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Zen and Ghibli: Life Lessons for Lasting Happiness from the Legendary Studio - Hardcover

Suzuki, Toshio

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9798217184699: Zen and Ghibli: Life Lessons for Lasting Happiness from the Legendary Studio

Synopsis

The secrets for how to live a happy, enlightened life from three charming Buddhist monks and Toshio Suzuki, the Oscar-winning Studio Ghibli producer behind internationally beloved and acclaimed films including Spirited Away, My Neighbor Totoro, and The Boy and the Heron.

One visionary filmmaker. Three Buddhist monks. Countless life-changing lessons.

How do we live now? In Zen and Ghibli, legendary Studio Ghibli producer Toshio Suzuki embarks on an intellectual journey with three leading Buddhist monks—Sokyu Gen’yu, Nanrei Yokota, and Shinsuke Hosokawa—to explore Zen themes woven into the universally treasured Ghibli films. In ways unpredictable and delightful, life-changing lessons are revealed, such as:

  • zazen, redirecting our focus inward (Kiki’s Delivery Service)
  • kunjū, learning through observation (The Wind Rises)
  • fushiki, strength in not knowing (Princess Mononoke)
  • furyū monji, how to convey feelings that cannot be expressed into words (Howl’s Moving Castle)

From the skill of embodying nothingness as a form of worry relief, to why Kiki’s black cat Jiji stopped talking, each conversation gradually reveals a basic principle that lies at the very heart of Zen Buddhism and Studio Ghibli—that we, and our world, are worth fighting for.

Beautifully illustrated with Japanese artwork and stills from these iconic films, Zen and Ghibli is at once a charming antidote for our times and a fascinating glimpse into the magic of Studio Ghibli that has shaped fans for over forty years.

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About the Author

Toshio Suzuki is an award-winning Japanese film producer. He is the chief producer and co-founder of Studio Ghibli, alongside Hayao Miyazaki and Isao Takahata. He was president of the company from 2005-2008, and remains a chairman there.

Beth Cary is a translator of fiction and non-fiction and interpreter who has worked with Studio Ghibli filmmakers. She is co-translator (with Frederik L. Schodt) of Hayao Miyazaki’s Starting Point and Turning Point and translator of the two-volume set Hayao Miyazaki and the Ghibli Museum.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

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1

How I First Encountered Hakuin

Suzuki: It's nice to meet you. I've been looking forward to this.

Hosokawa: Likewise. I grew up watching Studio Ghibli films, so it's an honor.

Suzuki: I actually came to Ryūunji temple once with my mother. She moved to Tokyo from her hometown of Nagoya when she was eighty years old. On my days off, she and I would visit the temples near our house. We continued doing this for twelve years. She would say, "Pretty soon I'll be buried in a place like this." At some point, we had visited all the nearby temples, so we started going to those in Yanaka.

Hosokawa: Is that so? There are so many temples in Yanaka, you could spend many weeks visiting them. Did you like them?

Suzuki: I went to a Buddhist school in Nagoya, and so I would visit Kyoto and Nara every year. And the more I went to the temples, the more I grew to like them.

Hosokawa: There are many people who feel an affinity with Buddhism, even if they aren't devout Buddhists. When I was in primary school, my friends were all sporty, while I was in charge of looking after the class animals. When one of the goldfish died, my classmates asked me to recite a sutra. Now, as a priest, I am thankful for the fact that even children think when a living being dies, a sutra must be recited so their souls can rest in peace. Yet there are many monks of our generation who want to delve further into the origins of Buddhism, rather than accepting, complacently, the foundation that we have. That's why I hope to learn from you, Suzuki-san. You have gained a lot of experience from producing animation films and working in advertising.

Suzuki: No, no, I intend to learn about Zen from you.

Hosokawa: My father, while at our temple, collected calligraphy and paintings by Hakuin Ekaku [1686-1769], the father of restoration of the Rinzai sect. We currently happen to be exhibiting the paintings and calligraphy by Hakuin that the temple owns, and I am glad you were able to see them today. You seem to like Hakuin. What aspects of his work are you most drawn to?

Suzuki: What can I say . . . Perhaps the fact that his work is easy to copy.

Hosokawa: I can assure you that none of the works we have are forgeries!

Suzuki: I once copied a painting of Bodhidharma by Hakuin. I like to copy things. It wasn't an accurate copy, though, and each time I drew, it looked a little different. But people said they wanted my drawings, so I started giving them away.

Hosokawa: That's wonderful. We'd love to have one.

Suzuki: The reason I became interested in Hakuin is a long story. Is that all right?

Hosokawa: Please, go ahead.

