Kasulis - 3fases en El Estudio Occidental de Jap Filo 15p
Kasulis - 3fases en El Estudio Occidental de Jap Filo 15p
Thomas P. Kasulis
The Ohio State University, Emeritus
The western study of Japanese philosophy can be divided into three phases. The first
phase, rather truncated and sporadic, ran through the end of the Pacific War. It
demands little attention except as an explanation for how certain misunderstandings
about Japanese philosophy arose in the West (and in Japan as well). The second
phase began in the postwar period and continues in many respects up to today. I will
argue that, to a great extent, it responds to major misunderstandings arising from the
first phase. The third phase is still nascent. It not only continues the work of
correcting false assumptions left over from Phase II, but is also beginning to explore
new roles for Japanese philosophy in a global context. I have presented such a view
in my most recent work, Engaging Japanese Philosophy (EJP), published in 2018.
EJP maintains that we should not be fixated on how well Japanese philosophy fits
established models of western philosophy. Instead we should explore how Japanese
philosophy can challenge our assumptions about what philosophizing is and how it
should proceed today. The last part of this article will summarize key ideas from that
book as representing Phase III concerns.
23
Thomas P. Kasulis
1
For example, Christian theology focuses on cosmogony and teleological history, a rare
concern in Buddhist thought. Japanese Buddhist philosophy has shown more interest in
source (hon 本) than origin (gen 元), the latter being more a Shintō emphasis, going back at
least to Kitabatake Chikafusa 北畠親房 (1293–1354) Collection on the Beginnings of
Beginnings (Gengenshū 元元集). There we find perhaps Japan’s first argument that what is
historically prior is necessarily also ontologically and axiologically superior.
2
I discuss the shifts in the impact of Suzuki’s English-language works on the West,
especially on the United States, from the beginning to the end of the twentieth century in my
article “Reading D. T. Suzuki Today”, The Eastern Buddhist 38.1&2 (2007): 41–57.
Phase I left the western reader with four false assumptions about Japanese
philosophy that would be addressed in Phase II, starting in the 1950s and continuing
in many respects up to today. Those problematic premises can be summarized as
follows:
3
Philosophy of the Japanese Wang Yangming School (日本陽明学派の哲学, 1900),
Philosophy of the Japanese Classicist (Confucian) School (日本古学派の哲学, 1902), and
Philosophy of the Japanese Zhu Xi School (日本朱子学派の哲学, 1905).
4
For example, Anesaki Masaharu’s thorough review of Light from Asia points out
multitudinous errors and distortions, especially its lack of appreciation for the Japanese neo-
Confucian emphasis on the psychological and pedagogical teachings in relation to ethical
development. Anesaki attributes some problems to Inoue himself, but also shows how
Armstrong often perverts Inoue in support of a Christian agenda. See Harvard Theological
Review, v8 n.4 (Oct 1915): 563–571. Other reviewers pointed out that Armstrong, despite
his claims, made no analysis of what was Japanese about Japanese Confucianism in the Edo
period.
“phenomenalistic” rather than “logical”; and even the Nobel physicist Yukawa
Hideki 湯川秀樹 spoke of Japanese as being “unfit for abstract thinking”. Those
claims were being made, it should be remembered, when Japan was already
becoming a world leader in optics, electronics, ship-building, computers, and
automotive engineering. So the paradox ran deep.
5
See the discussion by John C. Maraldo and Nakajima Takahiro in James W. Heisig,
Thomas P. Kasulis, and John C. Maraldo (eds.), Japanese Philosophy: A Sourcebook
(Honolulu: University of Hawaiʻi Press, 2011), 553–82.
6
See my Engaging Japanese Philosophy (2018) 544–5 and 578–80 for further discussion of
this issue. It is also worth mentioning the practical value in Kuwaki’s exclusivism
inasmuch as the University of Tokyo lay in the shadows of the political, religious, and
ideological centers of State Shintō. He might have wanted to keep philosophy free of
associations with Shintō’s rivals, Buddhism and Confucianism, fearing censorship or
government retaliation. In the postwar context, on the other hand, philosophers may have
wanted to follow the lead of intellectuals like Maruyama Masao 丸山真男 who wanted to
distance themselves from Inoue’s wartime blending of Confucian values with the Way of
the warrior (bushidō 武士道) and National Morality (kokumin dōtoku 国民道徳).
7
Nakamura Hajime’s 1967 History of the Development of Japanese Thought A.D. 592–1868
is about the only exception in English for premodern Japanese thought. It is quite short,
however, and despite its value is really more a collection of seven essays rather than a
comprehensive work. For the modern period it simply refers the reader to Piovesana’s
Contemporary Japanese Philosophical Thought mentioned later in this essay.
of Japanese philosophy does not mean Japanese philosophy does not have a
history.
