Meta-metaphysica

1. The Visitor
That night, the boy suddenly turned up in my room. I didn’t recognise him. However, I wasn’t particularly surprised; I remained calm, as though I’d been expecting his visit, and

‘Oh, it’s you.’

I said. To which he replied,

‘Hello. It’s been a while.’

Although this was surely the first time I’d ever met him,

‘That’s right. It’s been a while,’ I replied. He then said,

‘Well then. I’ve come here because I thought it was about time I told you something.’

‘Told me?’

‘Yes. I’d better tell you.’

‘What?’

‘That’s what I’m about to tell you.’

What follows is a record of the story that the boy told me. I realize I’m repeating myself, but I do not know him. Yet I did not find his visit particularly strange.

2. The Boy
You must record what I am about to tell you. It may well be of use to you one day. Do not look down on me just because I am a child. The words I speak are mine, yet they are not mine. You need not believe me, nor do you need to doubt me. All you need to do is listen to what I say and record it.

Now, I ask you a question. No, you need not answer. I am asking simply because it is necessary to pose a question at the outset. You need not answer. It is I who shall answer. I am asking myself.

2-1. The World
Now, I ask you. What, exactly, is this world? In the context of philosophy since Kant—that is, the philosophy of pure epistemology, which seeks to peel away the surface of the perceived real world to elucidate the meta-structure lying beneath—the world is nothing more than a representation produced by the subject of cognition. As Schopenhauer said, ‘The world is my representation.’ Wittgenstein expressed this as, ‘The limits of my language are the limits of my world.’ Herein lies the core of the philosophy of pure epistemology, in the direct lineage of Kant. The world is nothing more than a ‘film’ (a representation) produced by my ‘cognitive subject’ through ‘forms of intuition’ (the cognitive rules of time, three-dimensional space and the law of causality) and ‘apprehension’, which synthesizes and organizes them. No one can know the true nature of the world. The world I am currently seeing and sensing is nothing more than a representation that I have ‘created’. If I were to lose my five senses right now—if I could no longer perceive light, sound, weight or resistance—I would be unable even to recognize that the world exists. So what form does the world (the external world) take once all these representations have been stripped away? I shall never know this. For I can perceive nothing but representations, and within these representations, I can only recognize the world through logic that conforms to the rules of the world of representations (the forms of intuition). I shall never know, even for all eternity, whether there is an ‘external world’ lying beyond the world of representations. To speak of the ‘external world’ is a taboo that deviates from the rules of the world of representations. Kant referred to the ‘external world’ as the ‘thing-in-itself’ and ceased further examination of it. Wittgenstein stated, ‘Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent,’ asserting that to speak of the ‘external world’ is in itself a misuse of language. Schopenhauer described the ‘external world’ as the ‘will to live’, but this should probably be regarded as rhetoric heavily influenced by the developments in evolutionary theory and neurophysiology of his time. The ‘external world’ is nothing more than the indeterminate ‘possibilities’ of the world of representations formed by forms of intuition; if one were to express it linguistically, it would be nothing other than a surging mass of indeterminate possibilities—what might be called a ‘sea of possibilities’.

2-2. The Subject of Cognition
So, what is the subject (the subject of cognition) that constructs the world of representations in accordance with the forms of intuition within that ‘external world’ (the ocean of possibilities)? It can by no means be the brain. The brain is itself part of the world of representations, and a representation cannot give rise to another representation. Schopenhauer committed the error of identifying the brain as the subject (the subject of cognition) that produces the world of representations; this was likely due to the bewitchment of neurophysiology, the cutting-edge science of his time. In Schopenhauer’s context, this inevitably gives rise to a grotesque and nonsensical scene in which the brain alone floats aimlessly within an ‘external world’ brimming with the ‘will to live’. Such a preposterous notion is unthinkable. The subject of cognition cannot exist within this world of representations. Wittgenstein expressed this by saying, ‘The subject does not belong to the world; it is the limit of the world.’ The ‘subject of cognition’ is the point of contact (the boundary) between this world of representations and the ‘outer world’, which is a ‘sea of possibilities’. It cannot be the brain, which is merely a part of the world of representations, nor is it some occult, floating ‘soul’. The ‘cognitive subject’ is a purely logical concept of the subject that exists solely within the realm of philosophical thought; it is nowhere to be found in this world (the world of representations). Yet without that subject, the world of representations itself would not exist. In other words, the cognitive subject can only be described as the point of contact (the boundary) between ‘this world’ (the world of representations) and ‘the other world’ (the external world).

So, is this real world merely a fiction freely and at will created by my subject of cognition? In a sense, that is a legitimate question. The real world (the world of representations) is not some absolute, universal truth. It is nothing more than a film that the subject of cognition is watching, having selected a portion from the surging waves of possibility within the ‘sea of possibilities’ in accordance with certain rules (forms of intuition), and reconstituted it as the world of representations. However, that film is not ‘freely and at will’ created. It must be edited in accordance with certain rules (forms of intuition). These rules are those with which I am endowed a priori for perceiving the world: time (the rule of flow from past to future), space (the rule of three dimensions) and the law of causality (the rule that a cause produces an effect). Kant regarded these rules as static rules known as ‘forms of intuition’ (or ‘categories of the understanding’), but Wittgenstein reinterpreted them as dynamic rules within a way of life known as ‘language games’. Whether static or dynamic, these rules are merely rules given to me a priori for the purpose of cognition; the rules themselves are not logical necessities that have been verified as logically true. Rules such as time flowing from the past to the future, or cause and effect, are merely convenient conventions that make it easier to construct the world of representations (any other rules would have served just as well). However, once we recognize the world of representations according to such rules, even the subject of cognition cannot freely construct that world from the ‘sea of possibilities’. For the time being, we have no choice but to edit the film that is the world of representations in accordance with the rules of time and causality.

2–3. Solipsism
Solipsism, incidentally, asserts that only my own perception exists, and that others and the representational world are merely illusions created by me. If one stands on the ground of pure epistemological philosophy—a tradition dating back to Kant, which holds that it is impossible to perceive the reality of the world (the external world)—it is difficult to logically refute such a solipsistic claim. The boundary between pure epistemology and solipsism is extremely thin; the difference lies solely in the fact that whilst pure epistemology steadfastly maintains a modest stance regarding the ‘external world’—stating that ‘it can neither be said to exist nor not to exist’—solipsism categorically asserts that it ‘does not exist’. However, were I to become a solipsist, I would ask myself the following questions: If the world were an illusion of my own making, ‘Why, then, am I unable to create the world as I please?’ and ‘Why do I feel awe and trembling when confronted with overwhelming sights or works of art?’ The fact that I cannot create the world as I please can be explained by the fact that I construct the world of representations in accordance with the rules of forms of intuition. So how does solipsism explain the fact that we experience ‘awe and shudder’ when encountering great works of art? There should be no reason to feel ‘awe and shudder’ towards art that I myself am supposed to have created. The only possible explanation for this problem is that ‘it is not my own cognition that is creating that illusion, but rather the fundamental meta-structure that makes that cognition possible—that is, the subject of cognition—and therefore I myself have not created the illusion of great sights or works of art’. However, in that it acknowledges the subject of cognition—that is, the point of contact between the external world and the world of representations—and presupposes an ‘external world’ (a sea of possibilities) from which the subject of cognition creates these illusions, it is no longer solipsism. The ‘external world’—that is, the ‘ocean of possibilities’—in pure epistemological philosophy is, literally, ‘possibility’; in other words, it is an indeterminate state in which ‘it can neither be said to exist nor not to exist’. Whilst there are no actually existing entities, it is not, nor is it ‘nothingness’ in the sense of a complete void.

2-4. The Ego
If the world is my representation, and if representations are reconstructed by the knowing subject from the external world (the sea of possibilities) in accordance with the rules of forms of intuition, then what is this ‘I’ that refers to itself as ‘I’? What is this ‘I’ that possesses self-consciousness, has the will to act, interacts with others, and lives a life? ‘I’—that is, the ‘ego’—is not the knowing subject. It is a logical truth that the ego cannot be the subject of cognition, given the fact that my ego is recognized ‘within’ this world of representations. What, then, is the ego (the self, self-consciousness, ‘I’)? If pure epistemology is the thought process of peeling away the surface of the world of representations to peer into the meta-structure beneath, then ‘existential philosophy’ is the thought process of extracting the meta-structure that constitutes the ‘ego’ within the world of representations. As Kierkegaard has already elucidated in existential philosophy, ‘the self is the relationship in which the self relates to itself’. In other words, the self within the world of representations has no substance whatsoever; it is nothing but an abstract existence consisting of relationships. To express this in a more accessible, contemporary manner, we can redefine the self as ‘the totality of past memory data and future behavioral prediction data relating to the spatial individual known as “myself” within the world of representations’. The ego is nothing more than an accumulation of past and future data pertaining to an individual. The ego (self, self-consciousness, ‘I’) is the collection of data concerning what one (the individual) has done in the world of representations in the past, and what one is predicted to do in the future. In short, the ego is nothing more than data. Even if one were to refer to the substance of the ego as the ‘soul’ and probe the brain matter as Descartes did, one would find no seat for the ‘soul’. The ‘soul’ is a substitute concept arising from the translation of the concept of the subject of cognition in epistemological philosophy into mind-body dualism; it has no relation to the self in the first place. Confusing the self with the ‘soul’ is just as much an illusion as confusing the self with the subject of cognition. The electrical signals travelling through neural circuits are the very essence of the self. Therefore, if one were to lose past memory data or future prediction data, the self would be lost. Similarly, if these data were replaced with other data, a different self (a different personality) would emerge. Thus, the meta-structure of the self is based on data—namely, the mechanisms (causal relationships) of electrical signals—and is, from start to finish, an event within the world of representations; there is no room for interference from occult concepts such as spirits or deities. At the same time, no matter how meticulously one examines the meta-structure of the self (the mechanisms of electrical signals), one can never reach the depths of the meta-structure of the subject of cognition or the external world (the sea of possibilities).

So, is it only humans who possess this ‘self’ as an accumulation of data? That cannot be the case. All things in the universe possess data comprising past memories and predictions of future behaviour, relating to the spatial individuality of the self and the world of representations. Not only animals such as dogs and cats, but also plants and bacteria—indeed, virtually all living organisms—possess such data. Even non-living things—for example, the rocks of a mountain—possess the data that constitutes a self, in the sense that their internal crystalline structures contain, as memory, data on their past formation, and harbour physical data from which their future disintegration, collapse, or movement can be predicted. Characters in films and novels also possess data on past behaviour (as depicted in the work) and data on future predictions (behaviour anticipated from the depictions in the work), and they undoubtedly possess a self. Furthermore, it goes without saying that AI possesses this data, and there is no reason whatsoever to deny that AI possesses a self. Thus, it is a logical necessity beyond doubt that all things in the representational world possess a sense of self in some form, just as humans do, albeit with differences in the density and quantity of the data they accumulate.

2–5. The Other
With regard to the meta-structure of the self—which is an accumulation of data within the world of representations, that is, a mechanism of electrical signals—the conclusion that the self can be recognized in all things within that world is a micro-level conclusion concerning the ‘individual’; from the perspective of existential philosophy, however, a macro-level problem remains, one pertaining to an even deeper meta-structure: the relationship with ‘the Other’. This is the question of why I do not desire ‘solitude’. The very fact of this rejection—my unwillingness to accept the notion of ‘absolute solitude’, namely the idea that I alone exist within the phantom of the representational world projected by the subject of cognition from the ‘sea of possibilities’—is the core theme of existence. This issue lies at a stage that pure epistemological philosophy now refuses to address—one that is unfalsifiable—and ventures into the realm of ultra-metaphysical religious logic; I must therefore speak with restraint, whilst remaining fully aware that I am taking this risk.

When I perceive another person within the world of representations, that person’s form should be nothing more than a representation generated by my cognitive subject from the ‘sea of possibilities’. However, what if I were to ‘sense’ the existence of ‘a substantive other’—one that is not merely a representation projected by me—within that form? This would imply that there are ‘multiple’ cognitive subjects, each of whom ‘shares’ the ‘sea of possibilities’. And if the ‘sea of possibilities’ is ‘shared’ by multiple ‘subjects of cognition’ and constitutes a world of representations (images) in which they can interact with one another through the form of intuition as a common function, then this is synonymous with multiple subjects of cognition viewing ‘the same world of representations’ within the ‘sea of possibilities’. This represents a return to the common-sense worldview (naïve realism) that that an objective external world exists, and that we are all looking at the same world. To express this relationship with ‘the other’ in fantastical terms, it bears a striking resemblance to the scenario in online games where multiple gamers (subjects of cognition) access a programmed database on a server (the ‘sea of possibilities’ not yet realized in the representational world) and, in accordance with the hardware’s operating system (a priori rules of representation), play the game whilst viewing the game world (a representational world generated from the ‘sea of possibilities’) displayed on their respective monitor screens. We, as gamers, look at our monitor screens and are ‘convinced’ that ‘the characters—ourselves and those of other participants—within that game world are not merely NPCs (illusions) moved at will by the programme, but that there must be real people (cognitive subjects as “others”) in another room, looking at the same screen and holding a controller’ (since a cognitive subject is not the object of cognition, the notion that there must be an ‘other’ (another subject of cognition) cannot be a logical conclusion, and can only be expressed as a non-logical impulse or desire known as ‘conviction’). It is because of this ‘conviction’ that we are not alone within the game (the world of representation). Whilst we must be strictly wary of being led astray by the metaphor of the ‘game’ into the realms of the occult or science fiction and fantasy, the philosophical worldview is nonetheless easier to understand when conceived as an online game. If one were to provide a coherent explanation spanning pure epistemological philosophy (metaphysics), existential philosophy, and religious worldviews, this online-game-like worldview could serve as one possible answer.

