Nous vous proposons ici une lecture de son livre « Jamais seul » et ses points de convergence avec le Seitai.
Depuis l’aube de nos civilisations, l’action des microbes façonne notre alimentation, elle permet la conservation et la consommation des aliments (pain, fromages, vin, légumes…). Domestiqués de manière empirique depuis des millénaires, les micro-organismes qui interviennent dans ces processus n’ont été identifiés qu’assez récemment, il y a moins de 200 ans.
Et ce n’est qu’encore plus récemment que les scientifiques ont commencé à étudier le microbiote, c’est-à-dire l’ensemble des bactéries, champignons, virus, etc. qui sont abrités par un organisme-hôte (l’être humain par exemple) et vivent dans un environnement spécifique de cet hôte comme la peau ou l’estomac.
La plupart d’entre nous ne soupçonne pas que notre vie est dépendante d’une étroite association, appelée symbiose, que nous établissons naturellement avec plusieurs dizaines de milliards de bactéries qui peuplent la surface de notre corps et jusqu’aux creux de nos intestins. On se considère comme au-dessus, indépendant de toute cette influence microbienne, à l’exception notable des personnes enrhumées qui s’entendent souvent dire : « Ah, mais ne me refile pas tes microbes ! ». Le microbiote n’est donc considéré, au mieux, que pour ou qu’au regard de son potentiel pathogène.
Cette vision, maintenant dépassée mais toujours omniprésente, du microbe vu comme néfaste a profondément influencé notre rapport à la Nature, à nos corps et plus globalement à la vie. Qu’il s’agisse des pesticides en agriculture, des savons bactéricides et gels désinfectants sur nos peaux, ces produits, en éliminant sans discernement les micro-organismes favorables et ceux défavorables à leurs hôtes, créent les conditions d’un appauvrissement du terrain – celui de nos champs comme celui de nos muqueuses.
Ces actions hygiénistes répétées au fil du temps, dès l’accouchement, empêchent chez l’être humain une maturation du système immunitaire qui plus tard ne sera plus capable de reconnaître le corps dont il fait partie ou bien aura des réactions disproportionnées. Notre époque est aussi celle des maladies auto-immunes et des allergies.
Les principes Seitai, dans l’œuvre d’Haruchika Noguchi, partent d’un point de vue radical : intuitif plutôt qu’analytique. Se basant sur son expérience de guérisseur durant trente ans, H. Noguchi renonça à l’idée de thérapeutique dans les années 50 car il avait constaté qu’elle affaiblissait les organismes des individus et les rendait dépendants du praticien. Ceci l’amena à considérer la santé d’une manière toute différente en actant que les réactions du corps sont les manifestations d’un organisme qui réagit pour retrouver son équilibre.
« La maladie est une chose naturelle, c’est un effort de l’organisme qui tente de récupérer l’équilibre perdu. […] Il est bon que la maladie existe, mais il faut que les hommes se libèrent de son assujettissement, de son esclavage. C’est ainsi que Noguchi est arrivé à concevoir la notion de Seitai, la normalisation du terrain, si on veut. ».
Ce rééquilibrage est l’œuvre du système involontaire, il ne dépend pas de notre volonté. Il engendre des symptômes qui impliquent le microbiote. Par exemple les flux qui expulsent hors du corps les germes défavorables (rhumes, diarrhées), la fonction régulatrice de la fièvre ou bien la fonction antibiotique de la carence en fer chez les femmes enceintes.
La philosophie Seitai a cette spécificité de voir l’être humain comme un tout indivisible. Il n’y a pas de séparation entre le psychique et le physique. La traduction du mot Seitai est « terrain normalisé ». Cette notion de terrain chez H. Noguchi est globale. Elle recouvre en partie la notion de microbiote. Ce dernier est pour nous comme la terre qui entoure les racines d’un arbre, c’est la Nature qui vit en harmonie et en collaboration en chacun d’entre nous, sans même que nous en soyons conscients. C’est pourquoi nous ne sommes jamais seuls. Considérer les microbes comme néfastes et les combattre ou bien profiter de leur aide et collaborer naturellement avec eux est une question d’orientation intérieure. Privilégier un hygiénisme à outrance ou favoriser ce que M. Selosse appelle « la saleté propre ». relève de ce même choix. L’expression « Cultiver son jardin ». prend alors un sens nouveau et concret. Tout dépend de nous.
