The Ultimate in Verbalization: How Japanese Writer Furui Yoshikichi Reads Western Mystical Experiences

Abstract

This study examines how the Japanese writer Furui Yoshikichi engages with Western mystical experiences, particularly through his reading of Martin Buber’s Ecstatic Confessions and his broader engagement with Meister Eckhart and medieval German mysticism. Furui’s literary inquiry revolves around the inherent tension between the ineffability of mystical experiences and their articulation through language. He critically engages with the paradox of verbalization, recognizing that while mystical experiences transcend linguistic and temporal boundaries, they nevertheless achieve resonance through written and spoken expressions. His reflections converge with Buddhist notions of Sūnyatā, underscoring intersections between Eastern and Western spiritual traditions. Drawing upon his background as a translator of German literature, Furui mediates mystical experiences within a comparative framework, navigating cultural and linguistic boundaries. His approach elucidates the concept of the multiplicity of qualities in mystical experiences, demonstrating particularity and universality simultaneously. By analyzing Furui’s interpretation of mystical texts, this study contributes to broader discussions on the limitations of language in conveying transcendence and the role of literary imagination in rendering the ineffable.

1. Introduction

Furui Yoshikichi (1937–2020) was a prominent Japanese postwar literature writer who sought to delineate literary boundaries between the normal and abnormal, as well as between rationality and madness. Rather than assigning a positive value to either element, Furui constructed binary structures. He aimed to capture the moments of transition when the normal becomes the abnormal, and vice versa, when rationality shifts into madness, and then back again. Furui utilized literary language to illustrate these observations and philosophies. One of the techniques he frequently employed was the introduction of dream elements to achieve his goal. Dreamers often struggle to pinpoint the exact moment when a dream begins. Even upon waking, the residual effects of the dream can linger, blurring the line between reality and the dream state. It is equally challenging for dreamers to determine when the dream actually concludes. If we consider normalcy and rationality as reality, akin to being awake rather than dreaming, and view abnormality and madness as unreality or the dream state, the transition from dreaming to waking does not align neatly with traditional concepts of linear time. While we may perceive a passage of time within a dream, the subjective experience of time within dreams defies clear measurement and logic. Despite the seemingly temporal nature of dreams, they possess a paradoxical quality of persistence without a clearly identifiable dreamer anchored in temporality. Dreams exist both within and outside of time, making the subject of the dream difficult to define or articulate (Karatani 1989, pp. 67–84; Karatani 1990, pp. 158–75).

Suppose we consider this concept as non-temporality or timelessness within temporality. In this context, Furui explores non-temporality and timelessness as a form of temporality that he attempts to capture through literary expression in his analysis of medieval German confessions of mystical experiences. Within these texts, he identifies hints of an ultimate experience that surpasses human temporality. Moreover, he recognizes the presence of temporality when this transcendent experience is articulated or written to be shared with others, and when a reader encounters the language and is moved by it. Though this extraordinary experience—which lies beyond the bounds of rationality, cannot be apprehended within the confines of reality, and lacks empirical substantiation—Furui encounters a sense of reality.

Furui reads Martin Buber’s collection of confessions on the Mystical Experiences of the West—Ecstatic Confessions: The Heart of Mysticism (Ekstatische Konfessionen)—in German and does not blindly believe in the transcendence of mystical experiences themselves as non-temporal experiences transcending the temporality of reality, nor does he exalt their ultimate dimension. Instead, he contemplates the definition of mystical experiences within the reality of the situation. Mystical experiences, which originally transcended the realm of language, are captured in writing, constrained by temporality, and interpreted through language. If this attitude of his is applied to his methodology of “dreams” presented earlier, we can infer the following. It is impossible for a person who is truly dreaming to say, “I am dreaming”. Only after waking up from a dream can one say, “I had a dream”. This linguistic limitation does not completely eliminate the dreamlike quality of the experience. When a dream, which is an internal experience of an individual, is conveyed to a listener with linguistic limitations, made possible by waking up from the dream, the dreamlike state of the dream can be felt by the listener to some extent, even though not fully. Similarly, mystical experiences are impossible to verbalize or write because they exist beyond language. However, the content expressed beyond the linguistic limitations of recording and confessing mystical experiences also faces such boundaries. Nevertheless, it affords an opportunity for the reader and listener to sense the transcendence of the mystical experiences.

In this way, Furui examines mystical experiences while considering the context in which they are articulated. His essay, The People of Mystery (神秘の人びと), demonstrates his interpretation and admiration of mystical experiences. The present paper delves into The People of Mystery to explore how the Japanese writer, Furui Yoshikichi, engages with Western medieval mystical experiences. Through this analysis, we aim to examine how Furui’s approach enables engagement with verbalized or written mystical experiences—albeit in a limited way—and how these experiences are represented in literary form.

2. Translation, Airstrikes, and Religion

Prior to his career as a novelist, Furui Yoshikichi worked as a researcher and translator of German literature. In 1970, he left his position in academia to focus on writing full-time. During his time as a researcher, he explored the works of Hugo von Hofmannsthal and Franz Kafka, translating pieces by Hermann Broch and Robert Musil into Japanese. His experience as a translator played a significant role in shaping his later success as a novelist. Furui was responsible for translating Hermann Broch’s unfinished novel, The Tempters (Der Versucher), which explores the desire for salvation from the depths of human existence, portraying it as both divine and animalistic. Furui referred to this desire as the religious spirit in his commentary (Furui 1973, pp. 495–98), viewing humanity as fundamentally yearning for salvation, a concept he deemed religious. He saw this longing for redemption as encompassing both sacred and worldly elements (Furui 1980, p. 258).