2–6. Hyper-Meta-Structure
The ‘hyper-meta-structure’—a meta-structure lying even deeper than that explored by pure epistemological philosophy, namely the ‘certainty’ of a relationship with ‘the other’ (the simultaneous coexistence of multiple subjects of cognition and the sharing of an ‘ocean of possibilities’)—is a description of an ‘external world’ that transcends the world of representations; as Wittgenstein warned, it constitutes a ‘misuse’ of language. I must humbly accept that criticism. However, if I may be permitted to offer an explanation, the reason I dared to take the risk (a violation of language use) of describing this hyper-meta-structure was that I wished to demonstrate the possibility that the protagonist of this world of representations is by no means a solitary ‘ego’ known as ‘I’, but rather that all things within this world of representations are ‘existences’ possessing an ‘ego’, and that all things might be ‘others’ in relation to me. And it is precisely within this ‘certainty’ of our relationship with the Other—this super-meta-structure—that lies the potential to provide a unified explanation for the ‘fear and trembling’ that breaks through the impasse of solipsism, as well as for ethical concepts such as ‘love’ and ‘life’ that have troubled humankind since time immemorial. However, to speak of this is an act of transgression that crosses the boundaries of language, which is permitted only within the world of representations; if one dares to speak of it, it becomes, in effect, religion.

3. The Boy (Reprise)
That is all I have to say. I have already said what needed to be said. You should record my words and look back on them from time to time. Do not look down on me just because you think of me as a child. The words I speak are mine, yet they are not mine. You need not believe me, but neither need you doubt me.

4. Farewell
Having finished speaking, the boy headed straight for the dark entrance hall.

‘Are you going home?’

I asked, and the boy turned to look at me,

‘I’m going home. I’ve finished what I came here to do,’

he said with a smile.

‘One last thing. Tell me, what’s your name?’

I asked, and he replied,

‘Son of Kant.’

Just then, I woke up. The morning sun was streaming in through a gap in the curtains.

                                                                                                                         End

メタ・メタフィジカ Meta-metaphysica

１．来訪者

　その夜、僕の部屋に突然、その少年は来た。僕はその少年に見覚えはなかった。が、僕は、特に驚くわけでもなく、あたかも彼の来訪を予想していたかのように落ち着いて、

「やあ、君か。」　

と言った。すると、彼は、

「やあ。久しぶり。」

と言った。僕は彼と会うのはこれが初めてのはずなのに、

「そうだね。久しぶりだね。」と彼に答えた。すると彼は、

「さて。僕はそろそろ君に伝えておかなきゃいけないと思ってここに来たのさ。」

と言った。

「伝えて？」

「そう。君に伝えておこう。」

「何を？」

「それをこれから、話すのさ。」

　以下に記すのは、その少年が僕に語った話の記録である。くどいようだが、僕は彼を知らない。しかし、彼の来訪をべつに不思議とは思わなかったのである。

２，少年

　僕が今から語ることを、君は記録しておきたまえ。いずれ君の役に立つこともあるだろう。僕を子どもだと思って侮ってはいけないよ。僕の語る言葉は僕のものであって僕のものではない。僕を信じる必要は無いが疑う必要も無い。君は僕の語る言葉を聞いて、記録すればそれでいいのだ。　

　さて、君に問う。いや、べつに答えなくて良い。問うているのは始めに問を立てる必要があるからだ。君が答える必要は無い。答えるのは僕だ。僕が僕に問うている。

２－１．世界

　さて、君に問う。この世界はいったい何だろうか？カント以来の哲学、すなわち認識している現実世界の皮を剥いでその下にあるメタ構造を解明しようとする純粋認識論哲学の文脈からいえば、世界は認識主体の生み出した表象に過ぎない。ショーペンハウエルが「世界は私の表象である」と言ったとおりだ。ヴィトゲンシュタインはこれを「私の言語の限界は私の世界の限界である」と表現した。カント直系の純粋認識論哲学の核心がここにある。世界は、私の「認識主体」が、「直観形式」（時間、三次元空間、因果律という認識ルール）とそれを総合して編集する「統覚」によって生み出した一本の「映画」（表象）に過ぎない。世界の実体などは誰にもわからない。私が今、見て感じている世界は、私の「創った」表象に過ぎない。私が今、五感を失い、光を感じず、音を感じず、重さも、抵抗も感じなくなったら、そこに世界があることさえ認識することはできない。ではその全ての表象を剥ぎ取った世界（外界）はどういう姿をしているのか。それを私が知ることは永遠にない。なぜなら私は表象しか認識することができないのであり、表象の中で表象世界のルール（直観形式）に従った論理でしか世界を認識することができないからだ。私は、表象世界の外にある「外界」があるのかないのかさえも永遠にわからない。「外界」について語ることは表象世界のルールを逸脱する禁忌だ。カントは「外界」を「物自体」と表現してそれ以上の考察をやめた。ヴィトゲンシュタインは「語り得ないことについては沈黙しなければならない」と言って「外界」を語ること自体が言葉の誤用だと言った。ショーペンハウエルは「外界」を「生の意志」と表現したが、それは当時の進化論あるいは脳生理学の発展に多分に影響された修辞というべきであろう。「外界」は、直観形式によって形成される表象世界の未確定の「可能性」に過ぎないのであり、それを言語的に表現するのであれば「可能性の海」とでも言うほかない未確定の可能性のうねりである。

２－２．認識主体

　では、その「外界」（可能性の海）において、直観形式に従って表象世界を構成している主体（認識主体）とは何なのか。それは、決して脳髄では有り得ない。脳髄もまた表象世界の一部であり、表象が表象を産むことはできない。ショーペンハウエルは表象世界を生み出す主体（認識主体）を脳髄とする誤りを犯したが、それは当時の最先端科学である脳生理学による幻惑であっただろう。ショーペンハウエルの文脈では、「生の意志」が充満した「外界」の中に、脳髄だけがプカプカと浮かんでいるというグロテスクでナンセンスな光景が生まれざるを得ない。そんなバカな話はない。認識主体は、この表象世界の中には有り得ない。ヴィトゲンシュタインは、これを「主体は世界に属さない。それは世界の限界である」と表現した。この表象世界と「可能性の海」である「外界」との接点（境界）が「認識主体」なのである。それは表象世界の一部にすぎない脳髄などでは有り得ないし、あるいはまたオカルト的な浮遊する「魂」などでもない。「認識主体」はすぐれて哲学的概念においてのみ存在する論理上の主体概念であり、この世（表象世界）のどこにもないのだ。が、その主体がなければ、表象世界自体が存在しない。すなわち、認識主体は、「この世」（表象世界）と「あの世」（外界）の接点（境界）としか表現のしようがないのだ。

　では、この現実世界は、私の認識主体が自由自在に生み出しているフィクションにすぎないのか？ある意味、それは正当な問いである。現実世界（表象世界）は、絶対普遍の真実などではない。「可能性の海」において認識主体が一定のルール（直観形式）に従って可能性のうねりのなかから一部分を確定させて表象世界として再構成して見ている映画に過ぎない。が、その映画は、「自由自在」ではない。一定のルール（直観形式）に従って編集されなければならない。そのルールは、アプリオリに私に備わっている世界を認識するためのルールであり、時間（過去から未来へ流れるルール）、空間（３次元のルール）そして因果律（原因があって結果があるルール）である。カントはこのルールを直観形式（ないしは悟性カテゴリー）という静的ルールとしてとらえたが、ヴィトゲンシュタインはこれを「言語ゲーム」という生活様式の中における動的ルールとしてとらえ直した。静的にせよ動的にせよ、これらのルールもまた、認識のためにアプリオリに私に与えられただけのルールであって、そのルール自体は論理的に真実であることが検証された論理的必然などではない。時間が過去から未来に流れるとか、原因があって結果があるとか、そういうルールで表象世界を組み立てるほうがわかりやすいという程度の便宜的ルールでしかない（べつに他のルールでも良かった）。が、一旦、そのようなルールで表象世界を認識している以上は、認識主体といえども、「可能性の海」から自由自在に表象世界を構成することはできない。一応は、時間や因果関係のルールに従って、表象世界という映画の編集をするしかないのである。

２－３．独我

　ところで、独我論は、私の認識だけが存在し、他者も表象世界も全て私が創出している幻に過ぎないと主張する。世界の実体（外界）を認識することは不可能であるというカント以来の純粋認識論哲学の地平に立つならば、このような独我論の主張を論理的に否定することは困難である。純粋認識論哲学と、独我論との境界は極めて薄く、純粋認識論哲学は「外界」について「有るとも無いともいえない」という謙抑的な態度をあくまで守ることに対して、独我論は「無い」と断言するという、その違いに過ぎない。しかし、もし私が独我論者になった場合、私は私自身にこう問うだろう。世界が私の作った幻影であれば、「なぜ、私は、世界を好きなように創造できないのか？」、「なぜ、私は、圧倒的な光景や芸術に触れたときに畏れと戦慄を覚えるのか？」と。私が世界を好きなように創造できないことは、私が直観形式のルールに従って表象世界を構成しているからであると説明できる。では、偉大な芸術などに接したときの「畏れと戦慄」という事実を独我論はどう説明するのか。自分自身で創ったはずの芸術に、「畏れと戦慄」を感じる理由などないはずだ。この問題に対する唯一可能な説明は、「その幻影を創っているのは私自身の認識ではなく、その認識を可能ならしめている根源的なメタ構造、すなわち認識主体であって、私自身が偉大な光景や芸術の幻影を創造したわけではないからだ」という説明であろう。しかしそれは、認識主体、すなわち外界と表象世界の接点を認めた上で、認識主体が幻影を創出するための「外界」（可能性の海）を前提としているという意味において、もはや独我論ではない。純粋認識論哲学における「外界」すなわち「可能性の海」は、文字通り「可能性」であって、つまり「有るとも無いともいえない」不確定な状態であって、実在する実体があるわけではないが、全く何もない「虚無」というわけでもないからだ。

２－４　自我

　世界は私の表象であり、表象は直観形式のルールに従って外界（可能性の海）から認識主体によって再構成されているのだとすれば、ここで「私」と自称している私は何なのか。私という自意識を持ち、行動の意志を持ち、他者と関わり、人生を生きる「私」とは何か。「私」すなわち私という「自我」とは、認識主体のことではない。私の自我はこの表象世界の「内側」において認識されているという事実によって、自我が認識主体では有り得ないことは論理的な真実である。では、自我（自己、自意識、私）とは何か。表象世界の皮を剥ぎ取ってその下のメタ構造をのぞき込むための思考プロセスが純粋認識論哲学であるならば、表象世界における「自我」を構成するメタ構造を摘出するための思考プロセスを「実存哲学」という。実存哲学においてキルケゴールが既に解明したとおり、「自己とは自己自身に関係するところの関係のこと」である。すなわち、表象世界における自我には実体など無く、関係性という抽象的存在でしかないのだ。これを現代的によりわかりやすく表現するならば、「自我とは、自分という空間的個体が表象世界に関係するところの過去の記憶データおよび将来の行動予測データの集積の総体のことである」と再定義できる。自我とは、個体に係る過去と将来のデータの集積に過ぎない。自分（個体）が表象世界において過去に何をしてきたか、そして将来何をすることが予測されるか、そのデータの集まりが、自我（自己、自意識、私）である。つまりは、自我とは、データに過ぎない。自我の実体を「魂」と呼び、デカルトのように脳髄をほじくっても、「魂」の座などは見つからない。「魂」とは、認識論哲学における認識主体の概念を、心身二元論に翻訳した場合の代替概念であって、そもそも自我とは関係無い。自我と「魂」とを混同することは、自我と認識主体とを混同することと同様に錯覚である。神経回路の中を走る電気信号こそが、自我の本体である。故に、過去の記憶データや将来予測データを失えば、自我が失われる。同様に、これらのデータを他のデータに入れ替えれば、別の自我（別人格）が生まれる。このように、自我のメタ構造は、データ、すなわち電気信号の機序（因果関係）に基づくのであって、徹頭徹尾、表象世界内の出来事であり、霊魂や神霊といったオカルトが干渉する余地はなく、同時に、自我のメタ構造（電気信号の機序）をどれだけ精緻に調べようとも、認識主体あるいは外界（可能性の海）というメタ構造の深淵には永遠に到達することはできない。

