Michiko Yusa

Buddhism’s claim to be a universal religion would seem to be severely compromised by its exclusion of certain groups of people from its scheme of salvation. Women, in particular, were treated at one time or another as less than fit vessels for attaining enlightenment. As is well known, even in the days of Gautama the Buddha, the Buddhist order was not entirely free of misogynist sentiments. Female devotees aspiring to follow the Buddha’s teaching often had to overcome discrimination and negative innuendos from their fellow monks and the monastic institutions. This view of women’s “spiritual inferiority” persisted, casting a long shadow over the Buddhism tradition that took root and developed in Japan. Although the idea of sangha—the community of believers made up of monks, nuns, and laymen and laywomen—was duly embraced in Japan, and although women played a vital role in patronizing Buddhism, the misogynistic view became prevalent around the fourteenth century, with the changes in socio-economic environments. It was only in the last century that the iniquitous treatment of women in Japanese Buddhism came to be critically acknowledged by the ecclesiastical authorities, symbolically marking an important first step for a change. Despite the hard-to -eradicate subtle institutional chauvinism and dubious perceptions concerning women’s spiritual ability, an increasing number of socially engaged and articulate Buddhist women are working on improving their image and their social standing in the last decades. What is still needed, however, is the emancipation of androcentric Buddhist ecclesiastical tradition from the yoke of its past.

The small connective words “soku” and “sokuhi,” typically found in the writings of the Kyoto school thinkers, have baffled many a Western reader. Describing what he termed the “logic of sokuhi,” Daisetz T. Suzuki (1870–1966) famously wrote: “To say ‘A is A’ is to say ‘A is not A.’ Therefore, ’A is A.’” “Soku” (also pronounced “sunawachi” in modern Japanese) is a connective word, meaning “that is,” or “id est”; “hi” (also pronounced “arazu”) negates the compound-word, adding the meaning of “not.” Nishida adopted and situated the “logic of sokuhi” in a philosophical context, especially in his final essay (Nishida 1945) “Bashoteki ronri to shūkyōteki sekaikan” or “The Logic of Topos and the Religious Worldview” (NKZ 11: 371–464). This logic of sokuhi, however, came to Nishida’s attention only in the very last years of his life, leaving him very little time to develop it fully. In this paper, I explore the birth of this “logic of sokuhi” in Suzuki’s writings, its context and the import in the Diamond Sūtra, and Nishida’s elaboration of this logic. The goal of this paper is to elucidate this key phrase of Nishida’s thought and to evaluate its philosophical relevance.

In this anthology, works of ten Japanese thinkers, many of whom are no longer alive but who have been household names among the Japanese intellectual community, are selected and translated into English, accompanied by a brief introduction of each thinker. An additional three substantial essays by scholars of Japanese philosophy make this volume a compelling read for anyone interested in the Japanese philosophical endeavor since 1945. This anthology clearly goes beyond the familiar parameter of the Kyoto School of Philosophy.

Buddhism’s claim to be a universal religion would seem to be severely compromised by its exclusion of certain groups of people from its scheme of salvation. Women, in particular, were treated at one time or another as less than fit vessels for attaining enlightenment. As is well known, even in the days of Gautama the Buddha, the Buddhist order was not entirely free of misogynist sentiments. Female devotees aspiring to follow the Buddha’s teaching often had to overcome discrimination and negative innuendos from their fellow monks and the monastic institutions. This view of women’s “spiritual inferiority” persisted, casting a long shadow over the Buddhism tradition that took root and developed in Japan. Although the idea of sangha—the community of believers made up of monks, nuns, and laymen and laywomen—was duly embraced in Japan, and although women played a vital role in patronizing Buddhism, the misogynistic view became prevalent around the fourteenth century, with the changes in socio-economic environments. It was only in the last century that the iniquitous treatment of women in Japanese Buddhism came to be critically acknowledged by the ecclesiastical authorities, symbolically marking an important first step for a change. Despite the hard-to -eradicate subtle institutional chauvinism and dubious perceptions concerning women’s spiritual ability, an increasing number of socially engaged and articulate Buddhist women are working on improving their image and their social standing in the last decades. What is still needed, however, is the emancipation of androcentric Buddhist ecclesiastical tradition from the yoke of its past.