Robert Musil had a significant influence on Furui Yoshikichi’s literary works (Takenaga 2015, pp. 45–62). Although the extent of this influence was not clear in the early years of Furui’s career, it became more apparent in the late 1980s and 1990s. Therefore, one could argue that when an individual’s mystical experience is shared through verbalization or writing, it inherently carries a sense of possibility. Many studies have examined the impact of German medieval mystical thought, as exemplified by figures such as Meister Eckhart and Heinrich Seuse, on Musil’s seminal work, The Man Without Qualities (Der Mann ohne Eigenschaften), which is regarded as a cornerstone of modernist literature (Buber 1996, pp. xix–xxii; Largier 2022, chap. 7). It is conceivable that Furui, as a translator of Musil’s works, indirectly absorbed Western mystical experiences through his engagement with Musil’s writings.

The second key point to consider in analyzing Furui’s literature is the recurrence of air raids during his childhood. Although acknowledged as significant, Furui did not focus on revisiting and reconstructing his personal memories of these raids in his writing. In fact, he did not originally intend to address his air raid experiences in his literary works. Furui’s recollections of these experiences emerged unexpectedly while he was immersed in writing novels after leaving his position as a university lecturer. These memories would suddenly surface, engulfing his thoughts and emotions, only to vanish just as abruptly. In his writing, therefore, Furui conveys the idea that he is living in a current reality where the past continues to haunt him, mirroring the non-linear and recurrent nature of flashbacks experienced during actual air raids.

Furui experienced these air raids in Tokyo in April 1945 and in Ogaki City, Gifu Prefecture, in July. There are several important facts to be confirmed about his experience when he was less than 10 years old. First, his experience of the air raids was shaped by his perspective as a child. During World War II, children in Japan were known as Shōkokumin (少国民). This term implied that they were expected to grow into individuals willing to sacrifice their lives for the nation, in place of adult citizens who were fighting the war outside the Japanese Archipelago.1 While boys were considered the true protagonists of the Shōkokumin, destined to go to war and hold a gun, adult men were engaged in war efforts, and young men were mobilized for the munitions industry. However, the only people present around Furui in the lower grades of elementary school were women and the elderly—such as his mother, sister, and grandmother. They prioritized protecting the life of Furui, as a Shōkokumin, the future human resource of the nation, from the life-threatening crises that could strike at any moment. In this situation, a scene that young Furui witnessed firsthand would reverberate throughout his lifetime: Women would form a circle to shield Furui, as a Shōkokumin, and shout, “If a direct hit occurs, let’s place him inside and perish together” (Furui 1970, p. 108; Furui 2021, chap. 11).

This motif, appearing in various forms, made him realize that for him, the concepts of being alive and being dead, life and death, are not ultimately opposite. Perhaps the distance between these concepts is not as far as it seems, but rather quite close. In other words, the criteria that can clearly distinguish the two on a conceptual level are sometimes fragile, depending on the circumstances that human beings may face. Young Furui instinctively felt the need to escape as far as possible from a direct hit for survival, while adults risked their lives to protect the child. If a direct hit were to strike the circle of women protecting the child, it would, literally, mean “Let’s all die together”. Such behavior contradicts their original purpose of saving the child’s life. Would it not be safer for the women to scatter and run away? However, even if they were to flee the circle and escape alone, there is no guarantee of survival in such a desperately dangerous situation where a bomb could fall from the sky at any moment. As an adult novelist, Furui often revisited this childhood scene in his literature, pondering the blurred boundary between the desire to live and the urge to die. To further explore this notion, consider a line from one of Furui’s early short stories, The Tale of the Guiding Beast (先導獣の話): “What is too reasonable at some point becomes irrational itself” (Furui 1970, p. 56). This sentiment expressed by Furui resonates with Buddhist philosophy, which is discussed later in this paper. In Mahāyāna Buddhism, life and death are not isolated concepts but rather exist in a continuous cycle. In Buddhism, it is stated, “Life is death, death is life” (生即死, 死即生). Within this cycle, beings are considered ontologically insubstantial or void (空, Sūnyatā) (Suzuki 2002, chap. 1). The Eastern Buddhist perspective actively informs Furui’s interpretation and response to Western mystical experiences.

The third key aspect of Furui’s literary works is the exploration of the religious spirit (宗教心), which, while less pronounced than his depiction of air raid experiences, remains a fundamental theme. In this context, the religious spirit is not centered on faith in a specific religion, sect, or figure, but rather on Furui’s interpretation of humanity’s general inclination to approach daily life with a religious perspective. This perspective entails framing phenomena or mindsets that defy a straightforward realistic explanation as elements of the religious realm, allowing individuals to empathize with and accept them, often without conscious awareness. Furui posits that contemporary individuals harbor an inherent fear of death, though they frequently fail to acknowledge it in their day-to-day existence. The realization of this fear typically occurs when one contemplates one’s own mortality. When individuals entertain the thought, “I might die”, their mindset usually gravitates toward notions of reluctance or unwillingness to face death, as opposed to a direct acceptance of it. Essentially, the introspective journey toward acknowledging mortality tends to lead individuals not to death itself, but to a heightened appreciation of life. According to Furui, the modern aversion to confronting one’s impending death stems from an inability to lead a subjective life. He uses the example of funerals to illustrate his point, contending that rituals honoring the deceased can serve to elevate the spirits of the living participants. In essence, elaborate funeral ceremonies play a vital role in enriching the lives of those who partake in them, a function that Furui believes is gradually diminishing in modern, industrialized funeral practices (Furui 1980, pp. 257–74).

Furui defines the religious spirit as a distinct human attribute that modern society is gradually losing, underscoring the interconnectedness of life and death as complementary rather than opposing forces. He critiques the modern emphasis on rationality and progress, characterizing the dismissal of this inherent human trait as a rejection of normalcy and a manifestation of irrationality. Furui contrasts this view with the ideals of high modernity, warning of the unforeseen emergence of irrationality within a context of economic growth and technological advancement (Furui 2017, pp. 195–205).

