2025.06.29 DeepEdge Plus- Yuzuru x Nagai Philosophical Dialogue

[Wintek]

*Machine translation from Japanese to English, inaccuracies exist*
Please, do not comment under these posts to keep the flow of the reading -likes are appreciated :-)
 

[2026.06.28]

Source: DeepEdge Newsletter

 

New Series: Yuzuru Hanyu Engaged in Thought (*). Starts on June 29th

From December of last year to February of this year, Yuzuru Hanyu took on the role of executive producer and performer in the ice show Echoes of Life, which was based on a sci-fi-style story he wrote himself. One of the books he quoted in that work is Underwater Philosophers (Suichū no Tetsugakusha-tachi) by Rei Nagai, a philosopher and writer.

Yuzuru Hanyu engaged in a dialogue with Rei Nagai, turning their attention to the questions and doubts they both encounter in daily life. Rather than rushing to answers, they waited for each other’s words, embraced silence at times... and, like diving underwater, they explored their thoughts and carefully searched for the right words.

Kyodo News is distributing a full-page newspaper feature titled “Yuzuru Hanyu × Rei Nagai: A Philosophical Dialogue” to its member newspapers. It will be published starting June 29. Please check your local newspaper.

Additionally, on Deep Edge Plus, a new series titled Yuzuru Hanyu in Thought will begin on the 29th, featuring detailed reflections from Hanyu on this dialogue. Stay tuned!

(*) 思索 (shisaku) implies deep, philosophical reflection or contemplation.

 

ADDITIONAL INFORMATION

Source: https://x.com/DeepEdgePlus/status/1938995243623571460

The philosophical dialogue between Yuzuru and Rei Nagai will be posted on DeepEdge Plus (it's a transcript of their conversation). It will be updated every 2 weeks approximately and lasts for about 3 months. The subscription to DeepEdge Plus is ¥500 monthly (US$3.5 approx). 

Philosophical Dialogue
Not the kind of philosophy you learn in school, but a practice of speaking together about everyday questions like “What does it mean to work?”, questions that are close to us, yet difficult to answer. The goal isn’t to find a solution, but rather to listen, reflect, and speak in ways that challenge your assumptions and values. Recently, it has been adopted in schools, corporate training, and community programs.
 

Rei Nagai
Born in 1991 in Tokyo. In addition to her writing, she conducts philosophical dialogues in schools, companies, temples, museums, and municipalities. In 2024, she received the Watakushi, Tsumari Nobody Prize, an award commemorating the late writer Akiko Ikeda. Her latest book is Samishikute Gomen (“Sorry for Feeling Lonely”). She loves poetry, botanical gardens, and long, deliberate walks.

Master document with the translation also available HERE.

[Wintek]

[2025.06.28]
*Machine translation from Japanese to English, inaccuracies exist*

Source:
X: https://x.com/DeepEdgePlus/status/1938741460591108293
YouTube: https://t.co/zMMJwnHAmM

Instagram: https://t.co/V0B8accYuZ 

Q: How did you feel about doing a philosophical dialogue for the first time?

A: It was more than I had expected. I realized that there are many questions in various parts of our lives, and I’ve been wondering about so many things more than I had realized. It felt like, even though everyone might not notice it, everyone has some kind of lingering discomfort deep inside their hearts. I think that everyone, somewhere deep inside, is seeking answers. I thought it would be great if many people could watch and reflect on it.

[Wintek]

[2025.06.29]
*Machine translation from Japanese to English, inaccuracies exist*

Source: https://deepedgeplus.kyodonews.jp/column/philosophizing-yuzuruhanyu/110325/

 

[Yuzuru Hanyu Reflects ①] A lecture from his university days that he remembered when writing the story for "Echoes of Life": "I have thought about many things throughout my life"

 

Spoiler

From December of last year to February of this year, Yuzuru Hanyu served as executive producer and performed in the ice show Echoes of Life, which was based on a science fiction–inspired story he wrote himself.

One of the books he cited in connection with this work was Philosophers Underwater (Suichū no Tetsugakusha-tachi), written by philosopher and author Rei Nagai. The story of the show resonates with this book in how both explore the meaning of engaging in dialogue with others while confronting unanswerable questions in a complex world.

On the other hand, Rei Nagai positions philosophy, which is often seen as difficult, as “the act of pausing to think about everyday ‘Why?’ questions,” and has been conducting “philosophical dialogues” in schools, companies, and other settings, where people listen to and reflect on one another’s everyday questions.

This time, the two of them came together, each bringing with them their own everyday uncertainties and vague feelings, to engage in a philosophical dialogue. Rather than rushing to answers, they waited for each other’s words—and at times, embraced silence. As if diving underwater, they let their thoughts drift and searched gently for the right words.

— To start, can you tell us how you came across Underwater Philosophers?

Hanyu: Originally, I was taking a class taught by Professor Masahiro Morioka, who’s at Waseda University now. I think he mentioned something like, “This would be a good reference book,” so I was buying some of those on Amazon. And that’s when Rei Nagai’s book (Philosophers Underwater) showed up in the recommendations.

Water, and the idea of being underwater, that’s a theme I’ve always really liked. So I thought, “Ah, I want to read this,” and that’s how I first picked it up. It really was just a casual thing, like, “Oh, it’s recommended, maybe I’ll give it a try.”

---

Echoes of Life
In Echoes of Life, Yuzuru Hanyu plays the protagonist “Nova,” a being born through genetic engineering who seeks meaning in their own existence while searching for hope in the world. The story touches on pressing contemporary issues such as war, education, and care work, offering a vision of entertainment that pushes beyond the traditional boundaries of ice shows.

Having long been interested in questions like “What is life?”, “What is one’s role?”, and “What does bioethics mean?”, Hanyu wrote in the show’s pamphlet that “I wanted philosophy to be the theme of the show.”

----- The next section is paid content. It can be accessed on DeepEdge Plus (¥500 monthly, ~US$3.5). If you can, please consider paying the membership to support this type of Yuzu content on the media -------

 

Spoiler

— You were recommended Rei Nagai’s book. How did it connect with your creative work?

Hanyu: When I was writing the story for Echoes (of Life) this time, I found Professor Morioka’s lectures—he’s from Waseda University—to be really interesting, especially the topic of “bioethics.” In terms of content, we covered about three major themes. Broadly speaking: What is time? That kind of thing. Then philosophy. And then something like, what is life? Including brain death, like “what does that even mean?” Also, how we think about disability. So just three broad topics, but we only had a semester—around 15 classes—so it was all packed in, but really interesting.

It made me realize again how much I’ve actually been thinking about various things throughout my life. And now, when I’m presenting something to tens of thousands of people— Umm, how should I put this...

(pauses briefly to think)

Hanyu: If I say something big, I guess I feel like what we need, in order for Japan to become a better place—or even for the world to get better—is thinking. And I’m someone who, for the time being, can serve as a medium to bring that to many people. So I wanted to write something after having gained a lot of knowledge.