Phase II of the study of Japanese philosophy in the West has been an assault
to varying degrees on those four false assumptions. As for disproving the first, for
identifying a philosophical tradition in Japan, the focus was initially on where the
proof was the most obvious. Specifically, it was relatively easy to debunk the claim
that Japan totally lacks philosophy since so much of modern Japanese thought draws
on and interacts with western philosophy. For this point, the pioneering work in
English was Gino K. Piovesana’s Contemporary Japanese Philosophical Thought
published in 1969. It became a template for understanding modern Japanese
philosophy in the West for many years.
Although Piovesana’s classic was rather broad in scope, the immediately
subsequent western work focused more narrowly on Nishida and the Kyoto School
as well as, to a much lesser extent, a few other key figures like Watsuji Tetsurō 和辻
哲郎. Before Piovesana’s book, UNESCO had already supported the translations of
Nishida’s Zen no kenkyū (translated as A Study of Good) in 1960 and Watsuji’s
Fūdo in 1961 (translated originally as A Climate). After that slow start in the 1960s,
however, Japanese philosophical writings have been translated into western
languages at an exponential rate. So much so, books and essays from the Kyoto
School alone now number over four hundred.8 Meanwhile hundreds more of the
writings by modern non-Kyoto School figures have been translated as well. The
sheer bulk of that output has dispelled the notion that there is no philosophical
activity in Japan, at least in the modern period. What of premodern Japan?
Postwar Japan became a western ally as East Asia’s model for a successful
capitalist democracy. As a result, the western attitude toward Japan shifted from
suspicion to appreciative curiosity about its culture and traditions, especially the arts
and literature, but also the spiritual traditions, particularly Buddhism.9 The 1930s
English writings of Suzuki Daisetsu (better known to the West as D. T. Suzuki)
were reprinted by major U.S. and British publishers. Western readers accepted his
purported direct link between Japanese aesthetics and Zen Buddhism without critical
reflection and the “Zen boom” in the West was underway, eventually affecting even
Japan. That popularity led to an explosion in Buddhist, not just Zen, studies in the
West. That study of Japanese Buddhism was initially buddhological, that is,
philological and historical rather than philosophical. That would begin to change in
the mid-1970s, however.
As the interest in modern Japanese philosophy increased, western scholars
noted that unlike Nishida, some seminal modern Japanese philosophers had taken an
explicit interest in premodern thinkers. Not only was there the early example of
Inoue Tetsujirō’s writings on Edo Confucian philosophy and the classification of
global philosophies by Inoue Enryō 井上円了 but in 1926 Watsuji Tetsurō had
written a groundbreaking work on Dōgen, Shamon Dōgen. Even within the Kyoto
School, Tanabe Hajime 田辺元, Miki Kiyoshi 三木清, Takeuchi Yoshinori 武内義
範 , and Nishitani Keiji 西 谷 啓 治 all diverged from Nishida in writing major
philosophical appreciations of premodern thinkers like Dōgen and Shinran. Those
efforts encouraged western philosophers with Buddhist and Japanese language
training to follow suit.
The philosophical study of Dōgen presents an excellent example. In the late
1970s westerners began to analyze Dōgen at least partially through the lens of
western philosophical categories: Hee-jin Kim’s Dōgen Kigen: Mystical Realist
(1975) and my 1975 Yale dissertation in philosophy Action Performs Man: On
Becoming a Person in Japanese Zen Person (revised as the book, Zen Action/Zen
8
For a near up-to-date list, see the posting on the Nanzan Institute for Religion and Culture
website: https://nirc.nanzan-u.ac.jp/en/files/2018/10/Kyoto-School-translations.pdf.
9
Somewhat naively, many westerners had associated Japan’s militarism, bushidō value
system, and National Morality with Shintō and Confucianism, but considered Buddhism
more or less innocent.
Person, 1981) are early examples. This opened the door to more explicit thematic
comparisons between Dōgen and specific western philosophers such as Steven
Heine’s Existential and Ontological Dimensions of Time in Heidegger and Dōgen
(1985), David Edward Shaner’s The Bodymind Experience in Japanese Buddhism: A
Phenomenological Perspective of Kūkai and Dōgen (1985), and Rolf Elberfeld’s
2004 Phänomenologie der Zeit im Buddhismus: Methoden interkulturellen
Philosophierens. Accompanying this rising interest in Dōgen, there are now
multiple complete English translations of Shōbōgenzō, including two especially
good ones: the English translation of the modern Japanese translation of Gudo Wafu
Nishijima, The True Dharma Eye Treasury and Tanahashi Kazuaki’s (ed.) Treasury
of the True Dharma Eye (2010). Similar projects have occurred with other
premodern philosophers like Shinran, Kūkai, and various Confucian thinkers.