The small connective words “soku” and “sokuhi,” typically found in the writings of the Kyoto school thinkers, have baffled many a Western reader. Describing what he termed the “logic of sokuhi,” Daisetz T. Suzuki famously wrote: “To say ‘A is A’ is to say ‘A is not A.’ Therefore, ’A is A.’” “Soku” is a connective word, meaning “that is,” or “id est”; “hi” negates the compound-word, adding the meaning of “not.” Nishida adopted and situated the “logic of sokuhi” in a philosophical context, especially in his final essay “Bashoteki ronri to shūkyōteki sekaikan” or “The Logic of Topos and the Religious Worldview”. This logic of sokuhi, however, came to Nishida’s attention only in the very last years of his life, leaving him very little time to develop it fully. In this paper, I explore the birth of this “logic of sokuhi” in Suzuki’s writings, its context and the import in the Diamond Sūtra, and Nishida’s elaboration of this logic. The goal of this paper is to elucidate this key phrase of Nishida’s thought and to evaluate its philosophical relevance.

The formation of the discipline of intercultural philosophy reveals its “karmic aspects,” in which dynamic encounters of scholars and students lay its future courses and clear unexpected paths. What was it like for a Japanese female Junior Year Abroad Exchange student to be in the American academic environment in the early 1970s, and her subsequent experience at the University of California Santa Barbara? A slice of her early memories, as well as her observations regarding the present and future of Japanese philosophy and intercultural philosophy in Japan and in the global context are presented in this essay, in which, while Raimon Panikkar and Ninian Smart figure largely, Nishida Kitarō is also significantly in the picture. The essay is a “conversation” with an invisible interlocutor.

The Bloomsbury Research Handbook of Contemporary Japanese Philosophy examines the current vibrant trends in Japanese philosophical thinking. Situating Japanese philosophy within the larger context of global intercultural philosophical discourse and pointing to new topics of research, this Handbook covers philosophy of science, philosophy of peace, philosophy of social justice and healing. Introducing not only new readings of well-known Japanese philosophers, but also work by contemporary Japanese philosophers who are relatively unknown outside Japan, it makes a unique contribution by offering an account of Japanese philosophy from within and going beyond an objective description of it in its various facets. Also featured is the work of a younger generation of scholars and thinkers, who bring in fresh perspectives that will push the field into the future. These critical essays, by leading philosophers and rising scholars, to the past and the present of Japanese philosophy demonstrate ways of doing engaged philosophy in the present globalized age. With suggestions for further reading, a glossary, a timeline and annotated bibliography, The Bloomsbury Research Handbook of Contemporary Japanese Philosophy is an ideal research guide to understanding the origin, transformation, and reception of Japanese philosophy in the 21st century.

