日中の対立は不可避なのか。靖国問題、東シナ海の海洋権益の問題、中国製冷凍餃子中毒事件などの食の安全の問題、尖閣問題などをめぐって緊張が高まる日中関係について、米国知日派の研究者が日本側の動向を中心に冷静に分析し提言する。Sheila A. Smith, Intimate Rivals: Japanese Domestic Politics and a Rising China (Columbia UP, 2015) を全訳する。
I began to consider the idea of writing a book on Japan’s relations with China in the early 2000s while at the East-West Center in Hawaii. Tensions between Japan and China had erupted over the visits by Prime Minister Koizumi Jun’ichirō to the controversial war memorial, Yasukuni Shrine, and policymakers in Washington were becoming increasingly concerned about the inability of Tokyo and Beijing to put their history behind them. An East-West Center alumnus, Otsuka Takao, president of the Hotel Grand Palace in Kudanshita, offered me the perfect setting for my frequent research trips to Tokyo with my boisterous young son. The hotel was located next to the Yasukuni Shrine, and we often walked among the beautiful gingko trees and towering torii gates in the early hours of the morning when jetlag made sleep impossible. Aged Shinto priests rustled in their robes from building to building, and I could not help but wonder how this rather anachronistic site had become a focal point in the diplomacy of Asia’s two largest nations.
Differences over twentieth-century history were not the only cause of Sino-Japanese tensions. At the beginning of the twenty-first century, new difficulties arose. Trade tensions over the import of shiitake mushrooms and tatami mats began to complicate economic relations. Violence against Japanese at the Asian Cup games in Beijing in 2004 shocked many in Japan. When demonstrators in cities around China protested the revision of Japanese textbooks in March 2005, Japanese businesses also were damaged, further souring public opinion about China. In the corridors of Asian summit meetings, Chinese and Japanese leaders exchanged chilly stares and refused to speak. In 2006, in the midst of this “deep freeze” in diplomatic relations, Prime Minister Koizumi, dressed in full formal wear, paid an official visit to the Yasukuni Shrine on August 15, the day of the Japanese commemoration of the end of the war. A few weeks later, he resigned after five years as Japan’s prime minister.
For a while, Koizumi was blamed for the downturn in Tokyo’s relations with Beijing, and his successors seemed to make progress in changing the tenor of the relationship. Other factors continued to plague diplomatic ties, however. Public attitudes toward China were hardening. China’s economy grew, and the economic interdependence that had anchored Japan’s relationship with China created unforeseen frictions. The new UN Convention on the Law of the Sea raised questions about maritime claims, and the East China Sea became more and more populated with survey ships and new, more modern, naval vessels. Even regarding the deeply sensitive issue of historical memory, the Koizumi era was not the first entanglement of China policy with Japanese domestic politics and popular sentiment, and it would not be the last. In Japan, this intimate contact with a changing China was unnerving to many and called into question the premises of Japan’s postwar identity.
I am an old man now. I was born in 1935 in a small village in northeastern Tibet. For reasons beyond my control, I have lived most of my adult life as a stateless refugee in India, which has been my second home for over fifty years. I often joke that I am India’s longest-staying guest. In common with other people of my age, I have witnessed many of the dramatic events that have shaped the world we live in. Since the late 1960s, I have also traveled a great deal, and had the honor to meet people from many different backgrounds: not just presidents and prime ministers, kings and queens, and leaders from all the world’s great religious traditions, but also a great number of ordinary people from all walks of life.
Looking back over the past decades, I find many reasons to rejoice. Through advances in medical science, deadly diseases have been eradicated. Millions of people have been lifted from poverty and have gained access to modern education and health care. We have a universal declaration of human rights, and awareness of the importance of such rights has grown tremendously. As a result, the ideals of freedom and democracy have spread around the world, and there is increasing recognition of the oneness of humanity. There is also growing awareness of the importance of a healthy environment. In very many ways, the last half-century or so has been one of progress and positive change.