As translations have multiplied, western philosophical readers have been
able to read and philosophically evaluate Japan’s major premodern texts for
themselves, aided by a growing number of philosophical works thematic in
approach. A few examples chosen from among many include Dennis Hirota’s 2006
work on Shinran, Asura’s Harp: Engagement with Language as Buddhist Path; an
excellent German translation and commentary on selections from Dōgen’s
Shōbōgenzō co-authored in 2006 by Ōhashi Ryōsuke and Rolf Elberfeld as
Shōbōgenzō: Ausgewählte Schriften. Anders Philosophieren aus dem Zen; Shingen
Takagi and Thomas Eijō Dreitlein’s Kūkai on the Philosophy of Language (2010);
Dennis Gira’s 1985 Le sens de la conversion dans l’enseignement de Shinran; and
John A. Tucker’s translation and commentary (2006) Ogyū Sorai’s Philosophical
Masterworks.
The most striking publication along these lines has been Japanese
Philosophy: A Sourcebook (JPS) in 2011, edited by James W. Heisig, Thomas P.
Kasulis, and John C. Maraldo. With the aid of several dozen translators from around
the world, JPS is 1340 pages of selected readings from over a hundred philosophical
writers spanning the entire history of Japanese philosophy from Shōtoku’s
Constitution to the turn of the twenty-first century. It includes a glossary of key
terms with a concordance of their occurrences, a detailed bibliography of original
sources as well as references to further translations, and a “Thematic Index” that
allows themes to be investigated in ways truer to Japanese than the typical western
categories. For example, if readers wish to research “epistemology” in Japanese
philosophy, the Index directs them to the Thematic Index section on
“comprehending reality”. There readers find references to such subheadings as
In organizing JPS we editors wanted to highlight how ideas developed over the
centuries and the controversies that spawned their evolution. We discovered the
philosophically most sophisticated and astute arguments often occurred within,
rather than across, traditions. Thus, Buddhist-Shintō or Buddhist-Confucian
controversies were often more polemical or even ad hominem by nature, whereas
arguments within, say, the Pure Land tradition about the metaphysical nature of
Amida or the psychology of faith were often more nuanced and sophisticated.
Moreover, the same themes persisted in shifting forms from medieval times up
through the twentieth century. In the Kamakura period, for example, the limits of
reason might be posed in contrast to the assumptions of Tendai comprehensiveness,
but in the twentieth century in contrast to scientism. Similarly within Zen there were
persistent issues about thinking, meaning, and agency. Or in Confucianism about the
nature of textuality, interpretation, tradition, the justification of ethical principles,
and authority. Thus, we organized the bulk of JPS by traditions, juxtaposing the texts
within each tradition in historical sequence from origins up to the present.
That historical approach by tradition highlighted progress in the analysis of
themes and arguments across time, thereby disproving assumption #3. For example,
writers like Kiyozawa Manshi 清沢満之, Soga Ryōjin 曽我量深, and Yasuda Rijin
安田理深 were decidedly modern philosophers, well-trained in western thought, but
they were also addressing themes and continuing lines of argument tracing back to
Shinran and Hōnen. The same could be said for Hisamatsu Shin’ichi 久松真一 and
medieval Rinzai Zen or Ueda Kenji 上田賢治 and medieval Watarai Shintō or late
Edo-period kokugaku.
Although JPS made a strong case for the historical continuity of themes and
arguments, it did not directly address assumption #4, however. That was because JPS
followed a convention of considering modern Japanese philosophy (what the book
calls the “modern academic tradition”) as a discrete lineage in the newly formed
secular universities parallel to those of traditional Buddhism, Shintō, and
Confucianism. So the continuities between the modern philosophers and the
premodern philosophies were not always fully visible. To expose those connections
and demonstrate how assumption #4 is misleading, a continuous history that cuts
across traditions from ancient times to the near present would be necessary.
That was a main goal in my writing Engaging Japanese Philosophy: A Short
History (EJP) in 2018. EPS signals a new initiative in the field and envisions avenues
for its future. First, it treats Japanese philosophy as a continuous philosophical
heritage from the time of Shōtoku Taishi to the present, making it comparable to
histories of philosophies from both the West and other Asian countries. In doing so
it builds on JPS, even including in its page margins references to relevant page
numbers from JPS so the two texts can be companion volumes. Yet, inasmuch as EJP,
unlike JPS, follows a chronology across traditions it adds a further dimension to our
understanding of the modern Japanese philosophers.