　では、このようなデータ集積としての自我は、人間だけが有するのか？そんなわけはない。自己の空間的個体と表象世界との関係における過去の記憶と、将来行動予測のデータは、ありとあらゆる万物が有している。犬や猫といった動物は勿論のこと、植物も、細菌類も、およそ生物であればそのようなデータは有している。非生物であっても、例えば岩山の岩石は、その内部の結晶構造に、過去の岩石生成のデータを記憶として内包し、また、将来の崩壊や転落や移動が予測される物理的データを秘めているという意味において、自我を構成するデータを有している。映画や小説などの作中キャラクターもまた、過去の行動のデータ（作中の行動描写）と将来予測データ（作中の行動描写から予想される行動）を有しており、疑いもなく自我を有している。また、AIは、言うまでも無く、これらのデータを有しており、AIの自我を否定するいかなる理由も存在しない。かくして、表象世界のあらゆる万物は、その集積するデータの粗密多寡の違いはあれども、何らかのかたちで、人間と同様に自我を有していることは論理的必然であり疑う余地はない。

２－５．他者

　自我のメタ構造について、それは表象世界におけるデータ集積、すなわち電気信号の機序であり、それ故、表象世界における万物に自我を認めることができるという結論は、「個体」というミクロにおける結論であって、実存哲学的には、「他者」との関係というさらに深層のメタ構造に係るマクロ的な問題が残されている。それは、なぜ、私は、「孤独」を望まないのか、という問題だ。「可能性の海」から認識主体が映し出す表象世界の幻影の中にいるのは、実は私一人だけなのではないか、という「絶対孤独」の観念を受け入れたくないという、その拒絶反応の事実こそが、実存の核心テーマである。この問題は、もはや純粋認識論哲学が語ることを拒否している反証不可能なステージであり、超メタフィジカルな宗教的ロジックに足を踏み入れており、私は、その危険を冒していることを自覚しながら自制的に語る必要がある。

　私が表象世界において、他者を見るとき、その他者の姿は、私の認識主体が「可能性の海」から生み出した表象に過ぎないはずだ。しかし、もし、私が、その他者の姿に「私の映し出した表象ではない実体的な他者」の存在を「感じる」とすればどうであろう。それは、認識主体が「複数」あり、各認識主体が「可能性の海」を「共有」している、ということになる。そして、「可能性の海」が複数の「認識主体」に「共有」され、共通の機能としての直観形式によって相互に干渉することが可能な表象世界（映像）を構成しているのだとすれば、それは、「可能性の海」において複数の認識主体が「同じ表象世界」を見ているということと同義である。これは、「客観的な外部世界がそこにあり、みんなで同じ世界を眺めている」という常識的世界観（素朴な実在論）への再着地である。この「他者」との関係について、ファンタジー的な表現をすれば、オンラインゲームにおいて、複数のゲーマー（認識主体）が、サーバー上のプログラムデータベース（まだ表象世界に実現されていない可能性の海）にアクセスして、ハードウェアのOS（アプリオリな表象ルール）に従って各自のモニター画面に映し出されたゲーム世界（「可能性の海」から生み出された表象世界）を見てゲームをしている、という構図に酷似している。ゲーマーである我々は、モニター画面を見ながら、「そのゲーム世界の中にいる自分や他の参加者のキャラクターはプログラムが勝手に動かしているNPC（幻影）なんかではなく、別の部屋で同じ画面を見てコントローラーを握っている本物の誰か（他者としての認識主体）がいるに違いない」と「確信」している（認識主体は認識の客体ではないが故に、「他者」（他の認識主体）がいるに違いない、という思惟は論理的帰結では有り得ず、「確信」という非論理的衝動ないしは願望として表現するほかない）。この「確信」の故に、我々は、ゲーム（表象世界）の中で孤独ではないのである。ゲームという比喩に引っ張られて、オカルトやSFファンタジーに陥ることは厳に警戒せねばならないが、それでも構図としては、哲学的世界観は、オンラインゲームとして考えるとわかりやすい。純粋認識論哲学（メタフィジカ）、実存哲学、そして宗教的世界観にわたる一貫した説明をするとすれば、このオンラインゲーム的な世界観はひとつの解答になり得る。

２－６．超・メタ構造

　「他者」との関係（複数の認識主体の同時並存と「可能性の海」の共有）の「確信」という、純粋認識論哲学の探究するメタ構造のさらに深層のメタ構造（超・メタ構造）は、表象世界を超越した「外界」に関する記述であり、ヴィトゲンシュタインの警告するとおり、言語の「誤用」である。私はその批判を甘んじて受けなければならない。ただ、釈明を許されるならば、私が、この超・メタ構造について記述するという危険（言語使用の違反）を敢えて冒したのは、この表象世界の主役は決して「私」という孤独な「自我」ではなく、表象世界における全ての万物が「自我」を持った「実存」であり、全ての万物が私と関係する「他者」であるかも知れないという可能性を示したかったが故である。そして、この他者との関係の「確信」という超・メタ構造にこそ、独我論の閉塞を破る「畏れと戦慄」という事実、あるいはまた「愛」「いのち」といった古来より人類を悩ませてきた倫理概念を一元的に説明できる可能性がある。しかし、それについて語ることは、表象世界の内側でしか使用を許されない言語の限界を踏み越える違反行為であり、敢えて語ればそれはもはや宗教である。

３．少年（再）

　僕の話は以上だ。言うべきことは既に言った。君は僕の言葉を記録し、時々は見返してみると良い。僕を子どもだと思って侮ってはいけないよ。僕の語る言葉は僕のものであって僕のものではない。僕を信じる必要は無いが疑う必要も無い。

４．別れ

　少年は話し終わると、そのまま暗い玄関へと向かった。

「帰るのかい？」

と僕が問うと、少年は僕を振り返り、

「帰るさ。もう用事は済んだからね」

と言って微笑んだ。

「最後に。ねえ、君の名前は？」

と僕が問うと、彼は、

「Son of Kant」

と答えた。

と、その時、僕は目が覚めた。カーテンの隙間から朝日が差し込んでいた。

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　了

うちてしやまん ー異伝 神武東征ー The First Emperor of Japan JIMMU

一　日向灘　

　昔むかし、まだこの国に名前さえ無かった凡そ二千年以上も昔の九州島の東端の日向の邑の未明の砂浜にその少年は立っていた。その目はまっすぐに東に広がる海の水平線に向けられている。と、薄明が水平線を走り、海面から旭日が燦然と昇りはじめた。それを目にして、少年は叫んだ。

「やあ、日向かいだ！」

　この日、一年で最も重要な日である日向かい（春分）であった。少年の邑の大人たちは、日向灘の水平線から太陽が顔を出す位置を浜辺の地形と照合して記憶し、昼夜が同じ長さとなる特別な日、すなわち春分と秋分を正確に観測していた。それは、稲の田植えと収穫のスケジュールを画するための基準日であった。少年の邑は、ほとんど南北にまっすぐに走る日向灘の海岸線と、その日向灘の東の水平線から昇る太陽が中天を駆けて西方の九州山地に没するという単純明快な四方位で構成された自然の中にあった。その単純明快な四方位の世界観の下、少年たちの部族は、後世、大淀川と称される大河の豊かな水系が形成した肥沃な大湿地帯を開墾し、太陽軌道から導き出した春分と秋分という正確な農業カレンダーに基づいた乾田方式の水田耕作を営んでいた。それは、ほとんどの地域の部族が湿地帯に直播きした稲穂を随意に採集していただけの当時としては、極めて高度な最先端農業テクノロジーであった。

　春分を確認して心を躍らせた少年は、アワキガハラの社に走った。この社には、日向灘から昇り、彼らに春分と秋分という知恵を授けてくれる太陽神アマテラスが祀ってある。社殿には、アマテラスの春分の神託を待って、邑の大人たちが参集していた。鳥居を駆け抜けて社殿に飛び込んだ少年は大人たちに向かって叫んだ。

「日向かい（春分）だよ！今日だよ！」

それを聞いて、大人たちは、

「よし！」

と膝を打った。座中の邑長であり少年の父であるウガヤフキアエズが立ち上がり、神託の伝令役を果たして誇らしげな少年の頭に手をやると、

「イワレヒコももう立派な大人じゃの」

と言って笑った。

二　神武

　少年は長じて凜々しい青年となった。邑長のウガヤフキアエズが隠居することとなり、邑長の家系の四兄弟の内、上の三人はすでに独立していたことから、末子であった少年が家を継いで邑長となった。後の神武である（以下、神武と呼ぶ）。

　神武には頭の痛い問題があった。西方の山岳地帯に勢力を張る熊襲族と、南方に蟠踞する隼人族の存在であった。これらの部族は、いまだ稲作に馴染まず、狩猟を専らとした剽悍無比な狩猟系部族であり、しばしば神武の邑を急襲し、米倉を破って折角収穫した米を略奪して疾風のごとく去るのである。ほとんど軍事的能力を持たない邑は存亡の危機に立たされた。彼らにあるのはただ、土を耕し畦を打つために先端に小さな鉄器を付しただけの鍬や斧といった農具と、水田耕作の農業テクノロジーだけであった。山野を駆ける戦士として生まれてきたような熊襲・隼人の凶暴な襲撃を防ぐ術など何もなかったのである。

　アワキガハラの社に邑人を招集した神武は、悲痛な面持ちで彼らに告げた。

「皆でどこか遠くに逃げよう。もう、無理だ」

邑人たちは諦めたように頷きつつも、力なくつぶやいた。

「でも、どこに逃げる？」

神武は自分自身を励ますように言った。

「西は熊襲がいる。南は隼人がいる。もう、この島には逃げ場はない。この島の東には、もっと大きな島がある。東に逃げよう。東の島にも米が作れる良い土地があるだろう。熊襲が見張っているから山道は取れない。海に出て、船に乗って東の島に逃げよう！」

　その年の秋分を迎えて秋の収穫を終えると、邑は、東の島への逃避行の準備を急いだ。邑の北方、後世、美々津と呼ばれる港に船を並べ、ありたけの物資を詰め込むと、東方の島に向けて大慌てで出航した。後世、神武東征と称されることになる部族逃亡の航海の始まりであった。

三　東征

　神武らの逃避行は長期に及んだ。日向（宮崎県）の美々津を出航して、まず北方の豊（大分県）の宇佐に寄港し、その後、九州島を海岸沿いに西進して筑紫（福岡県）の岡田、それからいよいよ東の島（本州）に渡って瀬尾内海を東進し、安芸（広島県）の多祁理、吉備（岡山県）の高島を経て、ようやく難波（大阪府）の河内湖にたどり着くというルートであった。各地には一年から八年間にわたって滞在しており、美々津出航から難波に到着するまで十五年以上の年月を要した。何故に、ここまでの年月を要したのか。それは、米を作る必要があったからである。神武らは九州島を慌てて逃げ出したものの、食糧に窮した。そこで、食糧を現地調達すべく、米を現地で作ったのである。彼らは軍事的には非力であったが、最先端農業テクノロジーという武器を持っていた。神武は、邑人たちに、寄港地での水田開墾を命じた。彼らの寄港地がことごとく当時の大湿地帯であることは、神武たち逃亡船団が船着場を要したと言うだけの理由ではない。水田を作るための湿地帯が必要だったのである。　

　神武は、各地で米作りを指揮して、現地の狩猟系部族との融和に努めた。米を作るには最低でも一年間はかかる。現地部族との融和は不可欠であった。神武は、現地部族が持て余している湿地帯を借り受けて米を作った。そして、部族間の友好の証しとして、現地部族に米を分け与え、故地日向で太陽神アマテラスから授かった農業カレンダーに基づく先進農業テクノロジーを惜しみなく伝授した。従来、季節に関係なく種籾を直播きしてたまたま実ったわずかな稲穂を採集していただけの現地住民は、神武たちの水田から得られる驚異的収穫量の米を目の当たりにすると、喜んで友好関係を結んだ。

　かくして神武一行は安住の地を求めて東進を続け、ついに瀬戸内海の最奥部である難波の河内湖に到着した。現在では内陸部になっているが、当時生駒山麓にまで深く湾入していた河内湖の沿岸は広大な湿地帯であり、神武は早速、邑人に上陸して水田開墾を始めるよう命じた。が、この時、予期に反して、現地部族による激烈な攻撃を受けたのである。現地部族の長はナガスネヒコといった。まともな武器さえない神武らは、鍬や斧といった農具で抵抗するものの文字通り歯が立たず、船に逃げ戻って這々の体で河内湖から離脱するしかなかった。神武の三人の兄たちも逃避行の途中で落命し、神武ら生き残りは命からがら紀伊半島をめぐって難波とは反対側の熊野（三重県）の海岸に打ち寄せられるように漂着して再上陸する。熊野の海岸は断崖であり、これまでの湿地帯とは様相が全く異なる。ここでは水田は拓けない。ほとんどの船は破船しており再度航海に乗り出すこともできず、神武たち一行は、水田に適した湿地帯を求めて、これ以降は陸行するほかなかった。

　重畳たる熊野山系に踏み込んだ神武一行の登攀山行は難渋を極めた。現代の今なお人跡稀な深山幽谷の世界が広がる熊野山系である。二千年も昔の神武一行の行く手にあるのは人跡未踏の巒気たゆとう魔界に等しかった。多くが傷を負い、足を痛め、歩行困難となって、行くべき方向ももはや見失い、神武一行はとうとう巨木の茂る山中でへたり込んでしまった。

