Hōjōki: Visions of a Torn World

Chōmei’s “Hōjōki” is a reflective essay that emphasizes the inevitability of impermanence through chronicling a series of tragedies and celebrates isolation in accordance with Buddhist teachings of detachment.

Chōmei organizes “Hōjōki” chronologically with an emphasis on the contrast between city life and seclusion. The first half of “Hōjōki” introduces the theme Perceptions of Suffering as Chōmei lists tragedy after tragedy, which he then uses to show his Appreciation of Impermanence. In Buddhism, “dukkha”—often translated as “suffering”—is a quintessential aspect of existence. In other words, suffering is a fact of life: It is one of the fundamental truths of the world and understanding that it will inevitably occur is vital to enlightenment. To prove this point, Chōmei details the fires, typhoons, earthquakes, and civil clashes that occurred one after another throughout his early life. In the wake of these disasters, many people died or lost their homes, which, according to Chōmei, speaks to the necessity of detachment. It is better to understand that nothing will last, he argues, because lingering attachments to transient things will only further the suffering that is already inevitable. Chōmei writes that these disasters taught him to better appreciate the impermanence of all things, which has allowed him to find peace in his sparse, secluded lifestyle.

The concept of impermanence is a major part of Japanese culture, and appreciation for the fleeting nature of life is common throughout Japanese art and literature. Chōmei extends this idea to the home. He points out that many people build their homes to last for generations, so when they are inevitably destroyed, people are hurt more deeply than they should be. Chōmei even calls out the hypocrisy of people who claim to appreciate impermanence, but fail to do so: “On these occasions it is the way of people to be convinced of the impermanence of all earthly things, and to talk of the evil of attachment to them, [...] but when the months go by [...], we do not find them making mention of such views any more” (10). This leads to a cycle of suffering: A tragedy occurs, and people are reminded of the impermanence of life. As time passes, the effects of the tragedy fade from the collective consciousness, and people return to their old ways—only for another tragedy to strike and cause suffering all over again.

The way Chōmei writes about tragedy reflects not only his Buddhist beliefs, but also his psychological state. Witnessing so many disasters in such a short period, confirmed the idea for Chōmei that “dukkha” is the primary mode of existence and that dramatic loss is inevitable. Chōmei's pessimistic language reflects his perceptions of the horrors he witnessed. During the Famine of Yōwa, he writes about woodcutters who looted temples for wood to sell, commenting, “It must be a wretched and degenerate age when such things are done” (8). Chōmei does not pass judgment on the desperate workers but rather acknowledges that the circumstances of the time call for otherwise immoral actions. When he describes the horrific death of a young child after an earthquake, he simply notes that it was “very sad” to watch the child’s parents find his body (10), and that it is “quite natural” for even “stern samurai” to openly mourn such a scene (10). He does not condemn those who suffer, but he does make it clear that he believes such things are inevitable and never-ending, and that the wisest course of action is to appreciate the impermanence of the world and remain detached from all the things that will inevitably meet their end.

When Chōmei finally becomes a recluse and settles in the mountains, he describes The Freedom of Isolation. He acknowledges that withdrawing from society was relatively easy for him, as he had no familial connections to tie him to the city and could thus relinquish his existing property without much difficulty. Chōmei specifies that his hut is built solely for him and his needs; he is not obligated to consider others when deciding where he wants to live or what he needs inside his home. If he is no longer satisfied with his location, he can easily dismantle and move his hut by himself. This allows him to remain detached, not only from greater society but from his particular location. If the weather is bad, he can easily repair or rebuild his hut. He feeds himself with food from the mountains and what little he grows in his own garden, so he has no need to worry about famine; away from the capital, he also does not need to fear the devastating fires that he knows, from experience, can so quickly destroy everything. Though he is almost completely isolated, Chōmei finds this freeing: “But in this little impermanent hut of mine all is calm and there is nothing to fear” (17).

As a recluse, Chōmei is also free from societal obligations. As Chōmei himself admits, it is much easier to follow Buddhist teachings—remaining detached from the material world, for instance—when removed from so many of them. Chōmei does not need to consider the trends of the time, which, he points out, are a common source of stress: “If you follow the fashions around you, you will have little comfort, and if you do not you will be called crazy” (11-12). He notes that wealthy, powerful people are often greedy, while poorer families, in addition to the struggles of poverty, are looked down upon for their low status. When living amongst others, Chōmei comments, one must be highly conscious of how they look, what they own, and how they behave, and those things must always be taken into consideration when presenting oneself.

In the mountains, on the other hand, Chōmei has no reason to care. With no one to talk to, he does not need to be conscious of his words, and with no one to see him, he does not need to pay attention to his appearance or his mannerisms. He does not even need to follow the strict asceticism of Buddhist priests; he is free to spend time admiring nature, napping, or composing music, as there is no one around to criticize him for his idleness. This sense of peace allows him to better contemplate Buddhist teachings, fostering an appreciation for the ever-changing natural world, a deeper understanding of enlightenment, and the possibilities of the afterlife.

Chōmei ends “Hōjōki” on a melancholy note. The theme of The Appreciation of Impermanence takes on a new angle as Chōmei worries he has grown too attached to his life as a recluse. His hut is meant to be a temporary dwelling, built to showcase his detachment from the material world, but he has lived happily in the mountains for five years. He enjoys his freedom and he never tires of the natural beauty around him, and this, he worries, represents a lingering attachment to the world—the very thing he is meant to be freed from. The theme of Perceptions of Suffering reemerges here as Chōmei expresses his doubts; he acknowledges that he cannot know whether or not he has reached enlightenment until death, and therefore, despite the worries that plague him, he can only continue his Buddhist practices. The final poem solidifies Chōmei’s understanding and acceptance of these topics: He recognizes his attachment to nature in mourning the setting moon, but he reassures himself with reminders of Amida's paradise, which he hopes to reach after death. The natural world is forever transient, unlike “Amida's perpetual light” (21), which can only be seen when one is truly freed from the material world.