Essays in Idleness: A Philosophical Stroll with the Monk Kenkō

Trans­lated from French

A jewel of her­mitage lit­er­a­ture, Es­says in Idle­ness (Tsurezure-gusa)¹Re­jected forms:
Cahier des heures oisives.
Var­iétés sur des mo­ments d’en­nui.
Var­iétés sur des mo­ments de désœu­vre­ment.
Réflex­ions li­bres.
Écrit dans des mo­ments d’en­nui.
Pro­pos des mo­ments per­dus.
Les Herbes de l’en­nui.
Les Divers Mo­ments de loisirs.
Tsouré­zouré Gouça.
Tsure-dzure-gusa.
Tsouré-dzouré-gousa. is a time­less in­vi­ta­tion to seize the fleet­ing beauty of the world be­fore “the dew on the plains of Adashi” dries and “the smoke of Mount Toribe” fades away (ch. VII)²Lo­cated north­west of Ky­oto, the plains of Adashi once served as a vast ceme­tery where bod­ies were left to the el­e­ments. Mount Toribe, sit­u­ated to the south­east, was the site of cre­ma­tions.. The au­thor, Urabe Kenkō or the monk Kenkō (1283–1350)³Re­jected forms:
Urabe Kaneyoshi.
Yoshida Kaneyoshi.
Yoshida Kenkō.
Yoshida Kennkō.
the ab­bot Kenko.
the bonze Kenkō.
the rev­erend Kenkō.
Kenkō the hōshi.
Kennkō hōshi.
Kenkō-bōshi.
Kenkō bō­ci., was nei­ther a fierce as­cetic nor even a de­vout in the nar­row sense of the term. An of­fi­cer of the guard, charged with at­tend­ing Em­peror Go-U­da, he chose to take re­li­gious vows only upon the death of his pa­tron, and did so in or­der to ob­serve his con­tem­po­raries from a dis­tance. In an era when the “ruf­fi­ans of Kantō,” un­cul­tured sol­diers, af­flicted the court with a “way of life far re­moved from all hu­man­i­ty, closer to that of beasts” (ch. LXXX), Kenkō knew how to pre­serve the es­sen­tial: the an­cient taste.

“Kenkō […] is a be­lated clas­si­cist. […] his es­says re­sem­ble the pol­ished con­ver­sa­tion of a man of the world, and pos­sess that air of sim­plic­ity and ease of ex­pres­sion which are in re­al­ity the mark of a con­sum­mate art.

One can­not, when be­gin­ning the study of an­cient Ja­pa­nese lit­er­a­ture, make a bet­ter choice than Es­says in Idle­ness.”

As­ton, William George. Lit­téra­ture japon­aise (Ja­pa­nese Lit­er­a­ture), trans. from Eng­lish by Henry Du­rand-Davray. Paris: A. Col­in, “His­toires des lit­téra­tures” se­ries, 1902. (Bib­lio­thèque na­tionale de France (B­n­F)).

Upon ex­am­in­ing this work rich in con­fi­dences, one dis­cerns in Kenkō two con­trast­ing per­son­al­i­ties: the aris­to­crat and the monk. He ad­vo­cates, to be sure, Bud­dhist de­tach­ment, yet con­fesses that “a man who had no taste for amorous life” would re­sem­ble a “crys­tal cup lack­ing a bot­tom” (ch. II­I). He crit­i­cizes at­tach­ment to ma­te­rial goods, yet al­ways feels “a quick­en­ing of the heart” (ch. VI­II) when re­call­ing the palace dé­cors, the ac­ces­sories of cos­tumes, or the mag­nif­i­cence of cer­e­monies. He rails against vul­gar drunk­en­ness, yet ad­mits that a glass of sake shared among “in­ti­mate friends around the fire” (ch. CLXXV), on a snowy night, is one of life’s charms. These two facets of his char­ac­ter com­bine to “form a type of old bach­e­lor [tru­ly] sym­pa­thet­ic, and who be­comes even more so when one med­i­tates at leisure upon the thoughts and coun­sels, of such in­ti­mate wis­dom, that fill the greater part of his writ­ing,” ex­plains Michel Revon. I hold him to be the great­est moral­ist, the most har­mo­nious and purest spirit of Japan.