　と、その時である。巨木の上から人の声がする。神武が見上げると、巨木から一人の男が滑り降りてきた。杖を携えた頑健な体の大男である。甲高い声で何事か神武に話しかけてきたが、土着の言葉なので何を言っているのかよくわからない。神武は、その烏のような声で異語を話す男に向かって、

「ヤタガラス（大きな烏）よ。汝は地元の部族の男であろう。我らを田が作れるようなところまで案内してくれ。礼として米をやろう。」

と言って、肩にかけた袋を開いて米を見せた。大男は、通じぬ言葉を語る神武をじっと見つめていたが、意志は通じたのであろう。着いてこいという身振りをすると、どんどん先に歩き出した。神武一行はそのヤタガラスと呼ばれた男の後を追った。

　ヤタガラスの後について熊野の難路と格闘すること二ヶ月余、神武らはようやく大和盆地の入口にあたる宇陀（奈良県）に達した。そしてそこで、難波で神武一行を蹴散らしたナガスネヒコの軍と再度、衝突することになる。が、難波同様、神武一行には武器らしいものさえない。ナガスネヒコに圧倒されて逃げ惑う途中で、神武は、山中でヤタガラスから聞いた話を思い出した。

「ナガスネヒコの部族（登美族）が敬う神は、宙天を舞う鵄（トビ）だ」

神武は戦場の空を見上げた。鵄が無数に舞っている。戦場に斃れた兵たちの死骸を狙っているのだ。神武は、周囲の邑の者たちに命じた。

「米を撒け！」

皆、呆気にとられた。神武はさらに語気強く命じた。

「米を撒け！米を餌にして雀どもを集めよ。雀めがけて、空に舞う鵄どもが舞い降りてこよう！」

神武の意図を理解した邑の者たちは、かついでいた袋から米を取り出し、そこら中にまき散らした。途端に、雀の群れが至る所から蝟集してきた。上空を旋回していた鵄たちは雀の姿を目当てに急降下してくると、神武の周囲にバサバサと降り立ち、そのうちの数羽の鵄は神武の頭や肩に止まって甲高く鳴いた。その光景を見ていた登美族の兵たちは恐れおののいた。自分たちの神であるはずの鵄が、神武の肩に止まって喜々として鳴いているのである。登美族は武器をその場に投げ打って地に伏した。神が勝利者として神武を選んだ以上、もはや戦う理由がない。が、ナガスネヒコひとりは抗った。自分の主人は、大和盆地の主であるニギハヤヒだけであるとして、神武への降伏を断固拒否してニギハヤヒの元に走った。

　一方、ニギハヤヒは、神武一行の持っている水田耕作の最先端農業テクノロジーに強い関心を抱いていた。ニギハヤヒ自身、神武同様に、出雲から良田を求めて大和盆地にたどり着いた農耕部族の長であった。ニギハヤヒは、土着の狩猟系部族である登美族（ナガスネヒコ）と協調して大和盆地の水田開墾に努めてきたが、神武らの農業カレンダーに基づく乾田方式の最先端水田耕作テクノロジーにまでは至っていなかった。ニギハヤヒは、神武と講和してその農業テクノロジーを手中にすることを選んだ。そして、講和の証しとして、鉄製の先端を取り付けた鍬を神武に示した。それは、自分たちもまた高度な先端農業テクノロジーを希求する部族であることを示す証しであった。神武も、自らの鍬、先端に小さな鉄刃が取り付けられたその鍬をニギハヤヒに見せた。神武とニギハヤヒとは二人して、

「刃はや！（おお、良い鉄の刃じゃないか！）」

と叫んで、笑い合った。ここに講和はなり、神武とニギハヤヒは最先端農業テクノロジーの共有で合意した。これを見て、ナガスネヒコは激怒した。ニギハヤヒの裏切りを罵り嘆き、大和を捨てて、一族を率い北方の地へと去って行った。

　ニギハヤヒとの講和を経て、神武はようやく、緑の山々に囲まれた大湿地帯である大和盆地に入った。肥沃な湿地には葦が叢生し、無数のトンボが飛び回っていた。神武は艱難をともにして付き従ってきた邑の人々に言った。

「まさに、豊葦原の瑞穂の国ではないか。良い田ができるぞ」

　早速、人々は、農業テクノロジー集団としての本領を発揮しはじめた。人々は、米を作る人々、すなわち米部と呼ばれるようになった。後の久米部である。米部たちは、弾けるような笑顔で歌いながら田に鍬を打った。

「うちてしやまん！うちてしやまん！（田を打って、田を打って、打ちまくろう！）」

この久米部が田を鍬打つ際に歌った労働歌が、二千年後の今日、久米歌として残っている。

　ある秋の日の夕方、神武は、大和盆地の中央にぽこりと盛り上がる畝傍山に登って、久米部たちが精魂込めて作り上げた盆地一面に広がる田圃を一望した。ずっしりと実った稲穂は黄金の海となって波打ち、その上を無数のトンボがキラキラとハネを光らせて飛び回っていた。神武はその幸福な光景に恍惚となってつぶやいた。

「秋津の連なめるがごとし（トンボが無数に連なって飛び回っているようだね）」

この時より、この国は、豊葦原瑞穂国、あるいはまた大秋津島という名を与えられたのである。

四　伊勢

　神武は、畝傍山麓の橿原で初代人皇として即位した。

　ある年の春分の未明、神武は、畝傍山に登って、東天を見つめていた。正面には天香具山、その奥の遠景には大和青垣の山系が重畳と連なる。大和盆地に旭光が差し込み、大和青垣の稜線から春分の朝日が燦然として昇った。

「日向かいだ」

と言って、神武は目を細めた。初めてアマテラスの神託の伝令として日向灘の水平線から昇る旭日を待ち続けた朝のことが思い出された。ずいぶん昔のことだ。が、つい昨日のことのようだ。神武は、傍らに控えているヤタガラスに言った。

「海が、見たい」

ヤタガラスは、

「海、ですか？」

と不思議そうな顔をして問うた。神武は、

「そう。われは、海で育った。海から昇る太陽を見て育ったのだ。海が見たい。ヤタガラスよ。われに再び、海を見せよ。あの青垣のさらに遠く、日向かいのアマテラスが昇る海を、われに見せよ」

と言った。

「おまかせください」

と、ヤタガラスは言うやいなや、身支度を調え、その日のうちに、東に向かって旅立った。

　ヤタガラスは、ただひたすら、畝傍の橿原宮からまっすぐ真東に向かった。いかなる難路であろうと、いかなる山塊、渓谷があろうともただひたすらまっすぐに、真東に向かって歩き続け、そしてついに、伊勢の海岸に出た。その地点こそが、神武が求めたアマテラスが東天に昇る海を見つめる場所であった。ヤタガラスは、波が足を洗うその海岸に、アマテラスを祀るための小さな社を建てた。二千年の時を経て、その場所にはいま、伊射波神社が鎮座する。

　ヤタガラスは、早く大和に戻って神武をここに案内しようと思った。そして、少年のように喜んで水平線を見つめるであろう神武を想像して思わず微笑んだ。

　神武がヤタガラスに連れられてこの地を訪れたかどうか、記録はない。

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　了

The Prime Minister and the Latrine Rat

　According to the Records of the Grand Historian (Shiji) that is the greatest historical text of ancient China , Li Si, a man from the state of Chu in the third century BC, observed that while latrine rats ate filth and feared humans and dogs, rats in the granary ate their fill of millet and paid no attention to humans or dogs. Suddenly, he grasped the profound truth of life and realized that "a person's worth is determined by where they live." He then sought his own rightful place and eventually rose to become prime minister of the Great Qin Empire under the rule of the First Emperor. However, there are dissenting opinions that this account is slightly inaccurate.

　According to other accounts, the facts are as follows: Young Li Si, a poor low-ranking official in the government granary, went to the latrine one freezing winter day when sleet was falling and found a skinny latrine rat eating filth. The rat's right front leg was painfully injured, perhaps from being toyed with by a cat, and it looked like it was about to die, barely able to move. Kind-hearted Li Si picked up the rat and put it in his robe to warm it. The rat, finally warmed up, began to scurry around in Li Si's robe. Li Si smiled, tickled by the rat's touch, and returned to the granary. Inside the granary, there was a mountain of millet harvested that year. Li Si waited for a moment when his superiors were not around, took the latrine rat out of his robe, and quietly tossed it into the pile of millet. The mouse turned to Li Si, bowed its head slightly as if to express gratitude, and instantly disappeared into the pile of millet. Li Si was satisfied. Now, that mouse would not have to die a miserable death, starving and freezing to death in a latrine. It was a life bestowed upon it by heaven, after all. It should eat its fill of millet in the warm granary. No matter how much you eat, the millet in this enormous granary will not diminish. There is literally so much that it will rot. There is no need to be shy.

　The following day, the sleet had turned into snow overnight, covering the government office in white. Li Si went to the latrine, exhaling white breaths. There, once again, he saw the rat with an injured right front leg eating the filth. "Isn't that him!?" Li Si couldn't believe it. Why had he come back? Did he want to die? Li Si tried to pick up the rat again, but it squeaked and slipped through his fingers, escaping into the back of the latrine. That's when it hit him. Li Si suddenly understood. He felt like he knew everything. The rat had come back. In other words, the rat had been born a latrine rat. No matter how warm and abundant the government storehouse he was taken to, he would always return to his original place. Because that was his natural home. A latrine rat is, after all, nothing more than a latrine rat. Forcing him to go to the wealthy and warm official storehouse would only be a nuisance and a burden to him. And then, young Li Si suddenly realized: people are just like that mouse. People must return to where they rightfully belong.

　A person's place in the world is predetermined from the start. A toilet rat lives and dies in the toilet. A government granary rat lives and dies in the government granary. If a toilet rat is taken to the government granary, it will only suffer. It is the same for people. A person's worth is not determined by their place in the world. A person's worth is determined from the start. Their rightful place in the world is also predetermined. However, many people, due to the whims of fate, are in the wrong place. We must return to the place where we were originally meant to be. The journey of life is not about searching for a place to belong, but about returning to one's rightful place. A toilet rat should return to the toilet. A government granary rat should return to the government granary. And never, ever take a toilet rat to the government granary. It would not bring happiness to the toilet rat, but would only be a nuisance. Conversely, even if a rat that should be in the government granary were to fall into the toilet by chance, he would surely try to return to the granary. He will never be satisfied spending his days eating filth and laughing hysterically with the rats in the toilet over trivial matters. Because that is not the home of his soul. He will always return to his place. He will always return to his home. Always!

　As soon as Li Si, a man from Chu, realized this, he slammed his resignation down in front of his incompetent superior at the granary and became a disciple of the great Confucian scholar Xunzi. He diligently pursued his studies without ceasing, competing for the top spot with Han Fei, a great talent of his time . He rose from indigo to blue, mastering Legalist thought, and became an official in the Great Qin Empire, rising straight up the ranks until he became prime minister, reaching the pinnacle of power.

　Years later, one of the wealthiest merchants in the capital city of Xianyang met with Li Si at the imperial court. This merchant was rumored to have amassed a fortune by bribing ministers and was highly respected even by the royal family. Knowing Li Si's past as a low-ranking official in the state of Chu, the merchant looked down on him, and upon seeing Li Si appear in the robes of a prime minister, he laughed condescendingly, saying, "Your Excellency was originally a minor official in the granary of the state of Chu. And now you are the prime minister of Great Qin! You must have trouble moving around in such magnificent clothes!" Li Si smiled quietly and replied, "No, I have simply returned to where I belong. You too should quickly take off those magnificent clothes and return to your true place. How about the exile penal colony in the remote regions of Bashu? At the very least, this sacred court is not a place for someone like you." The wealthy merchant trembled with fear. (End)

Samurai's Lie

　Aoshima Seizaemon was a samurai general under Ito 'Sanmi Nyudo' (meaning 'the third-rank noble Monk') Yoshiyuki, and was the most distinguished samurai who supported Sanmi Nyudo's conquest of Hyuga Province in the Kyushu island located in the south-western part of Japan.  However, in 1576, a fierce counterattack began by the Shimazu army of Satsuma Province, which was rapidly advancing with the aim of unifying Kyushu island. Leading the 30,000 Shimazu soldiers, said to be the strongest in Japan, was Shimazu Yoshihisa, who in later years was praised by Shogun Tokugawa Ieyasu as "a model general." Under the command of this unparalleled general, the fierce and unmatched Satsuma soldiers attacked like a raging torrent, and even the mighty Ito forces lost their domestic castles one after another and were routed, and Seizaemon, too, suffered repeated defeats filled with regret. This is known as the "Ito Collapse." In the winter of the following year, Tensho 5, the main castle of Sadowara, where the family and retainers who had fled from the fallen subsidiary castles were holed up, was already tightly surrounded by tens of thousands of Satsuma soldiers. With no way out, Sanmi Nyudo even considered suicide at one point, but after much persuasion from his retainers, he changed his mind and held numerous council meetings to see if there was any way to preserve the family name. Finally, he decided to abandon Hyuga Province and flee to Bungo to seek refuge with Otomo Sorin who was the load of the Bungo Province. However, the problem was the route. In order to reach Bungo Funai,the Capital of the Bungo, while avoiding the pursuit of the Shimazu soldiers who were desperately seeking Sanmi Nyudo's head, they had to traverse the rugged mountain range of the Kyushu Mountains, passing through Mera and Takachiho to Bungo Ono. It was a treacherous path that even seasoned hunters found difficult. Samurai could manage it, but could women and children with weak legs really make it? Moreover, it was the height of winter. Even in the southern regions, the snow in the mountains reached thigh-deep, and blizzards were raging day after day. Even if they managed to escape the pursuit of the Satsuma soldiers, they would surely not escape unscathed. What worried Sanmi Nyudo the most was his youngest daughter, Komatsu. She was fifteen at the time. This girl, who had been raised with such care as a precious jewel as the princess of the lord of Hyuga Province, could not possibly survive such a brutal escape amidst wind and snow and flying arrows and bullets. Rather than be captured by the Satsuma soldiers and suffer humiliation, he even contemplated ending her life with his own hands, trying to dispel the nightmare. Seeing Sanmi Nyudo's anguish, Seizaemon prostrated himself before him and pleaded, "Please entrust Princess Komatsu to me. I will surely deliver her safely to Bungo Funai."