Là où l’instinct a disparu, il est nécessaire de mettre à disposition les découvertes scientifiques. Bien qu’étant autodidacte, H. Noguchi était parfaitement au courant de la science de son époque. Cela nourrissait ses réflexions et ses intuitions. C’est dans ce même esprit que nous sommes honorés d’accueillir M. Marc-André Selosse qui présentera les découvertes les plus récentes sur le microbiote humain et échangera avec le public. Réservation indispensable : http://tenshin.org/conference-selosse/
↑. Marc-André Selosse, Jamais seul : Ces microbes qui construisent les plantes, les animaux et les civilisations p.185 Édition Actes Sud 2017
↑. Voir l’œuvre d’Itsuo Tsuda (9 tomes), disponible au Courrier du Livre et d’Haruchika Noguchi, 3 livres en langue anglaise disponibles aux éditions Zensei
↑. Itsuo Tsuda, Le Dialogue du Silence, le Courrier du Livre, 2006 (1979) p. 64-65.
Notre but : soutenir et conduire, sans but lucratif, toute activité d’intérêt général à caractère culturel destinée à conserver et diffuser l’œuvre philosophique d’Itsuo Tsuda. Ce but s’articule autour de trois axes :
l’acquisition, la conservation et la diffusion de l’œuvre calligraphique ;
la diffusion de l’œuvre littéraire ;
la conservation et la diffusion des archives photographiques et vidéos.
Le fonds de dotation est un outil de financement du mécénat, une sorte de fondation qui répond à la quasi-totalité des droits et devoirs des fondations reconnues d’utilité publique.
Les donateurs peuvent bénéficier d’une réduction d’impôt sur le revenu égale à 66% du montant de leurs don. Par exemple un don de 300€ ne coûtera que 100€ après déduction d’impôt. Plus d’information sur la structure des fonds de dotation ici
L’œuvre calligraphique :
L’œuvre calligraphique d’Itsuo Tsuda étant dispersée aux quatre coins du monde, nous avons souhaité la réunir et la rendre accessible à toutes les personnes intéressées. C’est chose faite en 2017, avec la publication du livre « Itsuo Tsuda, Calligraphies de Printemps ». Ce formidable ouvrage n’aurait pas vu le jour sans un immense travail bénévole : le prix de vente ne servant qu’à couvrir les frais d’impression et d’expédition.
La diffusion de l’œuvre littéraire :
Yume Editions, est la marque éditoriale du fonds de dotation Itsuo Tsuda, avec laquelle l’œuvre d’Itsuo Tsuda est diffusée en anglais et italien.
Grâce aux dons des particuliers et au travail bénévole, nous pouvons proposer aujourd’hui des traductions de qualité professionnelle. Sont déjà disponibles :
The Non Doing
The Path of Less
The Science of the Particular
The Dialogue of Silence, sera très bientôt disponible et The Unsteady Triangle est déjà en cours de traduction
C’est aussi ainsi que nous avons pu publier en 2014 le livre Cœur de ciel pur, œuvre posthume réalisée à partir d’inédits d’Itsuo Tsuda, éditée au Courrier du Livre – éditions Trédaniel (disponible en librairie)
La conservation et la diffusion des archives photographiques et vidéos :
La numérisation des documents pour un archivage qui puisse traverser le temps est aussi un des objectifs du fonds Itsuo Tsuda. Il nous tient à cœur de regrouper ces documents en un fonds d’archives accessible au public comme aux pratiquants et aux dojos. Ce sont des archives que nous considérons comme un patrimoine de l’humanité qui doivent donc être conservées et appartenir à tous.
Nous renouvelons ici nos remerciements à ceux qui nous soutiennent et nous rappelons que tout le travail est fait par des bénévoles. Alors si vous souhaitez soutenir l’action du fonds de dotation,contactez-nous : firstname.lastname@example.org
Fonds Itsuo Tsuda,
50 rue du Volga 75020 Paris
Siret 538 200 254 00018
Living is a more important matter than thinking. Being alive is not a means, but an end. So life should be carried on naturally only with the aim of maintaining life : a breathing in, a breathing out, a raising of the hand, a movement of the leg – all these should be for the cultivation of life.
Therefore, simply dwelling in health is a very precious thing. Zensei, which is to say, « A fulfilled life », is nothing but the road men follow, and it is the road ,of nature. Fulfilling the life that is given in peace of spirit is not for the sake of spiritual content, but is what should already have been undertaken before all else. We have to live in a vital way human life, which is health. Living always cheerfully and happily—this has always been what is of true value to human beings.