That’s where Underwater Philosophers  by Rei Nagai came in. As I was writing, I felt like it couldn’t just be my own philosophy. Without including different philosophies, I wouldn’t even be able to pose the questions properly—let alone get people to think together. That’s why I read it.
 

---

Underwater Philosophers  

A collection of philosophical essays by Rei Nagai, who facilitates “philosophical dialogues” that invite people to think deeply together about a particular theme. She observes quiet moments in everyday life and puts them into words as questions. Her poetic language is beautiful, creating a sense that the world you thought you knew suddenly becomes unfamiliar. A book you’ll want to return to again and again.

[The book is available for Kindle on Amazon Japan. The digital book can be read on the free Kindle app or on the browser. The digital book comes with a built in machine translation function.

---

The increase in the number of things we don't know is scary but wonderful

 

— Was there anything that stuck with you from what you read or heard?

Hanyu: Actually, I listened to it on Audible as I came here today. There’s a section in Echoes (of Life) where I quoted this line: “Perhaps what we call ‘fate’ is simply the layering of coincidences.” That part is from the chapter titled Tragedy.

There’s a section where you wrote something like, “Life doesn’t go the way we want,” and I really felt that. But, at the same time, it makes me feel like, well, even happy things don’t always go the way we want either? 

In philosophy, you think through all kinds of things, asking questions and engaging in dialogue with others—but in the end, what you don’t know only increases. For people who don’t usually think philosophically, that can feel really scary. It can feel unpleasant to have more things you don’t understand. But I think Underwater Philosophers  made me realize just how wonderful that really is. Philosophy is also a field I really love, so reading Nagai-san's writing gave me this sensation of sinking into water. How should I describe it...

Yes, I was able to drown myself to my heart's content. (Laughs)

(Everyone laughs)

— So to start, we’d like to ask each of you to bring up something you’ve been wondering about, and then deepen the conversation through a shared philosophical dialogue. Thank you in advance!

Hanyu: Looking forward to it.

Nagai: Likewise, thank you very much.

(While the equipment is being adjusted, Hanyu and Nagai begin talking casually off to the side, and the first questions begin to emerge.)

Hanyu: I pretty much came in with “nothing.”

Nagai: I’m really glad.

Hanyu: I figured that would be better.

Nagai: It definitely is. Thank you.

Hanyu: I thought bringing in too much knowledge would kind of miss the point. Is it okay to talk, even though this thing (recorder) isn’t running?

(Checks with the reporter)
— That would be such a waste!

Hanyu: Let’s just go ahead and record it.

So... I was thinking about this issue of “consciousness.” Whether we’re conscious of something or not, just feeling that something is painful is already a kind of consciousness, right? In philosophy, when we talk about things like the soul or the mind, the term “consciousness” comes up a lot. But... what is consciousness, really?

Nagai: Yeah… what is it, really?

Hanyu: It’s really difficult. Biologically, there’s no doubt that it’s the brain doing the thinking. But I also feel like there’s something there that can’t be explained just by that.

Nagai: Mmm, yeah. Right.

Hanyu: Like for us, those of us who do sports, you often hear things like “If you become too conscious of it, you’ll get nervous,” or “You’re too aware, so the technique didn’t go well.” Coaches say that kind of stuff all the time.

And as athletes, we’ve always used words like “Don’t be too conscious,” or conversely, “Focus only here.” Even though it’s not necessarily connected to philosophy, it’s something we’ve always been saying.

So yeah, I’ve been wondering since I was little—what exactly is “consciousness”?

(Equipment adjustments are complete)

Nagai: Wow, the questions are already coming fast right from the start...

— All right, please go ahead and begin.

Nagai: This is so interesting, we’ve already naturally started. But I’d like to properly dive into a philosophical dialogue with you now. Actually, the very question you just raised, I’ve written about that in my book too...

---

Philosophical Dialogue
Not the kind of philosophy you learn in school, but a practice of speaking together about everyday questions like “What does it mean to work?”, questions that are close to us, yet difficult to answer. The goal isn’t to find a solution, but rather to listen, reflect, and speak in ways that challenge your assumptions and values. Recently, it has been adopted in schools, corporate training, and community programs.

Yuzuru Hanyu
Born in 1994 in Sendai, Japan. He became the first Asian man to win Olympic gold in figure skating at the 2014 Sochi Games, and then defended his title at PyeongChang in 2018—the first man in 66 years to do so. He placed fourth in the 2022 Beijing Olympics. A two-time World Champion (2014, 2017), he won four consecutive Grand Prix Finals from 2013 to 2016 and was a six-time national champion. In 2016, he was the first to land a quadruple loop in competition. Since turning professional in July 2022, he has been producing “ice stories” that blend words and skating. Graduate of Waseda University.

Rei Nagai
Born in 1991 in Tokyo. In addition to her writing, she conducts philosophical dialogues in schools, companies, temples, museums, and municipalities. In 2024, she received the Watakushi, Tsumari Nobody Prize, an award commemorating the late writer Akiko Ikeda. Her latest book is Samishikute Gomen (“Sorry for Feeling Lonely”). She loves poetry, botanical gardens, and long, deliberate walks.

 

[Wintek]

[2025.06.29]
*Machine translation from Japanese to English, inaccuracies exist*

Daily Sports 

https://www.daily.co.jp/general/2025/06/29/0019163915.shtml?pg=2

Yuzuru Hanyu: The boundary [1] between on and off the ice emerged during a philosophical dialogue: "It was fun. But I'm seriously mulling things over.[2]"

Professional figure skater Yuzuru Hanyu (30) took part in a "philosophical dialogue" in which questions are deepened through conversation. His dialogue partner was writer and philosopher Rei Nagai (33). Hanyu, who says he has been interested in philosophical questions since childhood, discovered Nagai's book while working on the creation of his ice show. From questions about "what is consciousness" in skating, to reflections on the term "person directly affected" in the context of disaster, the dialogue brought to light parts of Hanyu's thinking that have been shaped on and off the ice.

Spoiler

In his first experience of philosophical dialogue, Hanyu began by saying, "I came here pretty much in a state of 'mu' (emptiness)[3]." Nagai, who holds dialogues in various parts of Japan, values words that arise naturally in the moment. With no topic decided beforehand, the two freely voiced their questions.

To speak on equal footing, regardless of name or title, Nagai's style is to use nicknames. "Because I had bad bedhead," she introduced herself as "Neguse" (bedhead). Hanyu chose "Maegami" (bangs). He began to talk about the questions he has carried through his skating career.

Maegami (Hanyu): When you become too conscious of things, you’re told your technique won’t go well. But I’ve wondered since I was a kid: what is consciousness? Things you can see are easy to explain in words, and you can share them with others. But I’ve always wanted to express the invisible. Even if I’m conscious of something, I sometimes feel I can express it better through sound or my body than with words. I wonder why that is.

One of the promises of philosophical dialogue is: "Listen well. Speak in your own words. Don’t give up with 'it depends on the person'." Nagai, who conducts dialogues in disaster-affected schools, shared a question about the word "person directly affected."

