In February of 1979, ten previously missing poems by Issa were found in Nagano prefecture. Let me quote a few:
In this field of graves, a cockscomb blooms alone.
The cockscomb represents Issa, of course. The cockscomb blooming in its fierce individuality may seem lonely, but it has transcended its lonely environment (the graveyard) and while dissolving into its surroundings manages to exhibit its own identity.
If the ominaeshi flowers happen to hate me, I will make the moon my friend.
The ominaeshi represents the female form (there is a visual suggestion of this in the Chinese characters used to write the flower's name). This haiku describes the state of mind of a transcendental man who has left the love of women behind him. Here is another:
This stone Jizo in the weeds
Receives the blessings—these blooming grasses.
Wabi and sabi are not the dried-up states of a solitary hermit. There remains a sympathetic spirit that respects the abandoned statue of Jizo (a Buddhist saint) and assigns it offerings as well. Issa is actually enjoying his transcendent state of singleness and isolation, because he identifies with the universe around him. Here the self is not "sad" at all, but is rejoicing in its surroundings.
Does a businessman who is slaving away day after day have time to experience this kind of transcendent state and identification with the universe? Or is his self lost, wandering aimlessly with no certain path? Of course, in the midst of modern society, it is extremely difficult to preserve a sense of solitude and to experience the states of wabi and sabi. Yet it is not impossible. Wabi and sabi are not the exclusive possessions of the poets. These states of being are available to all of us, as the next anecdote demonstrates.
"After I became president of the company, my personality changed completely. Everything—the trust and confidence of the business world in our company, the enthusiasm and reliability of the workers—rested with me. For this reason, I was forever busy with this and that, and there was no room for error on my part. I had to plunge right into all sorts of difficult personnel decisions and other kinds of extremely complex business, with no one to cover for me or to take the blame if I botched things up. After spending days considering some particularly difficult problem and finally arriving at a decision, I would be overcome by a great loneliness and depression. There seemed to be no way to escape it, no way out. To repair my frayed nerves and release some of the stress that had built up inside me, I changed my lifestyle completely.
"I opted for the simple life. I tried to find joy and pleasure in the daily chores of living. Though I used to enjoy drinking and going to parties with hostesses at a club, I gave up night life entirely. It took a long time for me to find any pleasure in my new lifestyle.
"In our inexpensive house in the suburbs, there is a little four-and-one-half mat room [approximately eight square meters]. I can take whatever is bothering me—my worries or my depression—with me into that room and close the door behind me. There I can read a book if I like, I can write, I can watch television, or just give myself up to the wanderings of my imagination. I can take a nap, or serve myself some tea. Since I don't allow anyone else into this room, my little four-and-one-half mat space is my castle, my favorite place in the world.
"I am very glad to have a place like this. Fortunately, there are lots of trees on the property. It's quiet. When the weather is nice I sit on the veranda and enjoy passing my time just watching the little garden. These may seem like the pleasures of an old man, but this quiet time of my own makes me more effective in fighting the battles I must fight at work, and in leading my 'troops' energetically."
In spite of his busy and demanding public life, this remarkable businessman has managed to achieve inner peace and harmony. In Japan, a heroic person has mastery over the affairs of this world and also displays a sensual "self" that dazzles those around him. Those who aim at wabi and sabi refine themselves to the highest degree by retreating to a quiet environment and allowing their "self" to merge with their surroundings. Though submerged, the essential individuality of the self gallops free. It is this state that has attracted so many Westerners to Zen.
The Defeat of Vending Machines
The story is an old one. When a major supermarket chain opened the first fully mechanized supermarket in Japan, it placed 67 vending machines in an area of 800 square meters. The machines offered the customer over 250 different products, mostly foodstuffs. All the customer had to do was press a button, and his purchase would drop down into his hands. The company had recently streamlined its distribution system and prided itself on being in the forefront of commercial development. However, customers absolutely refused to patronize the store. The closing of this supermarket almost immediately after it opened attracted nationwide attention and forced the company to reconsider w' direction in which it was heading.
In a survey carried out by the chain, customers were asked why they refused to patronize the store. They replied that there was no one to talk to, and that the whole shopping experience "lacked a feeling of personal relationships." Even though the automated supermarket was an efficient labor-saving device, it was extremely inefficient when it came to satisfying customers. The Japanese people rigid emotional ties with others; they need to be part of a group.
These days mechanization seems to extend to every aspect of society, to people as well as things. Even schoolteachers have become like vending machines. They dispense mechanical lectures after their salary is "inserted" into the machine. But people, especially young people, cannot live in an emotional vacuum. Even if they have shelter and clothing and vending machines to supply all their food and drink—even their entertainment and education—with everything clunking out at the press of a button, they are not entirely satisfied. Without human warmth, without someone to talk to, people can't be fully human. The self unrecognized by another is only half a self. Particularly in Japan, the self becomes half dead if it is not blended will others.
Just how high a price will we pay if our jobs are filled by microcomputers and human connections are cut off between people? The warning is the vending-machine anecdote. The less opportunity a person has to respond and communicate emotionally, the greater the ultimate harm to the self.
Vertical Relationships
The hermit crab perishes when it is pulled from its shell. Similarly, when torn from his "shell," a human being cannot survive without great damage to his personality and his ability to cope with life. The "shell" of human life is the social group. Alienation and isolation from society are a fatal blow. No human being can survive without support from the members of his social group.
This was especially important in Japan's early centuries, in a rice-producing society. The people needed mutual help badly to accomplish their work. Accordingly, the Japanese came to emphasize loyalty to the group as a means of surviving. This loyalty of members toward the group is an eloquent testimony to the cohesiveness of Japanese social groups. The question between members, "How long have you eaten your rice in the group?" indicates the strong belief in a hierarchy defined by seniority, with only minor regard for actual performance. The importance of the hierarchy in Japan is hard for most foreigners to understand and accept. Also, relations between groups are extremely cold. Members of other groups are always "others," and both emotionally and intellectually the Japanese are unprepared to deal with others in a horizontal relationship. This is, of course, the nature of a vertical society.