Consider the case of Nishida. I point out that his argument for the “logic of
the sentential predicate” over that of the “logic of the sentential subject” allies him
with a sequence of language theories tracing back to Motoori Norinaga and
eventually to the waka-theory of Fujiwara Teika. Similarly, his account of the
performative intuition (kōiteki chokkan 行為的直観) for explaining knowing-acting
without a discrete ego-agent is akin to Kūkai’s esoteric formulation of “[reality-
buddha] enters me/I enter [reality-buddha]” (nyūga ganyū 入我我入). Or consider
his “field of absolute nothing” (zettai mu no basho 絶対無の場所) which is the
source both of self and object as well as of I and other, but which eludes definition
as either. That bears some resemblance to Shinran’s jinen hōni 自然法爾, the reality
that underlies the dynamic between jiriki 自力 and tariki 他力 and the agentless
activity that remains when shinjin 信心 overcomes the distinction between self and
Amida. Finally, we find Nishida’s use of his logic to relegate the basho of
empiricism by enveloping it within the basho of idealism and then enveloping that
within the discursively inexpressible basho of absolute nothing. The structure of that
enterprise parallels Kūkai’s theory of the ten mindsets (jūjūshinron 十住心論)
which subordinates the materialism of hedonism to the analysis of sensations in
Hīnayāna Buddhism. Those perception-based mindsets are then subordinated within
the mentalistic mindsets of exoteric Mahāyāna Buddhism. Then Kūkai’s system
subordinates all that under the discursively inexpressive mindset of esoteric Shingon
Buddhism which is known only through the experience of nyūga ganyū. As I
mentioned earlier, Nishida does not mention those premodern predecessors. Indeed I
wonder if he even consciously knew or thought about them.
Yet philosophical ideas form part of one’s cultural heritage. When an
American sports coach speaks of a player’s “potential”, he or she does not have to
think about or even know the Aristotelian source of the idea of potential. I suspect
that when Nishida uses western philosophical ideas, he is thinking about them
explicitly and so he cites them. But when he draws on Asian or specifically
premodern Japanese philosophical ideas, he engages them implicitly insofar as they
have been incorporated into the sinews of his bodymind activity in his daily cultural
life. He lives and thinks through them not about them. Those continuities with
tradition that were not explicitly cited in his writings were perhaps sighted by his
students in his personal behavior and ways of teaching. That might explain why so
many of them like Nishitani, Miki, Takeuchi, and Ueda chose to write explicitly
about premodern Japanese philosophers.
The approach of EJP and its ability to draw out such connections to the past
with modern thinkers refute the fourth and last of the erroneous assumptions
inherited from Phase I of the western study of Japanese philosophy. The rest of my
comments about Phase III will take us beyond that corrective project to the
prospective one of envisioning where the study of Japanese philosophy may take us
henceforth. One of those prospects—a special emphasis in the concluding argument
of EJP—relates to metaphilosophy: rediscovering the true nature and purpose of
philosophizing itself.
EJP rejects the Japanist notion of there being an essential quality that makes
Japanese philosophy “Japanese”. Instead it follows Wittgenstein’s suggestion
(Philosophical Investigations §67) of seeking family resemblances among most
Japanese philosophers that make them seem more kindred spirits to each other than
members of other philosophical families. Of course, as with real families, there are
non-Japanese people who as philosophers may sometimes resemble the Japanese
family members more than do some native-born Japanese who are philosophers.
That is to be expected and the book points out such exceptions or outliers.
Some characteristics to examine in looking for resemblances include whether
relations are assumed to be internal or external, whether the body and mind (or the
affective and intellectual) are originally bifurcated or only abstractions out of an
originally unified field, whether psychophysical praxis plays a role in the
methodology for acquiring knowledge, whether the parts contain the pattern of the
whole (in a holographic or recursive manner), whether knowledge transforms both
the knower and the known in some way, and so forth.10 The broadest commonality
found among most Japanese philosophers is their privileging engaged knowing over
detached knowing, the last point on which I will focus because of its
metaphilosophical implications.
10
Much of the analysis here builds on distinctions originating in my 1998 Gilbert Ryle
Lectures published as Intimacy or Integrity: Philosophy and Cultural Difference (2002).
Those lectures are not specifically about Japan, but are a general exploration of how any
culture’s understanding of relations will affect its approach to epistemology,
analysis/argument, metaphysics, aesthetics, ethics, and politics.