Neguse (Nagai): I always have this heavy feeling about who gets to be called an "affected person." When I share what I’ve heard in disaster areas with students in Tokyo, they sometimes say, “I can’t understand because I wasn’t directly affected.” I get it, but what does it really mean to say you can’t understand because you weren’t directly affected?

Maegami: During the Great East Japan Earthquake, I was in Sendai and experienced the disaster while practicing, but I didn’t see the tsunami up close, and I didn’t lose anyone close to me to the tsunami either. There was a time when I really struggled, wondering if I couldn’t understand others’ feelings because I wasn’t directly affected. Even now, when I visit disaster areas and meet people who were affected, I still think: what does it mean to be emotionally close to someone? I want to be, but I can’t become that person. It’s very difficult.

Looking at the whiteboard now filled with questions, Hanyu spoke a phrase that became the theme of the second half.

Maegami: It feels like all the questions are, in a way, about where to “draw the lines,” (境界線 / the boundaries).

Neguse: Have you ever had the experience of drawing or being drawn into a boundary?

Maegami: I’m sure I’ve drawn boundaries. When boundaries are drawn from the outside, that’s passive. When we draw them ourselves, that’s active — you could look at it that way. Saying “I’m a figure skater, and you’re the audience” is an active line I draw. But something like “we are family,” that’s a line drawn for us the moment we’re born, a passive boundary. There are unavoidable boundaries that exist almost unconsciously.

Neguse: What comes to mind is how people today often say, “It’s scary to talk with someone who has a different opinion.” But where does the difference begin? Is there even such a thing as "same" to begin with? I start to lose track of what that even means.

Maegami: When we think about “same” or “different,” our impression changes depending on whether we’re drawing the line to identify differences or to find similarities. Take “happiness” and “envy.” If I think “that person is happy,” and draw a boundary between them and me, I might end up feeling unhappy in comparison. But at the same time, that can also be how we discover the contours[4] of ourselves.

Neguse: When someone says “I can’t understand because I wasn’t directly affected,” I feel like that person becomes isolated. The more we become conscious of our own outlines (輪郭 / contour) through negatively drawn lines, the more we feel trapped inside them. I wonder if we can still value those outlines of “myself” and yet, in a way, stay scattered and separate, while still being connected to each other.

 

---

 

Philosophical dialogue doesn’t aim to find answers. Nagai later reflected, “I thought I’d be nervous, but we really could think together.” The true beauty, she said, is that you discover questions and ideas you’d never come up with alone.

Where do we draw the boundary between envy and happiness? What does it mean to empathize with[5] “those affected”? These are not distant questions, they’re questions for all of us. “Dialogue is open,” says Nagai. In a time of intense, polarized words, the conversation these two shared offers hints for how to live in a world full of questions.

“It was fun. But I’m seriously mulling things over,” Hanyu said with a smile as he left the space.

Yuzuru Hanyu: Born December 7, 1994, in Sendai. Two-time Olympic gold medalist in men’s figure skating. Since going pro, he has created and performed "ice stories" combining words and skating.

Rei Nagai: Born in 1991, Tokyo. A writer and philosophical dialogue facilitator active across Japan. Winner of the "I, That is, Nobody Prize" in honor of Akiko Ikeda. Latest book: Samishikute Gomen (Sorry for Being Lonely).

Echoes of Life: An ice show produced and performed by Hanyu from December last year (2024) to February this year (2025). Based on an original sci-fi story written by Hanyu about a genetically engineered protagonist searching for the meaning of existence and hope. It includes quotes from Nagai’s essay collection Underwater Philosophers .

Philosophical Dialogue: Not academic philosophy, but a practice of conversing with others about personal, complex questions like "What is work?" without seeking fixed answers. By listening and thinking together, it helps participants reexamine assumptions and values. Now used in education and corporate training.

 

NOTES

[1] 境界線 (kyōkaisen) – "boundaries / dividing lines." While “kyōkaisen” often evokes deeper layers in Japanese: boundaries between self and other, insider and outsider, purity and pollution, etc., especially in social or emotional contexts. It carries a metaphorical as well as spatial meaning.

[2] もんもん (monmon) is a mimetic word (onomatopoeia). The original Japanese uses the expression もんもんとしている (monmon to shite iru), which evokes a state of inner cloudiness, restlessness, or quietly swirling thought. It suggests something emotionally or intellectually unresolved, thoughts or feelings that linger and continue to stir below the surface, rather than being neatly processed or concluded.

[3] Yuzuru uses the word “mu” (無), a concept from Zen Buddhism meaning “emptiness” or “nothingness,” implying a state of mental openness and detachment from fixed thoughts or expectations.

[4] 輪郭 (rinkaku), "outline / contour." This word literally means “outline” or “profile,” as in the visible edge of something, but metaphorically it implies discovering the shape or limits of one's identity. 

[5] 寄り添う (yorisōu), "to be close / to empathize deeply." The Japanese word “yorisōu” (寄り添う) expresses a form of empathetic closeness, quietly drawing near to someone’s feelings or experience, often in moments of difficulty.

 

[yuzurujenn]

*Machine translation from Japanese to English, inaccuracies exist*

 

[2025.06.29]

 

Nikkan Sports

https://web.archive.org/web/20250629163418/https://www.nikkansports.com/sports/news/202506280002219.html

[Figure Skating] Yuzuru Hanyu × Rei Nagai — "Philosophical Dialogue" Deepening Reflection Through Conversation — Living in a World Full of Questions

Professional figure skater Yuzuru Hanyu (30) took on the challenge of a "philosophical dialogue," where participants deepen their thinking through conversation.
His partner in this dialogue was Rei Nagai (33), a writer and philosopher.

 

Hanyu, who says he has been interested in philosophical questions since childhood, began reading Nagai's books while producing his ice show. From questions such as "What is consciousness in competition?" to reflections on "Who counts as a person directly affected?" during disasters, the dialogue brought to light parts of Hanyu’s inner explorations developed on the ice.

 

Spoiler

At his first "philosophical dialogue," Yuzuru Hanyu began by saying, "I came here pretty much empty-headed."

 

Nagai, who holds philosophical dialogues in various regions, values words that arise in the moment.
Without deciding on a theme in advance, the two freely put their questions into words.

 

▽ Who counts as a person directly affected?

— To talk as equals without being confined by names or titles, Nagai has a style of using nicknames. “I had bad bedhead,” so she chose “Neguse” (“bedhead”).
Hanyu decided on “Maegami” (“bangs”). He began to speak about the questions he’d held during his competitive life:

 

Maegami (Hanyu):

“People always said that if you’re too conscious of something, you can’t perform well.
But what is consciousness? I’ve thought about that since I was little.
Things you can see are easy to describe with words, and you can share them with others.
But I’ve always wanted to express the things you can’t see.
Even if I’m aware of them, I can’t always put them into words,  but maybe with sound or the body, I can express them.
Why is that, I wonder?”