Suzuki: I always liked drawing and would often doodle. I first met Miya-san-the director, Hayao Miyazaki-in 1978 when he was directing Lupin III: The Castle of Cagliostro. I was the editor of a magazine at that time, and so I interviewed him. We got on well, and from then on we saw each other every day. I thought if I could work with him, it would be fun every day. I didn't think about his talent; we would simply meet up each day and chat. We both had a habit of having a piece of paper near us, and before we realized it, one of us would start doodling. He was much better than I was. So, at some point I turned to calligraphy. At first, I used felt-tipped pens and pencils, but gradually I began using a brush.

Hosokawa: So, you converted from drawing pictures to writing.

Suzuki: As a producer, I meet a lot of people. Before I knew it, I was writing down what we discussed. It meant I was using the brush for many hours a day. Writing in this way every day for some twenty years, I became better at it. And eventually, I was asked to write the signs for exhibits at the Ghibli Museum.

I started buying and reading books on calligraphy by different people. When I read a book about Hakuin, I thought perhaps I could copy him. That's quite presumptuous, isn't it! But nonetheless, I began to copy his drawings and his writing. It's like the Rinsho method of learning calligraphy: copying what has already been written. Without showing one's own personality, one learns how to use the brush by copying a famed calligrapher's masterpieces over and over again. Of the books I collected, I liked those by Ryōkan [1758-1831], Sengai [1750-1837], and Hakuin best.

I hope to continue writing. And so when I saw your television program about Hakuin, I told the editorial department I had to talk with you.

Hosokawa: I am very glad you did. In my family, I wasn't allowed to look at manga and anime, but I was allowed to see Ghibli films. The first film I saw was My Neighbor Totoro, then Kiki's Delivery Service. I went to see Spirited Away in my wandering monk's robes while I was undergoing training.

Buddhism Made Easy

Suzuki: Wasn't Hakuin's work what we would now call "entertainment"?

Hosokawa: Possibly, yes. They may also have been advertisements for the teachings of Zen.

Suzuki: In centuries past, the head priest would gather his parishioners in the main hall and give talks on various topics. People used to enjoy them. I suppose Hakuin's hanging scrolls served a similar purpose. In those days there were no movies, after all. It seems to me that these were to be enjoyed, while also conveying Buddhist teachings.

Hosokawa: Communication is at the heart of Buddhism. The reason the Buddha, Shakyamuni, left his wife and child as well as his royal rank of prince at the age of twenty-nine and became a monk was to escape from the four inevitable sufferings in human life: birth, aging, sickness, and death. To this end, he practiced asceticism, sitting in meditation under the bodhi tree. He reached enlightenment, realizing that "this body is only borrowed." Upon one's death, one's body returns to the earth and is transformed into various other things. His soul was calmed by this revelation, but what he did next was really special.

Suzuki: Yes?

Hosokawa: Shakyamuni had been sitting alone. With a heave-ho, he pulled himself up, keen to share his revelation with many people. I think this heave-ho should be commemorated. If Shakyamuni had just reached his own salvation, we wouldn't have Buddhism as it is today. Instead, he stood up and told those who were confused and in pain about his teachings so that as many people as possible could also calm their souls. This is where Buddhism began, and it is the same reason that Hakuin took up his brush.

Suzuki: I see. I once knew a priest who, like Hakuin had, taught me about Buddhism in an easy-to-understand way. His name was Kōin Takada, and he was the priest at Yakushiji temple in Nara. We met during my student days, when I often went to Kyoto and Nara. On one visit, he surprised me by suddenly speaking about the actor Alain Delon.

Hosokawa: Is that so? My grandfather, the Zen priest Taidō Matsubara, was a close friend of Kōin Takada. We have both Matsubara and Takada to thank for the fact that there are so many books which accessibly explain Buddhist philosophy published today. These priests, who were so learned and of such established positions, spoke in a way that anyone could understand. I was struck by a monk at Yakushiji temple saying, "What's wrong with a monk liking rock music?" He was a fan of the group B'z. I wondered, "How does this monk know about this rock band?" This ability to relate is what reaches the hearts of pupils on school trips.

Suzuki: That's powerful.

Hosokawa: My grandfather, Taidō Matsubara, continued studying, even under the specter of death, until just three days before he died aged 102. His experience during the war had a lasting impact on him. While his peers from his training received their draft orders, he was excused from military service because he was physically weak. However, toward the end of the war, he was drafted, regardless of his health, and made to carry a weapon, even though he was a monk. I can't imagine how he felt. After returning home from the war, I heard that he would study late into the night, from three a.m. on.

Suzuki: From three a.m.!

