Hōjōki: Visions of a Torn World

“So the old Capital was already a waste and the new one not yet made. Every one felt as unsettled as drifting clouds.”

When the capital of Japan was briefly moved from Kyoto to Fukuhara, most people were extremely unhappy about it, but they were obligated to move along with the court. As part of the theme Perceptions of Suffering, Chōmei writes of this widespread dissatisfaction. Chōmei has already established that most people prefer to build their homes to last, even though they will inevitably get destroyed or abandoned; it is therefore stressful and uncomfortable to be forcefully uprooted. While Chōmei praises transience, it is not easy for most people to maintain a sense of detachment from the material world, which led to this “unsettled” feeling that arose during the transition between capitals.

“The whole atmosphere of the Capital was altered and they looked like a lot of country samurai. And those who said that these changes were a portent of some civil disturbance seemed to be not without reason, for as time went on things became more and more unquiet and there was a feeling of unrest everywhere.”

The changing of the capital occurred in part because of the Genpei War, which lasted from 1180 to 1185 and marked the end of the Heian period. Though Chōmei does not go into detail about the war, he alludes to it here when describing the changes that took place during this period. Where the Heian imperial court was known for its focus on art and beauty, it was replaced by the feudal shogunate, and this sense of militarism permeated the city.

“As the days passed they felt like fish when the water dries up, and respectable citizens who ordinarily wore hats and shoes now went barefooted begging from house to house.”

Chōmei uses simile to describe the reality of life during the Famine of Yōwa. This builds the theme of Suffering—Chōmei points out that people who were once comfortable, or even wealthy, quickly lost everything and were forced to resort to begging for survival. For Chōmei, this became a common sight, as did the piles of bodies of those who starved during this period. Later, Chōmei mentions that a small meal with food from the land, such as wild berries, is easier to appreciate than a large meal, which reflects his experience living through this famine.

“It must be a wretched and degenerate age when such things are done.”

Here, Chōmei refers to the looting of temples that occurred during the famine. Impoverished and desperate, laborers would take wood and valuables from the temples to sell, which Chōmei deems was “wretched” but ultimately necessary for survival. This quote reflects Chōmei's Buddhist beliefs: In Buddhism, the final era of Dharma involves decline on a cosmic scale, including a myriad of disasters and a decay of human morality.

“Thus it seems to me that all the difficulties of life spring from this fleeting evanescent nature of man and his habitation. And in other ways too the opportunities he has of being troubled and annoyed by things connected with his locality and rank are almost infinite.”

This is the overarching point of "Hōjōki," and it marks the start of his transition away from city life. In accordance with his Appreciation of Impermanence, Chōmei pinpoints the root cause of most stressors: an inability to understand and accept the impermanence of life. Societal obligations and an attachment to places and things that will inevitably be lost are all roadblocks to enlightenment in Chōmei's eyes, and this realization prompts him to retreat from society.

“If you follow the fashions around you, you will have little comfort, and if you do not you will be called crazy. Wherever you go and whatever you do it is hard to find rest for mind and body.”

Chōmei emphasizes the point in the previous quote. To Chōmei, no peace can be found within society. Societal expectations place extreme importance on all manner of things, from the way a person speaks to their method of travel. This is another example of the theme of Suffering: Although these are less extreme compared to earthquakes and famine, the concept of “dukkha” also applies to subtle dissatisfaction and discomfort.

“I am now sixty years old, and this hut in which I shall spend the last remaining years of my dew-like existence is like the shelter that some hunter might build for a night's lodging in the hills, or like the cocoon some old silkworm might spin.”

Chōmei once again uses simile, this time to describe the hut for which “Hōjōki” is titled. In an example of his Appreciation of Impermanence, Chōmei points out the sense of transience that is built into his hut. His lodging is fully intended to be temporary, an intentional departure from the homes within the capital.

“In the spring I behold the clusters of wistaria shining like the purple clouds on which Amida Buddha comes to welcome his elect. In the summer I hear the cuckoo and his note reminds me that he will soon guide me over the Hills of Death of which they call him the Warden. In autumn I hear everywhere the shrilling of the Evening Cicada and inquire of him if he is bewailing the vanity of this fleeting life, empty as his own dried up husk, while in winter the snow as it piles up and melts seems like an allegory of our evil Karma.”

This passage is rife with descriptive language. Elements of nature are extremely common in Japanese literature: Kigo, or “season words,” are often used in Japanese poetry, such as mentioning cicadas to allude to summer. Chōmei's background in poetry shines through here, eliciting a similar feeling as he details the various flora and fauna around him out in the mountains. This quote also builds the theme of Impermanence, as each season brings new scenery and constant changes to the landscape.

“Fine scenery has no landlord, so there is nothing to hinder our pleasure.”

Chōmei describes the Freedom of Isolation. Out in the mountains, he can freely choose any spot he likes to sit and observe, whether he is admiring other hills or the cities down below. Because no one owns the land, no one can tell him he is trespassing; similarly, because he is simply admiring the view, it costs him nothing to enjoy himself.

“The hermit-crab chooses a small shell and that is because he well knows the needs of his own body. The fishing-eagle chooses a rough beach because he does not want man's competition. Just so am I.”

Chōmei explains his love for his reclusive lifestyle through nature metaphors. To those still bound by society, his small hut and his lonely mountainside might seem extraordinarily unappealing. But to Chōmei, they are perfectly suited for his wants and needs.

“Every one with a body has two servants, his hands and feet, and they will serve his will exactly. And since the mind knows the fatigue of the body it works it when it is vigorous and allows it to rest when it is tired. The mind uses the body, but not to excess, and when the body tires it is not vexed.”

Here, Chōmei speaks to the importance of self-sufficiency. In choosing to isolate himself, Chōmei cut himself off from servants and other laborers. He acknowledges that handling his own tasks isn't always easy, but he maintains that the body and mind will take care of themselves. Thus, working alone is less stressful, as Chōmei only needs to listen to his personal cues and does not need to follow orders or look out for his workers.

“Like a drifting cloud I rely on none and have no attachments.”

Chōmei uses simile to describe his Appreciation of Impermanence and the Freedom of Isolation. Detached from almost all other people and from the social obligations that bind city-dwellers, Chōmei feels at peace. This is a direct contrast to his descriptions of life in the capital, where he could not rest or find comfort.

“If any doubt me let them consider the fish. They do not get tired of the water; but if you are not a fish you cannot understand their feelings. Birds too love the woods, but unless you are yourself a bird you cannot know how they feel. It is just so with the life of a hermit. How can you understand unless you experience it?”

In an allusion to the Chinese text Zhuangzi, Chōmei once again acknowledges that it may be difficult for others to understand his feelings. This connects to his earlier comments about how most people feign a deep understanding of impermanence after tragedy, only to forget over time; he believes that people who are not recluses themselves may struggle to put themselves in his shoes.