 

— In philosophical dialogue, the rules are: “Listen carefully,” “Speak in your own words,” and “Don’t give up by saying ‘everyone’s different.’”
Nagai, who leads dialogues in disaster-affected schools and other places, voiced her own lingering question about the idea of being an “affected party.”

 

Neguse (Nagai):

“I’ve always carried this deep feeling of ‘Who exactly is a person directly affected?’
Sometimes when I share things I saw or heard in disaster areas with students in Tokyo, they say, ‘I don’t understand because I’m not one of them.’
I get where they’re coming from, but I still wonder: what exactly does it mean to say that, to not understand because you’re not directly affected?”

 

Maegami:

“During the Great East Japan Earthquake, I was in Sendai practicing when the disaster hit.
But I didn’t see the tsunami up close, and I didn’t lose anyone close to me to it.
So there was a time when I really struggled with the thought that maybe I wasn’t a ‘directly affected person,’
and that maybe that meant I couldn’t truly understand.
Even now, when I visit affected areas or meet people who went through it,
I still think about what it means to truly 'stand with’ someone.
I want to, but you can’t become that person. It’s really difficult.”

 

▽ My boundaries

— Staring at a whiteboard covered in questions, Hanyu spoke a line that became the theme of the second half of the dialogue.

 

Maegami:

“All of these questions seem connected by a common thread, how we draw boundaries.”

 

Neguse:

“Have you ever had an experience where you drew a boundary, or had one drawn on you?”

 

Maegami:

“I’m sure I’ve drawn boundaries before.
When they’re drawn by others, it’s passive.
When you draw them yourself, it’s active.
Saying ‘I’m a figure skater and you’re the audience’ is an active boundary.
But something like ‘we’re family’ is a boundary drawn for you from birth, so it's passive.
There might also be unconscious boundaries, ones you can’t avoid.”

 

Neguse:

“Lately, people often say they’re scared to talk to those with different opinions.
But when we say ‘different opinions,’ where exactly does ‘different’ begin?
And what even is ‘same’? It starts to become unclear.”

 

Maegami:

“When we talk about ‘same’ or ‘different,’ is the act of drawing a line meant to find the differences,
or to find the similarities?
Even things like ‘happiness’ and ‘envy’ are alike.
If you define happiness as ‘I’m happy’, that’s one thing.
But if you think, ‘That person is happy’, you might end up comparing yourself and feeling like you’re not, which can create a negative feeling.
But maybe it’s through those moments that you begin to see your own outline.”

 

Neguse:

“When someone says, ‘I’m not a person directly affected, so I can’t understand,’ I feel like they’re isolating themselves.
The more you define yourself through negatively drawn lines, the more you end up shut inside them.
I’m thinking about whether it’s possible to cherish our personal boundaries, and still find ways to connect, even while remaining a little disjointed.”

-----------------

 

Philosophical dialogue does not seek clear-cut answers. Looking back, Nagai said: “I thought I’d be nervous, but we were able to think together.” The real pleasure, she added, lies in discovering questions and ideas that wouldn’t emerge on your own.

 

Where is the line between envy and happiness? What does it mean to “stand with” a person directly affected? None of these are unrelated to us. “Dialogue is open,” Nagai said. In an age of strong and divisive language, this conversation between two people may offer a hint on how to live in a world full of questions.

 

“It was fun. But it left me feeling really, really reflective.” Hanyu left the dialogue smiling.

 

 

■ Yuzuru Hanyu
Born 1994, from Sendai. Two-time Olympic champion in men’s figure skating.
After turning professional, he has been creating “ice stories” that combine words and skating.

 

■ Rei Nagai
Born 1991, Tokyo. Alongside her writing, she holds philosophical dialogues across Japan.
Winner of the “Watakushi, Tsumari Nobody Prize” (Ikeda Akiko Memorial Prize).
Author of The Philosophers Underwater, Sorry for Being Lonely, among others.

 

[Wintek]

[2025.07.11]
*Machine translation from Japanese to English, inaccuracies exist*

Deep Edge

Source: https://deepedgeplus.kyodonews.jp/column/philosophizing-yuzuruhanyu/110432/ 

Archive: https://web.archive.org/web/20250711040929/https://deepedgeplus.kyodonews.jp/column/philosophizing-yuzuruhanyu/110432/ 

 

Yuzuru Hanyu steps a little outside his usual role to reflect –Why is it that the body can express things that are hard to put into words? [Part 2]

 

Spoiler

During a backstage moment while equipment was being changed over, a standing conversation between Yuzuru Hanyu and Rei Nagai sparked the beginning of a round of questioning.

Hanyu-san asked Nagai-san,

“In philosophy, there are discussions like ‘What is the soul [tamashii / 魂]?’ or ‘What is the heart/mind [kokoro / 心] [1]?’… and quite often the word ‘consciousness [ishiki / 意識]’ [2] comes up. But what even is ‘consciousness’?”

He continued:

“I really think it's difficult. Biologically speaking, it's undoubtedly the brain that's doing the thinking, but still, it feels like there’s something there that can’t be fully explained by that alone.    For us athletes, you often hear things like ‘If you’re too conscious of it, you’ll get nervous,’ or ‘You mess up a skill because you’re too conscious of it.’ Our coaches often say those kinds of things. As athletes, we’ve frequently heard and used phrases like ‘Don’t be too conscious of this,’ or conversely, ‘Only focus [ishiki] here,’all in ways totally unrelated to philosophy. So I’ve wondered since I was a kid: What even is consciousness?”

Since the more participants in a “question-opening” the better, the reporters joined in too. Nagai-san took on the role of facilitator and began guiding the dialogue.

Using a different name than usual, and holding the bird means “I’m thinking.”

Nagai: I also wrote this in my book (“Philosophers Underwater”), but while big-sounding “philosophical” questions like “What is life?” are lovely, on the other hand, I like to use the phrase “questions that fit in the palm of your hand.” [3]

My hands are quite small (laughs), but these are modest questions, still warm with human touch, that emerge from our everyday lives, life-sized as they are.

Like just now, the everyday phrase “Don’t be too conscious of it” links directly to the question “So then, what is consciousness?”

We’ll start by gently “diving underwater” into these kinds of questions, asking each other about them. Then, in the second half, we’ll choose one of them as our “starting point question” and go deeper into dialogue from there.

Now then, I think you might’ve been wondering about this bird here. The rule is: the person holding the bird is the one who speaks.

Hanyu: Hehh—!

Nagai: It’s because, when I’m talking, I often want to pause and think, go “Hmm…,” or just gaze at the words for a while.

In regular conversations or at drinking parties, silence tends to be seen as a bad thing, right? People sometimes even interrupt when someone else is still talking.

So we’ve made it a rule that “if you’re holding the bird, it means you’re thinking.” It’s a sign.

Also, the one who ends their speech is the speaker themselves, not someone else. When you’re finished speaking, please say, “That’s all.”

Hanyu: Okay.

Nagai: Also, in this kind of dialogue, we don’t do formal introductions. Instead, we have everyone use a different name than usual.