At the same time, despite tremendous advances in so many fields, there is still great suffering, and humanity continues to face enormous difficulties and problems. While in the more affluent parts of the world people enjoy lifestyles of high consumption, there remain countless millions whose basic needs are not met. With the end of the Cold War, the threat of global nuclear destruction has receded, but many continue to endure the sufferings and tragedy of armed conflict. In many areas, too, people are having to deal with environmental problems and, with these, threats to their livelihood and worse. At the same time, many others are struggling to get by in the face of inequality, corruption, and injustice.
These problems are not limited to the developing world. In the richer countries, too, there are many difficulties, including widespread social problems: alcoholism, drug abuse, domestic violence, family breakdown. People are worried about their children, about their education and what the world holds in store for them. Now, too, we have to recognize the possibility that human activity is damaging our planet beyond a point of no return, a threat which creates further fear. And all the pressures of modern life bring with them stress, anxiety, depression, and, increasingly, loneliness. As a result, everywhere I go, people are complaining. Even I find myself complaining from time to time!
It is clear that something is seriously lacking in the way we humans are going about things. But what is it that we lack? The fundamental problem, I believe, is that at every level we are giving too much attention to the external, material aspects of life while neglecting moral ethics and inner values.
By inner values I mean the qualities that we all appreciate in others, and toward which we all have a natural instinct, bequeathed by our biological nature as animals that survive and thrive only in an environment of concern, affection, and warmheartedness — or in a single word, compassion. The essence of compassion is a desire to alleviate the suffering of others and to promote their well-being. This is the spiritual principle from which all other positive inner values emerge. We all appreciate in others the inner qualities of kindness, patience, tolerance, forgiveness, and generosity, and in the same way we are all averse to displays of greed, malice, hatred, and bigotry. So actively promoting the positive inner qualities of the human heart that arise from our core disposition toward compassion, and learning to combat our more destructive propensities, will be appreciated by all. And the first beneficiaries of such a strengthening of our inner values will, no doubt, be ourselves. Our inner lives are something we ignore at our own peril, and many of the greatest problems we face in today’s world are the result of such neglect.
Not long ago I visited Orissa, a region in eastern India. The poverty in this part of the country, especially among tribal people, has recently led to growing conflict and insurgency. I met with a member of parliament from the region and discussed these issues. From him I gathered that there are a number of legal mechanisms and well-funded government projects already in place aimed at protecting the rights of tribal people and even giving them material assistance. The problem, he said, was that because of corruption these programs were not benefiting those they were intended to help. When such projects are subverted by dishonesty, inefficiency, and irresponsibility on the part of those charged with implementing them, they become worthless.
This example shows very clearly that even when a system is sound, its effectiveness depends on the way it is used. Ultimately, any system, any set of laws or procedures, can only be as effective as the individuals responsible for its implementation. If, owing to failures of personal integrity, a good system is misused, it can easily become a source of harm rather than a source of benefit. This is a general truth which applies to all fields of human activity, even religion. Though religion certainly has the potential to help people lead meaningful and happy lives, it too, when misused, can become a source of conflict and division. Similarly, in the fields of commerce and finance, the systems themselves may be sound, but if the people using them are unscrupulous and driven by self-serving greed, the benefits of those systems will be undermined. Unfortunately, we see this happening in many kinds of human activities: even in international sports, where corruption threatens the very notion of fair play.
The first characteristic of Aum was totalized guruism,
which became paranoid guruism and megalomanic guruism.
Instead of awakening the potential of his disciples,
Shoko Asahara himself became his cult's only source of
"energy" or infinite life-power and its only source of
the new self that each Aum disciple was expected to
acquire ( as epitomized by the religious name every
disciple took as a renunciant ).
