Soseki without stomachache

Sanshiro is one of my beloved novels by Soseki Natsume. As I was transferring data into my new notebook computer, I had some time, and was reading an English translation of Sanshiro.

Haruki Murakami writes the preface. What Mr. Murakami says is quite interesting. I quote.

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The protagonist of Sanshiro, however, is different. He, too, is unable to find his proper place amid dislocated circumstances, but he never fully confronts those circumstances as a problem within himself. Instead, he accepts them in a relatively natural way, with a young man's particular kind of nonchalant resignation, as something entirely external to himself. "Oh, well, that's how it goes," he seems to say. Stomach pain has not yet entered his world. I think that Sanshiro is a personal favorite of mime because it depicts this natural functioning of the young protagonist's psyche in an utterly mellifluous style. Sanshiro watches life sweeping him along the same way he looks at clouds sailing through the sky. The free movement of his gaze draws us in almost before we know it, and we forget to view him critically.

Haruki Murakami, Preface to Sanshiro, translated by Jay Rubin.

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Here, Mr. Murakami's usage of the "stomachache" metaphor is interesting. It is well known that Soseki Natsume suffered from stomach conditions for most of his career, especially in the late years. It may well be that such physical circumstances influenced what Soseki wrote as a novelist in a profound way, affecting the world view and the manner in which the protagonist of the story moved around in the fictitious world.

In this context, Haruki Murakami himself might be regarded as "Soseki without stomachache".


Sanshiro. Translated by Jay Rubin.

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Autobiography too soon

People have this idea that autobiographies are written by people who have "done it", whose merits and achievements have been more or less established.

There are times, however, when an autobiography is produced in the middle of a career, "prematurely" or too soon according to the above stated criterion.

Richard Wagner's "My Life" (original German title "Mein Leben") was one such autobiography out of context. Covering the composer's life between 1813 and 1864, it describes the often turbulent events and life's courses of the composer of Tannhauser, Lohengrin, and Tristan und Isolde. It was dictated to Cosima Wagner, his second life, in response to a request by King Ludwig II of Bavaria.

At the time of the publication of Mein Leben, Wagner's career was far from over. He went on to compose Die Meistersinger, complete Der Ring des Nibelungen, found the Bayreuth festival, and create his final opera Parsifal.
What was the significance of Mein Leben? I suspect that it led to a resurgence of Wagner's creative momentum at a critical period.

The significance is a psychological one. Looking back on one's past, searching for hidden meanings, discovering latent agenda, understanding one's own choices and coming to terms with one's own self is sometimes a necessary and benevolent process for the creator. In the healing of soul, in the journey into one's spiritual magma there is often a key for a renewed surge of the creative dynamo.

For these reasons, I regard the dictation of Mein Leben as a process of reconciliation and regeneration for the great artist.
Even if one doesn't actually go as far as producing a premature autobiography, reflecting on one's past is surely a panacea for the soul when the waters are troubled and your volcano remains silent.


Richard and Cosima Wagner

Star of the Giants

When I was a kid, one of the things that I admired was "guts".

It was in part influenced by pieces of the Japanese manga. For example, "Star of the Giants" ("Kyojin no Hoshi"). This legendary sports anime was aired just as I entered the elementary school. The hero, Hyuma Hoshi, overcomes obstacles after obstacles to become a true star of the Tokyo Giants, the one and only powerful and popular baseball club at that time.

The idea was to make efforts, to show perseverance, and try to transform yourself, both physically and spiritually.

Somehow the idea of making strenuous efforts gripped me. When I was eight, I remember quite vividly how I started to run along the school track with some of my friends in the after hours. As my friends dropped running, I continued to run around, never stopping.

The theme tune of the Star of Giants was in my mind, inspiring the eight year old. It was a stupid thing to do, but fun.
I gave up running only when the bell rang and the school teacher came to tell us that it was time to go home.

To this day, I sometimes wonder if I don't carry the flag of perseverance still in my spirit. When things get hard and the circumstances are against you, I sometimes remember the small child that was I who made bold efforts to overcome.

I suspect that I was a loner in that respect. The influence of an amine has many colors for different people.







Some scenes from the now legendary "Star of the Giants"

Thunderbird 2, my friend.

Although less than 1% of Japanese are Christians, the custom of Christmas festivities and present givings are avidly followed here, especially by the ever eager kids.

When I was six, I wanted so badly the secret base of thunderbirds, complete with Thunderbird 1 and Thunderbird 2. I repeatedly looked at the picture of the machine-equipped and gadget-filled island in the advertisements with shining eyes.
If only I could get the secret base!

The world will be mine, I thought.

I could not get the secret base itself, though. To my great disappointment, the local store did not carry it, and the idea of internet shopping was a futuristic non-existence in those days.

