Kenko's advice

59

"A man who has determined to take the Great Step should leave unresolved all plans for disposing of urgent or worrisome business.

Some men think, 'I'll wait a bit longer, until I take care of his matter,' or 'I might as well dispose of that business first,' or 'People will surely laugh at me if I leave such and such as it stands.  I'll arrange things now so that there won't be any future criticism,' or 'I've managed to survive all these years.  I'll wait till that matter is cleared up.  It won't take long.  I mustn't be hasty.'  But if you think in such terms the day for taking the Great Step will never come, for you will keep discovering more and more unavoidable problems, and there will never be a time when you run out of unfinished business.

My observation of people leads me to conclude, generally speaking, that even people with some degree of intelligence are likely to go through life supposing they have ample time before them.  But would a man fleeing because a fire has broken out in his neighborhood say to the fire, 'Wait a moment, please!'?  To save his life, a man will run away, indifferent to shame, abandoning his possessions.  Is a man's life any more likely to wait for him?  Death attacks faster than fire or water, and is harder to escape.  When its hour comes, can you refuse to give up your aged parents, your little children, your duty to your master, your affections for others, because they are hard to abandon."

 -- Kenko --
from Essays in Idleness
Donald Keene, trans.

 

Kenko's advice is universal; don't stall around but take that Great Step, whatever it might be.  One should always act when the enthusiasm is high. The second paragraph contains Kenko's reasoning:  if the individual delays to resolve some issues or handle some problems, there's a good chance the person will never take the Great Step. If the individual waits to solve some problem, then a new one will arise which must also be solved and so on.  As Kenko writes, " But if you think in such terms the day for taking the Great Step will never come, for you will keep discovering more and more unavoidable problems, and there will never be a time when you run out of unfinished business."  Therefore, don't delay, do it now.

The third paragraph expresses a very common theme--one probably known, again universally, and expressed in most of the world's religions.  We don't know the time of our death--it may be the next minute, the next hour, the next day or week or year or decade.  So, again, don't wait, act now before it's too late.

Do you think it remarkable that advice given in the 14th century Japan by a Buddhist monk is so relevant today?

Kenko: inevitable change

No. 26
"When I recall the months and years I spent as the intimate of someone whose affections have now faded like cherry blossoms scattering even before a wind blew, I still remember every word of hers that once so moved me; and when I realize that she, as happens in such cases, is steadily slipping away from my world, I feel a sadness greater even than that of a separation from the dead.  That is why, I am sure, a man once grieved that white thread should be dyed in different colors, and why another lamented that roads inevitably fork.  Among the hundred verses presented to the Retired Emperor Horikawa one runs:

mukashi mishi                                           The fence round her house,
imo ga kakine wa                                      The woman I loved long ago,
arenikeri                                                     Is ravaged and fallen;
tsubana majiri no                                       Only violets remain
sumire no mi shite                                     Mingled with the spring weeds.


What a lovely picture--the poem must describe something that really occurred."

-- Kenko --
Essays in Idleness
trans. Donald Keene


When I first began reading this essay, I thought it was a traditional essay about a loved one who no longer loved him.  That is there, of course, but as I read further, it seemed as though something else was going on.  He mentioned several examples that didn't seem to fit:  his grief that is stronger than if she had died, the white thread that is dyed, and the road that must "inevitably fork." And the poem, just how strong are the references to his lost love?

The underlying theme, I think, is that of the inevitability of change.  The following quotation is a note provided by Keene to the references to the silk thread and the road:


"The passage comes from the Huai-an Tzu:  'Yang-tzu saw a forked road and grieved that ti would branch south and north.  Mo-Tzu saw raw silk and wept at the thought the some would be dyed yellow and some black.  Kao Yu said, "They were sad because what originally had been the same would now be different."'" 

Those which at one time were similar now change and become different. Nothing is permanent; all must change and become other than they were.  He feels a greater sadness now than if the separation happened because of death.  This seems strange unless this drifting apart was just one example of a greater issue--that all things change and that which had been similar now becomes dissimilar.   The poem contained in the essay speaks more, I think, of the change of the house and grounds than of his lost love.

In a past essay, Kenko had said that everything in the past was better.  This again, I see, as a lament against the fundamental law of this world--all things change--which is the main point here, I think.