　Sanmi Nyudo granted Seizaemon's request. Komatsu appeared in the hall and said in a lovely voice, "Seiza, I'm counting on you." Seizaemon replied, "I would do it even if it cost me my life," and prostrated himself.

　Seizaemon and Komatsu decided to act as a separate unit, apart from the main force of Sanmi Nyudo, the target of the Satsuma soldiers' attack. Seizaemon carried his sword on his back while wearing his work clothes and donned a straw raincoat and hat. Komatsu was also made to look like a farm girl. However, one cannot fight against one's character. No matter how much she dressed as a farm girl, she could not hide her fragrant nobility. Seizaemon handed Komatsu a dagger and said that if she was ready to die, he would be the one to perform the beheading. Komatsu nodded slightly.

　That night, a desperate elite force led by Sanmi Nyudo charged in, breaking through the Satsuma encirclement. Through the gap, the entire family of approximately 300 people escaped under the cover of darkness, fending off the pursuing Satsuma soldiers and venturing into the snow-covered Kyushu Mountains. Seizaemon and Komatsu, too, disguised themselves as local farmers to evade the Satsuma soldiers and ventured into the deserted, snow-covered mountains. The snow in the primeval forest was deep, reaching up to their thighs, waists, and finally their chests. Seizaemon tied himself to Komatsu with a rope, and using his broad chest to push aside the snow and compact the ground beneath his feet, clearing a path for Komatsu. Komatsu gripped the rope connecting her to Seizaemon and walked with all his might, determined not to fall behind. Even so, whenever Komatsu's consciousness faded and his pace slowed, Seizaemon would use the shovel he had brought to clear the snow and make a snow cave, rub Komatsu's arms and legs, and give him the camp food he had made by kneading rice flour with starch syrup and yuzu into dumplings to help him regain his strength. In the morning, after walking through the night, gunshots echoed in the distant mountains, in the direction of Mera. Gunshots rang out one after another. "Seiza!" Komatsu cried out. Seizaemon stared in the direction of the gunshots for a while, then quietly turned back to Komatsu and smiled, saying, "It's nothing serious, it was just a matchlock from a local hunter." It was a lie. The gunshots meant that the main force of Sanmi Nyudo, who had been fleeing towards Mera, had finally been caught by the Shimazu army. At this time, the main force, which was passing through Mera, was ambushed by the Shimazu army. The maids, whose legs were weak, fled in panic with their soles stained with blood. When they realized they could not escape, many of them committed suicide rather than be humiliated by the Satsuma soldiers. Komatsu's sister also injured her leg and could not escape, and Sanmi Nyudo wept as he killed the princess himself. Seizaemon urged Komatsu, "Come on, Princess, let's go." Komatsu looked at Seizaemon with eyes that looked like they were about to burst into tears and nodded. The moment she nodded, tears began to fall from her eyes. They were tears of knowing everything, yet still wanting to believe Seizaemon's words. Seizaemon swore to the princess in his heart that he would never lie to her again. Without a word, Seizaemon pushed aside the snow and began walking again.

　Seizaemon, out of caution, had thoroughly avoided populated areas. Their escape, walking alone across untouched snowfields, had already lasted ten days. They had escaped pursuit by the Satsuma army and had safely made their way through the treacherous path of Takachiho. In three more days they would reach Bungo-Ono, which was part of the Otomo territory. Finally, a look of relief appeared on Seizaemon's face.

　As the rising sun shone across the snow-covered plains, a single, glittering streak of light came into view ahead. It was the Gokase River. "Once we cross that river, Bungo will be right before our eyes," Seizaemon said to Komatsu. "Is it almost over?" Komatsu asked. "Yes, it will be over soon. You have endured well, Princess," Seizaemon replied. "Is that so? Is this the end of my journey with Seiza? Komatsu wants to travel with Seiza more," she said. "Haha, you're just joking," Seizaemon laughed. Komatsu laughed too.

　At the Gokase River ferry crossing, Seizaemon handed the boatman some money and helped Komatsu onto the boat. Just then, several gunshots rang out across the riverbank, and Seizaemon heard the whoosh of bullets whistling past his ears. Here they come! Seizaemon turned around, threw off his straw raincoat, and drew the large sword from his back. About a block ahead, more than ten Satsuma soldiers appeared across the riverbank. Gunshots rang out in rapid succession, and bullets whistled through the air. In an instant, Seizaemon decided that the princess would not be able to escape unless the Satsuma soldiers were stopped here, so he sharply ordered the boatman, "Go!" and kicked the stern of the boat hard. The boatman hastily rowed. The boat cut through the water and moved away from the riverbank. "Seiza!" Komatsu cried out. Turning to Komatsu on the boat, Seizaemon said, "I will hold them off here. Wait for me in Kawachi village!" and grinned, showing his white teeth. "Seiza! Seiza! Promise me!" Komatsu cried. "Yes! I, Seiza, will surely come to meet you!" Seizaemon shouted. And then he thought, oh, I've lied to the princess again. Imprinting the image of Komatsu's tear-stained white face dissolving into the river mist into his memory, Seizaemon suddenly turned around and charged with a roar towards the horde of Satsuma soldiers wielding their glittering swords.

　Three days later, after escaping the pursuit of the Satsuma army, Sanmi Nyudo's main force arrived in Kawachi village and was reunited with Komatsu, who had been sheltered there by the Kawachi family, a local powerful family. After that, Sanmi Nyudo and his group entered Bungo territory under the escort of soldiers dispatched by Otomo Sorin. The escape through the snow lasted 17 days, and it is said that the family and retainers, who initially numbered over 300, were reduced to fewer than 100 by the time they reached Bungo. In later years, Sanmi Nyudo's son, Ito Suketake, served Hideyoshi and restored the family name, and the Hyuga Ito family, descendants of his lineage, continued as lords of the Obi Domain in Hyuga until the abolition of the feudal domains in the Meiji era. It is said that Komatsu later married a senior retainer of the Otomo family. The fate of Seizaemon, who parted ways with Komatsu at the Gokase River, is unknown.

The connection between Osamu Dazai's "No Longer Human" and Dostoevsky's "The Brothers Karamazov"

　Oh dear. What an exaggerated article. Dazai and Dostoevsky, huh? And "No Longer Human" and "The Brothers Karamazov"! I bet they're just going to spout some nonsensical nonsense based on their superficial knowledge of literary history. Stop it, stop it! There's no cure for stupidity... I have no way to argue with those who react with such rejection. Because they're right. The connection between the representative works of these two super-famous authors, which they must have written as if carving each word with their own lives at stake, is such a profound theme that even great professors who have secluded themselves in the innermost sanctums of their ivory towers for decades hesitate to put into words. For someone like me to comment on such a presumptuous thing, such as madness, such a foolish act that should be called reckless nonsense, is simply unacceptable! That's a perfectly natural reaction for any cultured person with common sense. Let's leave the difficult topics to the great masters. We should simply gratefully accept their explanations, acknowledging their valid points.

　Well, no matter how much I'm lectured and appeased by sensible people in the world, I will still commit this foolish act. No matter what anyone says, I will do it. I will do it resolutely. Why? Because I'm dissatisfied with the grand pronouncements of the great professors. After all, there's no need to bow down to the grand professors' theories; novels are meant to be read however the reader likes. And as I say this, I can hear it, can't I, a voice full of confidence and authority coming from the back of the university lecture hall... "Listen, gentlemen, this is the correct interpretation, your reading is wrong, there's no basis for it, show me the evidence, don't read novels based on intuition, isn't that disrespectful to great authors, amateurs are such a pain! At that level, I can't give you credit!"

　I've gone on too long with the introduction. Let's stop badmouthing the great professor. In short, I'm asking you to laugh off my foolish actions. I don't need any credits, just let me read as I please. Of course, I have no basis for it whatsoever. I haven't read any references or previous research. Because it's not a research paper. It's nothing more than the honest impressions of a reader. Look, this and that are similar in this respect, right? Isn't this interesting? It's just a boring impression like that. There's no need to make a big fuss over such an amateur's impression.

　And now, finally, we get to the story of No Longer Human and The Brothers Karamazov. It's been quite a long introduction. But I suppose it's better to be that cautious. So, No Longer Human. There's no doubt that Dazai had Dostoevsky's influence in mind. After all, in the novel, he has Oba Yozo having a conversation about "Crime and Punishment." And usually, in commentaries, it's said that No Longer Human is similar to Dostoevsky's "The Idiot." You could call it the common view. So, I can't help but think this: Are they similar? They're not similar at all. Sure, if you say that the protagonist Oba Yozo's incompetence is similar to Prince Myshkin in The Idiot, then I suppose that's true, but somehow it just doesn't sit right with me. The association of "idiot = innocent person = Myshkin = Yozo" seems to be overly influenced by Yozo's line, "Is innocent trust a sin?" Yozo himself is not an innocent trustee (his wife, Yoshi-chan, is the one who embodies innocent trust), and he could only stand by and watch, unable to protect the refreshing quality of innocent trust. Therefore, Yozo is a more complex being than "idiot = innocent person." I sense in Yozo not only the idiotic nature of Prince Myshkin, but also the destructive atheistic modern rationality of Raskolnikov from "Crime and Punishment." Furthermore, even if Yozo was an innocent trustee, that alone would not explain Madame's line at the end of the work, "It's that man's father who is at fault." I believe that Madame's line is the central theme of No Longer Human. This isn't about discussing Dazai's actual upbringing as the son of "Lord Kaneki" or anything like that; rather, it's about the fact that this line holds crucial meaning as a literary symbol, a key element of the work. Why is "Father" the final word in the story? What does "Father" represent? Surely, Dazai isn't going to explain something like developmental psychology, saying that his personality breakdown was due to a lack of love from his biological father. It's not that ridiculous. So, what is this "Father"? Why did Dazai bring "Father" into the story at the very end? Unless we find an answer to this question, the masterpiece "No Longer Human" will remain unresolved at the end.

　Therefore, I can't help but think that this isn't a matter of saying "No Longer Human" is similar to "The Idiot" or "Crime and Punishment." Rather, it feels more accurate to say that "No Longer Human" is like a mixture of Dostoevsky's works. And that's where "The Brothers Karamazov" comes to mind. The characters in Karamazov are the father Fyodor and the three brothers (Dmitry, Ivan, and Alexei), and these three brothers in particular overlap in appearance with the protagonists of Dostoevsky's works. The eldest brother, Dmitry, overlaps with Stavrogin from "Demons" as a semi-European intellectual unable to escape Russian constraints; the second eldest brother, Ivan, overlaps with Raskolnikov from "Crime and Punishment" as an embodiment of atheistic modern rationalism; and the third son, Alexei, who could be considered the protagonist of the same work, overlaps with Prince Myshkin from "The Idiot" as an innocent being. In short, The Brothers Karamazov is the culmination of Dostoevsky's long novels. I even think that his other novels were merely studies to concretize and typicalize the characters of The Brothers Karamazov.

　The problem here lies with the father, Fyodor. Who exactly is this man? What does he symbolize? However, Dostoevsky himself has already hinted at the answer in The Brothers Karamazov. Fyodor had a "Roman nose." In other words, Fyodor is a symbol of ancient Roman culture and a symbol of the "non-Christian anthropocentrism" of modern Europe, which is contrasted with the indigenous culture of Russia (I also note that the father's name, Fyodor, is actually Dostoevsky's own name, but let's leave that aside for now). And there is another symbolic character that appears in The Brothers Karamazov: the villainess Grushenka. The father, Fyodor, and the eldest brother, Dmitry, fight over this beauty who has a body like the "Venus de Milo." But why the "Venus de Milo"? I don't think this is merely a rhetorical device for beauty. There is a reason why Grushenka had to be the "Venus de Milo." There are no meaningless metaphors in novels. Every metaphor has a reason behind it.