The Essence of Zuihitsu: Following the Caprice of the Brush

“Zuihitsu, ”fol­low­ing the brush“ […]. The bonze Kenkō com­posed the most beau­ti­ful book of this genre. He is my mas­ter. I went to Ky­oto to weep at the place where he had lived. A bonze led me there. […] ”The ab­bot Kenkō,“ he said to me […], ”it is [the flow­ers] that are there!“ The Ja­pa­nese are like the sea­sons; ev­ery­thing re­turns […] with them. We are like his­to­ry; ev­ery­thing dies with us.”

Quig­nard, Pas­cal. Pe­tits Traités (Short Trea­tises). Paris: Maeght, 1990; repr. Paris: Gal­li­mard, “Fo­lio” se­ries, 1997.

Es­says in Idle­ness be­longs to that most par­tic­u­lar lit­er­ary gen­re, the zuihitsu (“fol­low­ing the brush”)⁴Re­jected forms:
“Im­pres­sion­ist lit­er­a­ture.”
“Fol­low­ing the brush.”
“Fol­low­ing the caprice of the brush.”
“Writ­ings fol­low­ing the brush.”
“Miscellanies.”
“Essays.”
“Es­say fol­low­ing the brush.”
“Es­say fol­low­ing the pen.”
“Notes taken at the flow of the pen.”
“At the flow of the brush.”
“Let­ting one’s brush go.”
“At the whim of the brush.”
Zouï-hitsou., in which the Ja­pa­nese also place Mon­taigne’s Essays. And this com­par­i­son be­tween Kenkō and our French gen­tle­man, how­ever con­ven­tion­al, is no less apt. One finds in both that sure and del­i­cate taste, that melan­choly which is never de­spair, that wholly hu­man­ist en­thu­si­asm not so much for An­tiq­uity as for an­cient virtue, and fi­nally that will to paint one­self while paint­ing oth­ers. No reg­u­lar plan, no sys­tem to con­fine the mind; noth­ing but the caprice of the brush, from which emerges a “jum­ble of re­flec­tions, anec­dotes, and max­ims thrown pel­l-mell onto pa­per, over [sev­er­al] years, around 1335,” a gar­den of im­pres­sions where wild grass grows along­side rare flow­ers. The fa­mous in­cipit sets the tone for this in­tel­lec­tual stroll:

“At the mercy of my idle hours (Tsurezure naru mama ni), from morn­ing to evening, be­fore my writ­ing desk, I note with­out pre­cise de­sign the tri­fles whose fleet­ing re­flec­tion passes through my mind. Strange di­gres­sions!”

Urabe, Kenkō. Les Heures oisives (Es­says in Idle­ness) (Tsurezure-gusa), trans. from Ja­pa­nese by Charles Gros­bois and Tomiko Yoshi­da. Paris: Gal­li­mard, “Con­nais­sance de l’Ori­ent. Série japon­aise” se­ries, 1987; par­tial repr. un­der the ti­tle Cahiers de l’er­mitage (Note­books from the Her­mitage) (pref. Zéno Bianu), Paris: Gal­li­mard, “Fo­lio Sagess­es” se­ries, 2022.

