31 pages • 1 hour read
Kamo no ChōmeiHōjōki: Visions of a Torn World
Nonfiction | Essay / Speech | Adult | Published in 1212A modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
Literary Devices
Allusion
Allusion is a rhetorical device in which the author draws upon external works, events, or ideas and uses those references to add meaning and depth. An author’s use of allusions presupposes a shared cultural and historical context with readers, who are meant to understand the author’s references without further research or a detailed description.
The most straightforward allusions in “Hōjōki” are historical, which provide context for why Chōmei became a recluse. The first half of “Hōjōki” recounts a multitude of well-documented disasters, all of which occurred in or around Kyoto during Chōmei’s early life. Chōmei uses vivid language to describe these events, but he does not always provide the exact details. When Chōmei refers to the moving of the capital, he expects that his readers already know he is describing the move from Kyoto to Fukuhara at the beginning of the Genpei War. This speaks to Chōmei’s assumptions about his readers: primarily that they are at least passingly familiar with the events he is referencing and the larger societal context of that time.
Chōmei’s allusions to Buddhism function similarly. In Japan, Buddhist and Shinto practices have been common parts of everyday life for millennia. Thus, Chōmei feels no need to explain who “Fugen” and “Fudō” are, or why he used precious space in his hut to build a shrine and offering shelf. Chōmei similarly makes casual references to “karma,” showing the deep influence of Buddhism on his perception of the world. Chōmei is, however, mindful of readers that do not have the extensive Buddhist background that he does: When he describes the monks marking the foreheads of the dead with Amida’s symbol, he specifies that this was meant to help the souls of the dead reach enlightenment, as the rituals that would ordinarily ensure their passage to Amida Buddha’s paradise could not be performed. Later, when he mentions the “Three Phenomenal Worlds” (19), he clarifies that they are “The World of Desire, the World of Form, and the World of No-Form” (19). These references enhance the motif of Buddhism and build a stronger connection between Chōmei and the readers that share his understanding of Buddhist teachings.
Chōmei also references external texts. When discussing the joy he derives from solitude, Chōmei notes that people who are still bound to earthly attachments may not understand him, saying, “If any doubt me let them consider the fish. They do not get tired of the water; but if you are not a fish you cannot understand their feelings” (20). According to a footnote in the Sadler translation of “Hōjōki,” this is an “echo” of a passage called “Autumn Floods” from the famous Chinese text Zhuangzi. In this passage, Zhuangzi and Huizi discuss how fish derive enjoyment, arguing about whether or not they are capable of understanding the thoughts and emotions of fish—and, in turn, each other, given that their lived experiences are not the same. Similarly, Chōmei points out that people who are not recluses will struggle to understand his lifestyle unless they try it for themselves.
Anecdote
An anecdote is a short side story that is relevant to the overarching topic of a larger work or performance. In nonfiction, anecdotes are often personal stories told by authors to better support their arguments or to illustrate their expertise through a personal experience.
Chōmei uses anecdotes to assert his personal experience with the events he describes. When he writes about the move to Fukuhara, he talks about how most people were unhappy with the decision. In addition to the hassle of moving, the citizens from Kyoto disliked the new location, finding it unsuitable for construction. Here, Chōmei mentions visiting Fukuhara himself; his descriptions of the narrow roads, the loud ocean waves, and the “strange and rough” design of the new “Log-Hut Palace” add a personal touch to this overarching dissatisfaction of the masses (5). This helps build the framework of The Freedom of Isolation, as Chōmei’s descriptions of the peace, quiet, and calm of life in the mountains contrast with his experiences in the capitals.
Chōmei’s anecdotes also build the theme of Perceptions of Suffering. When he writes about monks marking the foreheads of corpses during the Famine of Yōwa, Chōmei alludes to a past famine that occurred during the Chōshō period (1132-1135). He connects his anecdote about the monks with this allusion, noting that during this previous famine “there was such a visitation. But of that [he knows] nothing” (9). This clearly separates his personal experience with tragedy from stories of the past, and it draws attention to the continuously recurring bouts of suffering that plague humanity.
Contrast
Contrast is a literary technique in which an author compares two things in order to emphasize their differences. This is often done to rhetorically emphasize the author’s point, particularly in nonfiction writing.
Chōmei structures “Hōjōki” around contrast. The beginning of “Hōjōki,” which relates to city life, is wholly negative. Chōmei describes destruction, mass death, and poverty. He writes about the drawbacks of participating in society, such as the amount of consideration one must put into how they are perceived by those around them. Chōmei is clear about his opinions of city life: “Wherever you go and whatever you do it is hard to find rest for mind and body” (12). To Chōmei, life in Kyoto is noisy, chaotic, and stressful, and the people around him are hypocritical and overly concerned with appearances.
Once Chōmei begins writing about his time in the mountains—especially his current life in his hut—he makes a point of emphasizing his peace and contentment. He explicitly states that “all is calm and there is nothing to fear” in his hut (17), and he writes of leisurely days composing music, admiring nature, and practicing Buddhism. He describes the “quiet evenings,” which are nothing like “the noise of the waves” (5) in Fukuhara or the “clamour” of “beggars” (7) during the Famine of Yōwa. Chōmei also repeatedly notes that he no longer needs to worry what others think of how he looks or what he does: the direct opposite of what life in the city is like. In a reflection of the theme of Impermanence, every detail of Chōmei’s reclusive lifestyle illustrates how different it is from city life, signifying that Chōmei has severed all ties with his old home and self and he has embraced moving on.
Metaphors and Similes
Metaphors and similes are comparison drawn between two different things. Similes use the words “like” or “as” to denote the comparison, while metaphors are implicit; both often lend to an author's tone, and they enable readers to better perceive an author's meaning by drawing upon familiar imagery or concepts.
Sadler’s translation of “Hōjōki” makes extensive use of simile and metaphor to reflect Chōmei’s use of similar literary techniques in the original Japanese. “Hōjōki” opens with a metaphor: “Ceaselessly the river flows, and yet the water is never the same, while in the still pools the shifting foam gathers and is gone, never staying for a moment. Even so is man and his habitation” (1). Chōmei continues a paragraph later, this time with a simile: “Dead in the morning and born at night, so man goes on for ever, unenduring as the foam on the water” (1). This comparison lays the groundwork for The Appreciation of Impermanence. Throughout “Hōjōki,” Chōmei asserts that nothing lasts forever, and that most things do not last even for generations. By comparing people and their homes to fast-moving rivers and fragile seafoam, Chōmei conjures an image of rapid change, emphasizing the idea that everything is temporary.
Many of Chōmei’s similes and metaphors refer to nature. He notes that “pieces of board and shingles filled the air like driven leaves in winter” when describing the strong winds of a typhoon (3). He also describes his hut as “like the cocoon some old silkworm might spin” (12), which conveys a tight, snug, yet comforting space.