Hanyu: Hmm, What would be good?

—--PAID CONTENT BELOW—-

Nagai: Let’s see… my bedhead was really sticking out in the back today, so I’ll go with “Neguse” [寝ぐせ, bedhead]-san.

This level of naming is totally fine (laughs).

Hanyu: We’re going with that level of naming… (laughs)

Neguse (Nagai): Ahahahaha. Shall we get started?

Hanyu: Ehhhh—

(Thinks for a moment)

Hanyu: To match “Neguse”…

Nagai: Really, anything is fine!

Hanyu: But naming is kind of important, isn’t it? (laughs) Hmm… “Neguse”-san…

Okay, then I’ll go with “Maegami” [前髪, bangs/forelocks]-san.

Neguse: Let’s ask the reporters too. Please pass them the bird.

(The reporters take their seats.)

Reporter 1: I’ll go with “Tokei” [時計, clock], because it’s the first time I’ve worn a watch since COVID ended.

Reporter 2: I’ll go with “Natsu” [夏, summer]. It’s just the season right now, no particular reason.

Reporter 3: I’ll go with “Tanshabu” [たんしゃぶ], because I want to eat tan-shabu, beef tongue shabu-shabu [hot pot type of food].

Things that can’t be seen are hard to put into words

(Nagai writes the participants' alias names in hiragana on the edge of the whiteboard. From this point forward, she also writes down the questions as they arise.)

Neguse:  As always, we take on different names and remove ourselves just a little from our usual roles. So today, I’ll be calling you “Maegami-san.”

At the start, we’ll spend an important time doing what we call “toidashi” [問いだし / opening of questions][4]. Holding a question alone can feel heavy, or painful in some way. Of course, there is that side to it, but maybe, it’s simply that there aren’t enough spaces where we can express such questions.

So I’d like to create this space with you, where we can slowly listen to each other’s questions.

As mentioned earlier, the question “What is consciousness really?” has already been brought up. But as we continue to listen to each other’s voices, and remember or search within ourselves, I’d like to write out a few more questions here.

Could I ask you again, Maegami-san, to share a little more of the background behind your question, “What is consciousness?”

Maegami: Yes.

 (Holds the bird)

Maegami: Hmm... Well, when I casually look around at the world, I feel like visible things are really easy to explain. They’re easy to put into words. But invisible things, those are very hard to express in words.

Still, I think that difficulty probably has nothing to do with Japanese or English or any specific language, it’s just inherently really difficult...

And maybe this is because I’m a figure skater, or rather, because I’m a performer, but I find myself wanting to express the things that are hard to put into words.

And when I do try to express them, I find that things like sound, or the body, can actually express them in a way that makes sense in my gut [funi ochiru / 腑に落ちる][5] . That, to me, is incredibly fascinating.

So... how should I put this... Invisible things ≠ words, Visible things = words; I feel like that kind of structure often exists.

So when you explain something with words, it makes it easier to understand and easier to share with others. But precisely because something can’t be put into words, I want to dive even deeper into it.

And while I’m expressing something through the body, I start to wonder: If I can express it, then why can’t I put it into words? That’s also something I’ve found myself thinking.

Which brings me again to the question: What is consciousness?

Neguse: Following that flow, this is Neguse speaking.

Something I’ve been troubled by lately… hmm, what is it… something I’ve been feeling murky [moya moya / もやもや] about...

I’ve been thinking about: What does it really mean to cherish something? [taisetsu ni suru / 大切にする] [6] 

For example, in various dialogue spaces, I hear beautiful, earnest, heartfelt stories, but then, what does it mean to cherish them?

Does it mean to talk about them again and again in different places? Or does it mean to tuck them quietly into your heart?

But if I were to tuck them away, then… thinking about it like “cherishing shoes” would mean not wearing them anymore, right?

Maegami: That’s true (laughs).

Neguse: So I’ve been wondering: What does it really mean to receive something dearly?  That’s what I’ve been struggling with. That’s all.
 

 (Gentle laughter from everyone)

Do we have to read the air? What is happiness? What is envy?

Neguse:
How about the rest of you?

Tokei:
Okay, then, I’ll go.

(Tokei takes the bird)

Tokei:
Compared to the two of you, this is going to sound like a really low-level question, but…
I’ve participated in Nagai-san’s philosophical dialogues twice before, and both times you were drinking something like sweet juice.

And I realized, I had this unconscious assumption that “philosophers must be drinking water.”

(Everyone: “Ehhh—!” Laughs)

Tokei: Then, while watching a video of Hanyu-san’s ice show, I saw him drinking something green.
I have no idea what it actually was, but I found myself instinctively thinking, “Athletes must be drinking water too.”

So I started to wonder… What is this tendency we have to expect something like pure, crystal-clear water [“seiren-keppaku na mizu” / 清廉潔白な水] from people like philosophers, figure skaters, performers?

Why do we feel that way? That’s my question.

(Nagai writes the question on the whiteboard: “Why do we end up expecting something like crystal-clear water from athletes, philosophers, and performers?”)

Neguse: That’s a good one~

Maegami: But now I’m wondering, why do we associate water with purity and goodness in the first place?

(Everyone: “That’s true~”)

Neguse: Like in meetings, right? It’s always water.

Maegami: Right. You never get served cola.

Neguse: If you were drinking cola, people might think you’re not being serious.

Tokei: Like, “Are you really thinking seriously?”

Maegami: But coffee is okay, isn’t it?

(Everyone: “Ahhh, that’s true~”)

Neguse: What about the rest of you?

Natsu:  Yes.

(Natsu holds the bird plush)

Natsu: I’m Natsu. This is something that came to mind while listening just now. It might only be a Japanese thing, but I started thinking, “What does it mean to have to read the air?”

I have two children, and especially now with young kids, sometimes they’re told in school that “It’s better not to read the air,” while other times they’re told, “It’s group activity time, so read the air and be quiet.”

But now, in my work life, I find myself often thinking, “Wow, I’m reading the air a lot right now.” Especially because I work with lots of different departments now.

Reading the air [kuuki wo yomu / 空気を読む] [7] can sometimes make things go really smoothly. But other times, I have to speak up without reading the air in order to get my point across.

So when I’m trying to move an organization forward well, I sometimes get confused—like, which is better? That’s it. I’m done.

(Tanshabu takes the bird)

Tanshabu: I’m Tanshabu.

Lately, what I sometimes think about is: What is happiness? [shiawase / 幸せ] I feel like it’s a motivation for living, or an emotional support. But sometimes, being attached to it, or seeking it, can actually make life harder.

Like, sometimes my happiness is also other people’s happiness, but other times it’s not.
And the opposite is true too.

There are times when I feel happy because those around me are happy. But there are also times when I don’t feel that way. It just kind of goes around in circles like that.

And of course, happiness is something that has no form [katachi ga nai mono / 形がないもの] [9], but for some people, things like money, status, fame, medals… those visible things that are close to form… they also bring happiness.

