Yesterday was the presentation and examinations day for the masters degree candidates in the Department of Computation Intelligence and Systems Science of the Tokyo Institute of Technology.
From my laboratory, three students stood up to the challenge. Ms Fumi Okubo presented her work on jealousy as a problem of dividing resource in a three-party game. Mr. Tomomitsu Herai examined how agency and intention affected temporal order judgments of visual and auditory stimuli, and Mr. Eiichi Hoshio reported on the interplay between object recognition and spatial cognition in a cyberspace.
When they entered the graduate school, they knew almost nothing about the brain or cognitive science. After two years of Kandel's book reading, a hundred or so journal clubs and several international conferences, they were now up to the job, with pride shining in their eyes, although understandably intimidated by the prospect of being closely examined by the eminent scholars.
To my joy and relief, they all passed the exam. We had a celebrations drink in our cozy seminar room. It was one of the happiest days in the recent history of my humble life.
Thursday, February 08, 2007
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
Batting center
Batting centers are popular in Japan. The other day I was watching a T.V. program about a man who was the "home run champion" in a batting center in Osaka. He would go into the cage everyday, and produce lots of home runs, by hitting the "home run mark" placed on the far side net. He was a retired old man.
The T.V. crew was interviewing the champ, when the hitter suddenly remarked that he knew that the center was going to be closed soon, due to financial situations. Watching, I felt a strange pang in my heart, realizing that the champ's local fame was to end.
The home run man flourished on the "secure base" of the batting center. When the batting center is gone, so would be the champ. Some may laugh and ridicule a fame based on such a humble foundation. But what essential difference is there between a batting center in Osaka, and other seemingly "gigantic" secure bases, like, well, the earth. When a huge meteorite hits the earth, the human civilization will be gone. After all, our glories and miseries are nurtured on this humble chunk of rock swirling around the sun.
Look at a little orchid blooming in a tiny pocket of a tree in a steaming jungle. That orchid is us!
In the eyes of the almighty, maybe there is no essential difference between the batting center and the earth as a vulnerable secure base for the flesh and spirit to thrive.
The T.V. crew was interviewing the champ, when the hitter suddenly remarked that he knew that the center was going to be closed soon, due to financial situations. Watching, I felt a strange pang in my heart, realizing that the champ's local fame was to end.
The home run man flourished on the "secure base" of the batting center. When the batting center is gone, so would be the champ. Some may laugh and ridicule a fame based on such a humble foundation. But what essential difference is there between a batting center in Osaka, and other seemingly "gigantic" secure bases, like, well, the earth. When a huge meteorite hits the earth, the human civilization will be gone. After all, our glories and miseries are nurtured on this humble chunk of rock swirling around the sun.
Look at a little orchid blooming in a tiny pocket of a tree in a steaming jungle. That orchid is us!
In the eyes of the almighty, maybe there is no essential difference between the batting center and the earth as a vulnerable secure base for the flesh and spirit to thrive.
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
Blackboard
I did very well at school, and teachers, seeing that I was scientifically oriented, recommended that I go to a medical school in the future. When I replied that I wanted to be a physicist, they would say "that is wonderful, but you cannot make money". I couldn't care less, and do not regret the result of my youthful inclination to this day.
Albert Einstein was the hero in my childhood. When I was about 10, I read the biography of Albert Einstein written by Leopold Infeld. I was fascinated by the whole thing--theory of relativity, Einstein the man, and the wonderful world of theoretical physics. I had this vision of two scientists at the blackboard, scribing mathematical equations unintelligible to the laymen, discussing the mysteries of the universe for hours on end, oblivious of whatever was happening around them. That image stayed with me, inspiring me with a sense of enchantment and fascination.
When I visited the Isaac Newton Institute in the University of Cambridge, I discovered to my joy that the love of the blackboard was obviously still rampant among some minds. There were blackboards everywhere, so that the mathematically oriented could write down their arguments wherever and whenever they liked. To my surprise and joy, there were blackboards even in the men's room. Whether there was one also in the women's I could not confirm for obvious reasons.
Once I happened to notice a interesting graffiti on one of the blackboards in the men's room. It said: I discovered a fatal flaw in Wiles' proof. However, this margin is too small to contain it.
It happened to be a short while after Andrew Wiles announced his now famous proof of Fermat's last theorem in the lecture room adjacent to the men's room in the institute.
Albert Einstein was the hero in my childhood. When I was about 10, I read the biography of Albert Einstein written by Leopold Infeld. I was fascinated by the whole thing--theory of relativity, Einstein the man, and the wonderful world of theoretical physics. I had this vision of two scientists at the blackboard, scribing mathematical equations unintelligible to the laymen, discussing the mysteries of the universe for hours on end, oblivious of whatever was happening around them. That image stayed with me, inspiring me with a sense of enchantment and fascination.
When I visited the Isaac Newton Institute in the University of Cambridge, I discovered to my joy that the love of the blackboard was obviously still rampant among some minds. There were blackboards everywhere, so that the mathematically oriented could write down their arguments wherever and whenever they liked. To my surprise and joy, there were blackboards even in the men's room. Whether there was one also in the women's I could not confirm for obvious reasons.