Furui raises the question of whether modern Japanese literature has been cultivated through the suppression or avoidance of the shamanic power inherent in language. The term “shamanic power” denotes the ability of language to expand the boundaries of imagination beyond ordinary norms of reality and reason, effectively tapping into a realm of religious inspiration. He illustrates this concept by highlighting the use of conventional phrases, onomatopoeic words, and mimetic expressions as manifestations of this shamanic power. Furui observes that modern Japanese literature emerged within a context of assimilating Western rationality and logic following the Meiji Restoration, leading to the deliberate exclusion of elements deemed irrational or unorthodox, reminiscent of pre-modern practices such as witchcraft. Despite being a product of this rationalist tradition, he acknowledges an innate inability to fully disengage from Western frameworks of thought. In this context, he notes occasions where a religious sensibility spontaneously emerges within the constraints of modernity and reason, which prompts his exploration into the realm of shamanic language. Here, he navigates a space characterized by mystical language that operates in tandem with religious inspiration and probes experiences that defy verbal or written articulation, particularly those related to the profound mysteries of life and death. Ultimately, Furui’s fascination with the religious and mystical dimensions of language leads him toward an exploration of confessional narratives that recount ineffable experiences beyond the reach of language, yet are inherently intertwined with language’s expressive potential.

In summary, Furui Yoshikichi was a writer who conducted thought experiments through literature regarding entities that do not exist and cannot exist in reality. His experiments were evidently influenced by Robert Musil’s concept of the Sense of Possibility in The Man Without Qualities. In the following section, we explore Robert Musil’s work to gain a deeper understanding of the mystical experiences that captivated Furui.

3. Essay and the Sense of Possibility

In the preface to Ecstatic Confessions: The Heart of Mysticism, the English-language edition of Martin Buber’s Ekstatische Konfessionen, the editor, Paul Mendes-Flohr, mentions Robert Musil to highlight Musil’s influence on the book. Ecstatic Confessions is a collection of confessions of mystical experiences from various ages and countries. Musil transcribed quotes from Ecstatic Confessions and created a personal booklet. His profound interest in mystical experiences naturally manifested in his literary works (Buber 1996, pp. xix–xxii). The impact of Buber’s compiled mystical experiences is prominently evident in The Man Without Qualities. Particularly, the influence of Meister Eckhart was significant; the novel’s title itself was derived from the phrase “human without qualities”, commonly found in Eckhart’s sermons. Moreover, the recurring concepts of detachment and salvation were directly inspired by Eckhart (Largier 2022, chap. 7). At the outset of The Man Without Qualities, which distinctly showcases the influence of mystical ideology, the protagonist Ulrich elucidates the concept of possibility. If Musil’s understanding of possibility is shaped by Meister Eckhart, then it logically follows that Furui Yoshikichi, who was influenced by Musil, was indirectly influenced by Meister Eckhart.

Furui defines a sense of possibility as the ability to regard past events, present circumstances, and realistic future possibilities as no more important than things that could have happened but did not, situations that are not currently occurring but could, and future events that are unlikely yet not impossible. Essentially, if there is a concrete experience—a possible truth—then other potential experiences, other conceivable truths, are not devoid of meaning or reality. This concept, as explained by Furui, is derived from Ulrich’s explanation in Musil’s The Man Without Qualities. Musil’s literary works, which delve into this sense of possibility, can be seen as a mental experiment, despite appearing as a series of abstractions. However, Furui argues that this experiment has the capacity to transcend abstract thought and reconnect with concrete reality. Furui’s interpretation is intertwined with his exploration of mystical experiences through confession. He does not aim to immerse himself in the depths of mystical experiences that transcend language. Instead, he suggests that the mystical union of God and man—unio mystica—cannot truly be captured through human language. Nevertheless, when this experience is articulated and presented in language, the reader encounters the mystical experience within the realm of everyday language. This raises questions about whether the experience of reading a confession of a mystical encounter is confined within the boundaries of everyday life and language. Or is there a possibility of experiencing both within and beyond these limitations? Is attaining a sense of being within and outside simultaneously an unattainable goal?

The expression of mystical experiences in language is similar to conveying a sense of possibility within the realm of human understanding. When mystical experiences are verbalized or written, they can evoke an inner resonance in individuals who have not personally encountered them but believe in their possibility. Therefore, one could argue that when an individual’s mystical experience is shared through verbalization or writing, it inherently carries a sense of possibility. Mystical experiences, such as seeing God and feeling the divine presence leading to a separation of body and soul, exist as conceivable possibilities. However, if a mystical experience remains unexpressed and hidden within an individual, it cannot inspire a sense of possibility in others. In order to realize the potential of a mystical experience, it must be articulated within the limitations of language. In essence, the structure of communication shapes the content, yet the content has the ability to transcend the constraints of its form. This dynamic relationship can be illustrated by considering how perspective in art shapes what is seen, while still allowing for interpretations that go beyond the visual frame.

Paradoxically, these limitations of language and temporality contribute to the possibility of experiencing the ultimate, transcendent, and timeless nature of mysticism. These possibilities are not only theoretical but also grounded in reality. Furui brings attention to this concept through his analysis of The Completion of Love (Die Vollendung der Liebe), a short story in Musil’s collection, Unions: Two Stories (Vereinigungen: Zwei Erzählungen). This story may initially seem like a typical tale of adultery. However, Furui highlights the mental and physical union of a man and a woman that evolves from a chance encounter to a state of perfection. Rather than trying to control or resist the randomness of their meeting, the characters embrace it fully, leading to a deeper connection. Furui suggests that Musil’s intention in depicting this union is to show that beyond the constraints of chance, there exists a realm where the boundaries between self and other fade away; where the distinctions between chance and reality become blurred; and where true unity is achieved (Furui 2008, pp. 83–84).