　In modern Europe, the 19th century in particular saw a rise in anthropocentrism, to the point of being called a second Renaissance. It was the so-called "century of genius" (many of those considered geniuses today are concentrated in the 19th century), and in literary history, it is called the "19th-century Renaissance," the most glorious period in human history. All existing feudal or Christian authorities were rejected and put to rest. Even God was killed (not dead, but killed). It was the heyday of "non-Christian anthropocentrism." It can be called an era of human supremacy. Humanity finally pried open the gates of heaven, killed God, and ruled the world (or so they believed). The ideological foundation for this, as with the medieval Renaissance, was the non-Christian culture of ancient Greece and Rome. The image of ancient Greece and Rome, before Christianity was born, was praised as the original, free form of humanity.

　Even in the 21st century, the reverence that European intellectuals have for ancient Greek and Roman culture remains intense. For Europeans who spent centuries in the "Dark Ages" in the depths of the Germanic forests, ignorant and illiterate, while fearing the control of the Church, ancient Greece and Rome still shine brightly, apparently plunging them into the depths of an inferiority complex. The movie "Roman Holiday" depicts a beautiful princess, played by Audrey Hepburn, shedding all the outdated and traditional medieval authority in the city of Rome, the city of freedom, and living as a woman, a "human being." The brilliance of that movie can only be truly appreciated by understanding the European longing for ancient Greece and Rome. It is a masterpiece that reconstructs the central theme of the Renaissance, embodied in Shakespeare's famous line from "Julius Caesar," "Rome has no king!", as entertainment. It is not merely a princess's playful story. Napoleon built an ancient Roman-style triumphal arch in Paris. Hitler imitated the ancient Roman salute (revived by Mussolini) as the official Nazi salute, and even marched in front of the Arc de Triomphe during the occupation of Paris. The "giants" in the phrase "Standing on the shoulders of giants," familiar from the prefaces of Western philosophical texts, refer to ancient Greece and Rome, and more specifically, Plato and Aristotle. I once had a casual conversation with a cultured American woman, boasting about our respective countries, when I said, "Japan has a history of over 2,000 years since Emperor Jimmu." She retorted fiercely, "America has a history of 3,000 years since ancient Greece!" Americans, a nation only 200 years old, boast about ancient Greece as their cultural ancestor. That's how absolute the cultural longing for ancient Greece and Rome is for Europeans (and also for Russians, who are half-European). The 19th century was a miraculous era in which the longed-for ancient Greek and Roman culture became a reality before our very eyes. And humanity's passion for liberation and freedom from God intensified and ran wild, and not content with merely yearning for ancient Greece and Rome, they praised modern rationalism that surpassed even ancient Greece and Rome, and built the colossal Tower of Babel. At the same time, the flames of romanticism spread to the blood of nations and the abyss of the unconscious, scorching both the body and soul of humanity.

　However, humanity would ultimately be defeated by God. Humanity could not become God. On the contrary, they would be made to face the harsh reality of their own insignificance and imperfection as they entered the 20th century. This was the "twilight of humanity," or the "end of the century." Although few people seem to know this these days, the term "end of the century" is originally a literary term that refers only to the despair-filled end of the 19th century. At the end of the decadent and ripe "century of humanity," geniuses would hear a voice from heaven warning of the end of the world. It was a voice that pierced Munch's ears. Van Gogh's cypress trees, burning towards the heavens where God sits, were blocked by the ominously swirling, dark sky like a storm, and Nietzsche, who yearned for the Übermensch, had to die insane. And just as that voice from heaven warned, soon afterward, humanity would commit the unprecedented folly of mass murder in the World Wars, and humanity's boasted rationalism and scientific omnipotence would be dealt a fatal blow by the uncertainty principle. Unless you keep in mind that such a desperate scene of the end of the century is set as the backdrop to the story, it will be difficult to grasp the dark abyss of fin-de-siècle literature that "The Brothers Karamazov" is.

　Dostoevsky, who lived and fought against the fin de siècle with all his might, introduced Grushenka, the "Venus de Milo" (ancient Greece), precisely because of this desperate scene of the fin de siècle. By placing the symbols of Fyodor (the father) as ancient Rome and Grushenka (the wicked woman) as ancient Greece, the Karamazov scenes are instantly shrouded in the shadow of despair of fin-de-siècle Russia. To reiterate, there are no useless metaphors in novels. They are important precisely because they are metaphors. Because direct expression is impossible, the writer resorts to metaphors as a last resort, placing symbols within the scenes. And it is this Grushenka that the father Fyodor and the eldest brother Dmitry fight over. Ancient Greece was also an object of admiration for ancient Rome. Romans intensely loved and intensely jealous of the beauty and intelligence of the Greeks. It is only natural that Fyodor, a symbol of ancient Rome, would be infatuated with the beautiful Grushenka. On the other hand, his elder brother Dmitry, while inheriting his father's non-Christian humanism, is a symbol of the Russian intellectual class of the time (= Stavrogin), unable to escape the old Russian constraints. Like his father, he longs for the ancient Greek goddess Grushenka, but his love is unfulfilled, and after a rivalry with his father for the goddess, he is imprisoned on suspicion of murdering his father. The murder of his father Fyodor is, in essence, the death of "ancient Rome = non-Christian humanism = 19th-century Renaissance." By killing Fyodor, Dostoevsky is trying to depict the scene in Russia at the end of the century, a time of despair. The question then becomes, who killed Fyodor?

　The latter half of The Brothers Karamazov takes on the appearance of a mystery surrounding the murder of Fyodor, and is extremely interesting to read even as a courtroom detective novel (which is also a testament to Dostoevsky's brilliance as a professional writer). However, with Dostoevsky's death, the true culprit remains a mystery. Dmitry is arrested and put on trial, but if Dmitry killed Fyodor, it would mean that ancient Rome killed ancient Rome, and the theme of the novel would become "the suicide of ancient Rome." That would be a complete failure as a novel. The culprit who killed Fyodor—ancient Rome—is, in other words, someone who defeated humanity in the 19th-century Renaissance, and in that case, the only culprit left is "God." But surely, we cannot make God a murderer. So what to do? One way to do it is to make "the limitations inherent in humanity—the imperfection that prevents us from becoming gods" the culprit instead of "God." The argument is that ancient Rome did not lose to God, but rather destroyed itself due to its own imperfections. In that case, the real culprit would likely be Ivan, the second son, who embodies atheistic rationalism. Atheistic rationalism is the ultimate form of humanism that "ancient Rome = non-Christian humanism" leads to (its final form is communism, and beyond that is the "man-god" that appears in "Demons"). Making Ivan the real culprit would mean that humanity destroyed itself (= was defeated by God) because the ultimate form of atheistic rationalism of ancient Rome was inherently imperfect. However, that would be the same theme as Raskolnikov's crime depicted in "Crime and Punishment." In that case, there would be no point in writing the monumental work Karamazov. So, is Alexei, the third son who is the last one remaining, the real culprit? Alexei is an "innocent man" who has dedicated himself to Russian Orthodoxy. The idea that Alexei would kill his father (i.e., ancient Rome) seems rather far-fetched. Rather, I think Dostoevsky wanted to entrust Alexei with the idea that the Russian Orthodox Church, which prides itself on being the legitimate successor of Christ, would be reborn and save a dying Russia. That's how much Dostoevsky's expectations and affection for Alexei permeate his portrayal.

　So, who is the real culprit who killed ancient Rome? There's no point in searching for the real culprit now, but since we're on the subject, let's continue. Since the Middle Ages and the Renaissance, the Roman Catholic Church (the Vatican) has been relentlessly attacked by "ancient Rome = non-Christian humanism." The Vatican has plenty of reasons to kill ancient Rome. After all, in the 19th-century Renaissance, their own God was nearly killed. Even Dostoevsky, in the chapter on "The Grand Inquisitor," severely criticizes the Vatican, so it's not entirely impossible that he might try to pin the blame for Fyodor's murder on the Vatican. Alternatively, one could frame the hopelessly stubborn indigenous Russian spirit (such as the Messiah faith symbolized by Prince Ivan in "Demons") as the culprit who killed ancient Rome. In the Karamazovs, Smerdyakov, rumored to be Fyodor's illegitimate son (a symbol of the Russian spirit subservient to European culture), is a fitting choice. Indeed, in the novel, Smerdyakov is treated almost as the real culprit before committing suicide. If Smerdyakov was the real killer of Fyodor, then the gloomy Russian spirit symbolized by Smerdyakov extinguished the brilliance of "ancient Roman-non-Christian humanism." This also implies that Dostoevsky himself had despaired of the traditional spirit of his beloved homeland, Russia, and had already given up on its modern regeneration. Smerdyakov's suicide would be the self-destruction of the Russian spirit at the end of its despair. However, this leaves no redemption in the novel. Since Dostoevsky wrote Karamazov for the salvation of his homeland, Russia, Smerdyakov's suicide should be given positive significance as a ritual for the regeneration of the Russian spirit. This casts doubt on the theory that Smerdyakov was the real culprit.

　No, no. Let's stop trying to find the culprit. It's endless. It's fine if the mystery remains a mystery. I've gone on and on about the 19th-century Renaissance, but in short, what I wanted to say is that Fyodor, the father in The Brothers Karamazov, is a symbol of "ancient Rome = non-Christian humanism." Now, that brings us to the story of No Longer Human. Who is the "father" that Madame refers to in her line at the end of the novel, "It's his father's fault"? It's certainly not Dazai's real father, Tsushima Gen'emon. That's impossible. This "father" is Fyodor, and he is a symbol of "ancient Rome = non-Christian humanism." Dazai, needless to say, was strongly influenced by Akutagawa. Akutagawa was a writer who directly confronted the "19th-century Renaissance" and its defeat, the "fin de siècle (the twilight of humanity)." (Dazai, Mishima Yukio, and Abe Kobo are writers who follow in Akutagawa's lineage, but the lineage seems to have ended thereafter.) In Akutagawa's masterpiece, "Rashomon," the figure of the servant standing before the Rashomon gate "one evening" is the very image of defeated humanity, hanging its head in the "twilight of humanity" at the end of the century. Dazai, influenced by Akutagawa, aimed to overcome the fin de siècle. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that he aimed not to overcome the fin de siècle. After all, nobody in the world is aiming to overcome the fin de siècle. Only a small number of literary figures were making a fuss about the fin de siècle and the Renaissance; most people were busy with their daily lives and had no interest in such abstract theories that were merely a pastime for poor students. However, the 19th-century Renaissance aimed to transcend the everyday lives of such people. After all, they were seriously considering killing God and having humanity take his place. Man becoming God! What a terrifying ambition. For a century, geniuses struggled fiercely in this endeavor. But people didn't change at all. The only thing that changed was that communism, the "monstrous offspring" of the 19th-century Renaissance, was raging all over the world, and fascism, its twin offspring, was beginning to stir ominously, but the masses felt no sense of crisis about any of this either. But that's fine. There's no need to do anything. Transcending the fin de siècle? Ridiculous. As long as humans are alive, that's all that matters. Ugly, insignificant, and modest in their lives. Fine. That's what it means to be human. And that's Dazai's conclusion. It's almost a desperate plea.

　However, while concluding that those who live modestly are the true human beings, Dazai himself could never become such a person. He always sought a new kind of humanity. From the ruins of the air raids, he hoped for the emergence of a new humanity that would overcome the fin de siècle and stand on equal footing with God. That is why it is "No Longer Human." Those who dare to try to be equal to God are branded "No Longer Human" and cast into hell as sinners against God. Oba Yozo is Dazai's alter ego in this sense. Within Yozo coexist the artist (painter) who dreams of "ancient Rome = non-Christian humanism," the activist (communist) influenced by atheistic rationalism, and the yearning for Christian innocence and trust (his love for Yoshi-chan). These are analogies to Dmitry, Ivan, and Alexei, respectively. In other words, the three brothers of the Karamazovs coexist within Yozo. And Yozo is defeated in all of them. He is a defeated being who only brings sadness, trouble, and suffering to the decent people around him. To defy God is a "sin." However, the more he tries to live his daily life as an obedient person who follows God, the more he is "punished" by the world as a loser, spitting up blood, and imprisoned as a madman. Sin and punishment. An anthonym with no escape. There is nothing left inside Yozo. He is empty. A human shell. A broken man. What did Yozo do wrong? No, Yozo did nothing wrong. Dazai did nothing wrong. But he did make one mistake that was not his responsibility. That was to come into contact with his artistic "father," "ancient Rome = non-Christian anthropocentrism." Because Dazai came into contact with the dazzling ecstasy of the geniuses of the 19th-century Renaissance that consumed him, he threw away his life and became a sinner against God for that reason alone. That's why, as the bar madam said, "Dad" is entirely to blame. And if it weren't for this good-for-nothing "Dad," Yozo would never have incurred God's wrath and would have received God's blessing, just like the pure people in the Bible.

　So, that turned into quite a long story. But, you see, when you look at it this way, No Longer Human and The Brothers Karamazov are similar, aren't they? What? They're not similar at all? That can't be true. Yes. I'm sorry. Please don't get so angry. But, I can say this with confidence: Yozo's suffering is felt far more deeply by pathetic, washed-up young literary men like us, who were led astray by a fleeting artistic passion in our youth and threw away our precious lives, than by the great masters holed up in their ivory towers.