Human beings live because they are born, and because they are living, they eat and they sleep. They are born as a result of a natural demand, and they live as a result of the same demand. To live is natural. And so to die is also natural. Human beings’ accomplishing the life that is given them comes before all else. But this does not mean being attached to life at all. Chuang-tzu disliked any craving for particular things. For him, the arising of any attachment is at once a departure from the way. So he speaks about cultivating life and maintaining the body in order that the present moment that is given, precisely because it is the present moment, may be used fully, and certainly not because the thing given is life.
Chuang-tzu saw as a single whole the contraries of good and evil, of beauty and ugliness, and of the useful and the useless, and for him life and death were also a single whole, what comes into existence passing out of it and what passes out of existence coming into it. « Life arises from death and death arises from life » he wrote.
When Tsu-yu contracted a crippling illness, Tsu-szu visited him and asked, « Do you think your fate is unpleasant? » Tsu-yu’s answer was astounding : « Why should I find it unpleasant? If changes are brought about and my left arm turns into a rooster, I’ll use it to herald the dawn. If my right shoulder is transformed into a bullet, I’ll use it to bring down a pigeon for roasting. If my buttocks become carriage-wheels and my spirit a horse, I’ll ride along on them. Then I would need no other vehicle but myself—that would be wonderful! »
« Time does not cease even for an instant, and if it is destiny for a human being to be born, then it is natural that living form should be lost. If you are content with time’s flow and in accord with the order of things, then there is not especially any joy or sorrow. This is what the ancients called « deliverance from bondage ». You put a noose round your neck and you can’t get it off ; this is because it is tied by the mind that thinks in terms of right and wrong and good and bad. Nothing can overcome heaven. Nothing comes of hating heaven. »
Chuang-tzu’s point about cultivating life is clear in the words that come in the passage where Kung Wen Hsien speaks to the Commander of the Army : « The work of man is still the work of nature. » This is the road he walks. Within his attitude — that whatever happens, it is proper, and that when something happens, you go forward and affirm reality – there is not a trace of the resignation that lies in submitting tu destiny. His affirmation of reality is nothing but the affirmation of reality. The dignity of the man is conveyed only by Lin Chi’s words : « Wherever you are, be master. »
From Chuang-tzu’s point of view, the security of the bird-cage is no better than being obliviously asleep. He feels the vitality of life only so long as existence is unconstrained.
It is the way we view our own bodies – whether consciously or unconsciously – that decides which perceptual experiences we choose to value. In trying to achieve those experiences, we then establish the ways in which we use and move our bodies. In short, each and every motion made by a human being is a reflection of his or her own idea of the body. This is not limited to visible physical movement. For example, while it is true that our breathing is restricted by the structure of our respiratory organs, exactly what we consider a “deep breath” is determined by each individual’s view of the body. Similarly, while the act of eating cannot deviate from the structure of the human digestive system, it is our idea of the body that dictates exactly what feeling we consider “satisfying”, and when we feel we have had enough. And whereas our physical balance is affected by the force of gravity on the structure of our bodies, exactly what bodily sensation we choose to call “stable” depends on each person’s concept of the body.
Therefore, if a group of people possesses a distinct way of moving or using the body, it follows that they must share a common view of the body. The formal way of sitting in Japan, called Seiza, may generate nothing but a sense of restriction to most Westerners. For the Japanese however, sitting in Seiza traditionally brought a sense of peace to the mind. This way of sitting with both knees bent results in a sense of complete immobility. It halts the mind from intending any following motion, and in fact, executing sudden movements from this position is quite difficult. Sitting in Seiza forces one to enter into a state of complete receptivity, and it is in this position that the Japanese wrote, played music, and ate. In times of sadness, of prayer, and even of resolve, Lire la suite →
With the arrival of Buddhism fifteen hundred years ago, the era of kings, symbolized by the great tombs, came to an end, and Japan was ushered into a new era, ruled by religion. As with the Meiji Restoration, the lifestyles of the Japanese people were dramatically transformed. Curiously enough though, in contrast with the Meiji Restoration, the changes that occurred with Buddhism’s arrival actually seemed to clarify the distinct nature of Japan’s culture.