This is not to mention the ecstasy and connection inherent in mystical experiences. In The Man Without Qualities, Ulrich always keeps a pile of books on his desk. These books mainly consist of biographies of mystics, their writings, and scholarly works about them. Ulrich discusses these accounts with his sister Agathe, describing the divine rapture of men and women from past centuries. He suggests that if Agathe were to read through these accounts, she would find truth and reality amidst the printed words, even though they may contradict her present-day beliefs. Ulrich, viewing the language of mystical experiences as a reflection of the sense of possibility, mentions that these experiences, though difficult to express, are still felt today when the heart unwittingly enters those utopian regions between infinite tenderness and infinite loneliness. Despite Agathe finding the described truths and realities unrealistic to her present-day mindset, the experiences still persist as part of a mysterious utopia. These experiences are vividly described as “overflowing radiance”, “infinite expanse, a boundless opulence of light”, “overarching oneness of all things and all the soul’s energies”, and “awesome and indescribable uplifting of the heart” (Musil 2017, chap. 135).

Furui argues for the significance of the use of the essay form to articulate the mystical experience of ecstasy. This argument is influenced by Robert Musil. In relation to the pursuit of a rigid spiritual utopia, Furui references The Man Without Qualities and highlights “essayism” as a method to expand perspectives and present them from diverse viewpoints (Furui 2008, pp. 156–58). In an essay following such an approach, when portraying an individual, the intention goes beyond capturing the person within a particular time and place to encompass the full range of possibilities inherent in that individual.

The genre of essay embodies a sense of possibility. Referring back to The Man Without Qualities, Ulrich explains the value of the term “essay”—often translated as “attempt”—and draws comparisons between great religious leaders and essayists. There have been numerous essayists who have mastered the inner life of contemplation, existing in a domain that straddles the realms of religion and knowledge, moral example and doctrinal teaching, and amor intellectualis and poetry. These individuals are akin to saints, with or without religious affiliation. At times, they are simply seekers on a quest who may have lost their way (Musil 2017, chap. 62).

The highlighted concept of amor intellectualis in the original text is reminiscent of intellectus, a significant notion in Meister Eckhart’s philosophy. Eckhart posits that intellectus, the essential quality of the intellect enabling it to sense and comprehend the inner essence of the Divine (Godhead), transcends the finite qualities inherent in all creatures. Intellectus is described as indefinable and indeterminate. According to this transcendent perspective, intellectus is characterized as “not a Being, but a nothingness” (Keel 2021, pp. 163–64).

An essay is the expression of the sense of possibility that leads to the divine intellectus preached by Meister Eckhart. However, describing an essay as a mystical experience inevitably imposes limitations and norms that come with verbalization. Even though Eckhart’s concept of divinity transcends limitations and is essentially a nothingness, once this nothingness is put into words, it becomes bound by the constraints of language. Furui Yoshikichi was acutely aware of this inherent contradiction. Despite this, he attempted to articulate mystical experiences through the medium of the essay. How did he perceive and interpret these verbalized or written mystical encounters?

4. Timelessness of Mystical Experiences

Furui, who started his career as a full-time writer in 1970, delved into mysticism and the concept of possibility in the late 1980s and 1990s through his novels, essays, and other works. Influenced by Robert Musil’s “essayism”, Furui’s novels and essays are difficult to completely separate. Rather than focusing on intricate narrative or plot structures, his novels center on exploring thoughts and emotions that arise in everyday life, as if dissecting the human mind. In this sense, he can be seen as a Japanese writer who inherited Musil’s “essayism”. His profound interest in mysticism and possibility during this period can be attributed to the 1987 revision and reprint of his translation of Musil’s Unions: Two Stories. Furui originally translated this work in 1968, before transitioning into a novelist, and it seems to have sparked a new wave of inspiration for him. As a researcher of German literature, he found himself unable to fully engage with the works of Martin Buber and Meister Eckhart due to the academic constraints of rigorous argumentation and logical systems. In 1987, when he revisited the original texts for his translations, he seemed to undergo a shift in perspective. No longer bound by the confines of academic research, he experienced a sense of freedom and possibility that had long been dormant within him. This realization may have occurred suddenly, almost like an epiphany, bringing with it a profound sense of presence and purpose.

In 1991, he underwent surgery for a cervical disc herniation due to severe pain that made everyday life virtually impossible. For the next 15 days, he was immobilized in bed with his head and neck kept perfectly still (Furui 2017, pp. 62–64). Perhaps influenced by the physical and mental discomfort he experienced during this time, Furui developed a profound interest in extreme physical pain as a form of mystical experience. For example, he explored the memoirs of Mechthild von Magdeburg, a prominent figure in medieval mysticism, who was not an ordained nun but a member of the Beguine Community. Von Magdeburg sought God amidst excruciating physical pain. She distinguished between the narrator and the spiritual soul as the object of the narrative, portraying a deep inner struggle between the physical body and the spiritual self. Furui began to sense that these narratives expressed the ineffable mystical experiences through the properties of ecstasy. In particular, he observed the presence of Lady Pain (Frau Pein) as one of the titles attributed to the objectified spirit of Mechthild. In her desperate prayers, identifying herself as “Lady Pain” and begging God for more suffering, Furui perceived a yearning for salvation through death, ultimately viewing it as an illusion (Furui 1996, pp. 81–91). He admired the resilience exhibited in a life that paradoxically desired death, aligning his interpretation with his approach to understanding mystical thought through traditional Japanese religions, especially Buddhism, as discussed later in this paper.