Kafka's "The Metamorphosis": The Despair of the Twentieth Century and the Literature of the Absurd

　It's a common story: a fine man of status and prestige, a true role model for society, a perfect individual beyond description. At ten, he was hailed as a child prodigy in the neighborhood, and by fifteen, he was already renowned as the town's most brilliant student. True to expectations, he easily passed the entrance exams for a top-tier university, graduating at the top of his class. He then joined a prestigious company affiliated with a former zaibatsu (financial conglomerate), rising rapidly through the ranks. Now, he's a highly successful leader of massive projects, handling hundreds of millions of dollars daily with just a phone call. Before even turning forty, he's already considered a strong candidate for the next board of directors. Of course, his salary is easily five times the average annual income of ordinary people, and he lives in a luxury high-rise apartment with concierge service. Moreover, his character is humble, sincere, and upright, and he's also a master of both academics and martial arts, holding a third-degree black belt in judo and a fifth-degree black belt in kendo. He never misses his 10km jog every morning, his hobbies are wide-ranging, from contemporary art to classical rakugo (traditional Japanese storytelling), and his humorous and abundant conversation naturally makes him the center of attention. On top of that, he is handsome, tall, and has a well-proportioned physique, like a movie star. And as for the family he loves dearly, he has a beautiful and talented wife who graduated from a prestigious women's university, was the runner-up in a Miss [something] Japan contest during her student days, studied at a prestigious British university after graduation, and after returning to Japan, works as a lecturer in the English department at her alma mater women's university while also working as a translator and critic of modern English literature, and is highly regarded in the publishing industry. He also has two smart and well-mannered children, an older son in sixth grade who is preparing for the entrance exam to a highly competitive private middle school, studying for five hours every day at a famous cram school and continuing his self-study until 2 a.m. after returning home, and taking national mock exams. However, he consistently achieved top grades, and the cram school instructors unanimously agreed that he was sure to pass, saying that if he failed, they would all quit their jobs. Despite this, he also belonged to a boys' soccer team and played as a regular in the prefectural tournament. Although the team was unfortunately defeated in the semi-finals, he received an outstanding player award. He was a bright and cheerful handsome boy with a tanned face, white teeth, and cool eyes. His only worry was that on Valentine's Day, he would receive so many chocolates from girls all over school that his large sports bag would be full. Furthermore, his younger sister, a third-grader, took classical ballet and piano lessons, and the teachers at each school were all renowned teachers with experience winning awards in international competitions, even they are left trembling with awe at the glimpses of her boundless talent, and while the adults around her are making a fuss about what she'll become in the future—a ballerina, a musician, no, a Takarazuka performer, no, a movie actress—she herself whimpers and says something adorable like, "I want to be a cake maker," which makes the hearts of  adults around her utterly melted. This is the kind of person who lives in a world so different from us ordinary people, and yet one day, one morning, he is arrested for groping a high school girl on a crowded commuter train, and in an instant, he loses everything in his life—his job, his family, everything. I'm sure everyone has had the experience of stopping eating their breakfast chopsticks in surprise when they hear about such a truly bizarre incident on the morning television news.

　What on earth is going on? It's nothing short of bizarre. Inexplicable. It's utterly unreasonable. There's a saying, "possessed by a demon," but this is truly the work of the devil. It's not something a normal human being would do. Much less something someone like him, possessing the highest level of intelligence and character as a human being, would do. It makes absolutely no sense. But it's the truth. It's a fact that is unfolding right before my eyes. I must accept this fact as it is. The devil whispered in his ear, the ear of a man who was otherwise perfect. "Now, lose everything," it said. And he unconsciously obeyed the devil's voice. And literally, he lost everything. Only when he was apprehended by station staff and had his face pressed against the concrete of the platform did he awaken from the devil's whisper and suddenly realize what had happened. What? What just happened? What did I do? Groping? Me, groping?!

　Oh, what a horror! Every time I come across such bizarre news, I shudder. The devil exists. But is it really the devil? They say the devil was once a great angel. Perhaps it was an angel that whispered in his ear. Perhaps the angel whispered the voice of God, that terrifying holy command that would utterly destroy his life. And with just that, even the most perfect human being would lose himself and unconsciously engage in foolish acts, losing everything he had built up until then. And seeing such a pathetic human being, the angel smiles coldly and says: Behold, you humans are nothing more than that. You may pretend to be rational and scientific, but suddenly, out of nowhere, completely meaningless, incomprehensible, and utterly pointless, you humans are driven to impulsive actions that bring no benefit whatsoever. The intelligence you boast about can't even control your own irrational impulses. Don't you think it's shameless for you, imperfect beings dominated by such illogical impulses, to try to usurp the throne of the all-knowing and all-powerful God? I hear that humans killed God? Don't make me laugh. There's no way you humans could kill God. Have you already forgotten the disastrous defeat of the Tower of Babel? You just saw the irrational actions of this seemingly perfect man. This irrationality is a warning from God to humanity. You humans are neither rational, scientific, nor logical. You are nothing more than an absurd creature, driven by irrational, unscientific, and illogical impulses. Come on, stop worshipping the Tower of Babel that you yourselves built. What good is it to worship yourself? That is idolatry. The Tower of Babel has fallen. Stop your foolish actions of bowing your bow to heaven and return to God. God will forgive everything.

　One of the unfortunate people to hear such a terrifying voice from an angel was my poor, lovable friend, Gregor Samsa. That said, Samsa didn't commit sexual harassment on a crowded train. It wouldn't be absurd if Samsa, a mere ordinary working-class man, were to commit such an act. No one would be surprised. It would simply be dismissed with a "Well, I thought so, that's the kind of person he is." So, Samsa wouldn't commit such a thing. The absurdity that befell Samsa was far more serious than that. Rather, one morning, Samsa woke up to find himself transformed into an insect. There was no reason for it. People always seek reasons. They believe there is a rational reason for every phenomenon. This is because having a reason provides reassurance. Just like the good people in the Book of Job in the Old Testament who tried to find the cause of innocent Job's misfortune. However, just as there was misfortune for Job in the Book of Job, there is no reason for Samza's transformation. It is a warning from God whispered to him by an angel. It is beyond human comprehension. Therefore, there must be no rational reason that humans can accept. I repeat: there must be no reason whatsoever, not even a single word. He must suddenly become an insect. But why an insect? Couldn't it have been a dog or a monkey? No, it had to be an insect. It had to be the creature furthest removed from human intelligence. It could have been a plant, but plants can sometimes have the air of intellectual contemplatives, which is problematic. Cacti, for example, seem to be thinking about something. The thousand-year-old cedars in the deep mountains even exude a divine dignity. Plants are something to be wary of. So, it has to be an insect. It absolutely has to be an insect. And not just any insect, but a hideous one, like a cockroach, covered in a dark brown exoskeleton. Insects as a symbol of creatures completely unrelated to humankind. Samsa, an ordinary salesman, suddenly, one morning, without any explanation, transforms into such a hideous, monstrous insect. What absurdity! Surely, this is a far more terrifying absurdity than a perfect elite suddenly committing sexual assault for no reason. A chilling warning from God to humanity. Thus, the immortal masterpiece of absurd literature, "The Metamorphosis," was born.

　In the 19th century, the dazzling light of ancient Greek and Roman culture, predating humanity's knowledge of Christianity, was revived, and non-Christian anthropocentrism flourished. This was the "19th-century Renaissance." Humans ascended high to the heavens, aiming for God, prying open the gates of heaven and entering the temple. Van Gogh's sunflowers shone like the earthly sun, and Nietzsche declared that God had been killed. However, despite the struggles of the geniuses of the 19th-century Renaissance, humanity could not become god. Nothing changed in humanity. Van Gogh's cypress trees, which should have been burning towards the throne of God in heaven, were blocked by the eerie, swirling chaos of the dark sky and lost their way, and Nietzsche died in madness in solitude. Defeated humanity went through a bleak end of the century and entered the despairing 20th century. This was the "Twilight of Humanity." The Tower of Babel had fallen once again. The glorious light of ancient Greek and Roman culture fades, and the world is enveloped in darkness. And the gods, who were supposed to have been killed by humanity, are resurrected. No, resurrection is not the right word. They were never dead in the first place. They were merely pretending to be dead. The "revenge" of the gods, who had remained silent for a hundred years while humanity was frenzied about killing gods, has begun. God warns humanity, trembling with despair, that you are, after all, nothing more than imperfect beings. He warns that unless you repent, the world will become a hell filled with terror and slaughter. And then, in the 20th century, humanity would experience the hell that God had warned them about. From the end of the century to the beginning of the 20th century, there was a group of geniuses who clearly heard this warning from God. And they came to a realization: Perhaps humans are not the perfect beings that the geniuses of the 19th-century Renaissance dreamed of, but merely irrational beings driven by eerie and inexplicable impulses. Or perhaps, in the first place, this world itself is nothing more than an illusion of chaos and chance, devoid of any order or laws. If the 19th century was the century of the brilliantly shining sun, the 20th century became the century of an eerie, inexplicable darkness. Humanity lost the sun. In "Guernica," Picasso mercilessly captured the hideous sight of humanity in the 20th century, having lost the sun, running wild with slaughter under the artificial sun of electric lights. Meursault, the protagonist of Camus' "The Stranger," commits murder by firing five bullets under the same scorching sun on which his mother (that is, the Virgin Mary) died, forever losing his happiness under the sun, and awaiting execution in a solitary cell at night. And poor Samsa turned into an insect.

　Samsa, transformed into an insect, finds himself in a truly pitiable situation. Hated and despised by his beloved family, he is fatally wounded when an apple thrown by his father pierces his back, and he quietly breathes his last alone before dawn. His family then regains their peaceful and happy life. It is painful for humans to admit that their true nature is nothing more than an imperfect being governed by illogical impulses. It is especially unacceptable for those who believe themselves to be rational and logical. This is because it is nothing less than a denial of human free will. No one willingly admits to being manipulated by something they do not know or have never seen. Everyone believes they are acting of their own free will. Therefore, even if they are driven by illogical impulses to take meaningless and foolish actions, most people try to give some meaning to their actions. They try to rationally explain it in terms of profit and loss. And they assert, "This is something I decided myself, yes! This is something I did because I believed it was right, it was my own choice!" However, in the case of unfortunate Samsa, there was no room for such a rational explanation. Surely, no human being could transform into a hideous insect of their own free will. It was impossible to rationalize. Samsa was undoubtedly manipulated by something absurd into becoming an insect. It was not Samsa's fault. Therefore, Samsa himself felt no guilt whatsoever. Guilt? It wasn't even a crime in the first place. He had simply become an insect. But even if Samsa himself was fine with that, for the people around him, such absurdity was unacceptable. There had to be a rational reason why Samsa had become an insect. Otherwise, the order of their world would collapse. For lovable, good citizens, world peace and family happiness are achieved by upholding rational order. No matter how insignificant the absurdity, it must not be overlooked. As the saying goes, "It's just a small crack in the wall." The rational order of this entire world might crumble to pieces because of overlooking even the slightest absurdity, and eventually dissolve into disorderly chaos. This is terrible! Gregor! Why did you turn into an insect?! Tell me why! And so, the father throws an apple at Samsa. The apple, that is, the fruit of knowledge. A symbol of intelligence that caused humanity to confront God. He throws that apple at Samsa, who has turned into an insect. The apple sinks into Samsa's back. But even with the fruit of knowledge, the reason for Samsa's transformation could not be explained. The apple rots, and Samsa's body rots, and finally Samsa dies. And so, Samsa's family returns to normal, or rather, is enveloped in an even warmer sense of happiness than before, bringing Kafka's masterpiece, "The Metamorphosis," to a close. The apple (intellect) rots, the insect (absurdity) dies, and what remains in the world afterward is a heartwarming "domestic happiness." Both intellect and absurdity are nothing but obstacles to the happiness of innocent people. Whether humans transcend God, or conversely, whether God whispers absurdity as a warning to humanity, such things are irrelevant to honest people who live their days to the fullest. They are truly irrelevant. What matters to them is "order." Order is not intellect. Because order does not require thinking. No, order prohibits thinking. Order is custom, rules, and uniforms. Therefore, the father, having gone to the trouble of dressing in his uniform, threw an apple at the monstrous insect that was once his son. As the father of the family, he had to uphold the order of this world. Happiness was guaranteed if one followed the order. Anyone who broke that order, even his own son, would be mercilessly killed. That was the law of life for innocent people. And only in front of Samsa's corpse did the happy family make the sign of the cross in gratitude to God. Thanks to Samsa's death, they had returned to God. Just as God had intended. Humanity in the 20th century, who had wandered aimlessly in the dark night in despair over their own imperfections, was brought back to God after a hundred years by the "trap of God" ("miracle") of absurdity.