Most Japanese philosophers have assumed the relation between knower and
known is an interactive conjunction between the two rather than a bridge connecting
the disjunction between what is in the knower’s mind with the known which stands
outside it. The Japanese philosopher is thus more likely someone who tries to
fathom reality by working within it rather than someone who tries to understand it
by standing apart from it. In other words, the Japanese philosopher’s project more
often involves personal engagement than impersonal detachment. This distinction is
by no means unique to Japan, of course.11 Yet, one of the recurring points of family
resemblance among Japanese philosophers is the stress on engagement rather than
detachment (again with the caveat that there are exceptions).
When they first encountered western philosophy in the form of utilitarianism,
positivism, Kantianism, and German idealism, many leading Japanese intellectuals
in the Meiji period sensed the difference between those enterprises and what had
occurred in Japan up to then. In deciding what to call “philosophers”, they chose not
to use a traditional term like tetsujin 哲人 (“wise person”) which might resonate
well with the original Greek sense of “lover of wisdom”, but instead to coin a new
word tetsugakusha 哲学者 (“a scholar of wisdom” or “wisdom-ologist”). In so
doing, the Japanese were distinguishing two species of understanding and two forms
of philosophizing or—to use Wittgenstein’s analogy—two families of philosophers.
One philosophical family aspires to a scholarly (“scientific”) detachment that
mutes personal affect with the aim of reflecting external affairs as they exist
independently of human ideation. Such an understanding is the goal of the
Wissenschaften that define departments in the academy alongside philosophy. The
tetsugakusha belong to the family of sociologists, botanists, mathematicians, drama
critics, and philologists.
On the other hand, we have the engaged-knowing family of philosophers
(what for convenience I am calling the tetsujin, although such sagely masters go by
a variety of names in their respective traditions). The tetsujin aspire to an
understanding that personally engages reality, transforming themselves and reality
11
In stressing the distinction between detachment and engagement, I am not claiming the
Japanese are unique. Consider this passage from Henri Bergson written in 1903:
“Philosophers, in spite of their apparent divergencies, agree in distinguishing two
profoundly different ways of knowing a thing. The first implies that we move round the
object; the second that we enter into it. . .”. Henri Bergson, Introduction to Metaphysics,
Thomas A. Goudge (tr.). (Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill, 1955), 21. Although a Frenchman,
Bergson more resembled the family of Japanese philosophers than some philosophers today
who are Japanese by birth who more resemble the family of western philosophers in their
work.
together into a coherent and harmonious whole. The tetsugakusha might mistake the
tetsujin for being mere technicians. Like a technician the tetsujin are rigorously
disciplined in their early training by a master, (so are symbolic logicians for that
matter), but eventually they go outside fixed templates and regimens to respond
creatively to what-is. There is a profound difference between knowing how to throw
a pot and being a master potter. When engaged understanding prevails, the knower
and known collaborate in an act of innovation rather than simple discovery.
Tetsujin have their family resemblance not to sociologists who study
societies but to architects and social workers who transform societies from within;
not to botanists who study flowers but to ikebana flower arrangers who work
together with flowers to create something new; not with pure mathematicians but
with engineers and designers who use CAD and CGI to engage, analyze, and create;
not with drama critics but with playwrights; not with philologists who study about
words but with poets who discover or create words by working with them. For the
tetsugakusha, philosophy bridges the philosopher’s connection with reality; for the
tetsujin, on the other hand, philosophy is the Way the philosopher and reality are
engaged with each other and transform each other. For the tetsugakusha philosophy
is a link the self creates to understand the world; for the tetsujin philosophy is a
masterwork created from the mutual engagement between self and world.
That is not to say engaged knowing is superior to detached knowing, that the
tetsujin is the true model of the philosopher and the tetsugakusha the sham. We
undoubtedly need both families. Maybe intermarriage is even possible. The lament
of EJP is that the western paradigms of the Enlightenment, the structure of the
modern university around its silos of Wissenschaften, and the increasingly popular
model of education as a delivery system of prepackaged bits of knowledge have all
but eradicated the other way of knowing. We are left with a world Socrates would
see as a world of sophists with no true philosophers. Gone are the respect for the
bodymind praxis of learning from a master through emulation, the creativity that can
arise only when affect and intellect work together in disciplined bodymind unity, the
sensitivity of using words to open vistas rather than delineate boundaries and
exclude possibilities.
Because of Japan’s comparatively late encounter with Enlightenment
thinking, because of its geographical isolation from even the Asian mainland,
because of its prehistorical animistic sensitivities preserved through the centuries by
esoteric Buddhist theory-praxis and Shintō, the engagement paradigm of traditional
Japanese philosophy can be a resource for rekindling some of what has been lost.