Furui projects the sense of time he experienced during his illness onto his mystical encounters. This sense of time manifested as a coexistence of flowing and frozen time. “Time was stagnant”, he reflects, recalling years ago when he spent 15 days with his head and neck immobilized, staring at the ceiling. Despite this immobility, he vaguely sensed the passage of time through the rising and setting of the sun, even without the aid of a clock. As he puts it, “Time flowed refreshingly” (Furui 2017, pp. 63–64). If the stillness he endured during his immobilization represented timelessness, then the progression of time marked by the sun’s movements and the transitions between day and night would be temporality. Through his illness, Furui came to understand temporality as the inherent dimension of time within timelessness. However, this revelation cannot be equated with a genuine mystical encounter.

It is believed that his experiences led him to reconsider the mystical experiences that deeply impressed him as a young man. He even attempted to verbalize or write about them, something he had not previously tried to articulate. For example, in the confession of Margareta Ebner, a nun affiliated with the Dominican Order, her rational sense of time seemed to be distorted. She suffered intense pain for thirteen weeks, during which she was unable to take a single step. Upon finally recovering, she experienced heavy sweating each morning and evening for twenty weeks. Her confession further reveals that for thirteen years, she lived in a state of such intense pain that walking was impossible. From a modern perspective, it is reasonable to question the accuracy of Margareta Ebner’s narrative. However, Furui does not approach Ebner’s confession with a modern mindset, choosing not to point out errors or question its authenticity. Instead, Furui admits to finding a sense of reality in her confession. He posits that the unique perception of time experienced by an individual, whether reflecting on past suffering or during recovery, cannot be precisely quantified. Therefore, if the durations of 13 weeks, 20 weeks, and 13 years are exaggerated, such embellishments may offer a more realistic portrayal of the magnitude of the individual’s suffering (Furui 1996, pp. 98–99).

Rather than avoiding the objectification and generalization of mystical experiences, Furui discovered that he resonated with their ultimate nature through his own inner journey. The reason for using the term “discover” is that, at the beginning of Furui’s essay The People of Mystery, he does not explicitly mention that he had read Meister Eckhart’s sermons after his discharge from the hospital, slowly and thoroughly with his limited German skills. Instead, he describes himself as “being in the process of reading”, as if discovering and objectifying his own presence in the act (Furui 1996, pp. 98–99). In this passage, although the narrative voice of Furui is inherently the same as the reader Furui of Ecstatic Confessions, he consciously objectifies and distances himself from that reader within The People of Mystery. This insight is intriguing because, when discussing ecstasy as an “out-of-body” experience, it is often depicted as the soul leaving the body and observing it from outside, blurring the boundaries between the self, the external world, and even the divine. Whether or not Furui experienced such ecstasy is not the focus. The important aspect is that the introduction to The People of Mystery illustrates a writing approach that objectifies the self. This strongly suggests the attitude and perspective from which The People of Mystery was written. Just as the text explores the mystical experience while considering this perspective, it becomes evident that the act of othering oneself shapes the essence of the entire piece.

Furui, both as the narrator of The People of Mystery and as the reader of Ecstatic Confessions, confesses that he has experienced a sense of timelessness in mystical experiences. He describes this not as simply being in this state, but rather as being unexpectedly enveloped by it. He is surprised to realize that mystical experiences, which transcend time, seem to follow a systematic sequence, almost like stages. By referencing Teresa of Jesus in the 14th century and Giles of Assisi in the 13th century, he notices that mystical experiences are described as following a luminous and ascending progression. Among these mystics, Giles of Assisi specifically highlights three out of the seven stages as being related to ecstasy. Furui observes that an ecstasy stage occurs earlier in Giles of Assisi’s account than expected, indicating a broader pattern in other mystical experiences as well. He acknowledges that the recounting of mystical experiences, instead of merely structuring them systematically, serves as a form of communication that necessitates a reliance on temporal logic to convey an ineffable state to others. While engrossed in reading about these mystical experiences, Furui realizes that he has become so absorbed in the text’s temporal structure that he has lost track of time (Furui 1996, pp. 237–38).

Mystical experiences exist outside of logical temporality, residing instead in an eternal present. In essence, Furui experiences a sense of being in the eternal present, in a state of timelessness, through his reading.

5. Verbalization in Resonance with Buddhism

Mystical experience, which is so intensely personal that it defies verbalization or written expression, paradoxically resonates with others through verbalization. Furui’s empathy with mystical experiences is not limited to translating them from German into Japanese. He also achieves this connection by invoking his own familiar Japanese and East Asian sensibilities to relate to Western medieval mystical experiences, which are often unfamiliar to Asian audiences. He mentions a book he happened to read—Dr. Franz Falk’s Die deutschen sterbebüchlein: von der ältesten zeit des Buchdruckes bis zum Jahre 1520 (The German Art to Die: From the Earliest Days of Printing to the Year 1520).2 The term “art to die” is taken directly from Furui’s translation. While marveling at the existence of Ars moriendi as a genre that emerged in Europe around the 15th century, Furui notes its focus on overcoming suffering, resisting Satan’s temptations, and engaging in spiritual practices required at the moment of death. He mentions that if Ars moriendi were to be translated into Japanese, it would be 往生心得 (Furui 1996, p. 25). 心得 (kokoroe) means internalized wisdom or understanding, without any specific religious connotations. However, 往生 (ōjō) is a Buddhist term, signifying the rebirth into the Pure Land of Amitabha. Simply put, the term 往生 implies that human death is not just a physical annihilation but a transition to a new spiritual life. Therefore, death does not mark an end but a transcendent passage to a better world. It is clear why Furui chose to use the term 往生 when translating Ars moriendi into Japanese. The chapter in which this is discussed is titled 西洋往生心得, which, based on Furui’s interpretation, would translate to The Western Art to Die.