For disciples there was no deity beyond the guru, no
ethicalcode beyond his demands and imposed ordeals, or
mahamudras. When the guru invoked a higher deity it was
only in order to incorporate the god's omnipotence into
his own. Guru and disciples were both energized and
entrapped by their claim to ultimate existential truth
and virtue.
This megalomanic guruism, the claim to possess and control
immediate and distant reality, was not only wild fantasy
but a form of desymbolization--a loss, that is, of the
symbolizing function that characterizes the healthy human
mind.
The guru took on a stance beyond metaphor. He could no
longer, in the words of Martin Buber,"imagine the real."
The Hindu scholar Wendy Doniger points out that most
mythology consists of concrete narration in the service
of metaphor, of descriptions of behavior meant to suggest,
rather than express, primal human emotions and dilemmas.
In reading mytholgical stories, we seek to reconnect
their concrete details to the symbolized, metaphorical
world in which we exist psychologically. A megalomanic
guru like Asahara does the reverse: he embraces the very
concreteness of mythic narratrves so as to circumvent
the metaphor and symbolization so crucial to the functioning
human imagination.
The first characteristic of Aum was totalized guruism,
which became paranoid guruism and megalomanic guruism.
Instead of awakening the
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This megalomanic guruism, the claim to possess and control
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In reading mytholgical stories, we seek to reconnect
their concrete details to the symbolized, metaphorical
world in which we exist psychologically. A megalomanic
guru like Asahara does th
(文字略)
The first shots had been fired in 1863, when the British had selled the southern port of Kagoshima, and in 1864, when a combined foreign fleet bombarded Japanese forces at Shimonoseki.
All subsequent history was in some way a repetition of those dramatic encounters on the eve of the Meiji Restration.
のちのすべての歴史は、明治維新前夜のこれらの劇的な衝突を、なんらかの形で反復しているのだという。
Japans war with Russia, her first defeat of the Chinese, and her later interventions in Manchuria and China had to be seen in the light of a grand purpose--to expel the barbarians--according to Hayashi.
It is not true that there is nothing new under the sun. To be sure, the oldest human emotions continue to haunt us. But they do so in new settings with new technology, and that changes everything.
On March 20, 1995, Aum Shinrikyō, a fanatical Japanese religious cult, released sarin, a deadly nerve gas, on five subway trains during Tokyo’s early-morning rush hour. A male cult member boarded each of the trains carrying two or three small plastic bags covered with newspaper and, at an agreed-upon time, removed the newspaper and punctured the bags with a sharpened umbrella tip. On the trains, in the stations where they stopped, and at the station exits, people coughed, choked, experienced convulsions, and collapsed. Eleven were killed and up to five thousand injured. Had Aum succeeded in producing a purer form of the gas, the deaths could have been in the thousands or hundreds of thousands. For sarin, produced originally by the Nazis, is among the most lethal of chemical weapons. Those releasing it on the trains understood themselves to be acting on behalf of their guru and his vast plan for human salvation.
Aum and its leader, Shōkō Asahara, were possessed by visions of the end of the world that are probably as old as death itself. Asahara also held in common with many present-day Christian prophets of biblical world-ending events a belief that Armageddon would be connected to those most secular of “end-time” agents, nuclear warheads or chemical and biological weapons of mass destruction.
But his cult went a step further. It undertook serious efforts to acquire and produce these weapons as part of a self-assigned project of making Armageddon happen. For the first time in history, end-time religious fanaticism allied itself with weapons capable of destroying the world and a group embarked on the mad project of doing just that. Fortunately, much went wrong. After all, it is not so easy to destroy the world. But we have a lot to learn from the attempt.