Fortunately for Japan, Buddhism was not transmitted directly from India, coming through China instead. During its travels in China, Buddhism had no choice but to merge with the antecedents of China’s indigenous Taoism, such as the va-rious practices of mysticism including fangshu, and the philosophies of Lao-Tzu and Chuang-Tzu. These practices, which were later integrated into Taoism, all involved ascetic practices for the purpose of cultivating longevity. Therefore the Buddhism that arrived to Japan was one already baptized by the Chinese, meaning that it was characterized by a strong emphasis on Taoist-like ascetic practices [Sekiguchi, (1967)].Lire la suite →
In four sections: 1The scenario of death in modern society. 2 Perceiving life in all things. 3The idea of the body in asceticism. 4 The philosophy of Kata
At the heart of a culture lies a certain view of the body, and this view decides which perceptual experiences the culture chooses to value. In trying to achieve those expe-riences, certain principles for moving and handling the body are established, and these principles then set the standards for the mastery of essential skills that penetrate through all fields of art, creating a rich foundation from which the culture can flourish. The culture of traditional Japan, which disintegrated at the hands of the Meiji Restoration, indeed possessed such a structure. The idea of the body, the shared perceptual experiences, and the principles of movement that existed in traditional Japanese culture were radically different from those that arrived from the West and have been blindly disseminated by the Japanese government ever since the Meiji Restoration. This paper discusses the feeble underpinnings of modern Japan as a culture built upon the destruction of its own traditions, and explores the possibility of giving birth to a new culture by looking into the structure of its lost traditional culture.
The Scenery of Death in Modern Society
There is a national policy in Japan that has continued without pause to this day, for nearly one hundred and forty years since the Meiji Restoration in l868. This is the policy of Westernization, which has led to the continuing disintegration of the traditional Japanese view of life and body, as a whole. By accepting this policy, the Japanese people did gain the practical lifestyles of a modernized society filled to the brim with Western scientific technology. At the same time, however, they have, by their own hands, effectively dismantled and oblite-rated a culture with a 2000-year tradition. It is still not known who actually instigated the most drastic social reform that ever occurred in Japan’s history; of which class they belonged to, or what their objectives were [Oishi, (1977)]. In any case, the Meiji Restoration was triggered by the opening of Japan’s ports to foreign trade in 1854, when the Tokugawa Shogunate, succumbing to military pressure by the United States and European countries, made the decision to end its 200-year policy of isolation. This decision by the Shogunate caused chaos throughout the nation. Samurai, angered by the cowardly stance of the Shogunate, rose in rebellion, while the exportation of raw silk led to economic turmoil caused by drastic rises in prices. As a result of internal and external pressure, Tokugawa Yoshinobu, then Shogun, had no choice but to surrender his power in 1867.
The new Meiji administration established an Emperor system based on the constitutional monarchy of Prussia, deploying State Shinto, a nationalistic form of Shintoism, in place of Christianity – the core of Western culture – and quickly proceeded to recreate the nation. While politics, economics, and industry went through reforms based on Western models, the policy of modernization. Westernization, and scientific progress would also extend to the lifestyles of the general population.
On the surface, this policy of Westernization seemed to be a measure for guiding the people of Japan to adjust to their new government, constructed in the short span of just two years after the collapse of the Shogunate. In reality, however, it aimed to reject and dismantle every aspect of traditional Japanese
culture through the unyielding glorification of Western civilization. The policy consisted of three main factors – agitation, go-vernmental orders and regulations, and information control – none of which permitted room for traditional culture to coexist with the new order.
It was the imperial and royal families who first adopted Western lifestyles, as though setting an example for the rest of the nation, inciting a sense of yearning amongst the people for all things Western. Thus the emperor – the symbol of Japan – came to serve also as the symbol of Westernization. The media followed, spreading shallow words glorifying Western civilization and boycotting tradition. Their slogan, “Bunmei Kaika” (the blooming of civilization), resounded throughout the nation.
Even the historically adored wild cherry trees were cut down and used as firewood all over the country, because they stood as a reminder of the former feudal system.
And instead, Someiyoshino, an artificially created hybrid cherry tree, was prized because it was a product of “science”: it flourishes in most any type of soil condition, blooms gloriously and almost simultaneously, and possesses a sense of uniform beauty, where its flowers bloom before any leaves appear on its branches. But like all other artificially bred plants, the Someiyoshino has no scent; it did not inherit the intense scent of the wild cherry. And while the life span of wild cherries is said to be three hundred, sometimes five hundred years, Someiyoshino lasts for only seventy or eighty [Horibe, (2003)]. This uniformly beautiful, artificial cherry, deprived of scent and longevity by human hands, was planted all across the nation, and would eventually be designated as the national flower of Japan. If the birth of modern Western civilization could be compared to the blooming of a flower rooted in the soil of the traditional cultures of the West, then modernity in Japan is an artificial flower that did not come from any real soil. The fate of the cherry trees suggests the true nature of the emergence of an artificial and deformed modernity in this country.
Naturally, the destruction of wild cherries was only a small part of the monumental changes taking place. Perhaps the most significant of the Restoration’s destructive activities was the government order to separate Shinto and Buddhism. This act, which was carried out in order to establish State Shinto, triggered the anti-Buddhist movement, leading to the destruction of historically valuable Buddhist temples, statues, and tea huts throughout the nation.