The Poetics of the Unfinished

At the heart of Es­says in Idle­ness beats the poignant sense of the ephemer­al. For mod­ern man, the flight of time is, most of­ten, a source of an­guish; for Kenkō, it is the very con­di­tion of beau­ty. “It is its im­per­ma­nence that makes this world pre­cious” (ch. VI­I), he writes. If our ex­is­tence were to be eter­nal, the po­etry of the world would van­ish at once. From this phi­los­o­phy of pre­car­i­ous­ness flows an en­tirely Ja­pa­nese aes­thet­ic, that of the un­fin­ished, which prefers to the full­ness of the moon the veiled bril­liance of a wan­ing star; and to the flower in full bloom the petals that the wind car­ries off in haste, de­spite our­selves:

“What­ever the ob­ject, its per­fec­tion is a de­fect. Leave things un­fin­ished, as they are, with­out pol­ish­ing: I shall find in­ter­est in them and feel at ease. I have been told: when one builds an im­pe­rial res­i­dence, it is cus­tom­ary to leave one spot un­fin­ished.”

Urabe, Kenkō. Les Heures oisives (Es­says in Idle­ness) (Tsurezure-gusa), trans. from Ja­pa­nese by Charles Gros­bois and Tomiko Yoshi­da. Paris: Gal­li­mard, “Con­nais­sance de l’Ori­ent. Série japon­aise” se­ries, 1987; par­tial repr. un­der the ti­tle Cahiers de l’er­mitage (Note­books from the Her­mitage) (pref. Zéno Bianu), Paris: Gal­li­mard, “Fo­lio Sagess­es” se­ries, 2022.

By teach­ing us that “the re­gret for the scat­ter­ing of flow­ers and the wan­ing of the moon” (ch. CXXXVII) is more touch­ing than the praise of their full blos­som­ing, Kenkō does not merely of­fer us a les­son in po­et­ics; he of­fers us, bet­ter still, a con­so­la­tion.

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Further Reading

Around Essays in Idleness

Quotations

“世の人の心まどはすこと色欲にはしかず。人の心はおろかなるものかな。にほひなどはかりのものなるに、しばらく衣裳にたきものすと知りながら、えならぬにほひには心ときめきするものなり。久米の仙人の、物洗ふ女のはぎの白きを見て通を失ひけむは、まことに手あしはだへなどのきよらに肥えあぶらつきたらむは、外の色ならねばさもあらむかし。”

徒然草 (國文大觀) on Wik­isource 日本語, [on­line], ac­cessed De­cem­ber 4, 2025.

“Noth­ing is worse for lead­ing astray the hearts of men than sen­sual de­sires. The hu­man heart: what a fool­ish thing!

Con­sid­er! A per­fume is an evanes­cent thing, yet though we know that the scent of in­cense on a cos­tume lasts but a mo­ment, we al­ways feel a quick­en­ing of the heart when we in­hale an ex­quis­ite fra­grance. What is told of the her­mit of Kume⁵The her­mit of Kume (Kume no sen­nin) had ac­quired, through his pu­ri­ty, the power to ride the clouds. But one day, while glid­ing above the Yoshino River, he was so trou­bled by the legs of a comely and scant­ily clad wash­er­woman that this pro­fane thought he al­lowed him­self made him sud­denly fall from the heights. who lost his mag­i­cal power at the sight of the white­ness of a wash­er­wom­an’s legs seems en­tirely nat­u­ral to me, for skin, arms, and legs of full form are most pow­er­ful re­al­i­ties.”

Urabe, Kenkō. Les Heures oisives (Es­says in Idle­ness) (Tsurezure-gusa), trans. from Ja­pa­nese by Charles Gros­bois and Tomiko Yoshi­da. Paris: Gal­li­mard, “Con­nais­sance de l’Ori­ent. Série japon­aise” se­ries, 1987; par­tial repr. un­der the ti­tle Cahiers de l’er­mitage (Note­books from the Her­mitage) (pref. Zéno Bianu), Paris: Gal­li­mard, “Fo­lio Sagess­es” se­ries, 2022.