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:Political Philosophy in Japan: Nishida, the Kyoto School, and Co-ProsperityMichiko YusaPolitical Philosophy in Japan: Nishida, the Kyoto School, and Co-Prosperity. By Christopher S. Goto-Jones. London and New York: Routledge, 2005. Pp. 192. Hardcover $105.00.If it is the case that scholars who engage the Kyoto School philosophy in any serious manner may risk their reputation by "being tarred with the brush of fascism" (p. 4), then Christopher Goto-Jones is certainly courageous to set out to redress the predicament that Nishida Kitarō 's thought (Nishida tetsugaku) is apparently in. Indeed, Goto-Jones' effort is to be highly commended. He contends that Nishida tetsugaku "ought to have been liberated from the oppression of the ultra-nationalist orthodoxy of wartime Japan" by "the allied victory," but instead it has been "oppressed under the new weight of post-war historiography" (p. 2). The author hopes to help change the present-day academic environment that still condemns Nishida tetsugaku or Kyoto School philosophy for complicity with the agenda of fascists and ultranationalists, a formidable force in Japan from the mid-1930s through the end of the Pacific War.Believing that Nishida tetsugaku qua political philosophy should gain its rightful place in the academic discourse, Goto-Jones embarks on this task. The way to liberate Nishida tetsugaku, he suggests, is to avoid the approach taken by apologists whose arguments, ultimately "unconvincing," were "not finally rooted in Nishida's philosophy but in his diaries and correspondence" (p. 4). He hopes to bring out the "cultural and political pluralism" that is at the heart of Nishida's political philosophy and to demonstrate that the contribution of Nishida's thought is to "relativize the political conceptualizations of Western philosophy" (p. 5). The strategy is to "re-politicize" Nishida tetsugaku and allow his (political) texts to speak for themselves. Goto-Jones contends that Nishida's political philosophy, properly understood, is neither ultranationalism nor liberalism, but "may be termed radical liberalism" (p. 137 n. 11).In chapter 2, the author proposes to situate Nishida's political thought "in the context of some of its earlier formulations," just as "[m]uch of Western political philosophy partakes in conversations initiated by the Greeks" (p. 28). He therefore begins with the seventeen-article constitution of Prince Shōtoku as the Ur-official text, and then turns his attention to the Japanese Buddhist and Confucian traditions. En route, Goto-Jones tries to connect such ideas as the honji suijaku theory with Nishida's dialectics, or the Tendai meditation practice of ichinen sanzen with the ideology of hakkō ichiu. Whether this approach clarifies Nishida's thought or adds further complications is left to the judgment of the reader. [End Page 361]Contrary to the view that Nishida underwent a "turn" in the early 1930s, Goto- Jones attempts to prove in chapters 3 and 4 that Nishida's political philosophy remained consistent throughout his life. To demonstrate this point, he examines the several theories of good discussed by Nishida in part 3 of Zen no kenkyū (An inquiry into the good), written ca. 1906, and the 1937 lecture "Rekishiteki shintai" (Historical body). The author's evidence to sustain his argument seems to rest on Nishida's personal protest against the intervention of the state in the affairs of education, as well as his lament that his thought was never properly understood.Because the scope of the book extends to Nishida's one-time students (such as Tosaka Jun, Miki Kiyoshi, Kōsaka Masaaki, Kōyama Iwao, and Nishitani Keiji as well as Harada Kumao and Kido Kōichi)1 and his colleagues (such as Tanabe Hajime and Watsuji Tetsurō ), to undertake this project Goto-Jones took on the weighty task of studying biographical information about Nishida and his colleagues as well as their vastly varying political approaches. The author's project is far more serious than a mere debate on the semantics of, for instance, the word "liberal," which, when applied to Nishida-and I tend to agree with him here-is "inappropriate and ahistor-ical" (p. 7), or the term "universal(ism)," which seems to have become another term of contention by sheer chance.The fact that...

In order to clarify Nishida’s notion of topos (basho), I trace its forma­tion, starting with the notion of “pure experience,” of which he says: “To experience is to know the thing as it is.” By taking the act of “to know” as the thread that connects the ideas of pure experience and topos, I examine his early writings leading up to 1929, going beyond 1926, when Nishida’s essay “Basho” was published. Over against the commonly held “objectified” view of the topos as a “location” or “field” in which the individual exists, a radically ontological reading of this notion emerges, requiring us to shift the vantage point from which we approach it. I conclude that Nishida introduced into his philosophi­cal system a locative dimension as an ontological feature, and we, con­scious beings, exist in this world “topologically” (bashoteki). The topos refers to the very logico-ontological mode of our being.In order to clarify what knowledge is, we need to begin with [the investigation of] reflective consciousness (jikakuteki ishiki 自覚的意識), rather than starting out with intellectual judgment (handan 判断). Consciousness pertaining to judgment cannot include the one [who judges] within it. It is an incomplete awareness that looks at the self externally. The explanation of how we know begins with the critical reflection of self-consciousness itself (jikaku jishin no jisei 自覚自身の自省). Therein, we obtain the standpoint of genuine epistemology.Our real knowledge starts out with “I exist.” That “I exist” means that the topos is directly in the topos, and this is the standpoint of both inner perception and actual experience (taiken 体験).