Furui’s masterpiece, which paved the way for his subsequent literary works, is 仮往生伝試文 (kariōjōdenshibun), published in 1989. 往生伝 (ōjōden) is a genre that originated in Japan between the 10th and 12th centuries, focusing on the biography of a person who achieved rebirth into the Pure Land. The prefix 仮 (kari) means tentative and provisional, while 試文 (shibun) breaks down as 文 (bun) meaning text and 試 (shi) meaning attempt. Essentially, 試文 is Furui’s distinctive translation of the essay into Japanese. In contrast, the Japanese term for essay is 随筆 (zuihitsu), which conveys the idea of writing freely with a brush. Furui chose to use 試文 not just as a general term for essay, but to experiment with the form, echoing Robert Musil’s concept of the sense of possibility. The phrase 往生伝 also connects to Ars moriendi, as discussed earlier. This period marked Furui’s deeper exploration of mystical experiences. Taking all this into account, the English translation of 仮往生伝試文 that captures Furui’s intentions is: A (Tentative) Essay on the Art to Die.

In The People of Mystery, Furui effectively applies the Buddhist tradition of the East to explore mystical experiences in the West. He does not simply argue for the similarities between Christianity and Buddhism, nor does he use them to highlight their differences. Instead, it is more accurate to say that he strives to interpret what can be achieved by employing a cultural tradition more familiar to the Japanese. This approach facilitates a better understanding and acceptance of confessions of mystical experiences that transcend reason and rationality and are culturally and historically unfamiliar to East Asian audiences. This type of translation can also be seen as a form of “essayism”, as it broadens the horizons of interpretation. While examining the works of Heinrich Seuse, a prominent thinker of mystical philosophy following Meister Eckhart, Furui is impressed by the idea that the act of confession can redeem even the most wicked individuals from eternal punishment for their sins. Seuse shares an anecdote in which a man, who had committed the grave sin of killing the saint who had previously heard his confession, sought penance from another saint—Seuse himself. The man’s wife disclosed her husband’s transgressions and implored the saint to intercede on his behalf. Moved by her plea, the saint earnestly prayed for the man’s salvation, and his prayers were answered by God. This story prompts Furui to contemplate the Buddhist concept of 悪人正幾 (akuninshōki) (Furui 1996, p. 202). This idea suggests that no matter how egregious one’s sins may be, salvation is attainable through Amitabha. Tannishō (歎異抄, Lamentations of Divergences) contains the phrase 悪人正幾, which translates to “Even the good person attains birth in the Pure Land, how much more so the evil person”.3

While it is important to approach Seuse’s story without imposing modern rationality, Furui references a quote from Seuse offering a contrasting perspective: “They think they are evil, but they are good. They consider themselves grave sinners, but they are great witnesses before God” (Furui 1996, p. 213). Impressed by these words, Furui further states: “Beyond the fact that they are equal as sinners before God, there is also a sense of reversal between the one who seeks salvation and the one who delivers it. The sinner who begs for salvation in desperation is closer to the grace of God, and the one who delivers salvation may also receive God’s grace through the sinner” (Furui 1996, p. 207).

Jesus’ joy at a sinner’s repentance is evident in passages such as Luke 15:7: “I tell you that in the same way there will be more rejoicing in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who do not need to repent”.4 This highlights the value placed on repentance in Christianity. Similarly, the concept of compassion toward sinners, or the idea of higher value placed on them, can be seen in Buddhism as well. Furui discusses Buddhism’s notion of “easy practice” (易行) (Bogwang 1987, pp. 45–48). This concept can be understood through the words from Tannishō: “Since the Name is devised to be easily said by the unlettered who cannot even grasp the basic meaning of the sutras and commentaries, such utterance is called easy practice. Learning is required in the Path of Sages; therefore, it is called difficult practice. Some people mistakenly pursue knowledge for the sake of fame and profit—their birth in the next life is doubtful, so states an attesting passage”.5 The essence of “easy practice” lies in the belief that salvation can be attained simply through the recitation of Amitabha Buddha’s name (念仏, Nembutsu), a practice emphasizing reliance on Amitabha’s vow, without the need to undertake the “difficult practice” of rigorous study or monastic discipline.

Furui discovers a practical approach to salvation through Christian prayer and Buddhist chanting. In these practices, the sinner must acknowledge their sin and recognize their powerlessness before God. Only individuals who do so are said to be closer to divine grace. This aligns with the belief that salvation can be attained by relying on 他力 (Tariki), the innate power of Amitabha, rather than engaging in the “difficult practice” of self-effort, acknowledging that salvation cannot be achieved through human power alone (Bogwang 1987, pp. 41–44). Additionally, this suggests that all human beings share a connection focused on salvation. As individuals have faith and eagerness to seek salvation, the messenger of salvation can experience God’s grace anew. In the practical salvation stemming from the relationship between God and humans, all individuals are united as one. Furui acknowledges that the salvation of both the virtuous and the sinful is not determined on a secular level, but rather depends on the quality of the relationship between God and humans. Ultimately, the practical approach of acknowledging and confessing human weakness to God, described as the absolute good, leads to salvation.

In terms of the practical aspects of the mystical experience, Furui places more emphasis on how Seuse verbalized it for preaching rather than on the anecdotes he shares or the specific doctrines derived from them. Johan Huizinga, in The Waning of the Middle Ages, uses Seuse as an example to highlight the notable tendency of thought in the late Middle Ages to manifest itself in images (Huizinga 2024, chap. 12). Although Huizinga presents this tendency in a somewhat negative light, Furui finds significance in the secularization of metaphysical doctrines that aim to achieve religious ultimacy through the medium of preaching. Furui argues that this secularization does not devalue transcendence. Instead, Furui suggests that by limiting a transcendent idea within the confines of language, a process of indigenization occurs, allowing it to resonate more deeply with the audience. This enables each individual in the audience to envision unity with God based on their personal inspiration.