Kenko: on instabiliity

No. 25

"The world is as unstable as the pools and shallows of Asuka River.  Times change and things disappear; joy and sorrow come and go; a place that once thrived turns into an uninhabited moor; a house may remain unaltered, but its occupants will have changed.  The peach and the damson trees in the garden say nothing--with whom is one to reminisce about the past?  I feel this sense of impermanence even more sharply when I see the remains of a house which long ago, before I knew it, must have been imposing.

Whenever I pass by the ruins of the Kyogoku Palace, the Hojoji, and similar buildings, it moves me to think that the aspiration of the builders still lingers on, though the edifices themselves have changed completely.  When Fujiwara no Michinaga erected so magnificent a temple, bestowing many estates for its support, he supposed that his descendants would always assist the emperor and serve as pillars of the state; could he have imagined that the temple would fall into such ruin, no matter what times lay ahead?  The Great Gate and the Golden Hall were still standing until recent years, but the Gate burned during the Showa era, and the Golden Hall soon afterwards fell over.  It still lies there, and no attempt has been made to restore it.  Only the Muryoju Hall remains as a memento of the temple's former glory.  Nine images of Amida Buddha, each sixteen fee tall, stand in a row, most awesomely.  It is extremely moving to see, still plainly visible, the plaque inscribed by the Major Counselor Kozei and the door inscription by Kaneyuki.  I understand that the Hokke Hall and perhaps other buildings are still standing.  I wonder how much longer they too will last?

Some buildings that lack even such remains may survive merely as foundation stones, but no one knows for certain to what they once belonged.  It is true in all things that it is a futile business attempting to plan for a future one will never know."

--Kenko --
from Essays in Idleness
trans. Donald Keene

I listen to others talk and am surprised to see how many people make plans for ten, fifteen, or even  twenty years ahead.  Inevitably they assume that nothing will change, that all will go then as it goes  now.  How many stock market crashes have occurred since the Great Crash in the '20s?  But, once the stock market begins climbing up to record levels, investors forget that the reverse not only could happen, but has happened in the recent past and are, therefore, shocked and caught unprepared once the bottom drops out again. 

The Taoists teach that change is inevitable: when times are bad, we should persist, for they shall soon improve, and when times are good, we should enjoy it, and prepare for a downturn.
 

Kenko: "In all things I yearn for the past"

#22

"In all things I yearn for the past.  Modern fashions seem to keep on growing more and more debased.  I find that even among the splendid pieces of furniture built by our master cabinetmakers, those in the old forms are the most pleasing.  And as for writing letters, surviving scraps from the past reveal how superb the phrasing used to be. The ordinary spoken language has also steadily coarsened.  People used to say "raise the carriage shafts" or "trim the lamp wick,"  but people today say "raise it" or "trim it."  When they should say, "Let the men of the palace staff stand forth!" they say, "Torches!  Let's have some light!"  Instead of calling the place where the lectures on the Sutra of the Gold Light are delivered before the emperor "the Hall of the Imperial Lecture," they shorten it to "the Lecture Hall," a deplorable corruption, an old gentleman complained."

-- Kenko --
from Essays in Idleness


Sound familiar?  This was written sometime between 1330 and 1332 AD in Japan--almost seven centuries ago in a different culture.   I don't think human nature has changed much over the hundreds of thousands of years we've been around.  Oh, for the good ol' days.

Kenko: on travel

Essay 15

"It wakes you up to take a journey for a while, wherever it may be.  As you walk around the place, looking here and there at rustic scenes and mountain villages, everything seems most unfamiliar.  And how amusing it is the way people snatch the first opportunity to send a letter back to the capital:  'When ;you get the chance, don't forget to do this, don't forget to do that.'  In such a place you really notice everything.  Anything good--the the possessions you have brought along with you --seems better, and anyone you meet with artistic talent or handsome features seems more impressive than he usually would.   It is delightful also to go into retreat at some temple or shrine, unknown  to anyone."

-- Kenko --
from Essays in Idleness
trans.  Donald Keene


Being in an unfamiliar place does awaken one's senses, or perhaps it would be more accurate that one is more aware of one's surroundings, possibly a behavior that has significance.for the evolution of a species.  Those species that are not more aware of their surroundings in unfamiliar places may not be alert to the dangers there.  Survival depends upon being aware of what's in the neighborhood.  This trait still exists, I guess.  On the other hand, this may also account for the statistic that most accidents occur in or around the home.  One becomes careless and unobservant in familiar surroundings, thereby allowing for more mishaps.