Even staging of the traditional theater art, Noh, was prohibited after the Restoration, forcing almost all Noh actors to switch occupations or terminate their careers.
Amidst such an atmosphere of total rejection of anything traditional, the Westernization of clothing was popularized, first through military and government uniforms. At the same time, Western food culture was introduced through hospital meals, and Western architecture through public facilities. Wearing neckties and clothes with buttons, eating beef, drin-king cow’s milk, entering buildings with one’s shoes on such things never done by the people of Japan in its two thousand years of history became the first tests of loyalty imposed by the Meiji government.
The government proceeded to issue increasing numbers of prohibitions and orders to switch trade or leave public service. For example, with the decision to introduce Western medicine as the official medicinal practice of Japan, the government devoted enormous effort into eradicating the long-standing practice of Chinese medicine. Resistance by doctors of Chinese medicine was strong, and in the end, it took more than forty years until this effort was finally realized. During this time, in order to decide which of the two was superior, a hospital was established in order to gather data on the effectiveness of both medicines on the disease, beriberi. The result of the so-called East-West beriberi competition however, was an equal match, and conflicts between the two schools intensified – even lea-ding to the attempted assassination of Sohaku Asada, famous doctor of Chinese medicine and leader of the resistance [Fukagawa, (1956)]. Here is where we see the shameless sche-ming nature of the Meiji government’s policy of Westernization. A look at the newspaper articles in those days reveal series of irrational writings such as, “Compared to the ugly black liquids prepared by doctors of Chinese medicine, look how beautiful the snow-white powders of Western medicine are!” Practitioners of Chinese medicine were forced to fight such unfair accusations spread by the media.
The introduction of Western medicine sought to accomplish more than the Westernization of medicinal practices. It was by nature, an anti-Shogunate policy. For example, the preserving of acupuncture practices, which did not exist in Western medicine, seemed from the outside to be a salvation measure for the blind, who were traditionally relegated to this line of work. However, the practice of acupuncture recognized by the Shogunate was Japanese acupuncture, the system of which was created after a thorough scrutiny and revamping of Chinese acupuncture. So it was Japanese acupuncture that was prohi-bited, and those who practiced it were ordered to switch to Chinese acupuncture instead [Machida, (1985)]. In other words, the policy of Westernization was characterized by the complete rejection of Japanese tradition, and anything of foreign origin was valued and welcomed.
Students of various fields such as architecture, cooking, and medicine, were all forced to learn Western theories if they desired to acquire official trade licenses, newly required by the government. It was through the establishment of such systems that the government attempted to cut off the transmission of experiential knowledge and thereby end the tradition of the apprenticeship system. For example, by imposing the study of Western architectural theory – based on the metric system – on Japanese architects, the government effectively obstructed the passing of knowledge from master carpenters, who based their building art on the traditional Japanese scale system, to their apprentices.
The traditional architectural methods of Japan, which enabled construction of the world’s largest wooden structure with no less than a thousand years’ lifespan, were based on an entirely different theoretical system from Western architectural methods. Riding the wave of Western theory worship, the Japanese government, however, has continued to force the Westernization of architecture to this day, without due investigation or recognition of the value of its country’s traditional methods. In 1959, the government officially adopted a resolution proposed by the Architectural Institute of Japan, to prohibit the construction of wooden architecture. Six years later it issued an order that forbid use of the traditional Japanese scale system [Matsuura, (2002)]. Japan’s building codes promote the construction of concrete structures that are advantageous in making fortresses out of cities, and this is leading to the disappearance of wooden structures, born from this land and climate, which have upheld the lifestyle of the Japanese for two thousand years. As a result, the magnificent forests of Japan are now in deterioration.
Governmental control of information also occurred within the new educational system, established in 1872. With its curriculum constructed entirely on Western theories, the educational system became a stronghold for the process of Westernization. The biased education system, which again glorified Western studies, would lead the intellect and sensitivities of the Japanese people towards ignorance of, and disdain for, their own traditional culture.
Even such subjects as art, music, and physical education, designed to cultivate students’ aesthetic sensibilities – not to mention more general subjects – played a major role in dismantling traditional culture and spurring the process of Westernization.
