Published on November 6, 2019. In an era when Japan’s intellectual world during the Cold War was saturated with left-wing thought, the author became a high school teacher at a preparatory school attended by the children of business executives, bank presidents, and organizational leaders. From his premonition of the eventual collapse of socialist economies, he reflects on Epicurus, hedonism, and the point at which hedonism turns into utilitarianism.

November 6, 2019.
It was a preparatory school attended almost entirely by the children of men of practical affairs, and their fathers were corporate executives, bank presidents, or the chief managers of organizations.
It was a completely capitalist camp, the exact opposite of the intellectual world.
The following is the continuation of the previous chapter.
Walking through the wilderness while looking ahead.
When I saw, in the back streets, the figures of people whose unemployment benefits had been abolished by the government, I was struck with awe by the revelation that the socialist economy would eventually collapse.
But in Japan, no one knew it, and no one even thought about it.
The intellectual world was entirely painted over by the socialist camp.
The university professors called progressive, the reporters of major newspapers, all the editors of publishing houses called conscientious, men of letters, journalists, directors, actors, and TV commentators were all leftists, whether idealistic or utopian.
That was the actual condition of Japan’s world of thought during the Cold War, and they were enjoying their springtime of power, aggressively confronting the practical men of the business world, political world, and bureaucracy who belonged to the capitalist camp.
How could I possibly have been happy in Japan in such an age?
I was still only twenty-six.
My academic adviser told me that if I wrote my name in the register at the Private Schools Hall, I could become a teacher, so I did so, and soon I was contacted and became a high school teacher.
By the “method of possession by guardian spirits,” I must have taken about forty courses, and I had naturally obtained a teaching certificate as well.
However, when I went there, it turned out to be a preparatory school attended almost entirely by the children of men of practical affairs, and their fathers were corporate executives, bank presidents, or the chief managers of organizations.
It was a completely capitalist camp, the exact opposite of the intellectual world.
The fathers were strong authoritarian types, the mothers were beautiful and graceful women, and the children were placed in classes according to ability and were rigorously educated to survive the competitive society of capitalism.
As someone who disliked education, I could not become happy even there, in a place where education was in full operation, so I quit after two years and, unable to make a living, went to Korea.
The person who introduced me there had malice.
I, being sensitive to malice, understood it immediately, but since the other person was unconscious of it, I let it be.
Besides, I had nowhere else to go.
The encouragements given by high school teachers, such as “life has infinite possibilities” or “there is nothing meaningless in what human beings do,” all sounded like empty bravado to me.
In truth, life is nothing but a wilderness in which one cannot see ahead.
“All things are accidental,” and one has no choice but to create a causal story and walk while foreseeing what lies ahead.
Therefore, since unhappiness is only natural, Epicurus teaches as follows.
“Since pleasure is the first and natural good, for this very reason we do not choose every pleasure whatsoever, but on the contrary, we often pass over many kinds of pleasure and do not consider them when more unpleasant things result from that pleasure for us. And when a greater pleasure results for us by enduring suffering over a long period of time, we consider many kinds of suffering to be rather superior to pleasure.”
In other words, it means that one should choose while foreseeing “the pleasure that results = the good.”
“Therefore, every pleasure is good because it has a nature akin to us, but nevertheless not every pleasure whatsoever should be chosen. This is just as every pain is evil, but not always something that should by nature be avoided. In any case, we must distinguish all these pleasures and pains by measuring and comparing each, and by taking profit and loss into consideration. For in some cases we treat the good as evil, and conversely, we also treat evil as good” (“Letter to Menoeceus,” H-2).
This is the turning point at which a hedonist turns into a utilitarian.
In other words, for a hedonist, what ultimately produces no benefit, and what brings loss, is evil.
Tatsuhiko Shibusawa’s The Philosophy of Hedonism (Bunshun Bunko, 1996) mistakes hedonists for aesthetes, so I would very much like readers to be careful on this point.
This article continues.