I got a Thunderbird 2 instead.

Although not particularly stylish, because of its abilities to carry tons of equipments, Thunderbird 2 fascinated me. Its fat shape was universally popular among boys.

Maybe that's why my body around the belly resembles the Thunderbird 2 nowadays.

Thunderbird 2, my friend.


The secret base ("Tracy Island").
Something similar to this infused
the 6 year old me with yearning and desire.


Thunderbird 2. My friend.

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Quite close to the weakness often lies one's strength

One is naturally shy of exhibiting one's weakness. It might be a point of attack for the enemy, making us vulnerable in the world when at large.

However, one should also know that quite close to the weakness often lies one's strength.

One of the brain's most important functions is to adapt to the environment. In order to do that, one needs to read the context, and adjust one's activities. However, sometimes the failure to be flexible in the context can be actually become one's jump board to greatness.

Albert Einstein, for example. He was a non-conformist, dropping out of the gymnasium and traveling in Europe alone in the teens. At the university, he refused to address his professor in anything other than "Herr" ("Mr."), a social blunder in the German speaking world at that time. Albert's reasoning was that he did not respect him.

A more "context-intelligent" person would have acted otherwise, but then Albert Einstein could not have been the historical figure we know. The simple refusal to adapt to the context led to the great originality of the theory of relativity, which revolutionized the way we view the universe. Albert's weakness was also his strength.

The greatest physicist since Newton might appear to be an extreme example for our daily relevance, but we do learn a lot from the extremities. We should all be more tolerant of our own weaknesses.


The young Albert Einstein

Paper hat

While I was studying in Cambridge, I was invited to my mentor Horace Barlow's Xmas party once. It was a small and cozy party, with Horace's family and lab members.

Horace at that time was already of a venerable age, and yet it was fun to watch how he enjoyed opening the Christmas cracker, just like a child.

Out of all the contents of the Christmas cracker, the paper hat was the main thing. People wore them without exception, including Horace.

I have a vivid recollection of how Horace was smiling, with the paper hat on his head, looking like a five year old trying to pretend to be a king. To this day I cherish the memory of the wonderful sunshine emanating from Horace's countenance.

A Christmas crackers is a great inducer of the child in one. A child inducer is always a good thing.


Horace Barlow.

Giant trees

When I went to Cambridge, U.K. for the first time some 15 years ago, I was fascinated by the trees. Walking along the path in Jesus Green, my heart was won by the huge old trees flanking the straightway. The fact that people in Cambridge took care so that these lovely things could be preserved, was enough testimony of the generally benevolent spiritual environment of the city, not to mention the excellent colleges and the University.

Wherever I go, I look for giant trees, and try to make friends with them. I touch the bark, look up at the leaves, and feel the lights and winds that have nurtured the remarkable specimen for all those years.

The giant camphor tree in Kamo, Kagoshima is one of my favorites. I have visited the tree several times, and get a renewed inspiration every time.

Over the years, the giant camphor tree has been revered as a deity. The tree is estimated to be about 1500 years old.
It is interesting how the passage of time left traces on the surface of the bark, and twisted the whole body in an impressive, dynamic form.

Time brings venerability, and venerability is made visible by the interaction of so many elements, directed by nobody, meant for no admirer.

Thus, I am just an incidental admirer.

Giant trees are one of the most ancient and powerful art forms found in Nature. The incident makes one cry.


The giant camphor tree in Kamo, Kagoshima.

Can we really speak of "red"?

Ludwig Wittgenstein wrote, at the end of Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus, that "Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent."

I was discussing things with Ken Shiotani, my philosopher friend, during the annual "Ojisan Onsen" ("Middle-agers hot spring") trip.

Shiotani referred to the philosophy of Spinoza, Frege, and Leibniz. Shiotani stressed how in some systems of thought God appeared as an absolute infinite, something beyond human comprehension. Of God, no description is in principle possible.

Then I said to Shiotani that God-like things should be everywhere. Can we really speak of "red"? How about "love"? "Time"? The conversations we carry are full of intractable and distant things, the distance closed only incompletely by our incessant efforts to make the world tangible. But in the end, the essence of things remain inaccessible. Shiotani responded with his observations on the difference between the systems of Spinoza and Leibiz.

I and Ken Shiotani have been friends since we were the sweet age of 18. Talking about essential things in the small hours made us feel like students again.


Small hours talk. My best friend and philosopher Ken Shiotani, at the Shuzenji Onsen 20 Decemebr, 2009

Sumo wrestling with Akira

Akira Wani, now teaching at the law department of University of Tokyo, is a good friend of mine since senior high school. He is a legendary genius. Akira's score for the test conducted by the National Center for University Entrance Examination was top of the nation, taking 981 out of 1000. For the graduation essay book of the senior high, Akira wrote an essay titled "On the concept of glory in the Latin civilization", while the other students wrote on the memories of school life and other mediocre themes.