The curriculum of art introduced the brilliant colors of the West, while traditional Japanese colors were thoroughly forgotten; their principles of harmony left untaught. The traditional Japanese rich sensitivity for colors is obvious when we look at kimonos or the traditional mountings used for calligraphy and painting. A book of sample dye colors from kimono makers in the Edo period reveals one hundred shades of grey and forty eight shades of brown, each with a name of its own [Nagasaki, (2001)]. The dye-makers’ ability to create such an enormous variety of colors through the use of plant materials is a testament to their superb skills. But more astonishing is the fact that clothes-makers and even consumers were able to distinguish all of these shades. To the Japanese, colors were something that seeped into the materials; they worked to enhance the inherent quality of the raw material. The new colors that arrived from the West, on the other hand, coated over raw materials. This encounter shocked and confused the subtle sensitivity toward colors that the Japanese had held until then. One hundred and forty years later, the result of such education is demonstrated in the vulgar sense of colors seen in the cities of modern Japan. On the streets, store signs and handout pamphlets show no sign of subtlety. It is as if the use of loud and flashy colors alone could suffice in imitating the Western sense of colors. Such education has surely squandered more than a few fine talents out of which excellent Japanese paintings could have been born [Nakamura, (2000)].
Meanwhile, music education disarranged the traditional concept of sound. The Japanese sense of sound was developed through religion. Sound created through deep and focused intensity was considered to have the power to cleanse impurities. The Ki-ai techniques handed down by Shinto priests and mountain ascetics, the chanting of Buddhist monks, and even the act of cleaning were all religious practices, or music, based on the mystery of sound. The use of the hataki – a duster made of paper and stick – broom originates from Shinto rituals, which invited the Divine by purifying the surrounding environment through the use of sound. They were not used for the purpose of achieving sanitary cleanliness. The sound of the Noh-kan (bamboo flute used in Noh drama) was for resting the dead, the Shino-bue (reed flute) for inviting the dead to visit this world. The sense of depth held by sound in traditional Japanese culture was based on a sensitivity towards sound that was entirely different from that found in Western music. Yet music education in schools taught only Western music, with its theory based on an equally tempered scale that is essentially an exception among all other music born on this planet, and students who sang according to the traditional Japanese scales were looked down upon as being tone-deaf.
Physical education likewise dismantled traditional ways of moving the body (explained later in this article), teaching only exercises and movements based on the mechanics of movement transmitted from the West. This resulted in the creation of great disparity between perceptions of the body held by old and new generations, making transmission of the body-culture from pa-rent to child unduly difficult. As a consequence, today there are countless adults who cannot even use chopsticks properly, let alone sit in the traditional form of Seiza.
The one hundred and forty years of biased education has forced the Japanese intellect to be utilized solely for translating, interpreting, and imitating Western civilization. Certainly, du-ring those years, Japan has produced high-quality electronic goods, and automobiles that were jokingly called “mobile li-ving rooms”, but those things have nothing to do with Japanese culture. They are rather simple expressions of the shock expe-rienced by the Japanese in encountering the modem civilization of the West. In other words, those things are copies of the image of modem civilization reflected in the Japanese eye. That strange and exaggeratedly soft car seat and suspension is a
simulation of the sweet soft feeling the Japanese people, who up to that point had never sat on anything but hard Tatami mats, felt when they sat in Western-style sofas for the very first time. The excessively pragmatic electronic products, filled with more conveniences than the average person can handle, is an expression of the impact felt by the Japanese as they were blinded by the brilliantly bright light of the electric bulb, after living so long under the wavering light of old Japanese candles.
The lengthy closed-door policy of Japan warped its encounter with Western civilization. Lacking any common denominators with modern societies of the West, the Japanese had turned their tremendous sense of disparity into glorification and worship, as a means of self-protection.
Since the Meiji Restoration, Japan has been quite successful in dismantling its own traditional culture. However, it has not been able to create any kind of new culture through the assimilation of Western civilization. This is of course only natural, for culture cannot be born from imitation and yearning alone. Blinded by that brilliant image of modern civilization, the Japanese were not able to meet with the actual culture, which gave birth to, supported, and managed that very civilization. In other words, they never truly understood the traditional sensitivities of the Western people, and therein lies the tragedy of today’s Japan. Of course, there is no way to transplant a culture. The culture of a country, nurtured through the accumulation of experiences over centuries of tradition, belongs to the land from which it was born, and to that land only. It does not permit absorption or imitation by another. Scientific thought, founded on pragmatism, objectivism, and positivism, which Japan so avidly attempted to emulate since the Restoration, must then also have been an inevitable product of the culture – the land and spirit – of Western countries. Japanese scientists who participate in international academic gatherings for the first time are always startled to find that Western scientists mention God without any hesitation during discussions. This is because in Japan, being a scientist necessarily means being a materialist and atheist at the same time. For post-Restoration Japan, science was virtue and also religion or faith.