Once I happened to notice a interesting graffiti on one of the blackboards in the men's room. It said: I discovered a fatal flaw in Wiles' proof. However, this margin is too small to contain it.
It happened to be a short while after Andrew Wiles announced his now famous proof of Fermat's last theorem in the lecture room adjacent to the men's room in the institute.
Monday, February 05, 2007
Spoken Kant
Currently I am reading "Kant. A Very Short Introduction" by Roger Scruton (Oxford University Press), and found the following passages quite amusing and inspiring.
The philosopher J. G. Hamann records that it was necessary to arrive in Kant's lecture room at six in the morning, one hour before the professor was due to appear, in order to obtain a place...
Kant had a peculiarly skillful method of asserting and defining metaphysical concepts, which consisted, to all appearances, in carrying out his inquiries in front of his audience; as though he himself had just begun to consider the question, gradually adding fresh determining concepts, improving bit by bit on previously established explanations, and finally arriving at a definitive conclusion of his treatment of the subject, which he had thoroughly examined from every angle, having given the completely attentive listener not only a knowledge of the subject, but also an object lesson in methodical thought...
(both quotations from page 5 of the aforementioned book)
In Phaedrus, Plato quotes Socrates as remarking that spoken word is superior to written words, since the former is alive and the latter is dead.
It is true that there is something very special about spoken words. Notably, the impression one gets from a person through written and spoken words can be very different. The discrepancy between the "heard" and "read" personalities, so to speak, is one of the most interesting and potentially nourishing aspects of human interaction.
The late philosopher Wataru Hiromatsu, who lectured in the University of Tokyo for many years, was notoriously difficult to read. As an undergraduate, I did not take his course, and was unconsciously avoiding the intractability of his philosophy.
One day Ken Shiotani (my best friend, the "fat philosopher") invited me to join the Japan-U.S. conference on phenomenology, and there I met with the philosopher himself for the first time. Prof. Hiromatsu in person was very gentle, sensitive, and attentive to people around him. Actually, noticing that I was somebody obviously outside the philosophical circle, at one time during the conference he kindly suggested that I say something from the scientist's point of view. His impression was like that of a gentle spring breeze coming through the nodding boughs in a forest sprinkled with rays of sunshine.
I just wonder what kind of impression the live Emanuel Kant would have given me had I lined up in the queue at the Konigsberg University from six in the morning and listened to his lecturing.
The philosopher J. G. Hamann records that it was necessary to arrive in Kant's lecture room at six in the morning, one hour before the professor was due to appear, in order to obtain a place...
Kant had a peculiarly skillful method of asserting and defining metaphysical concepts, which consisted, to all appearances, in carrying out his inquiries in front of his audience; as though he himself had just begun to consider the question, gradually adding fresh determining concepts, improving bit by bit on previously established explanations, and finally arriving at a definitive conclusion of his treatment of the subject, which he had thoroughly examined from every angle, having given the completely attentive listener not only a knowledge of the subject, but also an object lesson in methodical thought...
(both quotations from page 5 of the aforementioned book)
In Phaedrus, Plato quotes Socrates as remarking that spoken word is superior to written words, since the former is alive and the latter is dead.
It is true that there is something very special about spoken words. Notably, the impression one gets from a person through written and spoken words can be very different. The discrepancy between the "heard" and "read" personalities, so to speak, is one of the most interesting and potentially nourishing aspects of human interaction.
The late philosopher Wataru Hiromatsu, who lectured in the University of Tokyo for many years, was notoriously difficult to read. As an undergraduate, I did not take his course, and was unconsciously avoiding the intractability of his philosophy.
One day Ken Shiotani (my best friend, the "fat philosopher") invited me to join the Japan-U.S. conference on phenomenology, and there I met with the philosopher himself for the first time. Prof. Hiromatsu in person was very gentle, sensitive, and attentive to people around him. Actually, noticing that I was somebody obviously outside the philosophical circle, at one time during the conference he kindly suggested that I say something from the scientist's point of view. His impression was like that of a gentle spring breeze coming through the nodding boughs in a forest sprinkled with rays of sunshine.
I just wonder what kind of impression the live Emanuel Kant would have given me had I lined up in the queue at the Konigsberg University from six in the morning and listened to his lecturing.
Sunday, February 04, 2007
Janus 21
Janus 21
pp. 4-9
SEE THE WORLD THROUGH
THE BRAIN’S EYES |
Marleen Wynants enquires on the unusual phenomenon
of Change Blindness with neuroscientist Ken Mogi
http://www.janusonline.net/
pp. 4-9
SEE THE WORLD THROUGH
THE BRAIN’S EYES |
Marleen Wynants enquires on the unusual phenomenon
of Change Blindness with neuroscientist Ken Mogi
http://www.janusonline.net/
Philosophical PTSD
Warning: What follows should be read in the spirit of a light-hearted joke and not as a serious report of my medical condition!
Recently, I realized that I must have been suffering from a PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder). The definition of PTSD states that "the experience must involve actual or threatened death, serious physical injury, or a threat to physical and/or psychological integrity". My own experience has a lot to do with the last bit, namely "a threat to psychological integrity".
When I entered university, I came to know Ken Shiotani, who remains my best friend to this day. I used to hang out with him, walk on the campus, and discuss philosophically inclined problems as any bunch of aspiring young students would do.