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Masao Abe: D. T. Suzuki’s Legacies and an “Academic Dharma Lineage” in North AmericaMichiko YusaProfessor Abe is generally regarded as the torch bearer of D. T. Suzuki. But how did that come about? This essay sheds light on the relationship between Suzuki and Abe.Abe’s professor, Hisamatsu Shin’ichi, had come to know Suzuki through his mentor Nishida Kitarō. Suzuki was one of Nishida’s closest friends. It appears that Hisamatsu’s and Suzuki’s cordial relationship became closer after Nishida’s death in 1945. Hisamatsu in turn was the link for Abe to come to know Suzuki. Abe recalls his first encounter with Suzuki, which took place in the winter of 1947, when Suzuki was in bed with a bad cold and Abe was sent by Hisamatsu to make a sick call on his behalf. Abe was then Hisamatsu’s teaching assistant ( joshu). Seeing Suzuki in person for the first time, Abe could not help but feel the unique spiritual presence of this man. At that time, Abe, though a committed follower of Pure Land Buddhism, was deeply troubled with his spiritual quest. Perhaps sensing Abe’s agony, Suzuki gave him a copy of his imperial lecture The Essence of Buddhism, in which he had treated Zen and Pure Land thought as sharing the same Mahayana roots.1Abe’s second visit to Suzuki came in the spring of 1949, when Suzuki was preparing to leave for the United States to spend “the rest of his life in order to bring the message of Zen Buddhism” to the West. At that time Abe was to convey Hisamatsu’s concern that Suzuki ought to remain in Japan and contribute to internationalizing Zen by translating Zen texts into English, for, in Hisamatsu’s mind, there was no one better qualified than Suzuki to carry out that task.2Suzuki was ready to make a bold move, however. Having witnessed Hiroshima-Nagasaki, he was convinced that the message of wisdom and compassion based on the awakening to the “true self” that Zen speaks of was an effective and necessary antidote to the egocentric mindset, which manifested also as national ego-centrism, rampant in the post–World War II world. He was convinced that the message of awakening and compassion would give the humanity a better chance at peace. In fact, by the early 1950s, with the intensification of the Cold War and the turmoil in Korea, there was a palpable fear that World War III might break out any day, and Suzuki certainly shared that ominous sense.3 [End Page 111]Zen Must Adopt New ExpressionsSuzuki left for the United States on June 16, 1949, to attend the Second East-West Philosopher’s Conference and to teach at the University of Hawai‘i in the summer and the fall semesters. Through his interaction with Western and Asian thinkers at the conference as well as with his students at the university, he came to feel strongly that (1) it was important to emphasize compassion (hi) in the face of an excessive Zen emphasis on the koan practice, (2) Zen Buddhists must develop their “logical” expression to articulate Zen teaching in language understandable to Westerners, and, in this connection, (3) it was incumbent on him to introduce the thought of Nishida Kitarō to the West. In Suzuki’s own words, “Contemporary Zen is short of compassion (hi). Therefore, it lacks the momentum to engage society and work from within it. Again, it lacks a logical discourse (riron). This is something Nishida always used to say. In order to make Western thinkers understand Zen teaching, one must have a logical system (ronri).” 4These three points are clearly present and developed in Abe’s works. In his introduction to Zen and Western Thought (1985), Abe wrote that (1) Zen embraces a profound philosophy (echoing Suzuki’s concern for the necessity for logical articulation), (2) the ultimate in Zen and in Buddhism is “absolute Nothingness” or “Emptiness” (echoing Nishida’s philosophy), (3) Buddhism is a radical realism and a compassionate way of life (echoing Suzuki’s concern for compassion), and (4) a new cosmology, not a new humanism, is needed in...