In the senior high school, we discussed many things, history, philosophy, esthetics, politics, etc. Meeting with Akira was one of the most fortunate encounters in my life. It uplifted my spiritual and intellectual conditions tremendously. When I entered University of Tokyo, I felt that the intellectual atmosphere rather deteriorated, compared to the intense interaction I used to have with Akira, although the university is supposed to attract the academically high achieving kids of the nation.

So the senior high school days with Akira was a heaven. I remember quite well one particular day, when I happened to see Akira Wani at the train station. He was reading a book. It was a biography of Queen Elisabeth I of England. Out of curiosity, I asked Akira "Why are you reading such a book?" Akira answered, "as I am busy with studies, I need to read such a book from time to time, otherwise I cannot maintain the balance of my spirit".

This morning I am writing about Akira as I suddenly remembered one episode from the senior high days.

In the sports class, we were one day told by the teacher to do sumo wrestling. Chance had it that I was to do a match with Akira. The idea of sumo wrestling with my respected friend was something beyond my imagination. Out of the blue, I started to laugh, and I could not really control myself. It was ridiculous, absurd, and yet so fascinating.

Finally, sumo wrestling we did. I don't quite recall who won. I remember though that Akira was quite solemn in the match, and conducted his duty as a serious wrestler all the same.

The variable unconscious

In the Brain Club (our research group's journal club) yesterday, Tetsuro Ishikwa, (Ph. D student) introduced Shurger et al. (2009). Their research reported that reproducibility distinguishes conscious from nonconscious neural representations.

I found the idea quite interesting. When we see an object, the conscious percept remains basically the same, no matter how often we may observe it. The unconscious cognitive processes associated, however, might be quite variable, corresponding to the heterogeneous multiple processes that makes our cognition robust.

Take the particular example of an apple. The visual image of an apple is basically the same, if we look at a particular apple from a certain angle and under specific lighting conditions. The significance attributed to the apple, however, might be different from time to time, depending on one's mood, memory, feelings, and the context in which the fruit is presented.

The picture emerges that conscious perception corresponds to the invariable in perception, while there is much variability in the related unconscious processes. It is the co-existence and co-dynamics of two processes of distinguished nature that makes human cognition robust and evolvable.

Portable texts

I think it was youtube which changed my attitude towards the portable modalities.

Used to be that I listened to the music on the portable audio player a lot, whether it was walkman or iPod. Nowadays, I don't listen to portable music that much.

The fun of listening to music on the youtube in the hotel room when traveling has changed my sensitivities to the portables. When you are walking on the street, or on the train, you are exposed to a lot of noise naturally. Listening to a portal music is done on top of that, which is sometimes OK, but not really perfect.

Listening to music in a hotel room, based on your whimsical moods, has opened a pathway for joy hitherto unknown, and in a sense made the portable music outdated.

Now I am more interested in portable reading. Whether it is the Amazon Kindle or Sony Reader, I think portable text has a great future.

In my life, portable music would keep having a place, but I foresee more importance assigned to portable text, while the music would return to the room and concerts. In that mood, I would be needing less of the earphone.

Wuthering Heights

The Wuthering Heights was one of the novels that I read in my teens in English language as I built up my linguistic ability and sensitivities for life in general.

The thing that struck me the most was the revelation of how Heathcliff, after Catherine's death, has been wandering around the Wuthering Heights in search of the loved one's spiritual afterglows. The image of the man walking in the wilderness, seeing the invisible, remained with me vividly, although the details of the novel has now escaped.

It is interesting how a certain type of human nature fascinates one. The respect for someone pursuing something that is beyond the scopes of the everyday has been the persistent trait of my adult life.

That kind of attitude has been nurtured by encountering a novel like the Wuthering Heights, and sharing the feelings and understandings with friends of the same feather.

Precious things are hard to find and keep.


Lawrence Olivier as Heathcriff in Wuthering Heights (1939), with Geraldine Fitzgerald.

Reading fever

It seems that something in me has sparked recently. I simply cannot stop reading.

I get on the subway just because I can read in the car. I read Spinoza, Wittgenstein, Schopenhauer, Wagner, Dazai, Natsume, Terada, Penrose, etc. and can never get enough of it.

I remember my past reading spells quite well. When I was 9, scientific fiction novels suddenly captured my imagination. I read all the juvenile novels available in the library. In the senior high school, I learned to read English novels starting from Lucy Maud Montgomery to Jane Austin and Emily Bronte.