So sometimes I find myself going in circles, wondering, Is seeking happiness itself happiness? That’s it. I’m done.

(A short silence follows. The bird is passed to Maegami)

Maegami: About that question on “reading or not reading the air”, what even is that, right?

For example, if you’re Japanese and you’re in a conversation, say with someone in a higher position, or in something like a meeting, there’s this expectation that you’ll sit up straight, keep your legs closed, that kind of thing. You don’t interrupt someone else when they’re speaking.

But in the U.S., it’s the opposite, people might cross their legs deliberately to signal that “I’m relaxed.” And that changes the kuuki [空気 / atmosphere of the space] on purpose.

So I started to think: Maybe what Japanese people think of as kuuki and what people from other cultures think of as kuuki is totally different. And maybe how we read it, how we interpret it, is also totally different.

Also, about the question “What is happiness?”, someone said that other people’s happiness can make you feel happy, but the reverse can also happen.

So if something like envy [netami / ねたみ] [10] exists there, then… “What is envy?” becomes a new question too.

(Everyone murmurs in agreement: “Yeah, yeah…”)

Maegami: Because honestly, someone else’s happiness isn’t something that has anything to do with your own life, right? It’s not like it harms your life in any way.

And yet, you still feel negative emotions about it. Like, “Because that person is happy, I’m not happy.”

Why do emotions like that arise? I think that’s really fascinating. That’s all. I’m done.

 

Notes

[1] 魂 (tamashii), “Soul.” Refers to the essential, enduring part of a being. Often considered something spiritual or metaphysical, not tied to emotions or thoughts. 心 (kokoro), “Heart / Mind” is much broader: can mean mind, heart, spirit, emotions, intention, depending on context. It is tied to feelings, thoughts, and will, how we experience the world emotionally.

[2] 意識 / ishiki, “Consciousness”. Refers to awareness, attention, or mental focus. In philosophical contexts, it relates to self-awareness and cognition.

[3] 手のひらサイズの問い / tenohira saizu no toi, “Palm-sized questions” – Intimate, everyday philosophical questions derived from personal experiences.

[4] 問い出し / toidashi, “Question-bringing.” The act of posing a question for dialogue.

[5] 腑に落ちる / funi ochiru, “To click” or “to intuitively understand,” Literally “to fall into one’s gut,” it means something makes sense on a visceral level.

[6] 大切にする / taisetsu ni suru “To cherish or treat with care,” denotes value placed on people, things, or ideas.

[7] 空気を読む / kuuki wo yomu, “To read the air.”  空気 (kuuki) literally means "air" or "atmosphere." When people talk about kuuki o yomu (read the air/atmosphere), they’re referring to something invisible, like a shared, unspoken mood or expectation in a group. It refers to sensing unspoken rules, emotions, or tensions; knowing when to speak or stay quiet; understanding what’s expected in a given situation,  without being told

[8] 幸せ (shiawase), a state of overall wellbeing or fulfillment. It's a broad, life-encompassing happiness. Often implies a sustained or stable sense of contentment or fortune. Shiawase often includes the idea of being in harmony with one's surroundings —family, society, or life circumstances. There's an ethical and relational undertone. For example, “a happy life” (幸せな人生) doesn’t necessarily mean an exciting or joyful one, it might mean a modest, peaceful, emotionally grounded one.

[9] 形 / katachi, “Form or shape,” used metaphorically for tangible versus intangible things.

[10] 妬み / netami, “Envy,” A subtle emotion often unspoken in Japanese social discourse, linked to comparison and self-worth.

 

[Wintek]

[2025.07.11]
*Machine translation from Japanese to English, inaccuracies exist*

Deep Edge

 

Source: https://deepedgeplus.kyodonews.jp/column/philosophizing-yuzuruhanyu/110497/ 

Archive: https://web.archive.org/web/20250725053420/https://deepedgeplus.kyodonews.jp/column/philosophizing-yuzuruhanyu/110497/ 

[2025/07/25]

The difficulty of "empathy" [1] that Yuzuru Hanyu felt in disaster-stricken areas: Is the world filled with more despair than hope? [Part 3]

 

 

Spoiler

In Rei Nagai's philosophical dialogue question-introduction session, the person holding the stuffed bird speaks the question. Even if they get stuck for words, it's a sign that "as long as I'm holding the bird, I'm thinking."

 

Participants are also asked to use temporary names and deepen their questions by shedding their usual roles.

 

The provisory names are as follows:

 

Yuzuru Hanyu = Maegami

 

Rei Nagai = Neguse

 

Reporter 1 = Tokei

 

Reporter 2 = Natsu

 

Reporter 3 = Tanshabu

 

At the end of the last philosophical dialogue, in response to Tanshabu's question "What is happiness?", Maegami asked, "Why do we feel jealous because someone else is happy, and I'm not happy?" The questions continue.

 

Am I a "person directly involved" [1] if I didn't see the tsunami during the earthquake?

Neguse: I’ve been hearing the word person directly involved a lot recently, and I just feel a heavy weight. I go to many places all over Japan, especially to disaster‑affected areas or regions that have had strong experiences. When I share what I’ve seen or heard, for instance at universities, sometimes people say, “I’m not a person directly involved, so I don’t have the qualification to think about this,” or, “Because I’m not a person directly involved, I don’t understand.”  At that moment I thought, “Huh?” So, what does “person directly involved” really mean? At the same time, I wondered: on one hand, of course there are things you can only understand because you are a “person directly involved”; but on the other hand, what does it mean if you’re not a “person directly involved” and therefore you can’t understand? Moreover, what is it even that one can or cannot understand? Even between “people who are directly involved”, what they understand will differ. What kind of word is this? …End.

Maegami: “person directly involved”… huh. When the (Great East Japan) Earthquake happened, I spent a lot of time in disaster affected areas and met many affected people. What weighed on me then was that I had not experienced the tsunami. I hadn’t seen it up close, and none of the people who died were anyone close to me. So I had thoughts like, “You aren’t someone directly involved, so you don’t understand.” Even now, when I visit disaster stricken areas, I really ask myself: what does it mean to “to stay close in spirit” [寄り添う]? [2]

(Everyone murmurs in agreement)

Maegami: I think “person directly involved” might refer to an individual or a person in a specific role. But no matter what, you cannot become that person, nor can you know what’s in their heart. Even so, I feel that I want our hearts to be able to move toward each other [寄り添わせたい ]. But that act of aligning hearts [心を寄り添わせる] is very difficult.

It can feel as if we are two masked people trying to empathize [寄り添う], yet perhaps in truth we are speaking from deep honesty, or the person you are trying to empathize with may feel like you are wearing a mask.[3]

Neguse: Yes, yes, yes…

Maegami: I think it’s very, very difficult. …End.

("Well then," says theTokei, asking the question.)

Tokei:  Um, I'm Tokei. So, about “person directly involved”... I think that as reporters we often think about “parties involved”. I remembered when disasters came up just now, back in 2011 I went to conduct an interview in Iwate. I knew I was not a person directly involved, but I was aware I was there as a reporter.

