It has been felt as if my thoughts have hit a cul-de-sac only until today when I read the two essays and one correspondence appended to Collingwood's An Essay on Philosophical Method. New insights awaken the mind.
First, on why classical writers of philosophy refrain from citing. I have never heard an intelligent explanation given by university professors, but Collingwood gave one. His principle is this: he will mention the author's name only if he is praising the author's thoughts. Moreover, since thoughts are often criticized out of context, it is very difficult to claim that what one paraphrased within the context of one's work really is the exclusive property of the author to which one ascribes such thoughts. The author would most likely not want to be associated with a mere fragment and distortion of what he takes to be an organic part of his entire system. In short, according to Collingwood, it is only "good manners" to keep references implicit when criticizing a thought, and to let the readers figure the sources out if they are really keen on finding out more.
In university, citation was supposed to be a way of showing courtesy to the readers. Perhaps universities ought to also teach liberal arts majors how to be courteous to the writers whom they criticize. I think the best way to do this is to have students write essays on previous essays written by their peers.
Next, on politics. The elections for the Lower House held back in July had an astoundingly low turn-out rate of 52.61%. This means that only one in approximately two citizens had a say. I can understand the mentality. When politics has been impotent for so long, especially in its inability to lead the recovery process after Fukushima and the Great Tohoku Earthquake, it might seem understandable for citizens to feel that it is a waste of time to study politics, to read the manifestos and books published by key party members, and to actually make the effort to rationally decide on which party and politician to cast their vote. "It doesn't matter, it doesn't make a difference," they would say, "it is a waste of time, so I will do something else."
But to not vote is to accept whatever course the country will take. So to not vote means to argue that it doesn't matter which way the country goes. This the non-voters certainly wouldn't accept. Yet their emotional detachment from their rights entails this very logical and political consequence. And the latest elections only exemplified this logic. The Liberal Democratic Party gets the so-called "organization votes" - votes from employees of companies such as Toyota, Yomiuri, and Yamaha. If poor or marginalized citizens - a not insignificant sector of contemporary Japanese society - did not vote, these "organization votes" count, and the LDP wins. Which was exactly what happened in July. If only the turn-out rate rose to 65%, the results would have been different, given how past elections have turned out. This means that it is no time to be disillusioned. Disillusionment is the greatest illusion. Politics is becoming a key activity in Japanese history at present. Grass-root volunteer work is admirable and not totally non-consequent, but it is very limited as a means to achieve real goals such as containing the contaminated water or dissembling the existing nuclear power plants.
Third, religion. An atheist is someone who has proven to himself that it is possible to be religious without believing in God, the immortal soul, or the afterlife. I do think that there is a strong possibility that Jesus Christ was in fact an atheist, and that his disciples, who were still very much confused by what has taken place, were reluctant to portray the Son of God as such a figure, so the Bible does present a contradictory and interesting Jesus. But then, just as it is difficult to reconstruct the life of Socrates from what emerges out of the writings of his followers and enemies, so it is hard to determine how exactly Jesus lived and what in fact he preached or meant to preach. In any case, I do see clearly that the idea that everything is created by God, that everything is a gift, etc. paves the way to the liberation of thought. Thought is God becoming self-conscious as a thinking mind. The Holy Spirit is the community of those who follow the example of Jesus, and the example of Jesus is that God is not "given" by the "grace" of some force external to our "souls" or minds, but rather that God just is our own minds. Of course, this is a very tricky notion to grasp, since this does not mean at all that God can be "reduced" to what a non-religious atheist calls a mind, a mere container of psychological phenomena. To fully understand Jesus requires philosophy.
Fourth, everybody uses the word "philosophy." We have webpages of cafes and restaurants that have a "philosophy" tab where they explain their "philosophies." No one would have presented their business's way of operating as its "science." The reason is that somehow people respect and take a distance from science, yet they feel that philosophy is something which anyone is able to grasp and understand intuitively and without specialized training. It is true that science requires special skills, and that the "science of coffee-making" will have to involve technical labor that will produce just the right proportion of elements for the ideal cup of coffee. But then the "philosophy of coffee-making" seems to allow a free play of beautiful words and sales pitches. If there is a specialist involved in this, it would be a market analyst or a psychologist, but certainly not a philosopher.
Here, a "philosophy" is confused with a "policy." A policy is something which deals with a rigidly defined content and a limited range of interests. It defines a style and doesn't question itself any further. Philosophy, on the other hand, begins by questioning, that is to say, by criticizing. A truly philosophical mind would not have been satisfied by the mere beauty and psychological effectiveness of a word. It would not have allowed a concept to serve the rather narrowly conceived goal of "meeting the customers' needs." A philosopher desires to grasp the truth of things, and the truth of things only becomes clear when the whole range of different disciplines are consulted under the guidance of one unifying idea or method, which is sometimes called dialectics. If the "philosophy of coffee-making" were to be possible at all, at least it would have to take into account all the steps involved in the production of coffee, including its history and its dark side. There is nothing purely beautiful about enjoying a cup of coffee. There are many, many problems associated with it. And to philosophize about coffee is to be honest about the existence of these problems. It is also an attempt to make an effort to withhold judgement, to not take leaps, and to try and patiently describe the situation as it is. It is a form of reflection which does not panic when there seems to be no ready-made improvements at hand.
Working on a work of philosophy in Japan may seem like an act of total social detachment, but I do firmly believe that this is one of the few routes left for any hope for improving the way things are in this country.