Twenty something years later, Ken Shiotani is an independent philosopher, known in the Japanese scholastic community for his intractable but profoundly-sounding remarks.
In the sweet spring of life in which we were ignorant but angry young men, Shiotani was already a VERY intractable man. I would listen to him for hours on end, trying to decipher his intentions and meanings, ultimately in vain. He had a genius of saying things which were very non-trivial, sounding as if there was some truth hidden behind the intractability, but never assuring the listener of really having come to grips with the very foundation of what he was trying to say.
I have come to know many scholars since, but I have never met anyone like Shiotani. Bumping into him on the campus in the spring of the sweet age of eighteen was a very rare incident. Had I not met him, I would not have been exposed to the vintage intractability of his that I have somehow learned to take for granted.
Looking back, my experience is rather like that of a child growing up under the care of a unique parent. The child would not realize the specialness of the situation, and would tacitly assume that the world as a whole is something like his or her own actually quite unique experience.
Having had to somehow come to terms with his intractability has been the cause of my youthful and philosophical PTSD.
The other day I was having some drinks with Shiotani. I jokingly remarked to him that "I must be suffering from a PTSD because of you". I explained to him why I think so. He took his glasses off, and said, laughing, "and I have been actually thinking that at least you, of all people, would understand what I am saying!"
There began another chapter of our beautiful friendship.
Ken Shiotani having a go again at his "intractable lecturing" in a temple in Kyoto.
Recently, I realized that I must have been suffering from a PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder). The definition of PTSD states that "the experience must involve actual or threatened death, serious physical injury, or a threat to physical and/or psychological integrity". My own experience has a lot to do with the last bit, namely "a threat to psychological integrity".
When I entered university, I came to know Ken Shiotani, who remains my best friend to this day. I used to hang out with him, walk on the campus, and discuss philosophically inclined problems as any bunch of aspiring young students would do.
Twenty something years later, Ken Shiotani is an independent philosopher, known in the Japanese scholastic community for his intractable but profoundly-sounding remarks.
In the sweet spring of life in which we were ignorant but angry young men, Shiotani was already a VERY intractable man. I would listen to him for hours on end, trying to decipher his intentions and meanings, ultimately in vain. He had a genius of saying things which were very non-trivial, sounding as if there was some truth hidden behind the intractability, but never assuring the listener of really having come to grips with the very foundation of what he was trying to say.
I have come to know many scholars since, but I have never met anyone like Shiotani. Bumping into him on the campus in the spring of the sweet age of eighteen was a very rare incident. Had I not met him, I would not have been exposed to the vintage intractability of his that I have somehow learned to take for granted.
Looking back, my experience is rather like that of a child growing up under the care of a unique parent. The child would not realize the specialness of the situation, and would tacitly assume that the world as a whole is something like his or her own actually quite unique experience.
Having had to somehow come to terms with his intractability has been the cause of my youthful and philosophical PTSD.
The other day I was having some drinks with Shiotani. I jokingly remarked to him that "I must be suffering from a PTSD because of you". I explained to him why I think so. He took his glasses off, and said, laughing, "and I have been actually thinking that at least you, of all people, would understand what I am saying!"
There began another chapter of our beautiful friendship.
Ken Shiotani having a go again at his "intractable lecturing" in a temple in Kyoto.
Saturday, February 03, 2007
Global warming
So there is this craze about global warming. The former U.S. presidential candidate Al Gore is enlightening the public ("An Inconvenient Truth), and the level of awareness among laypeople is justifiably rising.
Given the robustness and diversity of phenotypes, I personally think life as a whole will cope, no matter what happens to the earth's environment, within the range of what is predicted in the phenomenology of climate change.
Global warming has been created by human civilization, and is a menace to human civilization as we know it. It serves our self-interest to tend to this problem seriously.
The disappearing species due to an environmental change will be replaced by newly emerging ones in the long term, as is evidenced by, for example, the "Cambrian explosion" after the end of the "snowball earth" period. The argument that global warming will destroy the existing species is thus based on our sentimental attachment to the present world in which we find ourselves in.
The makers of the film "An Inconvenient Truth" was hitting the right spot when a beautiful river scene was inserted to depict the loveliness of the earth. Sentimentality is an expression of the instinct of self-perpetuation, the foundation for all that is life.
Given the robustness and diversity of phenotypes, I personally think life as a whole will cope, no matter what happens to the earth's environment, within the range of what is predicted in the phenomenology of climate change.
Global warming has been created by human civilization, and is a menace to human civilization as we know it. It serves our self-interest to tend to this problem seriously.
The disappearing species due to an environmental change will be replaced by newly emerging ones in the long term, as is evidenced by, for example, the "Cambrian explosion" after the end of the "snowball earth" period. The argument that global warming will destroy the existing species is thus based on our sentimental attachment to the present world in which we find ourselves in.
The makers of the film "An Inconvenient Truth" was hitting the right spot when a beautiful river scene was inserted to depict the loveliness of the earth. Sentimentality is an expression of the instinct of self-perpetuation, the foundation for all that is life.