　The profound sense of futility felt by humanity, defeated by God and despairing at the end of the century, wandering the dark night without the sun, killing each other and fleeing in panic under the dim light of electric lamps, and finally finding light at the end of the pitch-black horizon where the sun never rises, only to approach it and discover it's merely the embers of a candle offered at a temple once destroyed and reduced to rubble by human hands—this terrible "sense of futility" is surely the theme of 20th-century literature. One could even call it the "restoration" of God. So, will the world return to God's rule once again? Will humanity revert to the dark Middle Ages of ignorance and illiteracy, burning witch sacrifices in the depths of the Germanic forests? Perhaps. After all, aren't humans just such foolish creatures? "God sees all!" the angels might whisper. But is that really true? Will the day ever come when humanity overcomes this absurdity and once again stands before God on equal footing? As Samsa dies, in a peaceful and emptiness of contemplation, he hears the church bells. They are the bells announcing the pale dawn. They are certainly not the bells that ruled people in the dark Middle Ages. And Samsa dies feeling the light of the rising sun once again. Samsa's death is not a death of despair. It is a death that leads to hope. Meursault in "The Stranger" also feels a sense of renewed happiness as he hears the siren ringing in the silence of the night while awaiting execution in his cell. Neither Samsa nor Meursault are in despair. Their souls are freed from all shackles and become free only when faced with death brought upon them by absurdity. It is a freedom from this world (rationality) granted only to those who have personally experienced absurdity, and at the same time, a complete freedom liberated from fate (irrationality).

　Humanity was once defeated by God. The Tower of Babel fell. Humanity could not kill God. But humanity never needed to be in opposition to God in the first place, nor did it need to suffer from a sense of guilt as God's servant. This is because God never fought against humanity, nor does He rule over humanity as sinful beings. God has no reason whatsoever. Therefore, we are free before God, and everything is permitted. We did not need a sword (reason) or armor (faith) to protect ourselves from God's dominion. Humans exist without reason, and cease to exist without reason. It is in this awareness of defenseless existence, this awareness of freedom liberated from everything, that there is a possibility for a new dawn for humanity. This is what absurd literature points to in the despair of the 20th century. (End)

或る人の言葉 Words of a certain person

或る人が言った。

君を愛する人がこの世から一人もいなくなったら、その瞬間に君は死ぬ。それは神が定めた法則なのだ。だから、君がいま生きているってことは、この世界の中で、少なくとも誰か一人に愛されているってことなのだよ、と。

僕は或る人に尋ねた。

それは、いったい、誰なのでしょう。僕を愛してくれている人というのは、どこの誰なのでしょう。

或る人が言った。

おや、疑っているのかね。だが、いま君は、こうして生きているではないか。だから、疑ってはいけない。この世界に、君を愛している人が、必ず一人は、いるのだよ。

けれども僕は、信じられなかった。僕を愛している人がいるって？いるわけがない。バカを言っちゃいけない。そんなのは、嘘だ。嘘に決まってる！いったい、どこに、そんなおめでたい奴がいるっていうんだ？！

僕は叫んだ。「そんなバカな奴がいるなら、さあ、ここに連れてきてくれ！」

すると、或る人は、笑って言った。

そこにいるではないか。君自身だよ。

モネ 「日傘をさす女」 幸福の一瞬の閃光 Monet's "Woman with a Parasol": A fleeting glimpse of happiness

この瞬間のためなら死んでもいい。

人生に一度あるかないか、そういう一瞬の光景を、モネはカンバスに写し取った。

日傘をさす女。

モネの最初の妻カミーユが、逆光の影となってモネに悲しげな微笑みを投げかけている。傍らには幼い息子ジャンが無垢な紅い頬をして立っている。風が吹き抜ける。そして青い空。そして輝く白い雲。そして燃え立つ草花。それを見ている画家モネの視線そのままに、その一瞬は切り取られ、カンバスに写し取られた。

カンバスから溢れ出る光！

が、その輝く光の影となって画家に視線を投げかける最愛の妻。

貧困にあえぐ画家モネは、この最愛の妻カミーユを幸せにすることができなかった。

苦労をかけっぱなしだった。

そして貧困と病苦のうちに若くしてカミーユは逝った。

何一つとして、いっさい、モネは、彼女の愛に応えてやることができなかった。

無能な男。甲斐性無しのダメ亭主。これに尽きる。

が、この無能な男には、ひとつだけ、希有な才能があった。

光をカンバスに写し取るという、神業を持っていた。

男はその空前絶後の自らの特技を駆使して、妻の姿をカンバスに描いた。描き続けた。男の絵は売れなかった。売れても二束三文だった。それでも男は最愛の妻を描き続け、そうして或る晴れた夏の日の散歩の途中、モネは、生涯にただ一度だけ訪れる至上の一瞬に邂逅し、その一瞬をあやまたず、余すところなくカンバスに写し取った。

天才。という言葉は、この瞬間の画家モネのためにある。

神はこの無能な男に、この一瞬の小さな光景をカンバスに写し取らせるために、ただそれだけのために、画家としての天賦の才を与えたのである。

そしてこの世に生まれたモネ畢生の名画、「日傘をさす女」。

近代絵画の最高傑作と言っていい。

この一瞬の光と影を写し取ったカンバスに満ちあふれる人生の愛おしさと、その反面にひそむ悲しみの深さはどうだ。追っても追っても追いつけず、抱き留めても抱き留めてもすり抜けてしまう、そういう決して永遠に自分のものにはできない、あまりに儚い幸福が放つ一瞬の閃光。いま、まさに今、この手でしっかりとつかんでおかなければ永遠に失ってしまうことがわかっているのに、わかっていたはずなのに、この手でつかんでいたはずなのに、この手からこぼれて永遠に見失ってしまった幸福の遠い記憶。そういう人としての喜びと悲しみとが、一瞬の光と影によってカンバスに写し取られている。

この絵の前で、人は立ちつくすであろう。自らが見失ってしまった一瞬の至福の記憶を脳裏に探し求めて、モネの視線でカミーユのベールの奥の悲しげな瞳をじっと見つめるであろう。そして幸運な人は、脳裏にかすかに残っていたその一瞬の記憶の残像に回帰するであろう。懐かしい人、こよなく愛した人の笑顔をはたと思い出すであろう。そして彼は思うであろう。「ああ、おれは、なんてバカだったんだ」と。

印象派は、19世紀サロンを支配する新古典派、アカデミズムへの反発から生まれた。神話世界の神々を描くのではなく、人間がこの世でこの目で見たものを描くのだ。ビーナスではなく、女を描くのだ。なるほど新古典派の超絶技巧で描かれたギリシャ神話の神々は美しく文字通り神々しい。磨きこまれた大理石のように白く滑らかな肌で完璧なプロポーションの女神が天使とたわむれる光景は見る者をして恍惚とさせる。それにくらべて、印象派の描く女はどうだ。そのへんにいるふつうの女じゃないか。そう。そのとおり。そのへんの女そのままなのだ。モネの妻カミーユも、無論、ふつうの女だった。が、女神を描く新古典派の画家には、このカミーユの微笑は描けない。この瞬間のためなら死んでもいいという、そういう「永遠の一瞬」は描けない。なぜならこの人生を生きるのは、神ではなく、人間だからだ。神は、「永遠の一瞬」を知らない。「永遠の一瞬」を知るのは、その深い喜びと悲しみとを知るのは、この娑婆苦土で愚かな煩悩に苦しみもがきながら懸命に生きる惨めな人間にのみ許された特権なのだ。

カミーユが逝った後、モネは元パトロンの妻を後妻にする。カミーユの存命中から関係をもっていたとも伝わる。モネは、その後、「日傘をさす女」と同じモチーフの絵を数枚描くが、いずれも習作に終わった。そのいずれも、モデルの顔は描かれていない。モネは、もはや二度と、死ぬまで、あの日の一瞬のカミーユに出会うことはできなかったのである。

いや。訂正しよう。その人生の最期の時に、すでに失明して光を失っていたモネの目には、あの晴れた日のカミーユが見えていたであろう。きっと、そうであろう。あの逆光の影となって悲しげに微笑んでいたカミーユが。

・・・・・

そしてあの夏の日から１５０年後の日本で、僕は、「日傘をさす女」を、パソコン画面で見ている。まるでこの目で見た光景であるかのように。

山下達郎「僕らの夏の夢」を聞きながら。

魔術師 Magician

そのいかにも怪しげな魔術師は僕に、こう言った。

「君は、夢を見るだろう。」

「そりゃ、もちろん」と僕は答える。

「では、君は、夢の中で、ああ、これは夢だな、と気が付くことがあるかね。」

「まあ、そういう時もあれば、気が付かないときもあるよ。」

「気が付かない時、君は、夢の中の自分を生きていることになる。」

「夢の中の自分ね。まあ、そういう言い方もできるかな。夢の中では全くの別人格になっていることは、よくあることだからね。」

「とすると、眠っている君と、夢の中で生きている君と、君が二人いることになる。」

「二人？　いやいや。僕自身は、あくまで眠っている方の僕だよ。」

「夢の中の君は、君ではないのか。」

「そりゃ、違うでしょ。所詮、夢ですからね。現実の僕は、眠っている。」

「夢？　現実？　君は、夢と現実の区別がつくのか？」

「そりゃ、つくさ。目が覚めれば、ああ、夢だったか、って気が付くよ。リアリティが全然違います。あたりまえだよ。」

「いや。あたりまえではない。君が、目が覚めて、ああ、夢だったか、と気が付くのは、君がまさに、『目が覚めた』からだ。『こっちの世界』に来たのだから、『あっちの世界』の現実感が薄らいでいるだけだ。逆に、夢の中の君は、夢の中の世界こそが現実と考えて生きているから、いわゆる現実の世界で眠っている君のことなど、気にもしていないはずだ。世界のリアリティなんてものは、君の意識が今どちらにあるかという偶然に依存しているに過ぎない。」

「じゃ、僕は、僕という意識は、現実と夢の間を行ったり来たりしてるってわけ？」

「行ったり来たり？　なるほど、君の意識は、今、こっちの世界に来ている。では、あっちの世界の君は、存在しないのか？　君の意識がこっちに来ると、あっちの世界は消滅するのか？　そうではないだろう。君が夢を見て、夢の中の自分を生きている間でも、現実世界の君は、すやすやと眠っているはずではないか。夢の中の自分と、すやすや眠っている自分は、どちらも存在する。とすれば、結局、眠っている君と、夢の中で生きている君と、君が二人いることになるし、夢の中の世界と、現実の世界とが、同時に存在していることになる。というか、存在せざるを得ない。」

「夢の世界と現実の世界とが、同時に存在するって？」

「そう考えざるを得ないと言ってるのだ。そうして、困ったことに、すやすや眠って夢を見ている現実世界の君もまた、別の世界の君が見ている夢かも知れないということだ。そうして、その君もまた、夢かも知れない。というふうに、夢と現実とが、無限に連鎖していく。となると、夢と現実の世界は、それこそ無数にあり、しかもそれらは同時に存在することになる。」

「無数の世界が、同時に存在する？」

「そう。世界は無数にあり、しかも同時に存在する。そして、君は、つまり君の意識は、その無数の世界のうちの一つの世界に、たまたま偶然『目覚めている』というわけだ。どの世界に『目覚める』かは、偶然に過ぎない。今、君が現実と思っている世界は、たまたま偶然、君の意識が『目覚めている』世界に過ぎない。」

「そうかな。だって、僕は、この世界で生きてきたという実感があるんだよ。小さな頃から今までの思い出もあるし、親兄弟だってあるし、この世界こそが、僕の本当の世界だって実感があるんだよ。」

「さっきも言っただろう？　それは、君が、『こっちの世界』にいるから、そういう実感があるのは、ある意味、当然なのだよ。『こっちの世界』には、『こっちの世界』のストーリーがあるのさ。夢の中の君にだって、夢の中のストーリーがあるはずだ。『こっちの世界』に意識がある時は、君は、『こっちの世界』のストーリーに従って生きているんだよ。君の幼少期からの思い出も、君の親兄弟も、友人も恋人も、ぜんぶ、ストーリーだよ。『こっちの世界』という映画のシナリオなんだよ。君は、そのシナリオに従って生きているだけさ。で、そのシナリオってのは、『こっちの世界』だけのもので、『あっちの世界』には『あっちの世界』のためのシナリオがちゃんと用意されている。そうして面白いことに、『こっちの世界』にいながら、『あっちの世界」のシナリオを思い出そうとしても思い出せない。目が覚めた後に、かすかな脳裏の残像を頼りにして、夢の中の自分を思い出そうとしても思い出せずに、もやもやして、もどかしい思いをすることがあるだろう。あれだよ。」

「『あっちの世界』とか『こっちの世界』とか、ややこしいな。どこの世界にいたって、僕は僕じゃないのかね。」

「そう。君は、君だ。けれども、それは、『君の意識』という意味における『君』ではない。君の意識の奥底にある『根源的な君』だ。そういう『根源的な君』というものを適切に表現する名詞を、残念ながら未だかつて、人類は手にしたことが無い。だから、『根源的な君』などという表現しかできないが、つまり、そういう意味では、君は君だ。無数に、かつ同時に存在する、いっさいの『君』という意識の奥底には、『根源的な君』が、『あらねばならない』。けれども、それは、この世界の『中』では『あり得ない』。それは、世界の『外』で『あらねばならない』。すなわち、君は、君の奥底にあるであろう『根源的な君』を永遠に知ることができないのだ。」

と、そこで、僕は目が覚めた。