“Noth­ing leads astray the hearts of men of this world as much as car­nal pas­sion. The heart of man is ridicu­lous in this re­gard. Al­though we know that per­fume is but a bor­rowed thing, an in­cense with which gar­ments have been im­bued for a very short time, nev­er­the­less the heart beats faster when one smells the ex­quis­ite fra­grance. The her­mit of Koumé, see­ing the white leg of a woman do­ing laun­dry, lost his su­per­nat­u­ral pow­er; and this is un­der­stand­able, for the el­e­gant and plump ap­pear­ance of arms, legs, and skin is not a for­eign qual­i­ty.”

Revon, Michel. An­tholo­gie de la lit­téra­ture japon­aise : des orig­ines au 20^e siè­cle (An­thol­ogy of Ja­pa­nese Lit­er­a­ture: From the Ori­gins to the 20th Cen­tury). Paris: De­la­grave, “Pal­las” se­ries, 1910.

“Noth­ing leads us astray as much as sex­ual pas­sion. Man is ridicu­lous in this re­gard; but our hearts beat faster when the sweet scent of per­fume reaches us. A her­mit named Koumé lost his su­per­nat­u­ral knowl­edge upon see­ing the white legs of a woman wash­ing. One can con­ceive that even a her­mit might be se­duced by the pret­ty, plump legs of a wom­an.”

Ishikawa, Takéshi. Étude sur la lit­téra­ture im­pres­sion­niste au Japon (Study on Im­pres­sion­ist Lit­er­a­ture in Japan). The­sis for the doc­tor­ate of the Uni­ver­sity of Paris. Paris: A. Pe­done, 1909.

Downloads

Printed Works

• Tra­duc­tion par­tielle de Les Heures oisives par Michel Revon (1910) (Par­tial trans­la­tion of Es­says in Idle­ness by Michel Revon (1910)). (Bib­lio­thèque na­tionale de France (B­n­F)).
• Tra­duc­tion par­tielle de Les Heures oisives par Michel Revon (1918) (Par­tial trans­la­tion of Es­says in Idle­ness by Michel Revon (1918)). (Google Book­s).
• Tra­duc­tion par­tielle de Les Heures oisives par Michel Revon (1923) (Par­tial trans­la­tion of Es­says in Idle­ness by Michel Revon (1923)). (Google Book­s).
• Tra­duc­tion par­tielle de Les Heures oisives par Michel Revon (1928) (Par­tial trans­la­tion of Es­says in Idle­ness by Michel Revon (1928)). (Google Book­s).
• Tra­duc­tion par­tielle de Les Heures oisives par Takéshi Ishikawa (1909) (Par­tial trans­la­tion of Es­says in Idle­ness by Takéshi Ishikawa (1909)). (Google Book­s).
• Tra­duc­tion par­tielle de Les Heures oisives par Takéshi Ishikawa (1910) (Par­tial trans­la­tion of Es­says in Idle­ness by Takéshi Ishikawa (1910)). (Google Book­s).

Bibliography

• As­ton, William George. Lit­téra­ture japon­aise (Ja­pa­nese Lit­er­a­ture), trans. from Eng­lish by Henry Du­rand-Davray. Paris: A. Col­in, “His­toires des lit­téra­tures” se­ries, 1902. (Bib­lio­thèque na­tionale de France (B­n­F)).
• Quig­nard, Pas­cal. Pe­tits Traités (Short Trea­tises). Paris: Maeght, 1990; repr. Paris: Gal­li­mard, “Fo­lio” se­ries, 1997.
• Sief­fert, René. La Lit­téra­ture japon­aise (Ja­pa­nese Lit­er­a­ture). Paris: Pub­li­ca­tions ori­en­tal­istes de France, “Langues et civil­i­sa­tions. Lit­téra­ture” se­ries, 1973.
• Stru­ve, Daniel and Tschud­in, Jean-Jacques. La Lit­téra­ture japon­aise (Ja­pa­nese Lit­er­a­ture). Paris: Presses uni­ver­si­taires de France, “Que sais-je?” se­ries, 2008.