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:Awesome Nightfall: The Life, Times, and Poetry of SaigyōMichiko YusaAwesome Nightfall: The Life, Times, and Poetry of Saigyō. By William R. LaFleur. Boston: Wisdom Publications, 2003. Pp. ix + 173. Paper $14.95.A quarter of a century ago William LaFleur published his book on Saigyō, Mirror for the Moon, which the present work, Awesome Nightfall: The Life, Times, and Poetry of Saigyō, thoughtfully and masterfully supersedes. In this connection I may mention the philosopher, Nishida Kitarō, whose Zen no kenkyū (An inquiry into the good) was reprinted in 1936, twenty-five years after its first publication. On that occasion Nishida, deeply moved by the thought that his earliest work was still being read, expressed his sentiment by quoting the last two lines of one of Saigyō's poems: [End Page 270]Toshitaketemata koyubeshitoomoikiyaInochi narikeriSaya no NakayamaDid I ever imagineIn my advanced ageI should cross once againThis mountain pass of Saya-no-Nakayama?Ah, it is all thanks to having lived a long life!1(Saigyō composed this poem on going for the second time to Mutsu, the northern region of Japan, forty-two years after his first visit there.)As LaFleur notes, a number of important works on Saigyō's life and his times have been published in Japan in the last two decades, which these offer us more complete sketches of his life and allow an appreciation of his poetry to a greater depth. In the first part of the book, "The Life and Times of Saigyō," the author succinctly incorporates many of these findings and relates Saigyō's poems both to historical events and to his personal life experience (pp. 1-70). The second half of the book contains LaFleur's translation of over 150 poems by Saigyō, all of which appear to be taken from his earlier book (pp. 73-152).LaFleur shows how Saigyō's life (1118-1190) was closely linked to the historical context. The time was fast changing from the insei system (political administration run by the court of the retired emperor) to the Hōgen and Heiji Disturbances, the fierce power struggle between the Taira and the Minamoto military clans, with the dramatic demise of the former and the end of the Heian period. Saigyō's path crossed with such eminent political figures as Taira no Kiyomori in 1172 and Minamoto no Yoritomo in 1186. By juxtaposing historical events with Saigyō's poems, which often bear headnotes describing the circumstances under which he composed them, a full-fledged biography of Saigyō promises to be in the offing.In the present work, LaFleur sketches Saigyō's life in bold strokes and introduces new findings for the English-reading audience, such as the homoeroticism that dominated the court of the retired Emperor Toba (1103-1156)—although Saigyō himself does not appear to have been a member of this coterie.2 LaFleur also draws our attention to the fact that Saigyō practiced religious austerities at Mt. Kōya and Ōmine (pp. 20-21). Going beyond a rather two-dimensional image of Saigyō as a nature-loving poet of the moon and the flowers, the present study presents a picture of a man caught in an impossible love affair; a highly skilled equestrian, archer, and kemari (a sort of kickball) player; and a man who caused a sensation by renouncing the world at the young age of twenty-three despite his promising career as an imperial guard. Saigyō's mental and physical strength, honed by his mountain asceticism, no doubt was essential in his making extensive journeys far and wide. We also see that the distance Saigyō created from the political arena by becoming a monk gave him a keener eye to assess the fundamental political changes that were then taking [End Page 271] place. The full import of his poems, dealing with warfare, emperors, and the court, cannot be understood when separated from the political events of the day, although Saigyō himself maintained his cool objectivity and distanced himself from them.The tantalizing speculation that Saigyō was infatuated with Empress Taikenmon'in, Emperor Toba's consort and Emperor Sutoku's mother, is highly probable...