I don't know what brought the current reading spree. I could keep reading all day, if it were not for the writings and meetings and lectures and television shootings that necessitate me.

I think there is something in my brain that has now gone over the threshold, and that "something" is telling me to keep reading, infusing me with a never satiable urge.

The reading fever is quite interesting in that it perhaps symbolizes a period of inner transformation, when one is carried by the tides of the unconscious dynamics to hitherto unknown territories of intellects and feelings.

This passion is interesting. I highly recommend people to be infected from time to time.

200 days

The entry "My mother and Hibari" marked 200 consecutive days of continuous entries, the writing streak starting on the 6th of June 2009.

I look back on my own perseverance with a feeling of humble satisfaction and resolve to keep the streak as long as the circumstances allow.

My mother and Hibari.

Hibari Misora is a legendary Japanese singer, sadly no longer with us. Hibari had a concert in the Tokyo Dome once, shortly before she passed away.

The thing is that my mother is a great fan of Hibari, and was lucky enough to go to the Tokyo Dome concert.

Yesterday, passing a Tokyo street, I happened to hear Hibari's voice, singing "Kawa no Nagare No Youni" ("Like the flow of a river"), and immediately remembered how my mother was enthusiastic about Hibari Misora and was overjoyed to be able to attend the concert. At that time, of course, mother did not know Hibari was to pass away so soon.

When I remembered the Hibari concert episode, I felt tremendously happy for my mother, who is up and well at the mature age of 75.

Well, that's all.


Hibari Misora singing at the now legendary 1988 concert.
(From a DVD cover)

Imagine no universities

I know a university is a good thing. You meet your mentor, friends, and colleagues. It nurtures human knowledge, and updates and creates concepts for future generations.

On the other hand, a university is an institution. It harbors its members, while rejecting others. I know people whose lives have been crushed because they could not enter the universities they wished. There are the pompous and self-important types who just pride themselves on being or having been a member of a particular university. Since any institution has its elements of malice, and since we are living in the internet era, let's do what we can to promote the goodies and discourage the vices.

Imagine no universities. On the internet, you can access to endless sources of academic information. Do we really still need institutions whose members are limited, due to physical constraints, which have no significance in the internet era? Why don't we tell the kids that they can explore the universe of knowledge without necessarily belonging to a particular institution? Why don't we encourage the crushed people that they don't have to feel inferior because of some stupid entrance exams taken at the age of 18?

Why don't we say loud that knowledge is open, for everyone, for someone from the street, as well as for those in the "ivory tower"?

Imagine no universities.

You just need to know how.

The tools are here and now.

Eight Below

Here it is getting colder and colder. In a metropolis like Tokyo, the time you spend inside is considerable. As a consequence, I don't wear a coat, even in the middle of winter. I don't like the feeling of being "suffocated" by heat as one enters a building, subway, or a taxi with one's coat on. I would rather bear the biting wind as I walk for a few minutes on the Tokyo street, in order to spend the indoors in comfort.

Things were quite different when I traveled to Germany in January. It was very cold. Actually, I later learned that Europe was experiencing an unusual freeze spell at that time, with the temperature reaching 20 below zero Celcius.

Here's a picture I took in Weimar, as we were walking on the street one late morning in that beautiful city. The sky was clear,
and the sun was out. Even so, the thermometer read eight below.

On the night of arrival in Weimar, I think it was 15 below or something. When it is cold as that, I discovered that your nostril
hairs would freeze.

"Paki paki". That is the Japanese expression for something that gets frozen and stiff. I remember quite well how my nostril hairs went "paki paki" as I walked through the Weimar night. Actually, that was not an unpleasant sensation.

Even a cold-stupid person as I had to wear a coat then. One could not simply survive otherwise. It seems that I have a high (or rather, a low) threshold for coat wearing, and in Weimar that threshold was reached.



The thermometer reading eight below, in Weimar, January 2009.

Gino Yu came to visit

Gino Yu came to visit Tokyo. Currently Gino is a professor at Hong Kong Polytechnic University. He was kind enough to accept our invitation, at a very short notice, to give a lecture at a class room at Meiji University, which was arranged by Prof. Masato Goda.

I came to know Gino when I visited Hong Kong for a conference. His personality fascinated me immediately.
He talks with such gaiety that sunshine seems to emanate from him. Gino is a "natural" in grasping what are salient and finding deep connections between things. Listening to his ideas is a delight for the soul.

I was glad that my students were exposed to his good influence. When you give a talk, the manner is as important as the content. A dull speaker bores the audience not necessarily because of poor ingredients but often due to a bad attitude.

Had a fun time afterwards in a Izakaya near the university.

Many thanks for your time and inspirations, Gino.



Gino Yu giving the lecture in Tokyo