Friday, February 02, 2007
Pro-life crazy
There are crazy things in life. If there are two kinds, pro-life crazy and anti-life crazy, I firmly believe that the former will eventually win, as we are living organisms and cannot do otherwise. There are people who advocate discrimination, hatred, destruction, doomsday scenarios. But since these are anti-life crazy sentiments, they will always be remain a second violin, if not a awful noise (which they are likely to be, actually!), in the great orchestra of life.
I would always like to be pro-life crazy, when I look up to the moon, dance in the spring air, dash through the streets in Tokyo.
I would always like to be pro-life crazy, when I look up to the moon, dance in the spring air, dash through the streets in Tokyo.
Thursday, February 01, 2007
Linguistic Turmoil
I was reading a recent book by Genichiro Takahashi ("The Novels of Japan--A hundred years of solitude", written in Japanese, translation of the title mine). I am going to write a review for the Yomiuri Shimbun newspaper, the largest circulation daily here.
During the perusal, I found resonance in Mr. Takahashi's appraisal of the origins of the modern literature in this country.
In the Meiji period, Japan was playing a game of catch up in the wake of an encounter with the Western civilization, which started with the end of the Edo period when the country had been closed to outside world for more than 200 years. Takahashi's thesis is that the basic format of Japanese literature was coined in the crush of different cultures in that era.
The other day I was having conversation with the novelist Masahiko Shimada. We agreed that great works of literature are nurtured when a linguistic system is in turmoil through the interaction with other culture. The impressive lineup of authors of prose from Ireland (James Joyce, Oscar Wilde, George Bernard Shaw) must surely due to the difficult linguistic situations in that country.
Thus, some good can come from a linguistic turmoil, although politically it is often traumatic. It pays to open one's heart and
absorb exotic cultures. Conservative people always talk about "a proper usage" of language and hate influences from outside. That kind of protective attitude is a paranoia. More importantly, linguistic purity is not sustainable, from the viewpoint of the physiology of the living organism which is language.
During the perusal, I found resonance in Mr. Takahashi's appraisal of the origins of the modern literature in this country.
In the Meiji period, Japan was playing a game of catch up in the wake of an encounter with the Western civilization, which started with the end of the Edo period when the country had been closed to outside world for more than 200 years. Takahashi's thesis is that the basic format of Japanese literature was coined in the crush of different cultures in that era.
The other day I was having conversation with the novelist Masahiko Shimada. We agreed that great works of literature are nurtured when a linguistic system is in turmoil through the interaction with other culture. The impressive lineup of authors of prose from Ireland (James Joyce, Oscar Wilde, George Bernard Shaw) must surely due to the difficult linguistic situations in that country.
Thus, some good can come from a linguistic turmoil, although politically it is often traumatic. It pays to open one's heart and
absorb exotic cultures. Conservative people always talk about "a proper usage" of language and hate influences from outside. That kind of protective attitude is a paranoia. More importantly, linguistic purity is not sustainable, from the viewpoint of the physiology of the living organism which is language.
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Interaction Simultaneity
Interaction Simultaneity
The Origin of Consciousness blog
31st January 2007
http://origin-of-consciousness.blogspot.com/
The Origin of Consciousness blog
31st January 2007
http://origin-of-consciousness.blogspot.com/
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Complex
I met with one of Japan's most popular "idol" of the time, Eriko Sato who have starred in some films e.g., "Cutie Honey" (2004). The session was for a magazine article in which Ms. Sato tries to learn a series of stuff from people in various fields.
It was interesting to hear how Ms. Sato went into the business of being an idol. When she entered the junior high school, she started to become very popular among boys. People began to take notice of her figures, and that's how she got into considering a career in the show business.
People often talk about the "inferiority complex". A "superiority complex" (here used in a literal sense and not necessarily in the sense as defined by Alfred Adler) must be at least as traumatic sometimes, judging from the talks of people under pressure.
If god is almighty, he (or she) should suffer occasionally from a superiority complex.
It was interesting to hear how Ms. Sato went into the business of being an idol. When she entered the junior high school, she started to become very popular among boys. People began to take notice of her figures, and that's how she got into considering a career in the show business.
People often talk about the "inferiority complex". A "superiority complex" (here used in a literal sense and not necessarily in the sense as defined by Alfred Adler) must be at least as traumatic sometimes, judging from the talks of people under pressure.
If god is almighty, he (or she) should suffer occasionally from a superiority complex.
Monday, January 29, 2007
Snow
When I was a kid, the first snow of the year would always fall sometime in December in the Tokyo suburb where I lived with my parents. Looking back, it was strange how a small soul such as myself got to learn the regularities of the world. No adult ever told me when I should expect the white blessing from the sky above. In the child's psychology, I would always look up expectantly, when in the December sky some clouds gathered to darken the earth below.
With the first snow, I was psychologically "ready" to welcome the new year.
Recently, possibly due to the effects of global warning, we have less and less snow around Tokyo. It is not unusual now that no snow ever falls on ground in December, or throughout winter. Thus, my childhood's annual ritual of the heart is now moot.
Climate change affects many things. My precious memory is one.
With the first snow, I was psychologically "ready" to welcome the new year.
Recently, possibly due to the effects of global warning, we have less and less snow around Tokyo. It is not unusual now that no snow ever falls on ground in December, or throughout winter. Thus, my childhood's annual ritual of the heart is now moot.
Climate change affects many things. My precious memory is one.