I spent two weeks reporting, and I even helped clean houses of those affected. But even though I was doing it, it felt like what you’d call a “person involved-like gesture” [当事者しぐさ] [4], like unconsciously wanting to show I was empathizing deeply. Yet the grandfather I interviewed said, “Your job is to write and share the story,” which was perfectly reasonable. So I said, “Then I'll write,” and I wrote the article.

But still, there’s always this, uh... how to say it... When facing people directly involved, I always find myself wavering in my own position. If I were to force that into a question: “Why is it that when facing people directly involved, I keep searching for my own position?” …Yes, that's it. End.

Natsu: I'm Natsu. Currently, I’m editor-in-chief of a figure‑skating specialized site, but earlier in my reporting career I spent most time covering social security, working with people socially called in “weak position” [弱い立場] [5], welfare recipients, elderly living alone, people with disabilities. So “person directly involved” and “deeply empathize” hit me hard.

Perhaps presumptuously, I probably did empathize deeply as a journalist. But like Tokei-san said, how much of that was “a gesture”? Hard to express. Still, journalism carries a mission: if I don’t tell their story, no one will know. So I accepted that and worked hard.

One question I carry is: is it okay to even use the term “weak (people)” [弱者]? Society labels them that way arbitrarily. Should we say, “We interviewed these weak people” as if it's simple? Who decided who is weak? Even though they sincerely need help, the word “weak” is a label from our side. I wonder if we can just keep calling them that. That’s always been a murmur in me. Yes.

Talking about hope amid dire social conditions

Neguse: What comes to mind hearing all this is the performance of Maegami‑san (via video) …

Maegami: My performance? (laugh)

(everyone laughs)

Neguse: Yes, Maegami‑san’s performance gave me so much hope. Lately, especially in my dialogue work, I feel that I have been constantly searching for “hope” [希望/kibō]. I’m almost obsessed with hope.

In dialogue spaces, we work with people who bear difficulties, trying to connect in non‑violent ways, to stay in words together. So from the outside, it may seem like we can’t really empathize/connect [ 寄り添えない] , and that maybe I’m showing signs, yet I continue to cling to hope.

When I watch Maegami‑san’s performance, my heart trembles, tears fall, even then, I wonder what that hope really is.

People talk a lot about despair [絶望 / zetsubō], but hope is seldom mentioned. Even if it is, it’s often just a quick “Well, hope, I guess.” But hope is something that sits very close to despair, sometimes it comes unbidden, sometimes it’s something you search for desperately, sometimes something you create with others. It’s a mysterious thing. In these overwhelming social conditions, I still want to speak about hope. What is hope? …End.

(Silence falls as Neguse asks, “What do you think?”)

Maegami: I’m Maegami. For me, my livelihood is conveying things, it isn’t built on dialogue, it’s more one‑way transmission, and I think journalists are similar. Of course there are bad journalists (laugh). Not everyone, of course.

(laughs)

But most journalists write with the hope that the readers would feel something positive from the article. In a sense, for me too, my performances like Echoes of Life or RE_PRAY, I feel I’m performing with the premise that I hope the viewer feels some hope in their life.

Then there’s the earlier point: “despair is talked about a lot, hope is often just glossed over.” For me, after experiencing the (Great East Japan) Earthquake, I realized happiness is so near and abundant.

I don’t think hope and despair are necessarily opposites, but maybe it’s through knowing despair and hardship that people begin to feel hope without even realizing. The stories of tragic heroes and heroines in the world all have happy endings. In the end, they end on an incredibly hopeful note, and perhaps we viewers also feel hope by empathizing with the heroes and heroines and reliving their stories.

If a story’s kishōtenketsu [起承転結, Japanese narrative structure] [6] is made up of only the ki [起 -beginning] and ten [転 -turn], without resolution, then maybe it won’t be filled with that much hope. It may be precisely because the story falls into rock bottom that, even just returning to the starting point—or even to a slightly negative place—is enough to make us feel hope.

Naeguse: Yes, yes, yes…

Maegami: Reflecting on that, perhaps the world may even be full of despair, but that in itself is not surprising. That’s what I think. End.

Notes:

[1] “寄り添う” / yorisou, “to stay close in spirit” or “to empathize deeply.” This word literally means "to snuggle up next to" or "to be by someone's side.” In emotional contexts, it's often used to describe a deep kind of empathy, not just understanding someone, but gently staying close to their feelings without imposing your own. It suggests: presence without intrusion, compassion without assumption, emotional proximity with humility.

[2] “当事者”/ tōjisha, “stakeholder” or “person or party directly involved.” 当 (とう) = "concerned" or "relevant"; 事者 (じしゃ) = "person related to the event/matter." Common translations: Stakeholder, Person concerned, Someone directly affected / involved, "Insider" (in a more emotional/social context).

[3] For interpretation: the underlying questions are: whether empathy can truly be mutual and sincere when we are all protecting ourselves (behind "masks"); whether the person we want to comfort might perceive our kindness as distant or insincere; and at the same time: what if, under these masks, there is true honesty happening?

[4] “当事者しぐさ” / tōjisha shigusa,  当 (とう) = "concerned" or "relevant";  事者 (じしゃ) = "person related to the event/matter." Stakeholder-like gestures or posturing like someone directly involved.

[5] 弱い立場 / yowai tachiba, "weak position" or "vulnerable position." This term refers to a socially or situationally disadvantaged or vulnerable position, a person or group who lacks power, influence, or protection in a given context. It doesn’t necessarily imply physical weakness, but rather a lack of agency, authority, or societal support.

[6] Kishōtenketsu (起承転結) describes the four-part structure of many classic Chinese, Korean, Japanese and Vietnamese narratives. The parts can be summarized as:
Ki (起 - Introduction): This act introduces the setting, characters, and initial situation. It sets the stage for the story and provides context;
Shō (承 - Development): The story develops, and we learn more about the characters, their relationships, and the world they inhabit. The plot thickens, and events begin to unfold;
Ten (転 - Twist): This is the crucial part where a surprising turn of events or a revelation occurs. This twist is often unrelated to the previous development. It can shift the perspective, introduce a new element, or create a sense of surprise or unease;
Ketsu (結 - Conclusion): The story concludes, often with a resolution that ties back to the twist. The conclusion may offer a sense of closure, a reflection on the events, or leave the audience with a lingering thought. 

Unlike most western narrative style, Kishōtenketsu narratives don't necessarily revolve around a central conflict that needs to be resolved. They create a specific mood or explore themes through implication rather than direct confrontation. This has led to the structure being popularly described as "without conflict.”
Sources: Wikipedia, No Film School.

 

[Wintek]

[2025.08/.08]

*Machine translation from Japanese to English, inaccuracies exist*

 

Source: https://deepedgeplus.kyodonews.jp/column/philosophizing-yuzuruhanyu/111686/?