Furui does not simply emphasize vita activa over vita contemplativa. Instead, he highlights the value of leading a harmonious life that integrates both vita contemplativa and vita activa (Caputo 1978, pp. 203–5). He highlights the value of leading a harmonious life that integrates both, speaking from the perspective of the audience who would have been moved by Seuse’s sermons, rather than from Seuse himself. Rather than focusing solely on the transcendence of an individual’s mystical experience, Furui emphasizes the importance of verbalizing and communicating such experiences to others. It is through this process of sharing that a new dimension of inner experience can emerge in the recipient. Furui states, “To try to convey something that cannot be verbalized or written to someone who aspires to the same thing is perhaps what the practical position demands” (Furui 1996, p. 224). Furui argues that readers of mystical experiences often interpret ecstasy as a form of transcendental detachment—an experience of being separated from the ordinary self and the material world.6 However, for mystical experiences to be effectively communicated, a return from the state of ecstasy to everyday life is indispensable. Yet, in a life devoted to seeking unity with God, distinguishing between moments of ecstasy and daily existence becomes virtually impossible. Readers of mystical confessions or listeners of sermons on mystical experiences are individuals immersed in secular life.

Transcendence is defined in relation to the mundane world. A mystical experience, though deeply personal, becomes fully embodied when an individual articulates it and shares it with others, where it is received and acknowledged. In other words, the transcendence of mystical experiences is not isolated but realized through relationships. This concept, termed relational transcendence, is reflective of the fundamental nature of mystical thought. Mystical thought centers on the relationship between humans and God, with mystical experiences serving as tangible evidence of this divine connection.

6. Connection Between God and the Audience via Sermon

In 1993, prior to the publication of The People of Mystery, Furui Yoshikichi released a collection of short stories titled The Day of the Soul (魂の日). Two noteworthy aspects of this collection are relevant to this research. First, the influence of reading mystical texts on Furui’s experiences is evident throughout. Chapters such as “Sweating of 20 weeks” and “Lady pain” provide readers with a clear indication of the content related to Margareta Ebner, as mentioned earlier. The title of the collection, The Day of the Soul, is introduced at the book’s conclusion alongside Furui’s reflection on Meister Eckhart’s sermons. The People of Mystery includes a chapter titled “The Day of the Soul Again”, (「魂の日」ふたたび), which delves into the same sermon. The comparison between these two works reveals intriguing shifts in Furui’s interpretation of Eckhart’s sermons. Second, while the appreciation of the sermon remains consistent across both texts, The Day of the Soul intertwines Furui’s childhood memories of air raid experiences with his admiration for the sermon. Notably, The People of Mystery does not address the air raid experience, despite it being a central theme in Furui’s literature. In contrast, The Day of the Soul integrates Furui’s air raid memories as primary material, shaping the tone and direction of the entire text. This inclusion can be attributed to the resonance of Eckhart’s sermon, a theme explored further in this paper. Additionally, the profound significance of the air raid experience plays a key role in awakening Furui’s concept of “Life is death, death is life”.

Eckhart’s sermon, which had a profound impact on Furui, can be summarized as follows: Eckhart explains that being pleasing to God occurs “in his days”, a phrase that refers not to a single day but to both the soul’s day and God’s day. He asserts that all past days—whether six or seven days ago or six thousand years ago—are as close to today as yesterday, because time exists as one continuous present Now. As the heavens revolve to mark the passage of time, the soul’s day simultaneously arises, illuminated by its natural light, where day and night become one. This unity reflects the essence of God’s day, in which the soul stands in the eternal present. In this moment, the Father eternally bears His only-begotten Son, and the soul is perpetually reborn into God (Eckhart 2007, p. 336).

Furui grappled with the use of “his days”, questioning why the plural form was chosen instead of the singular “his day” and seeking concrete evidence linking “his days” to “the soul’s day and God’s day”. However, he eventually recognized that such inquiries might be futile. He theorized the existence of what he termed the “Substantivity of language”—a concept that defies modern rationality and logic, manifesting instead through the spoken word and the embodied actions of the preacher during the sermon’s delivery. As an Easterner living in the contemporary era, Furui surmised that attempting to comprehend the “Substantivity of language” from the Western Middle Ages would verge on “madness” (Furui 1996, pp. 167–68). Furui’s interpretation of “madness” carries no negative connotation. Without directly referencing Michel Foucault, Furui views “madness” as a deviation from normative structures, diverging from the constraints of modern rationality and conventional standards of normalcy (Foucault 2013).

Nevertheless, Furui attempts to analyze the sermon logically through the lens of modern thought. He interprets the father giving birth to his only child in the eternal present state, symbolized by the “present Now”, and the soul being born again back into God simultaneously. Furui wonders whether “the soul’s day” and “God’s day” are the same. However, he notes that, recalling Genesis, “the soul’s day” evokes images of the creation of the world, while “the day of God” brings to mind the last day, the day of judgment, as depicted in prophetic books like the Book of Revelation. This distinction is crucial in understanding the sermon’s message.

His interpretation of “the soul’s day” and “God’s day”, which transitions from unity to difference, reflects Eckhart’s approach of aligning himself with his audience. In a subsequent part of the sermon, Eckhart explicitly states, “The soul’s day and God’s day are different” (Meister Eckhart 2007, p. 336). At this juncture, Furui questions how the audience reacted to this seemingly disjointed sermon. Furui highlights that Eckhart’s sermon was directed toward nuns. He goes on to suggest that by framing the concept of “born again back into God” as an active process, rather than passive, with imagery related to pregnancy and childbirth, the message would resonate more powerfully and realistically with the female audience. Despite integrating insights from Buddhism to comprehend mystical encounters, Furui warns against oversimplifying the nuances of Christianity and Buddhism. While he acknowledges the inspiration drawn from the sermon, he admits his limitations as a male writer in fully empathizing with the physical experiences of pregnancy and childbirth. Furui argues that Eckhart’s sermon did not solely evoke desires for virgin birth on a carnal level amongst the nuns but rather tapped into the profound yearning for mystical experiences that transcend gender. He contends that Eckhart’s sermons, which eloquently employ childbirth and birth as metaphors, resonated with his audience on a spiritual level, underscoring a shared religious quest for profound encounters with the divine (Furui 1996, pp. 174–75).

