Japanese complex simplicity

Whenever I read the articles sent into www.odemagazine.com, I am always struck by several things. The first, of course, is the hopefulness. Also there is creativity and imagination. The focus is not on greed or grabbing, but rather on openness, generosity, and trust. Plus the diversity of expressions, projects, and happenings are very titillating. And like icing on the cake, there is often a touch of humor and fun, too. Just the fact that so many souls from so many backgrounds and outlooks contribute is very exciting indeed.

The prism of perspectives, creativity, and hope-filled endeavors are magnificent, but there is a deeper dimension, too. And that is an underlying theme or pattern that holds them all together. That unifying principle might be compared to a white light that bursts forth into a spectrum of many colors, or the reverse, where the many return to their common source, the light. From the Buddhist perspective it could be seen as the integral relationship between emptiness and form.

And what is that cohesive element holding so many ideas and projects together? Seeing the world through positive eyes is one. Sensing the glass is half full might be another. Knowing we can and should and must do whatever we can to bring hope and light and support into today’s world.

One well-known saying that seems to match this idea of cohesion behind the abundant display of imagination and “good works” is “Unity in Diversity”. And another might be “The Individual and The Collective”. This awareness is consciously, deliberately happening right now, and Ode magazine is part of that necessary, almost archetypal, phenomenon.

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Chinese and Japanese languages are a fascinating study. Some say the Asian psyche is the “yin” half of life’s equation. Others call the mentality circuitous. But whatever the label, it reveals a very ancient and deep wisdom of great benefit to all.

In Chinese and Japanese the characters of the written system are pregnant with meanings and associations. However, within themselves they do not represent a specific sound, as the letters A, B, C do. So, the same character can mean the same thing in both countries, but are pronounced entirely differently. Because of this challenging reality of meaning with no set sound, each school child faces the challenge of memorizing thousands of characters, one by one. That task includes learning the meaning, the pronunciation, and the correct way to write each individual character. It also entails studying the long history behind each symbol.

In Japan the difficulty is compounded greatly, not only because each character can have from one to as many as five or six different pronunciations, but also because Japanese has four written scripts, each used according to context! Japan borrowed its writing system from China, and devised its own pronunciation, plus added a Chinese one, plus several variations. In Chinese each character has only one reading. But in both countries many different characters can have the same pronunciation. For example, in a simple learners’ dictionary the Japanese sound “sei” (pronounced “say”) has over thirty-three meanings, all written differently, all with different meanings. So, often to get their ideas across, people have to resort to writing.

Learning to read and write is a monumental task, taking years of diligent, focused attention and practice. By the time students finish high school they should, at long last, be able to read a newspaper in its entirety. University years are usually the peak in knowing characters. And then the memory slides. “If you don’t use it, you lose it”, which is not surprising considering the amazing effort it takes to remember hundreds and thousands of characters and their very specific way of being written. However, today memory loss and lack of knowledge are on the increase because of mobile phones and computers. So, the future of writing ability is a very unknown entity and of great concern to the government and educators.

To go a bit deeper in understanding written characters, looking at the thought pattern behind them is most enlightening. There are certain stem characters that can stand on their own or be part of another character. These are called “radicals”. When a particular radical is part of a character, the meaning of the character has something to do with the theme of the radical. For example, the character for “seed” had the radical for a rice plant. (種) That is because every rice plant has lots of seeds. So, there is an easily understood connection between the radical and the meaning of the entire character. The other part of the character means “heavy”, which adds to the idea of a lot of seeds.

The truly marvelously circuitous dimension of Asian logic can be seen in many other more complex characters. To illustrate, the character for “to borrow” (借りる) has the radical of a person. That makes direct sense; borrowing requires people. The other part, however, is not so obvious. It means “the past”. But how could “person” plus “past” ever come to mean “to borrow”?

The “past” half of the equation has the original meaning of “piled up days”, as there is a “sun” and a ladder-like image to indicate “piling up”. That led to the idea of “duplicate”, as one day seems to duplicate or becomes like another. Then “duplicate” connected with “person” implied “to imitate someone”. That in turn came to mean “not the real thing”, which by association meant “not really one’s own”; that is, “something borrowed”. (1)

Following the route of how characters evolved is a wonderful lesson in seeing how the perceived world is truly structured in many differing ways. That alone should promote an open and more flexible mind. And good dose of humility could be added to that, too.

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There is a quietly well-known stone well in a temple in Nara, Japan. It is round with a square hole in the center. It has four obvious characters, one at each cardinal point. Taken separately, going clockwise from the top, they mean “fire”, “bird”, “foot”, and “arrow”.

Why would those four characters be the symbols chosen for this ancient, revered mandala? How can they be interpreted to give a coherent meaning? “A man walking on foot shot a fire bird with an arrow”? Or maybe “A fire bird moves like an arrow”? Or possibly “A bird’s foot looks like a fire arrow”?

All of these, and many others, are possibilities, but none has a really significant meaning. That is, there is too much diversity, with no unifying thread to pull them into a cohesive whole.

But if you go one step further and move beyond form alone to include non-form as well, then everything changes. By noticing and incorporating the empty space in the center, the underlying principle they all share, then this scattering of characters come together with very deep meaning, purpose, and wisdom. That is, by adding the square, which is like a radical, to each character, the meaning of each changes, as does the meaning of the totality.

When all diversities take part in the center of emptiness, while retaining their separate identities, they come to manifest something very magnificent about the human soul and it relationship to life.

Of course, as individuals we keep moving and doing. That is part of nature’s laws. But there is also the possibility of a trust, a deep knowing, that allows us to stop grasping, grabbing, and even striving. Then we can pause in a centeredness and stillness, and become aware, awake.

In this particular mandala when the formed parts, the characters, come in contact with the empty square in the center, or when our little egos come in contact with the dimensionless, soul aspect of the Cosmos, then a truly profound wisdom is revealed.

“Ware Taru Koto Nomi O Shiru”

“I know that I have exactly enough.”

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(1) Thanks to Kenneth G. Henshall’s “A Guide to Remembering the Japanese Characters” for his indispensable knowledge of this field.