Sunday, January 28, 2007
My own life as a classic.
I don't claim to know what a "classic" really entails, but it appears to me that it is something that provides one with new findings of significance and meaning every time one returns to it.
Right now I am reading "The Problems of Philosophy" by Bertrand Russell, and this classic provides us with many fresh insights and directions for further thoughts. The discussion on the ambiguity of "what is real" taking the example of the "sense-data" of a desk, for example, is quite interesting from the modern cognitive scientific point of view.
I suppose everyone who is intelligent enough to visit this blog :-) would have his or her favorite list of classics. I would suggest here that memories of one's own life can be added to the time-honored list.
A modern rational man has this idea that the past is gone once and for all and fixed. The fixed past concept is certainly true from the physical point of view, but one's own past can be a rich source for self-reflection, uncovering hidden secrets every time one returns to it. In this sense, the past is still living and evolving.
Recently I have been reflecting on my own life a lot, as I walk though the streets of Tokyo and in moments of silence in the bar. I have uncovered some hidden secrets. The realization of those buried agenda in my past has helped me understand the person that is me better and gain a better focus as I face the challenges in years to come.
I will give an example below.
After I graduated from the Physics department of University of Tokyo, I went on to study in the Law department of the same university. This change of subject was superficially induced by my girl friend at that time, who was studying law. But as I look back, I think I was secretly affected by the "zeitgeist" in the era of the "bubble economy", in which people had a tendency to worship money and what would be called today "celebrity culture".
At that time, Japan was at the height of illusory sense of extravagance, when it was rumored that the total value of land in Japan exceeded that of the United States. It seems ridiculous, with the benefit of hindsight, but people truly believed in the modern version of fairy tale for a few years.
In that superficial culture, striving to do something in the basic sciences seemed to be odd and out of date. My girl friend left me for another law school student. I was in a state of spiritual emergency. I needed a way out for my soul badly.
As I look back, I understand how I was affected by the memes of bubble economy, dumped by my girl friend. I think I recovered from the fall in a long, gradual and painful process.
Sadly, the country itself is probably yet to recover from the spirit of contempt and ridicule towards anything intellectual, judging from the "variety" shows being broadcast on Japanese television. However, it is not a time for finger pointing. It is a time for actions of good will.
Right now I am reading "The Problems of Philosophy" by Bertrand Russell, and this classic provides us with many fresh insights and directions for further thoughts. The discussion on the ambiguity of "what is real" taking the example of the "sense-data" of a desk, for example, is quite interesting from the modern cognitive scientific point of view.
I suppose everyone who is intelligent enough to visit this blog :-) would have his or her favorite list of classics. I would suggest here that memories of one's own life can be added to the time-honored list.
A modern rational man has this idea that the past is gone once and for all and fixed. The fixed past concept is certainly true from the physical point of view, but one's own past can be a rich source for self-reflection, uncovering hidden secrets every time one returns to it. In this sense, the past is still living and evolving.
Recently I have been reflecting on my own life a lot, as I walk though the streets of Tokyo and in moments of silence in the bar. I have uncovered some hidden secrets. The realization of those buried agenda in my past has helped me understand the person that is me better and gain a better focus as I face the challenges in years to come.
I will give an example below.
After I graduated from the Physics department of University of Tokyo, I went on to study in the Law department of the same university. This change of subject was superficially induced by my girl friend at that time, who was studying law. But as I look back, I think I was secretly affected by the "zeitgeist" in the era of the "bubble economy", in which people had a tendency to worship money and what would be called today "celebrity culture".
At that time, Japan was at the height of illusory sense of extravagance, when it was rumored that the total value of land in Japan exceeded that of the United States. It seems ridiculous, with the benefit of hindsight, but people truly believed in the modern version of fairy tale for a few years.
In that superficial culture, striving to do something in the basic sciences seemed to be odd and out of date. My girl friend left me for another law school student. I was in a state of spiritual emergency. I needed a way out for my soul badly.
As I look back, I understand how I was affected by the memes of bubble economy, dumped by my girl friend. I think I recovered from the fall in a long, gradual and painful process.
Sadly, the country itself is probably yet to recover from the spirit of contempt and ridicule towards anything intellectual, judging from the "variety" shows being broadcast on Japanese television. However, it is not a time for finger pointing. It is a time for actions of good will.
Saturday, January 27, 2007
Being Hungry
The novelist Hyakken Uchida ("Idiot Train", see the 29th December 2006 entry of this blog) was wont to say "being hungry is one of my favorite states". Hyakken used to be a well-known connoisseur of good food. When he says something like this, therefore, it certainly has a lot to do with sensuality rather than prudence.
Hyakken's custom was to have nothing to eat at all until supper, when he had loads of finest food sprayed out before him. He was fond of beer, sake, and other alcoholic pleasures. Cutting water was his favorite method of drawing the most pleasure out of the very first sip of beer.
The brain thrives on a well balanced contrast of presence and absence. Dopamine is known to be strongly released when something pleasant happens in an unexpected manner. A period of deprivation, followed by satisfaction, is certain to lead to a sensual pleasure. To contrive the highest sensual bliss, it is thus necessary to devise a period of absence.
