New notes from Japan (1): Philosopher's Path

I am sitting on a stone bench, next to a small canal, drinking a can of milk coffee. The sun is shining gently, giving me a belated summer feeling. A crow and a cicada are engaged in a heated conversation. The butterflies and dragonflies, by contrast, do their foraging and frolicking silently. The water in the canal is surprisingly clear; I can see the stones on the bottom. Small groups of tourists pass by. They quietly walk along the canal, under the cherry trees. Some of them look at me.

This is Philosopher's Path, Tetsugaku no Michi, that links the Ginkaku-ji, Honen-in, Eikan-do and Nanzen-ji temples. Its name is derived from the fact that Nishida Kitaro, famous philosopher and founding father of the so-called Kyoto School, used to walk this path regularly. This is where he talked to students and colleagues; this is where he contemplated the meaning of existence.

Nishida has written several great works, in which he reinterpreted classical Mahayana thought from the perspective of modern philosophy, or vice versa. He challenged the subject-object dichotomy underlying Western philosophy and science, arguing that such a distinction is secondary and an illusory construction of the mind; that there is a 'pure experience' that comes prior to and transcends discriminatory notions of selfhood and otherness. Paradoxically, however, his political philosophy was profoundly influenced by the very principles his metaphysics and ontology rejected. That is, he naively embraced the radical East-West binary opposition and the Japanese nationalist myths in vogue at the time, and ended up supporting fascism and imperialism.

As I am sitting here on this bench, drinking my milk coffee, I wonder how it is possible that some of the greatest minds in the history of humankind developed totalitarian fantasies, and came to support dictatorial regimes. Nishida, Heidegger, Plato, Sartre and Merleau-Ponty, to name but a few. Why do wise people believe in utopias? Why do they support ideologies that legitimise the use of widespread violence, such as fascism or communism? How on earth can great thinkers be so stupid to believe the real world can become as pure and perfect as their metaphysics?

I have met wise men, whose philosophical words I cherish, but whose political ideas I despise because of their shocking simplicity and absolutism. One may be able to imagine a perfect world, in which good and evil are as easily distinguishable as in Disney films; but that does not mean such a world can actually exist. Those who believe in utopias, in absolute purity and perfection, open the door to widespread violence. Philosophers had better stay away from politics.

My mind wanders off. For a while, I don't think much - I simply enjoy the sun, the ice coffee and the view. A large green mantis is walking in the grass in front of me. Far away, a monk is chanting. Schoolgirls are passing by, laughing, eating ice cream with red beans flavour.

I arrived in Kyoto yesterday, and I am happy to be here. I have visited this city before, four times, and it contains many nice memories. Yet, I have never been as excited about Kyoto as one might expect from somebody interested in Japanese religion. I used to prefer the busy chaos and cultural diversity of Tokyo; its maze-like streets, uncoordinated growth and overall arrogance. I used to blame Kyoto for not meeting my great expectations when I first visited - I was shocked to find out most of her streets are as ugly as those in any other Japanese city. Although I visited many famous temples, I never really got to know Kyoto. Although I appreciated the historical, cultural and religious significance of the city, I never really felt at home here.

But something has changed. Maybe it is simply because I am older, and I am no longer impressed by Tokyo's neon jungle and youth culture. Having lived in different mega-cities, I have come to appreciate smallness, cyclability and green space. Indeed, last time I was in Kyoto, last March, I really enjoyed my stay. However, the joy soon disappeared as an unprecedented natural disaster hit the country, causing suffering on a large scale. We left sadly and hurriedly.

I am very happy to be back though. Perhaps it is because of the mild early autumn sun. Perhaps it is because of the sudden smell of incense meeting me on the street. Perhaps it is because of the lovely local shopping street near my guesthouse. Perhaps it is because I am finally doing something I should have done much more often when I was here before: cycling. Whatever the reason, even after one day, I suddenly feel completely at home. I am surprised, but very grateful.

There may be one other reason. Thus far, whenever I came to Japan, I first arrived in Tokyo. I spent my first day, week, weeks, months in Tokyo; I always got my first impressions there. Thus I got to know the city, and thus I came to associate it with arrival, with beginning. Whenever I visited Kyoto, however, I had the size and grandeur of Tokyo in my mind. I guess I always involuntarily compared the two. Pretty temples notwithstanding, Kyoto could never really compete with Tokyo, my urban dream. This time, however, I save Tokyo for later. For the first time in my life, Kyoto will be not only my first destination, but also my home - however briefly.

When you visit Thailand, go to Chiang Mai first. Start with the small, pretty, old city. Leave the big, modern capital city for later. The same applies to other countries. When you travel to Malaysia, start your trip in Melaka, and do not go to Kuala Lumpur until you have got to know a bit of the country first. When you go to Vietnam, skip Hanoi and Ho Chi Minh City, but start your trip in the central part of the country - Hué or Hoi An. If Indonesia is your destination, head straight to Yogyakarta (skip Jakarta altogether, it is an urban hell). Likewise, if you go to Japan, save Tokyo for later. Start at the beginning: in Kyoto and Nara. Visit historical gardens, temples and shrines with an open mind. Wander quietly along a canal lined with cherry blossoms. Don't let Tokyo's neon frenzy suffocate your senses yet.

It took me ten years to learn this simple lesson. I am a slow learner. But one is never to old to learn, I guess. In any case, I am eagerly looking forward to spending a couple of months in this city.

The crow and the cicada are no longer on speaking terms. It is blissfully quiet. I finish my coffee, get up from my bench and continue my walk. I follow the path along the canal.