Hosokawa: Yes, he was that way even after turning one hundred. He was the very model of a monk-studying for his entire life, with retirement only coming at the end of life. We call the death of a Buddhist monk or priest a senge-a passing over from the place of teaching on to the next world. "The day that I die will be the first day that I preach in hell," he would say. "I won't be able to meet you in paradise." Even at the end, he wanted to go to where those who were suffering were and preach the teachings to them.

Hakuin's Catchphrase

Hosokawa: We often liken enlightenment to the moon, and the Buddha's teachings are merely the "finger" pointing toward it. If we concentrate only on the finger, we don't see the moon, which is the essential part.

Suzuki: This is often the way of things.

Hosokawa: I think that the advertisements for your films can be called the finger. You and Shigesato Itoi, the copywriter, have attached many great taglines to Ghibli films. It seems to me that the way you point your finger is so that the eye can aim toward the moon.

Suzuki: That is something I think about. Taglines are used so that people will go to see the film. The films that Miya-san makes acknowledge the weakness in people. With this recognition, even weak children can find a way to become healthy and energetic; that's the kind of films they are. And those taglines help everyone who sees them. That's the reason why I string the words together-to bring people to the films.

The tagline for The Wind Rises was "You must live." I happened to write it with a brush, and the advertising producer said, "Let's go with that." Simply put, it means: "There may be many hardships in life, but you must live regardless." Everyone is facing difficulties in society, and we can offer encouragement. But I always tell myself that I can't get caught up in how many people the film reaches. Of course, I'm happy if many people see a film, but really, I just hope that the message gets through to those who understand it.

Hosokawa: I think there is a difference between "telling" and "communicating." Telling is a one-way process, whereas communicating is a reciprocal exchange. For example, unless the viewer responds to what Hakuin is communicating through his hanging scroll, it won't be truly received. When I give talks, I am particularly careful to make sure my message can be received.

Suzuki: That's what I say to my staff. It's no good to say, "I've told you this." You can say it over and over, but it doesn't mean that the communication has been received. Communication only takes place when the other party understands what you're saying.

Hosokawa: Incidentally, the tagline for Princess Mononoke was "Live." For The Wind Rises it was "You must live." If you were to come up with a catchphrase for Hakuin, what would you say?

Suzuki: "Why don't you try living?" That might be it. "The world isn't all bad, but you have to make a bit of an effort." That's how I see him.

Hosokawa: Just before he died, the poet and writer Shiki Masaoka [1867-1902] wrote, "I used to think that the enlightenment of Zen meant being able to die with peace of mind in any conditions, but that is wrong. I have come to realize it is to live with peace of mind in any conditions." Similarly, I used to think that Zen was simply accepting that death is close by, to live knowing that you can die at any time. But actually, it is much more precious and difficult to continue living with peace of mind, isn't it?

Suzuki: That's true. As someone who writes calligraphy, I know that the relaxed, easy nature of Hakuin's work is very difficult to achieve. It's not something I can attain.

2

How to "Let It Go" and
"Live in the Here and Now"

Suzuki: The other day, I saw you on television talking about the terms hōgejaku, "forget about it," and sokkon mokuzen, "close at hand." They're such wonderful phrases.

Hosokawa: They are Zen terms that mean "to let it go" and "live in the here and now." Don't get caught up in the past or the future, as Shakyamuni said twenty-five hundred years ago.

Suzuki: So, these are sayings from the time of Buddha. In Western modern pragmatism we think of the present as being within the flow of time, situated between the past and the future, don't we? But I wonder if that is true. . . . It really bothers me. I meet such a variety of people, and many of them have forgotten what is right in front of their eyes. Life is supposed to be "que sera sera"-we don't know what tomorrow will bring. Yet we are all encumbered by the past and forever thinking about the future. Everyone is struggling with this.

Hosokawa: Of the main character in the Studio Ghibli film The Red Turtle, the poet Shuntarō Tanikawa said, "He is like a newborn baby." I often say that the enlightenment that we Zen monks aim for is akin to experiencing life as a baby. A baby isn't thinking "What shall I do tomorrow?," nor does it think about what happened yesterday. It laughs when it wants to and cries when it wants to. Wouldn't it be wonderful to live this way? The world might become a little chaotic if we all lived as babies! But, I think having a sense of that mindset is important.

Suzuki: I see what you mean. The main issue with being caught up in the past and the future is that you're unable to concentrate on the present moment. That is why I'm often saying, "Focus on the present."

Hosokawa: It used to be that even if the weather forecast was for rain, but it didn't actually rain, we felt like we lucked out. But now that the accuracy of forecasts has improved, we can find out what the weather will be an hour from now. It feels like it is so fixed, it is suffocating. And this can be distressing.

Suzuki: We don't truly know what is going to happen to us. That's what makes life interesting!

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