Exceptions can be pleasurable from time to time, though. When Hyakken went on one of these "Idiot Train" trips, he would make exceptions and drink beer and have a sandwich at lunch time. The bitter-sweet sense of guilt would make the food and drink even more sensual for Hyakken.
What I write above has obvious implications for people trying to be on a diet. Fitting slim can be a consequence of seeking the ultimate sensuality. In theory, it is possible to have the figure of a model and immerse oneself in the culinary pleasure.
In this imperfect world, however, theory and practice often go separate ways. Hyakken was a well-built and rather overweight man.
Hyakken's custom was to have nothing to eat at all until supper, when he had loads of finest food sprayed out before him. He was fond of beer, sake, and other alcoholic pleasures. Cutting water was his favorite method of drawing the most pleasure out of the very first sip of beer.
The brain thrives on a well balanced contrast of presence and absence. Dopamine is known to be strongly released when something pleasant happens in an unexpected manner. A period of deprivation, followed by satisfaction, is certain to lead to a sensual pleasure. To contrive the highest sensual bliss, it is thus necessary to devise a period of absence.
Exceptions can be pleasurable from time to time, though. When Hyakken went on one of these "Idiot Train" trips, he would make exceptions and drink beer and have a sandwich at lunch time. The bitter-sweet sense of guilt would make the food and drink even more sensual for Hyakken.
What I write above has obvious implications for people trying to be on a diet. Fitting slim can be a consequence of seeking the ultimate sensuality. In theory, it is possible to have the figure of a model and immerse oneself in the culinary pleasure.
In this imperfect world, however, theory and practice often go separate ways. Hyakken was a well-built and rather overweight man.
Friday, January 26, 2007
Gregory Colbert
I met with the photographer Gregory Colbert at the Grand Hyatt Hotel in Tokyo. It was a wonderful opportunity to discuss his unique approach to capture the joy arising from a proximity between humans and other animal species. The interview was done for the "Brutus" magazine published by Magazine House (which carried a special issue devoted to this humble writer recently, by the way).
Some of Gregory's photos are truly incredible, e.g. where he swims with sperm whale mother and calves. These are carnivores, Gregory said. Did he not have fear? I asked. "Of course I had fear", Gregory said. When he overcame his fears through a careful planning and meticulous techniques, what emerged were breathtaking images of profound revelations.
I asked Gregory whether he felt privileged to be present in, and personally experience, these projects himself. He said yes. He likened what he has been doing to the adventures of astronauts, in search of the unknown.
In his case, the ritual might be one of the long forgotten, too. Looking at Gregory's photos, we are inspired and awed. We feel as if we have touched been touched by entities in the hidden dimensions previously unknown in our life in the "civilized" world. When Gregory shows these photos to the indigenous people, however, they show no surprise. It appears that enjoying the interaction with other animal species is a natural and unfortunately forsaken habit of our ancestors.
It is an interesting question where the newly surging awareness of interspecies proximity would bring to us. It would take us out of the status quo of what Gregory describes as the "species ghetto", and eventually guide us to a better harmony between man and nature. From a scientific point of view, it is a challenge to work out a model where interspecies empathies
contribute to a better survival of all the species involved.
I asked Gregory whether he regarded his photos as documentaries. He said no, despite the fact that no artificial manipulations or retouching has been applied. His are the faithful depiction of what actually happened. It is then a case, repeatedly demonstrated in history, where revealing the truth results in a awe-inspiring beauty, which has been hidden to be discovered by an artist. Talking to Gregory reminded me of the many secrets hidden and forgotten in the universe where we find our mortal lives.
Man (Gregory Colbert himself) swimming with sperm whale mother and calves.
http://www.ashesandsnow.org/
Some of Gregory's photos are truly incredible, e.g. where he swims with sperm whale mother and calves. These are carnivores, Gregory said. Did he not have fear? I asked. "Of course I had fear", Gregory said. When he overcame his fears through a careful planning and meticulous techniques, what emerged were breathtaking images of profound revelations.
I asked Gregory whether he felt privileged to be present in, and personally experience, these projects himself. He said yes. He likened what he has been doing to the adventures of astronauts, in search of the unknown.
In his case, the ritual might be one of the long forgotten, too. Looking at Gregory's photos, we are inspired and awed. We feel as if we have touched been touched by entities in the hidden dimensions previously unknown in our life in the "civilized" world. When Gregory shows these photos to the indigenous people, however, they show no surprise. It appears that enjoying the interaction with other animal species is a natural and unfortunately forsaken habit of our ancestors.
It is an interesting question where the newly surging awareness of interspecies proximity would bring to us. It would take us out of the status quo of what Gregory describes as the "species ghetto", and eventually guide us to a better harmony between man and nature. From a scientific point of view, it is a challenge to work out a model where interspecies empathies
contribute to a better survival of all the species involved.
I asked Gregory whether he regarded his photos as documentaries. He said no, despite the fact that no artificial manipulations or retouching has been applied. His are the faithful depiction of what actually happened. It is then a case, repeatedly demonstrated in history, where revealing the truth results in a awe-inspiring beauty, which has been hidden to be discovered by an artist. Talking to Gregory reminded me of the many secrets hidden and forgotten in the universe where we find our mortal lives.
