Mono no aware (物の哀れ)
The greatest approximation to the human condition, and indeed, that of the human soul, is, to me, the light of a star a million light years away, visible from our galaxy as the shining, shimmering, glimmer of a jewel in the night sky that we can see deep in the darkest night from where we are on Earth, on a dark and cloudless night.
This might be the height of human hubris to say so, but I set out below an argument to prove and justify whyfore i should say so.
A star lasts for the exact amount of time the gas it comprises takes to burn out. Scientists and astronomical research often say that by the time our eyes perceive them in the aforementioned cloudless night sky, the star has, in fact, already burnt out and died off many tens of thousands (or even millions) of years ago. What we see is therefore the hope and the radiance of a light (and possibility) that is now past but yet still visible in the present.
In light of this, the existence of a star therefore indicates the potential and the possibility of its existence being realised by another entity, another being in the vast expanse of the universe we live in, and that potential of being seen by someone in the midnight sky is something so beautiful, yet something so hauntingly sorrowful at the same time.
The closest approximation of this concept does not exist in English, but lies instead in the Japanese language. The Japanese language and culture has a phrase that is not translatable to English: mono no aware (物の哀れ). The closest translation and understanding we can have of it in English is the awareness of impermanence, or the transience of things (Wikipedia), as well as a transient yet wistful sadness at the passing of states of life. The best metaphor which the Japanese culture uses to signify the concept is that of the awareness of a falling leaf: the fall is beautiful, yet the fall also signifies the end of the leaf’s life, which is what brings about the wistful sadness that an onlooker feels and empathises with when witnessing such beauty.
I often forget the concept of mono no aware when consumed with sadness (or any intense emotion really) simply because when we feel the intensity of emotion, we often focus (and want to only feel) the one-dimensional intensity of that feeling. But we often forget that the human emotional capacity and spectrum is multi-faceted and while sadness can be… well… sad… it can also be mind-hauntingly beautiful at the same time.
In my search for ontological and linguistic meaning of the potential and possibility contained within the human life which I compare to the brilliance (yet impermanent) shining of a star, I also stumbled upon the Japanese concept of komorebi (木漏れ日), which, literally translated, is the Japanese terminology for the sunlight that filters intermittently through the canopy of a tree when we lie under its shade, sometimes allowing us to see sunlight, yet at other times leaving us clad in shadow.
(In another time, and at another place in my life, I would argue that komorebi and mono no aware are in fact dichotomous concepts and are in fact different sides of the same coin. But I digress.)
Much as the shining and (long gone) flash and shine of a star can be described as a manifestation of mono no aware, I argue that the human condition and the split-second flash of a human life and existence (in relation to the rest of the vast, unending multiverse) can also be characterised by that all-consuming and singular concept of mono no aware.
And though at times we may relate to the more positive outlook contained within the experience of komorebi, mono no aware is what brings us to the realisation that though the human condition (and emotional spectrum) is deeply flawed, it is strangely (sometimes) beautiful at the same time.
And much as we don’t realise the beauty of a star except when we deign to lift our heads to the night sky, in the same way, we only see the beauty in the sorrow of a human existence when we lift our metaphorical heads (during the travails of certain experiences) towards the night sky, and come to the realisation that sometimes the short burst of being able to see a “star” can be strangely, sadly, beautiful at the same time as well.
But this mono no aware of a star (and the human condition) which I explicate necessitates the presence of a second party to partake in the experience; for this beauty to be made aware and known to someone else, that “someone else” has to be present as well. Similarly, to be aware of the beauty that the haunting sadness the human condition can experience necessitates that someone else (not the person experiencing the sadness) must be present to witness this haunting sadness as well, and come to the realisation that the sadness is not all there is to this experience.
Without someone to feel the “mono no aware”, the beauty of an already-faded star cannot be realised.
Without someone else to witness, document, observe, realise, and comment on the mind-hauntingly beautiful spectrum of the human condition, this beauty is left unrealised and unwitnessed, and can perhaps arguably be said to not exist.
Perhaps journeys in life takes not just a single individual walking along the road of life, but two individuals walking side by side, each being cognisant of the other’s experience, and thus giving life and existence to the ontological beauty of the other’s spectrums of emotion.
What happens if this second individual is not present is circumstance not explored in this brief foray into the comparison between a star and a human being, but remains to be explored by other expositions, at other dates and times.
