inevitable result of such hollow communal life, numerous children are produced where there is no love. And in this current society where they require parental protection—I say this because I envision a society that does not require parental protection—they must grow up without parental love. And on the other hand, even if a man and woman love each other, if they marry without formalizing their union due to lacking the property necessary to form a family, their child must endure lifelong ostracism from their community as an illegitimate child.

From society’s perspective, even if such defects inevitably arise, persisting with the family system may still be deemed largely convenient. However, when considered from the perspective of Individuality’s demands and its fulfillment, how unnatural a result it must produce! Foremost, due to the coercive existence of this system, the sanctity of family life is profoundly desecrated through the intermingling of sham families. Forcing the union of men and women devoid of love is itself the degeneration of life. Children not born of love are a sin for the procreators and an unredeemable misfortune for the children themselves. That children born of love must suffer insults is nothing short of the greatest injustice. We must save this. That is the first urgent matter. We cannot allow ourselves to be sacrificed for any of these things. If carrying out this desire causes inconvenience to the external world, then that external world must be reformed to adapt to this desire.

Let families be established wherever love exists. Let families be dissolved wherever love is absent. Only through allowing this freedom could the lives of men and women be liberated from their detestable hypocrisy. From free love to free marriage.

Furthermore, I would add a word concerning love itself. Consider that before love comes Individuality's profound demand upon oneself. To state it precisely, only through Individuality's complete demands can one find a lover without error. And Individuality's complete demands will not readily permit love to be directed toward the opposite sex. Instead, toward a lover once found, love will be shaken from its very foundations. Only thus does that love become strong. And noble. Without instinct's awakening toward love, no matter what restrictions one might impose on male-female interactions or what modifications one might apply, those efforts would end only in futility.

24

The time had come for me to fall silent from my own loquacity. If these impressions of mine were to be pondered by readers, I hoped they would be considered not partially but in their entirety. This was especially true of the words I had proposed through applying instinctual life’s demands to real existence. Social life must always be contemplated in its total weight. To fixate upon but one sector would invariably lead people into labyrinths.

I too cannot claim to be free from having overindulged in partial analysis. I may have erred in not expounding more thoroughly upon love’s instinct as manifested through humanity. Yet what has been uttered cannot be unuttered.

May these impressions go forth without misleading a single soul.

25

A fact that was all too evident, yet often overlooked, was that an idea came to be accepted without experiential scrutiny. It rendered futile the labor of those who provided ideas and pointlessly tormented those who received them.

26

It is said that Nietzsche declared: “If I were to be burned to death for clinging to my assertions, I would avoid it. Insisting on assertions is not significant enough to be worth my life. But if I must be burned to death for changing my assertions, I will willingly be burned—that is worthy of death.” I believed this paradox was correct. The advancement of life resulted in changes in thought. A change in thought anticipated a change in assertions. Those who wished to live must not shackle themselves with established assertions.

27

Thought is a form of action. I have not forgotten that.

28

The one who provided the most direct inspiration for this thought I published was Mr. Sakata Yasuo. With this opportunity, I thank you. To all other people and things connected to my inner experiences, I offer profound gratitude.

29

This is nothing more than a cry from the meager sincerity of an ordinary hypocrite—one without philosophical cultivation, sociological attainment, ignorant in science, and unversed in religion. Should there exist someone with ears discerning enough to hear even the faintest merit in this plea, and should that person prepare a favorable environment for him, then he too might be delivered from the torment of being a hypocrite.

May abundant joy be upon all good things.