In his conception of the audience, Furui observes that each mystical experience, being an inherently personal one, ultimately leads to a sense of oneness. He interprets Eckhart’s thought as guiding an individual’s mystical experience into a realm of infinity, where individuality, time, and space are dissolved. The women in the audience are described as both continually being born and giving birth, transcending the constraints of time and space. Through this process, an infinite number of God’s children come into existence, yet each child remains uniquely singular—beyond numerical quantification—as the only begotten. Furui suggests that, as the culmination of Eckhart’s philosophy, even this only begotten child will eventually transition toward nothingness. In this ultimate state, God, His children, and all souls converge into the foundation of existence, where individuality is shed, and all become unified in nothingness (Furui 1996, p. 174).

The ultimate goal of mystical experiences is the return to nothingness. We have previously discussed its connection with Buddhism. However, Eckhart’s sermon was delivered to a large audience. Furui emphasizes that the return to nothingness can be achieved by each member of the audience, and that each individual’s return to nothingness is considered a mystical experience in itself. Therefore, the unity found in experiencing God through these mystical encounters becomes evident. Mystical experiences, when shared collectively, form a single, unified mystical experience. Furui argues that the return to nothingness in mystical experiences extends beyond the personal, inner dimension of an individual and is interconnected with the infinite repetition of the experience across the collective audience.

In Eckhart’s sermon, he describes the process of each mystical experience returning to the oneness between the soul and God, ultimately reaching nothingness. Furui interprets this as a metaphor for childbirth, noting a “state beyond quantification” in this repetition. Eckhart’s breakthrough toward the foundation, the state of nothingness achieved through transcendence, is not an individual event but a collective, repetitive, and macro-level vitality. The divine, the source from which the Word is incarnated, is the foundation of the soul’s birth and return. Eckhart’s mystical thought incorporates the continuous cycle of life. Furui seems to have derived a similar understanding not from a direct exploration of Eckhart’s ideas, but from imagining the context in which they were expressed (Keel 2021, pp. 53–54).

Furui, who identified repetitions in mystical union, proposes the concept of “Multiplicity of qualities” (多質性) as a framework to explain how diverse factors coexist to create a unified orientation (Furui 1996, p. 71). According to Furui, the mystical experiences documented by Martin Buber are diverse in both content and process. These experiences, ranging from Western to Indian and Arabic traditions, have been recorded from the time of Plotinus in the third century to the nineteenth century, transcending boundaries of time and space. Despite this diversity, Furui argues that they all ultimately converge toward the same orientation, rendering denominational distinctions insignificant. The term multiplicity of qualities, coined by Furui to describe the universal religious mindset derived from verbalized mystical experiences, captures the idea of varying formats and content of salvation sought by individuals, while also highlighting the underlying pattern of a shared, universal religious consciousness leaning toward the divine. In connection to Musil, Furui’s framwork suggests that the absence of specific qualities actually represents an endless array of qualities.

The People of Mystery begins with Furui’s exploration of Giles of Assisi’s words in Ecstatic Confessions: “I know a man who saw God so clearly that he lost all faith” (Buber 1996, p. 48). Reflecting on this, Furui remembers a passage from one of Meister Eckhart’s sermons: “By the light he meant quite simply that with his eyes open he saw nothing. In seeing nothing, he saw divine Nothing” (Meister Eckhart 2007, p. 141). While reading the modern German translation of Eckhart’s sermon, Furui hesitated, questioning whether he could connect the indefinite pronoun “nichts” to “das Nichts” (Furui 1996, p. 22). “Nichts” could simply mean nothing in a general, negative sense, but “das Nichts” signifies Nothingness, carrying a more philosophical connotation. In Buddhist terms, this would correspond to Sūnyatā. Furui grappled with whether to interpret the line as “He saw nothing, and he saw God”, or “He saw the nothingness, and he saw God”. Ultimately, he found himself leaning toward the latter interpretation, sensing something “inherent in me, perhaps in a tradition” (Furui 1996, p. 22) that drew him in that direction. The tradition he refers to is Buddhism.

Furui’s reading method can be characterized as a “translational” one, as he translates texts from German into Japanese and compares both the languages and the religious traditions of Christianity and Buddhism for deeper understanding. There is no perfect translation in existence. Translation involves the process of selecting the best phrases that capture the essence of the original text within the constraints of possibility. There is a certain element of “essayism” involved in the act of translation. Through this translation process, Furui explores the realm of thought by juxtaposing Buddhism with Christianity. The result of Furui’s thought experiment, much like the process of translation, exists within the sphere of possibility.7

7. Conclusions

The mystical experience of unity with God, inherently ineffable, is profoundly personal. However, as previously discussed, it simultaneously assumes a public dimension through verbalization and communication with others, thereby inspiring those who encounter such expressions. The manner in which this process unfolds varies from individual to individual, reflecting the inherent diversity of mystical experiences. Yet, despite these variations, the ultimate destination of this inspiration remains constant—the transcendental realm of God. Furui Yoshikichi approaches mystical experiences with a nuanced appreciation for the interplay between individuality and universality. He discerns a sense of wonder in their paradoxical nature: the timeless and transcendental essence that resists linguistic expression is nonetheless articulated in ways that inspire others (Furui 1993, pp. 244–45). Through his work, Furui underscores the undeniable presence of the religious spirit that transcends the mundane realities of everyday life.8

While ultimate truth may elude verbal or written expression in its purest form, Furui’s literary endeavors reveal the transformative potential of articulating facets of this truth within specific constraints and boundaries. His writings stand as a testament to the profound impact that articulated expressions of ultimate truth can exert on human experience.