Superpowers old and new

You know how in comic books or other superhero stories, there are many cases where the author must invent transparent reasons why the one superpower^* that would be extremely helpful in a particular situation can't be used? Well, that's been going on for hundreds of years. Take this excerpt from Journey to the West a story about a Chinese monk who travels west to bring back Buddhist scriptures, and is accompanied by a monkey and a pig with supernatural powers (From W.J.F. Jenner's translation, p. 511):

[Monkey said] “My somersault cloud can cover thirty-six thousand miles with a single bound. To do a mere two-thousand-mile return journey takes only a couple of nods and a bow – there's nothing to it.” “If it's so easy, brother,” said Pig, “you should carry the master on your back, take him across [the river] with just a couple of nods and a bow, and save us all the trouble of fighting the monster [in the river].” “You can ride clouds, can't you?” said Monkey. “Why don't you carry the master across?” “The master's mortal flesh and bones are heavier than Mount Tai,” said Pig, “So although I can ride clouds I could never lift him. Nothing but your somersault will do the trick.” “My somersault is the same as could-riding.” Monkey said, “except that it takes you further. I'm no more able to carry him than you are. As the old saying goes, 'Mount Tai is as easy to move as a mustard seed, but a mortal cannot be dragged away from the earthly dust.' ...Although our master cannot escape from the sea of suffering he wants to go to a foreign land, so he finds every inch of the way heavy-going. All we can do is escort him and see that he comes to no harm. We can't undergo all that suffering on his behalf, nor can we fetch the scriptures for him. Even if we went ahead to see the Buddha, he wouldn't give the scriptures to you or me.”

Apparently Ming dynasty readers, just like modern readers, wondered why Monkey and Pig didn't just use their super powers to solve the whole problem in a second and turn the 100 chapter story into a 20 chapter story. And just like today, the author had to explain why superpowers couldn't be used.

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* replace “superpower” with “technology,” and you have the premise of 80 percent of Star Trek episodes.

Cao and Mao

I've been reading The Romance of the Three Kingdoms recently, the translation by Moss Roberts. It is in need of some copyediting (it was published in Beijing), but Roberts has footnoteded the classic extremely well. He includes many comments from Mao Zonggang, the Qing dynasty editor of the story.

The below comment from Mao is about Cao Cao, the villain of most of the story, after he accidentally kills the entire family of his host for the night, purposely kills his host to prevent him from coming after him later, and utters the famous line “Better to wrong the world than have it wrong me!”:

No reader reaching this episode fails to revile [Cao Cao]... They fail to recognize that Cao excels here too [in saying “Better to wrong the world than have it wrong me”]. Who has not felt this way? Who dares give such feelings voice? The good Confucian gentlemen speak hypocritically when they say, “Better to be wronged than wrong another.” Not that it doesn't sound good, but when you examine their conduct every step they take is in secret imitation of Cao Cao's statement. Cao Cao is simply an ambitious and amoral man who said what was in his heart. Such frankness is most refreshing compared to the deceits spoken by the other type. In this sense Cao Cao excels. (p. 552)

I love Mao's admission (and universalization) of a secret desire to stick it to smarmy, hypocritical moralizers and look out for one's own best interests. That resonates strongly even today. Plus, he asserts that Cao and moral Confucian gentlemen essentially act the same, the only difference being Cao's frank admission of his motivations and the gentlemen's obfuscation of them. The implication is that morality is merely a facade that governs social presentation rather than actual action, although perhaps Mao would contrast the hypocritical gentlemen with an actual moral Confucian. Fascinating stuff.

Mushanokoji: An excerpt

Mushanokōji Saneatsu was a Japanese writer, painter and philosopher active during the Taishō and Shōwa periods. He was a believer in humanism and individualism, and he was one of Tolstoy's biggest fans. He also wrote a pro-war book during WWII, and was consequently exiled from government during the occupation period.

In the book "Mushanokōji Saneatsu, Author's Autobiography" there is this fascinating passage:

Regarding the book that was the cause of my being exiled after the war, I didn't write it after Japan had begun to fare poorly, but when things still seemed good. I thought that presenting my own thoughts in a book would be a way to cooperate with the national polity more befitting a literary man than going around to give addresses, being made to imitate reporters or being made into a war correspondent. I wrote it on nobody's request or recommendation, and I spoke to the publisher myself in order to get it published. Therefore I'm the one who bears sole responsibility for that book, but at the time there wasn't any problem with what I wrote, and among my books that's not one that didn't sell.　I thought one shouldn't do work one is not suited to. After the war when everyone's views were different and only that book was left behind to get noticed, it was only natural that what hadn't stood out before should have begun to stand out.

But it's not as if I changed my views; while the war was going on I didn't stop my work at Atarashiki Mura [a commune he founded in 1918] for even a moment, and I continued giving speeches at monthly meetings. Never for a moment did I stop wishing for a world in which all people could live out their lives and realize their individuality. It's just that as a Japanese I didn't want to lose. Accordingly, the fact is that I didn't want to lower the Japanese fighting spirit.

Part confession, part defense, part reaffirmation of ideals, I think it really captures the deep confliction of Japan's wartime intellectuals.