I find it liberating in some odd way to be somewhere among people who don't know me. I no longer have to act in a certain way because I'm expected to act that way.  I can perhaps try out something new, if the opportunity arises, for I'm free of the most restrictive and universal repression of  behavior known--I don't have to worry about "what the neighbors will think."

I remember, way back when in the '60s , the banal popular platitude was that one couldn't trust anybody over thirty.  I was, therefore, quite happy when I turned thirty, for that meant no one should trust me, and since I couldn't be trusted, I didn't have to act according to their expectations,  and consequently now I was free to act as I chose without fear of disappointing anyone.

After all, I wasn't to be trusted anymore.

Kenko: from Essays in Idleness

No. 13

The pleasantest of all diversions is to sit alone under the lamp, a book spread out before you, and to make friends with people of a distant past you have never known. The books I would choose are the moving volumes of Wen Hsuan, the collected works of Po Chu-i, the sayings of Lao Tzu, and the chapters of Chuang Tzu. Among works by scholars of this country, those written long ago are often quite interesting.

-- Kenko (1283-1350 approximate dates)
The Tsurezuregusa of Kenko (Essays in Idleness)


Chapter 13 reminds me of a poem by a Western poet, but unfortunately my failing memory can't come up with either a name or a title. Perhaps you can help me out here.

Kenko has an interesting reading list: poetry, Taoist texts, and ancient texts.



Kenko's Reading List

a poem by Po Chu-i

Lute

my lute set aside
on the little table
lazily I meditate
on cherishing feelings
the reason I don't bother
to strum and pluck?
there's a breeze over the strings
and it plays itself




Wen Hsuan: "A collection of poetry compiled by Prince Chao Ming of Liang (501-31). It was known as Monzan in Japan and exercised great influence." (Note from Essays in Idleness)


Lao Tzu: considered to be the first Taoist although he never considered himself as such. His work, The Book of the Way and Virtue, is the first and most important of all Taoist texts.

Chuang Tzu: the author of the second most important of the Taoist texts.

Kenko: Essays in Idleness

Chapter 2

The man who forgets the wise principles of the reigns of the ancient emperors; who gives no thought to the grievances of the people or the harm done the country; who strives for the utmost luxury in everything, imagining this is the sign of magnificence; who acts as if the world were too small for him seems deplorably wanting in intelligence. You will find in Lord Kujo's Testament the instruction, "Make do with whatever you have, from your court costume down to your horses and carriages. Do not strive for elegance." Again, you will find among the writings of the Retired Emperor Juntoku on court ceremonial, "The clothes worn by the emperor should be simple and unassuming."

-- Kenko --
Essays in Idleness
trans. Donald Keene


I think Kenko and the Greeks who argued for "moderation in all things" would understand each other here. What's interesting is that Kenko even suggests that emperors and others in power would find this an intelligent way of acting politically, that such behavior might be harmful to the country, especially if one doesn't listen "to the grievances of the people." Kenko differs from the Greeks though in that, while a Greek would support the proposition by reasoning to it, he quotes ancient emperors and other members of the nobility for his support.

Kenko doesn't argue for giving up what one has, but simply to

Make do with whatever you have, from your court costume down to your horses and carriages. Do not strive for elegance."


Today, we have considerable numbers of people in this country who are demonstrating in various places against the ways things are. I wonder if anyone is listening to them.



"Kujo-dono was an appellation of Fujiware no Morosuke (908-950). His Testament (or Admonition) is translated in G. B. Sanson, A History of Japan to 1334, pp. 180-83."

"The Emperor Juntoku (1197-1242) wrote Kimpisho, a study of court precedents and usages, between 1218 and 1221. Kenko's quotation is approximate."

Kenko: Essays in Idleness

Kenko (approx. 1283-1350) is a Japanese Buddhist priest. Kenko was a low-ranking member of the imperial court, but for some unknown reason he left the court.

Essays in Idleness seems to have been written between 1330-1332, after he left the court. The oldest surviving text dates back to 1431, about a century after Kenko composed the 243 short essays that comprise the work. It seems as though it was never published during his lifetime.


