Port 80

I apologize for the light blogging - I have been home from college, and have been busy overthe past week. However, I have at least one more back entry to catch up on. I recently read through the book Bushido: The Warrior’s Code by Inazo Nitobe, and enjoyed it soimmensely that I felt it required some comment here.

Bushido was written in 1899, and is a mere 112 pages long in my paperback edition, including the completely superfluous summaries that preface every one of its short chapters. That said, reading one chapter a day during lunch got me through the book in about two weeks. (A side note for those on or near the UD campus: The fountain near Marycrest is an excellent spot to read and enjoy lunch, and tends to be grossly underpopulated during lunch hours.)

It is perhaps just as well that it took me a while to work through the book, for while this book is short, it is anything but easy. In the book, Nitobe is writing an extended persuasive essay, attempting to explain the system of Bushido to someone who is utterly unfamiliar with it, exploring its role in turn-of-the-century Japanese society, and examining the prospects for Bushido in the future. This is not a light read – although written in a conversational tone, it is also written with all the Victorian eloquence that Mr. Nitobe can give it. (Despite his statement that “one who speaks in a borrowed tongue should be thankful if he can just make himself intelligible”, Nitobe’s command of the English language is formidable.) The work also contains more than a few attempts to combat misunderstandings of the Japanese culture that Nitobe encountered at the time by explaining the reasoning behind those cultural practices that Westerners found difficult to grasp, and more than once chiding some Westerners for their willingness to offer a “solution” without actually understanding the purported problem.

Another “awfully funny” custom is dictated by our canons of Politeness … In America, when you make a gift, you sing the praises to the recipient; in Japan we depreciate or slander it. The underlying idea with you is, “This is a n ice gift: if it were not nice I would not dare give it to you; for it will be an insult to give you anything but what is nice.” In contrast to this, our logic runs: “You are a nice person, and no gift is nice enough for you. You will not accept anything I can lay at your feet except as a token of my good will; so accept this, not for its intrinsic value, but as a token. It will be an insult to your worth to call the best gift good enough for you.“ Place the two ideas side by side, and we see that the ultimate idea is one and the same. Neither is “awfully funny”.

This personal tone, the note of someone who earnestly wishes to make himself fully understood to the reader, is what makes this book so intensely fascinating. In a sense, it is the same sort of narrative philosophy found in another favorite book of mine, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. However, while Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance was the tale of one man discussing himself, Bushido is the formal dissertation of one man attempting to represent his entire nation to the outside world.

About ten years ago, while spending a few days under the hospitable roof of the distinguished Belgian jurist, the lamented M. de Laveleye, our conversation turned during one of our rambles to the subject of religion. “Do you mean to say,” asked the venerable professor, “that you have no religious instruction in your schools?” On my replying in the negative he suddenly halted in astonishment, and in a voice which I shall not easily forget, he repeated “No religion! How do you impart moral education?” — Inazo Nitobe, introduction to Bushido: The Warrior’s Code

I recently got the chance to read through Fallen Angels (Larry Niven, Jerry Pournelle, Michael Flynn), which is available for download from the Baen Free Library. The story revolves around the actions of a group of science-fiction fans in a near-future world that is fiercely hostile to science and technology. The result is somewhere between Rocket Boys and Escape from LA. Our protagonists alternately dodge the law, contend with an ice age, are captured by a cheese cartel in the Midwest, encounter museum curators who have been forced through reeducation camps , and try to launch makeshift manned rockets into orbit.

Despite the satirical surrealism of this novel’s environment, the characters of the story are carefully crafted to be authentic. What emerges is an odd sort of science fiction novel, which explores the actions of science fiction fans in an environment antithetical to everything that they hold dear: exploration, rational inquiry, and enthusiasm for the future. As a result, our protagonists are forced to fight for these ideals against their environment. The authors do not merely describe this struggle, b ut positively exult and glorify it. The protagonists fight the good fight against impossible odds for truth, justice, manned space flight, science education, speculative fiction, and the American way. The end result is that Fallen Angels isn’t just another science-fiction novel.

It’s a science-fiction manifesto.

And when the stars are conquered, it’ll be by wanted fans! - Fallen Angels

I just finished reading Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance (Robert Pirsig), and the first question that sprang to mind upon completing it was “Why haven’t I read this until now?” It’s an absolutely brilliant book, at once intellectual and earthy. I am going to try to put some distance between myself and it before I attempt to comment further on it. However, for those who are interested and don’t have access to a copy, there is an HTML version of the book available here. Best of luck on your Chautauqua - I’m going to go read the sequel, Lila.