Man (Gregory Colbert himself) swimming with sperm whale mother and calves.
http://www.ashesandsnow.org/
Thursday, January 25, 2007
Persuasion
In a recent magazine article (in "Kangaeru Hito" ("The Thinker"), a quarterly published from Shinchosha, Tokyo), Yasujiro Ozu is quoted as saying thus.
My theme is "mono no aware" (the pathos of things), which is very Japanese. Since I am depicting the Japanese people in the films, this should be fine.
From the modern point of view, "Mono no aware" is nothing but the contingent occurrences in life. Things are not certain. Very important and life-transforming things can originate from seemingly irrelevant and unexpected incidents.
In the great "Noriko trilogy" (Tokyo Story, Late Spring, and Early Summer), important events in life are influenced by seemingly trivial things.
In Early Summer, Noriko (played by Setsuko Hara) is persuaded to marry a widower doctor by his mother (played by Haruko Sugimura). The couple is secretly attracted to each other, but had it not for the "agony aunt" type intrusion by the eager mother, their love would never have materialized. A beautiful ending has bloomed from a behavior on the verge of a bad taste.
It is this kind of subtle observations of life's moments of truth that make the Ozu films all time masterpieces.
The "persuasion" scene from "Early Summer"
My theme is "mono no aware" (the pathos of things), which is very Japanese. Since I am depicting the Japanese people in the films, this should be fine.
From the modern point of view, "Mono no aware" is nothing but the contingent occurrences in life. Things are not certain. Very important and life-transforming things can originate from seemingly irrelevant and unexpected incidents.
In the great "Noriko trilogy" (Tokyo Story, Late Spring, and Early Summer), important events in life are influenced by seemingly trivial things.
In Early Summer, Noriko (played by Setsuko Hara) is persuaded to marry a widower doctor by his mother (played by Haruko Sugimura). The couple is secretly attracted to each other, but had it not for the "agony aunt" type intrusion by the eager mother, their love would never have materialized. A beautiful ending has bloomed from a behavior on the verge of a bad taste.
It is this kind of subtle observations of life's moments of truth that make the Ozu films all time masterpieces.
The "persuasion" scene from "Early Summer"
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
Ultraman
Earlier, I wrote about the recurring dream in which Godzilla would appear as a menacing presence. As a child, I was not aware of the atomic origin or connotations. I just enjoyed the films as entertainments, but deep down, I think I was aware of the invisible origins, which I came to realize only after I became a mature adult.
I think that similar invisible origins were lurking behind the "ultraman" series. The reason why heros in these films were depicted as humanoid figures with silvery skins is probably due to the disillusionment of the people in my country about their own physical appearance. After the defeat in the 2nd world war, and the American occupation, people for sometime could not regard their own visual appearance as something fit for a hero or heroin. The image of heros came from the Hollywood films instead, blue eyes, blond hair. Therefore, from psychological needs, a new image of the heroes had to be coined, resulting in the ultraman, kamen rider, and other tokusatsu television series.
As a child, I was not aware of these deep psychological implications. I simply enjoyed the films. If true creativity comes out of a troubled water, then the tokusatsu films are beautiful archetypes.
Recently I learned that one of the key creators of the first ultraman series, Tetsuo Kinjo, originated from the Islands of Okinawa, a region particularly hard-hit during the war.
Ultraman--invisible origins.
I think that similar invisible origins were lurking behind the "ultraman" series. The reason why heros in these films were depicted as humanoid figures with silvery skins is probably due to the disillusionment of the people in my country about their own physical appearance. After the defeat in the 2nd world war, and the American occupation, people for sometime could not regard their own visual appearance as something fit for a hero or heroin. The image of heros came from the Hollywood films instead, blue eyes, blond hair. Therefore, from psychological needs, a new image of the heroes had to be coined, resulting in the ultraman, kamen rider, and other tokusatsu television series.
As a child, I was not aware of these deep psychological implications. I simply enjoyed the films. If true creativity comes out of a troubled water, then the tokusatsu films are beautiful archetypes.
Recently I learned that one of the key creators of the first ultraman series, Tetsuo Kinjo, originated from the Islands of Okinawa, a region particularly hard-hit during the war.
Ultraman--invisible origins.
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Wrath
Violence brings only sorrow into this world, but wrath and indignation, when managed and directed properly, can sometimes generate good and beautiful things.
When one is indignant about the status quo, seeing clearly the defects and shortcomings of the present system, wrath can be the source of a hyperactive creation, resulting in pieces never seen or imagined by humanity.
Wrath is the emotional manifesto of the underdog, dedicated to beauty and truth. When the powers that be stink, get rotten, become unimaginative and oppressive, the wrath of the underprivileged explode and spray fragrance and luminance around.
There is such a thing as the wrath of god. Even the god can be an underdog from time to time. Not to mention us mortals.
When one is indignant about the status quo, seeing clearly the defects and shortcomings of the present system, wrath can be the source of a hyperactive creation, resulting in pieces never seen or imagined by humanity.
Wrath is the emotional manifesto of the underdog, dedicated to beauty and truth. When the powers that be stink, get rotten, become unimaginative and oppressive, the wrath of the underprivileged explode and spray fragrance and luminance around.
There is such a thing as the wrath of god. Even the god can be an underdog from time to time. Not to mention us mortals.