Modern Japan has thus become an anomaly in world history – a pure product of “modernity”, established without ever possessing a foundation of true culture. It is a nation, in which experiments of the most extreme “modernity” occur.
After all, “culture” is nothing but the ability to make the world in which we live one of richness and beauty. It is the perceptual ability to convert and recompose objective time-space into human time-space. Through the discovering and sharing of this ability, “culture” enables the people belonging to its land to appear in all of their beauty. Yet, at the same time, it comes with the dangerous potential for self-destruction because, by nature, its existence and value cannot be perceived by those who live within it, those whose very lives are supported by it.
It is the scenery of birth and death that symbolizes, most directly, the culture of any country. The scenery of death in today’s Japan is a mechanical one. Its background is the hospital, where people are detained by life-support systems. Behind the closed doors of their waiting rooms, doctors call this the “spaghetti syndrome”. This is the scene we find in geriatric wards, where our elders are restrained with belts around their arms and legs so as to prevent them from their unconscious attempts to pull off the numerous catheters attached to their bodies. What we see here is not the sacred image of one gree-ting the final chapter of his or her life. It is not the image of transmission from parent to child of the final and most profound word, the drawing of one’s “final breath”, which throughout history was considered one of the most important activities in human life. In a mere thirty minutes after death, salesmen from funeral services appear in front of the surviving family. In recent years, merchants asking for organ transplants will arrive beforehand. It is this empty, “scientific” image of death that symbolizes our nation’s modernity, and this has come to be because modern society separates body from life, body from character, body from self. Our “freedom-loving” modern government may not govern its citizens’ lives, but it does govern its citizens’ bodies. While they do recognize freedom in most other aspects, not one “developed” country reco-gnizes freedom of choice when it comes to medical treatment. If our bodies were considered inseparable from the lives that we lead, then choosing methods of medical treatment, birthing, and dying, would naturally be an issue belonging to each individual’s ideology and thought. Modern nations, however, have implemented Western medicine, which considers body and life to be of separate spheres, as their official form of medicine. Thus, they try to control birth, medical treatment, and death, or in other words, our bodies. In Western medical science, the body is only a tool: a machine to be used by its owner’s will. Therefore receiving medical treatment is no different from repairing broken machinery, and death becomes merely the production of waste material. Hospitals have already turned into processing facilities for industrial waste, with organ transplants serving as part of their recycling business. Anybody who senses something strange about this mechanical image of death that is now the norm in the hospitals of Japan will realize immediately that science in itself can never become “culture”.
As we greet the 21st Century, perhaps the time has come to reconsider the disintegration of our traditional culture that began with the Meiji Restoration. Time passed can never be reclaimed, but at least we must come to understand our past to the point that we are able to genuinely mourn its loss. We should look back now at our lost culture so that we can move forward towards the shaping of the new culture that is to come.
Nous avons eu le plaisir de participer à Hanami au jardin d’acclimatation de Paris les 23 et 24 avril. Le Hanami est une coutume japonaise qui consiste à contempler les fleurs, en particulier celles des cerisiers, dans la période où elles entrent en pleine floraison. Cet événement Parisien où plus de dix mille personnes ont parcouru ce jardin, était organisé en collaboration avec la Japan Expo.
Film de la démonstrations d’Aïkido, Pratique respiratoire
« Sur les traces d’Itsuo Tsuda » au Mas d’Azil/Daumazan (Ariège) 1er sept-31 oct 2015
Le Dojo Kingyo, association dédiée à la pratique de l’Aïkido et du Katsugen Undo, organise une exposition de calligraphies d’Itsuo Tsuda. L’événement aura lieu simultanément dans les médiathèques du Mas d’Azil et de Daumazan. Découvrez quelques images de la mise en place de l’exposition (cliquez sur les photos pour agrandir)
Après avoir évoqué le tourisme moderne qui s’est développé aux États-Unis et ensuite propagé dans le monde entier, Itsuo Tsuda insiste pour les voyages qu’il organisa entre 1977 et 1982 sur l’importance de la sensibilité : « Ce qui importe avant tout c’est la sensibilité des touristes vis-à-vis de l’expérience au contact d’un monde nouveau. Si la sensibilité est mal préparée, on ne voit rien d’autre que le reflet du passé dont on est chargé. » Nous poursuivons donc ici la publication du bulletin dans lequel Itsuo Tsuda présenta le caractère des « Seitai Tours », publication illustrée par des photos prises par Bruno Vienne.
Le calendrier de l’Avent du centenaire d’Itsuo Tsuda : 25 jours pour retrouver 25 moments forts de l’année 2014, consacrée à Itsuo Tsuda.