It is desirable that a man's face and figure be of excelling beauty. I could sit forever with a man, provided that what he said did not grate on my ears, that he had charm, and that he did not talk very much. What an unpleasant experience it is when someone you have supposed to be quite distinguished reveals his true, inferior nature. A man's social position and looks are likely to be determined at birth, but why should not a man's mind go from wisdom to greater wisdom if it is so disposed? What a shame it is when men of excellent appearance and character prove helplessly inept in social encounters with their inferiors in both position and appearance, solely because they are badly educated.

A familiarity with orthodox scholarship,* the ability to compose poetry and prose in Chinese, a knowledge of Japanese poetry and music are all desirable, and if a man can serve as a model to others in matters of precedent and court ceremony, he is truly impressive. The mark of an excellent man is that he writes easily in an acceptable hand, sings agreeably and in tune, and, though appearing reluctant to accept when wine is pressed on him, is not a teetotaler. (emphasis mine)

-- Kenko --
from Chapter 1
Essays in Idleness

* A note by the translator, Donald Keene
"Scholarship in the Confucian sense -- learning useful in governing a country or of intrinsic moral value."'

An interesting description of "the excellent man" from 14th century Japan. It reminds me somewhat of the European ideal courtier or the Renaissance man.

While he begins with the physical, he then moves quickly to the inner resources of the individual and later suggests that one can't do too much about one's social position or physical appearance, but a good education is something the person can do something about.

I enjoyed his initial comments about a person with physical charm, who didn't say things that grated (content or sound?) on one's ears and who "did not talk very much."

My favorite part is the last sentence--"The mark of an excellent man is that he writes easily in an acceptable hand, sings agreeably and in tune, and, though appearing reluctant to accept when wine is pressed on him, is not a teetotaler.

Would you like to see someone like this in the hallowed halls of Congress or state legislatures or various governors' mansions or the White House?

Kenko: Essays in Idleness

About two weeks ago, on Jan. 27 to be exact, I quoted Eric Hoffer on the subject of perfection. It took awhile for me to remember a short essay that's somewhat related to Hoffer's position. The author is Kenko (approx. 1283-1350), a Japanese Buddhist priest. He is sometimes referred to "by his lay name of Urabe no Kaneyoshi or by the name Yoshida no Kaneyoshi," but he is most commonly known by his Buddhist name Kenko. Kenko was a low-ranking member of the imperial court but for some unknown reason he left.

Essays in Idleness seems to have been written between 1330-1332, after he left the court. The oldest surviving text dates back to 1431, about a century after Kenko composed the 243 short essays that comprise the work. It seems as though it was never published during his lifetime.


Essay 82

"Somebody once remarked that thin silk was not satisfactory as a scroll wrapping because it was so easily torn. Ton'a replied, 'It is only after the silk wrapper has frayed at top and bottom, and the mother-of-pearl has fallen from the roller that a scroll looks beautiful.' This opinion demonstrated the excellent taste of the man. People often say that a set of books looks ugly if all volumes are not in the same format, but I was impressed to hear the Abbot Koyu say, 'It is typical of the unintelligent man to insist on assembling complete sets of everything. Imperfect sets are better.'

In everything, no matter what it may be, uniformity is undesirable. Leaving something incomplete makes it interesting, and gives one the feeling that there is room for growth. Someone once told me, 'Even when building the imperial palace, they always leave one place unfinished.' In both Buddhist and Confucian writings of the philosophers of former times, there are also many missing chapters."

Kenko
The Tsurezuregusa of Kenko
The title is often referred to in English as Essays in Idleness
trans. Donald Keene



No fence straddling or exceptions allowed here: "In everything, no matter what it may be, uniformity is undesirable. Leaving something incomplete makes it interesting, and gives one the feeling that there is room for growth."

The Abbot Koyu is pretty harsh also: 'It is typical of the unintelligent man to insist on assembling complete sets of everything. Imperfect sets are better.'



However, in the brief introduction, Kenko also writes: "What a strange, demented feeling it gives me when I realize I have spent whole days before this inkstone, with nothing better to do, jotting down at random whatever nonsensical thoughts have entered my head."

"with nothing better to do" is the English translation of "tsurezure naru mama ni" which gives rise to the title Tsurezuregusa


Perhaps today he would write that he has "spent whole days before this keyboard" posting on his blog.


"nonsensical thoughts"?



(1) Ton'a (1289-1372) was a distinguished poet, closely associated with Kenko, as well as a monk of the Jishu sect of Jodo.
(2) Loyu Sozu was a contemporary of Kenko, but little is known of him.