Monday, January 22, 2007
The Miracle Apple
Mr. Kimura was one of the guests of the "The Professionals" program broadcast on NHK, which I host. He harvests apples in Aomori, the northest prefecture in Honshu, one of the four main islands of Japan.
His produces are called "miracle apples", as no pesticides or artificial nutrients are used. Such a feat was deemed impossible before his successful undertaking, as apples are particularly susceptible to insects and germs. After many years of failure, in which he came close to suicide (an episode dramatically described in "The Professionals" program), his apple orchard boasts a rich ecological system of plants and insects, in which his apples trees flourish.
The use of pesticides and fertilizers reduces the complexity of the ecological system and results in a mono-culture. In terms of yields, the modern intensive agriculture is one practical solution. Mr. Kimura has found another solution, by allowing a rich ecology thrive in his orchard and preventing the rampant increase of pests by the "check and balance" between the many biological species that find their respective habitats in Mr. Kimura's orchard.
Controlling the orchard as a complex dynamical system is more difficult than simply killing all the insects by spaying pesticides. The intensive agriculture is based on a "holocaust", as a result of which a barren land is left, onto which the artificial nutrients are bombarded. In contrast, Mr. Kimura's approach is based on very careful observations and manipulations of some of the fine parameters that make up the orchard.
Mr. Kimura's apples taste really good. The apple trees are given the opportunity to fully develop their biologically prepared potentials, a process inhibited in the typical intensive agriculture. It is the complex network of plants and insects that forms a soft and nutritious soil which gives a vital force to Mr. Kimura's apples.
A scene from Mr. Kimura's orchard
His produces are called "miracle apples", as no pesticides or artificial nutrients are used. Such a feat was deemed impossible before his successful undertaking, as apples are particularly susceptible to insects and germs. After many years of failure, in which he came close to suicide (an episode dramatically described in "The Professionals" program), his apple orchard boasts a rich ecological system of plants and insects, in which his apples trees flourish.
The use of pesticides and fertilizers reduces the complexity of the ecological system and results in a mono-culture. In terms of yields, the modern intensive agriculture is one practical solution. Mr. Kimura has found another solution, by allowing a rich ecology thrive in his orchard and preventing the rampant increase of pests by the "check and balance" between the many biological species that find their respective habitats in Mr. Kimura's orchard.
Controlling the orchard as a complex dynamical system is more difficult than simply killing all the insects by spaying pesticides. The intensive agriculture is based on a "holocaust", as a result of which a barren land is left, onto which the artificial nutrients are bombarded. In contrast, Mr. Kimura's approach is based on very careful observations and manipulations of some of the fine parameters that make up the orchard.
Mr. Kimura's apples taste really good. The apple trees are given the opportunity to fully develop their biologically prepared potentials, a process inhibited in the typical intensive agriculture. It is the complex network of plants and insects that forms a soft and nutritious soil which gives a vital force to Mr. Kimura's apples.
A scene from Mr. Kimura's orchard
Sunday, January 21, 2007
Red.
When I was very small, up to the age of three or four, I was very fond of the color red. I would ask my parents to buy red things for me. I would insist that everything I wear, carry, be red. I wore a red hat, carried a red basket, etc.
Then, at a certain time, I realized with a cognitive shock that red was meant to be the color for girls in the cultural context. I was very ashamed and abandoned my color preference.
When I went to the kindergarden, at the age of 5, there was a choice between normal milk and coffee flavored milk at lunch time. Parents would make the kids bring either a white bag or a red bag, with some small coins in it, to indicate the choice. I very much liked the coffee flavored milk. However, my mother, probably caring for my health, did not allow it. I would always bring the white bag, and have normal milk. I envied my friends who brought the red bags and enjoyed the coffee flavored variety.
As I remember these things in the past, the significance changes like a living and trembling water. The past is not fixed. It transfigures in its significance as one looks back, constantly rewritten and relived, metamorphoses leading to fresh insights and reincarnations. One can experience life many times over, discovering meanings and joys, by reflecting on one's own past, smiling and crying.
Through self-referential ponderings, red has entered into the sacred shrine of my soul. When I see a rose, an apple, the setting sun, reverberations enrich and shake the tiny remembrance stone in my core.
Then, at a certain time, I realized with a cognitive shock that red was meant to be the color for girls in the cultural context. I was very ashamed and abandoned my color preference.
When I went to the kindergarden, at the age of 5, there was a choice between normal milk and coffee flavored milk at lunch time. Parents would make the kids bring either a white bag or a red bag, with some small coins in it, to indicate the choice. I very much liked the coffee flavored milk. However, my mother, probably caring for my health, did not allow it. I would always bring the white bag, and have normal milk. I envied my friends who brought the red bags and enjoyed the coffee flavored variety.
As I remember these things in the past, the significance changes like a living and trembling water. The past is not fixed. It transfigures in its significance as one looks back, constantly rewritten and relived, metamorphoses leading to fresh insights and reincarnations. One can experience life many times over, discovering meanings and joys, by reflecting on one's own past, smiling and crying.
Through self-referential ponderings, red has entered into the sacred shrine of my soul. When I see a rose, an apple, the setting sun, reverberations enrich and shake the tiny remembrance stone in my core.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)