Archive: https://web.archive.org/save/https://deepedgeplus.kyodonews.jp/column/philosophizing-yuzuruhanyu/111686/

 

What is the “boundary line” Yuzuru Hanyu discovered? — A conversation that deepens further while standing and talking [Part 4]

 

In Rei Nagai’s philosophical dialogue, when the whiteboard is full of questions, the questioning phase ends. Twelve questions were listed on the whiteboard.

To deepen the questions that arose in the first half, it was now time to decide on a theme for the second half of the dialogue. In a typical philosophical dialogue, one question would be chosen as the theme. However, while looking at the many questions lined up on the whiteboard, Maegami-san made a certain proposal...

Spoiler

Neguse: Thank you very much. Of course, there are times when one holds a question alone.

 But for me, more than bringing out questions alone, I really love bringing them out through dialogue like this.

Because, when you listen to someone’s words, they kind of draw out words from within you, or your heart moves on its own and you end up being made to think. I want to treasure those kinds of words too. That’s why I also pulled the journalists into this.

I want to choose one starting point from these, and think together from there. Maegami-san, including the questions you yourself proposed, is there one that catches your attention? A question that would serve as a starting point.

 

Maegami: I wonder what it is. This time, in this flow, I feel like there’s probably something common running through it. But when I’m asked to put that into words right now, I was thinking as I listened, “Wow, I’d really have to think hard to express that.”

(Staring at the whiteboard) There’s something about it all that feels like... a boundary line between positive and negative. Even in terms of “cherishing” something, there’s the positive feeling of cherishing it and the negative feeling of not cherishing it, where is the boundary between those?

There was also the “water” conversation, (in the second instalment, about why we demand purity from performers or athletes). Like, what is purity? On the flip side, does that mean criminals aren’t allowed to drink water?

And we talked about reading the atmosphere, not reading the atmosphere, how it differs by culture, but even before that, what exactly is a “good” or “bad” atmosphere?

Same with happiness, of course. And with the word “stakeholder” or “party involved,” [1] in the end, it feels like it’s all about how we draw that boundary.

In everything —maybe especially in today’s world— we’re always classifying, distinguishing between things. There was that question from earlier: “Who decided who the 'vulnerable' are?” That might also be connected to this...

From the moment laws exist, humans live while deciding on rules. Someone decides those rules, and based on them, we distribute and allocate things. That kind of living, I feel, is very common.

 

Maegami (continued): But at the same time, unless we divide things like that, it’s true we probably can’t live. And because we divide things, people begin to get some sense of good and evil from there.

And from that, it connects to things like: how we judge our own actions, or our very existence, whether we feel happiness, or even, “It’s okay for me to be alive,” or “Maybe I shouldn’t be alive.” We start assigning roles. I wonder if it all links to that.

So then, I thought maybe this idea of “what is the boundary line when we create rules of right and wrong?”, maybe that’s the common thread running through all of it.

 

Neguse: Yes, yes, yes.

Let’s definitely use that question as our starting point. A question is always just the starting point of a dialogue. Questions attract other questions, and I say that questions grow and evolve through that.

Just like you said now, all of these questions stick together and move forward together through the dialogue. So let’s start with “boundary lines” and think together from there.

 

Maegami: Yes.

 

The “loneliness” of you and me being different

 

Maegami: (Related to the question raised in Part 3: “Who is the person directly involved?” [当事者] [1]) But journalists are often told that “you’re not a person directly involved.”

 

Journalist: That’s true.

 

Maegami: I’m the one being interviewed, so...

Journalist: But when it comes to a journalist interviewing figure skaters, whether or not they’re a person directly involved might not really matter, right?

 

Maegami: That said, there are also journalists who start to speak on my behalf emotionally, like, “They seemed to feel this way, what do you think?” And sometimes I’m like, “Uh, that’s not how I feel...” (laughs)

 

Neguse: It’s sad to be told “You don’t understand because you’re not involved,” but it’s also a bit sad when someone speaks for you. Maybe we feel sad because we can’t truly know the other person.

 

Maegami: It is sad. I wonder, maybe all humans are, to some extent, lonely. This may have been written in Neguse-san’s book (“Philosophers Underwater”), but in the end, no matter how closely you’re related by blood, if you don’t look like family from the outside at a glance, and you’re not connected by an umbilical cord, then it’s no different from being a complete stranger.

 

Neguse: For me, “loneliness” is a very intriguing emotion. It’s often said that philosophy begins with “〇〇 (such-and-such),” like “philosophy begins with wonder.”

But I feel like philosophy beginning from “loneliness” is much closer to my truth. You and I are different, and that’s why we feel lonely. But from that, questions can be born, dialogue can begin, expression can emerge. So maybe it’s a feeling we should value.

 

Maegami: In the end, maybe humans want to share something. That relates to what we were talking about earlier, about distributing, creating boundary lines. In order to share something with someone, we may start drawing boundaries on our own.

 

Neguse: Ah, that might be true.

 

Maegami: When it comes to things we think are good, or when it comes to envy, maybe the angle changes a bit, but I feel like everyone wants society to also think what they believe is “good.”

That’s probably true even in war today. To establish some kind of rule or to take action, there are people who support it, and to gather that support, you need to create certain boundaries, like rules of good and evil.

Because people share those rules, they feel happiness, they feel envy, they feel discomfort. It’s like that emotional movement happens because of it.

Maybe it goes all the way back to when we were unicellular organisms, maybe even the reason unicellular organisms divided or stuck together was because they felt lonely... That kind of thought is fun, isn’t it?

 

Neguse: (Laughs) That is interesting.

 

Maegami: From the very beginning — from birth — even our DNA is connected in a chain. Maybe we were built to stick together from the start.

 

Neguse: Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.

 

Maegami: Or maybe we’ve been splitting apart all along —and while we don’t know whether the chicken came first or the egg— we’ve been dividing, and because we’re a collective made up of all kinds of things that have stuck together, that’s exactly why we might feel an even stronger desire to share something with someone… to try connecting.

 

Neguse: And what we mean by “connected” [つながり] [2] in that moment —what kind of state that is—that’s an interesting question too.

Is just being together considered “connected,” or is it more like wanting to fully become one, to merge into a single being? That might be the case with certain forms of passion too. “Connection” is a tricky word.

(The break for equipment setup ends. The journalist listens to the two continuing their standing conversation.)

 

Maegami: Is everything okay now? We’d already started talking, though (laughs)

 

(Everyone laughs.)

 

— Okay, let’s start the second half.

 

Notes

 

[1] “当事者”/ tōjisha, “stakeholder” or “person or party directly involved.” 当 (とう) = "concerned" or "relevant"; 事者 (じしゃ) = "person related to the event/matter." Common translations: Stakeholder, Person concerned, Someone directly affected / involved, "Insider" (in a more emotional/social context).

[2] This is a noun form of the verb つながる (to be connected / to link). It is written in hiragana in the dialogue, but the kanji form is: 繋がり or sometimes 繫がり, wherre 繋 = to tie / connect / fasten (less common kanji, still used in modern texts), and 繫 = a varia

nt of the above, also meaning connected or related.