The impulses that drove Asahara and Aum are by no means unique to him and his group. Rather, Aum was part of a loosely connected, still-developing global subculture of apocalyptic violence—of violence conceived in sweeping terms as a purification and renewal of humankind through the total or near-total destruction of the planet. One can observe these inclinations in varied groups on every continent. Their specific transformative projects may be conceived as religious or political, the violence to be employed either externally directed or suicidal or both at once. One can find certain psychological parallels to Aum Shinrikyō in, for instance, the Jewish fundamentalists who encouraged the assassination of Israeli Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin, in Palestinian Hamas suicide bombers, and in Hindu and Muslim fundamentalists who act violently on behalf of claims to ancient sacred places on the Indian subcontinent. But my exploration of Aum led me particularly to the apocalyptic inclinations of American groups like the Charles Manson Family, Heaven’s Gate, and Peoples Temple, as well as the Oklahoma City bombers, Aryan supremacists, and paramilitary survivalists on the radical right. Just as we now take for granted the interconnectedness of the global economic system, so must we learn to do the same for the growing global system of apocalyptic violence. Outbreaks anywhere reverberate everywhere.
Increasingly widespread among ordinary people is the feeling of things going so wrong that only extreme measures can restore virtue and righteousness to society. When the world comes to be experienced as both hateful and dead or dying, a visionary guru can seize on such feelings while promising to replace them with equally absolute love and life-power. Nor are any of us completely free of those inner struggles. The sentiments that created Aum Shinrikyō are part of the spiritual and psychological ambience each of us inhabits day by day.
Apocalyptic violence has been building worldwide over the last half of the twentieth century. Having studied some of the most destructive events of this era, I found much of what Aum did familiar, echoing the totalistic belief systems and end-of-the-world aspirations I had encountered in other versions of the fundamentalist self. I came to see these, in turn, as uneasy reactions to the openness and potential confusions of the “protean” self that history has bequeathed us. I had been concerned with these matters since the mid-1950s, when I first studied “thought reform” (or “brainwashing”) in Communist China and then among American cultic religious groups. I came to recognize the power of a totalized environment for mobilizing individual passions in the creation of fierce, often deeply satisfying expressions of collective energy.
どの本を読むのか細心の注意を払って選ばなければならない。
書物は「心の薬」、エジプトの王様は書斎の表札にそう掲げていた
The books we read should be chosen with great care, that they may be, as an Egyptian king wrote over his library,’The medicines of the soul.”
私はいつも怯えた人生を過ごしてきた。起こるかもしれないこと、起きなかった可能性があることに怯えていたんだ。50年間、私はそうやって怯えてきた。毎朝3時に目を覚ましていたんだ。でも、がんと診断されて以来、私はぐっすりと眠れている。気づいたのは恐れが最も悪いことなんだ。恐れこそが本当の敵なんだ。だから、立ち上がって本当の世界から出ていくんだ。そして、恐れを思いっきり蹴り飛ばすんだよ。／I have spent my whole life scared, frightened of things that could happen, might happen, might not happen, 50-years I spent like that. Finding myself awake at three in the morning. But you know what? Ever since my diagnosis, I sleep just fine. What I came to realize is that fear, that’s the worst of it. That’s the real enemy. So, get up, get out in the real world and you kick that bastard as hard you can right in the teeth.
人とずっと共に生きる森づくり
more treesは、森林保全団体の一つ。急速な環境破壊に対して危機感を抱いた音楽家・坂本龍一さんらにより、「森と人がずっと共に生きる社会」の実現を目指して設立されました。日本は、国土に対して約７割の面積を森林が占める、世界有数の森林大国です。その一方、木材の輸入大国であることもまた事実です。現在の木材自給率は、35%程度。様々な要因から林業の採算性が悪化した結果、事業として成り立たなくなり、放棄される森林も増加しているのです。 日本の森が抱えるそうした課題の解決策として、同団体が取り組んでいることの一つが森づくり。林業従事者や地域の専門家と協働しながら、間伐や下草刈り、そして伐採跡地への植林など、森の健やかさを取り戻すための活動です。「more treesの森」は、日本全国に11か所。冒頭の宮崎県諸塚村も、その一つなのです。