#25Working For Future
Oui, nous avons parlé du passé. Oui, nous avons regardé les traces du passé. Nous avons écouté ces traces qu’Itsuo Tsuda nous a laissées.
L’année 2014 prend fin, mais cela continue AUJOURD’HUI.
Le futur qui s’écrit aujourd’hui nous réclame entièrement. Itsuo Tsuda en parla, l’écrivit : prendre soin des enfants, préserver leur sensibilité, leur force intérieure sont des actes primordiaux.
«Quand le citoyen-écologiste prétend poser la question la plus dérangeante en demandant : «Quel monde allons-nous laisser à nos enfants ?», il évite de poser cette autre question, réellement inquiétante :
«À quels enfants allons-nous laisser le monde ?».
Jaime SemprunL’abîme se repeuple (éd. Encyclopédie des Nuisances, 1997, p. 20).
Cette question, suivant les traces d’Haruchika Noguchi, Itsuo Tsuda l’a posée dès les années 1970. Ses livres et son enseignement sont pleins d’indications pour ceux qui veulent comprendre. Le chemin est à faire. Déconditionner son esprit, retrouver sa sensibilité, pour sentir par soi-même la vie à l’œuvre en nous et, chez les enfants, ne pas l’étouffer.
Qu’est ce que l’intuition ?
C’est l’expérience d’un instant qui ne revient jamais. Si c’est raté, c’est raté. Pour toujours. Mais si on a la continuité, la marge d’erreur diminue. Et un jour, on se dit : « Mais est-ce possible ? Ce n’est pas moi qui l’ai fait. Je ne suis rien dans cette réussite. J’ai agi un peu comme dans un rêve. C’est une sensation qui m’a traversé. Mais le résultat est là. » C’est à partir du moment où l’on bâtit un monument pour le triomphe que la situation se dégrade. On n’apprend pas cela à l’école. Là, on se remplit la tête avec des notions matérialistes. On apprend à partager le gâteau, à égalité, bien entendu, pour que chacun ait une part un peu plus grosse que les autres. L’enfance est le seul domaine qui reste où l’on peut encore faire une expérience aussi impossible. Le bébé est grand comme l’univers, mais si on le traite mal, il se fane bien vite. Quelle voie choisir ? C’est à vous de voir…
« Il n’est donc pas impossible, même pour les civilisés, de se libérer du monde rhétorique dans lequel ils vivent et de retrouver leur vrai « moi ».
Itsuo Tsuda, Le triangle instable.
A l’occasion du centenaire du philosophe Itsuo Tsuda (1914-2014), les pratiquants du dojo Yuki Ho vous invitent à des lecture d’extraits de ses livres. Trois rendez-vous : 29 septembre, 13 et 16 octobre à Toulouse (voir détails plus bas)
Né en 1914, Itsuo Tsuda vint en France en 1934 et fit ses études avec Marcel Granet et Marcel Mauss jusqu’en 1940, année de son retour au Japon.
Aprés 1950, il s’intéressa aux aspects culturels du Japon, étudia la récitation du Nô avec Me Hosada, le Seitai avec Me Noguchi, et l’Aïkido avec Me Ueshiba.
Il revint en Europe en 1970 et proposa une philosophie du Non-faire que l’on peut notamment découvrir et approfondir à travers ses œuvres et les pratiques de l’Aïkido et du Katsugen undo.
Lundi 29 septembre et 13 octobre 2014, à 19:00 au Café chez L, 39 bd des Récollets, 3100 Toulouse
Jeudi 16 octobre2014 à 19h à la libraire Terra Nova, 18 rue Gambetta 31000 Toulouse
Tout au long de l’année 2014, consacrée au centenaire d’Itsuo Tsuda, assistez dans toute la France à des lectures publiques pour découvrir son œuvre. Après Blois en février voici les prochaines étapes:
Le 12 juin à 18h – Albi Lectures d’extraits d’Itsuo Tsuda, philosophe du Non-Faire Librairie Guillot, 21 Lices Georges Pompidou, 81000 Albi. Tél: 05 63 54 18 49. évènement Facebook
Le 12 juin à 19h – Saint Mandé Lectures d’extraits de l’œuvre du philosophe Itsuo Tsuda.
« Marcher en avant d’un pas assuré et silencieux, afin de donner le maximum de la vie qu’on a reçue, voilà ce que fera l’homme indépendant et libre. » I.T Librairie Mots & Motions, 74 avenue du Général de Gaulle Saint Mandé 94160. évènement Facebook