Burnout Virus: Displacement of Urban Theory

Yesterday, I wrote of how the world was irrevocably shifted by the emergence of a methodology designed by the Song dynasty Confucian scholar, Zhu Xi—a foundation of thought rooted in the separation inherent in the dualism of Ri [理] (Principle) and Ki [気] (Material Force). Bearing that problematic consciousness in mind, I wish to turn our thoughts today to the theory of the city. Personally, as I have walked through various regions of Japan, I have long pondered the nature of the places where culture is genesis. Yet, while I could grasp this sensorially, I found it difficult to articulate in language.

However, having written yesterday’s article and walking the streets while contemplating the dualism of Ri and Ki, I came to a realization. The heartache, the profound dissonance that humans feel from the modern city, may very well be the inverse consequence of this dualism by Zhu Xi having progressed to its ultimate extreme in urban design and development, placing a heavy load upon the human spirit. Of course, this may not be occurring on a global scale and might be limited to certain cities, but the underlying problem consciousness remains universal.

Above all, the reason this urban theory is so easily visualized through the lens of Japan is due to the fact that Tokyo is currently positioned as the world’s preeminent metropolis of burnout. There are various reasons for this, but the fact that the Japanese urban structure—particularly in its megalopolises—is designed to keep its inhabitants in a state of ceaseless activation effectively constructs a condition where one is “always on.” Applying an invisible pressure that compels a perpetual “on” state without granting time to switch “off” is patently absurd and unsustainable. Why, then, do regional cities, led by the major metropolitan areas of Tokyo, Osaka, and Nagoya, present such a disastrous spectacle? This was where I felt a strong, undeniable wrongness.

In truth, this invisible oppression has clearly intensified in Tokyo over the past few years. People have strengthened their mutual surveillance, triggering a chain reaction of burnout that drags everyone down together. Or perhaps, rather than burnout, we have entered a phase that precedes it—a mode akin to a tree that has withered and died. That is to say, rather than simply calling Tokyo the world’s leading burnout city, the very act of applying the conventional concept of burnout is now beside the point. Tokyo has already disclosed to the world what lies beyond burnout. Over the next thirty years, with varying time lags, cities everywhere will likely grapple with this common affliction. Just as the social issues of social withdrawal, depression, and suicide that became problematic in Japan thirty years ago are now surfacing globally with that same temporal delay, Tokyo is, in a sense, running at the vanguard of an unfortunate precedent.

One could discuss these simply as social problems. However, in this instance, I will focus on how the introduction of Zhu Xi’s dualism of Ri and Ki into the design of urban structures drives the minds of those who dwell within them toward madness.

This is because modern urban planning is premised on the movement of first drawing the ideal blueprint—the Ri (Principle)—developing it, and then attempting to optimize human beings to the completed city. In other words, what is important in urban planning is the external matter which is thought to possess the Ri itself in Zhu Xi’s philosophy. We perceive that matter as the city, but to be more precise, the Ri refers to the act of planning itself. At this juncture, the human beings who live there are not seen at all. In this scenario, the human existence is perceived only as a component, a part that need only optimize itself to the planned, designed, and developed city. To put it bluntly, it means not looking at people; but if one adopts the Zhu Xi system, the power to see people is inevitably lost.

Urban design has been discussed through various terms—grids, zoning, smart cities—but these function only within a social system, in historical regions or places where the voice of the citizen is strong. That is, urban design has preconditions based on the origin of the place. Origins change when one moves locations, but here, entangled with the counterfeit commodity of a globally unified “universalism,” place is homogenized into a singular space, and thus this issue is not considered in urban design.

It is particularly meaningless to bring this concept into regions where the historical context of citizens’ voices generating the city is tenuous. This is because, not limited to urban design, the prerequisite system structure is one where everything is always decided by the will from above. Therefore, even if examples of grids, zoning, or smart cities that have succeeded in parts of Europe are imported into Japan, where the context differs, the essence I am describing here is not understood by anyone involved in Japanese urban design and development. Consequently, it results merely in a distribution within a conglomeration of vested interests. In short, the practice of adopting novel ideas or unfamiliar terms and pretending to implement them is rampant. However, in this movement, the major premise of the import—the context of Western historical democracy and the power of the citizen—is ignored. Eventually, we fall into the current state where nothing progresses other than urban planning designed for the revenue of those parasitic upon these interests, a situation that cannot even be dignified as “top-down.” This is the reality of Japan.

I do not believe that the movement to fit humans into a city within the ideal blueprint of the dualism of Ri and Ki is inherently wrong. The problem converges on the question: in this ideal blueprint, whose ideal is it, and an ideal of what? Particularly for regions like Japan and China, which are accustomed not to the Western movement where things are achieved by the power of citizens from below, but to the Confucian top-down history where the will of the top determines everything, the very meaning of “ideal” in this blueprint becomes more important than anything else. In this case, it must be questioned whether the personality of the person involved in determining the ideal blueprint (Ri)—that is, their heart itself—possesses a “margin,” implies room to sway, and maintains a state of relaxation rather than constant tension. In short, if the person standing at the top is someone whose balance of sympathetic and parasympathetic nerves is appropriately maintained and who possesses an international sensibility, this urban design functions extremely well.

In fact, during Japan’s post-war period of high economic growth, this tendency itself appeared with vitality. However, in the process of the system shifting completely to bureaucracy toward the late 1990s, such “margins” were deemed illogical and were expelled. In the Zhu Xi system, the absolutization of intellectualism within Ri is carried out, and the bureaucracy reigns as the guardian of that system. Once such a system is established, everything illogical that cannot be elucidated by intellectualism is discarded. at this time, the signifier of the city is hidden, and the city is solidified by the bureaucratic signified. I believe this is connected to the movement in which Japan began to transform significantly from around the 1990s, but ultimately, it is also a problem of urban design. And if we scrutinize this problem of urban design, we ultimately arrive at this issue of the dualism of Ri and Ki. The problem of the city is not an idea of aesthetics.

Therefore, while grids, zoning, and smart cities may be correct as Ri, when one actually visits such places, they feel somewhat frigid and, above all, lack vitality. Originally, a city should not be defined by box-like buildings or spaces, but by the expressions of the people living there; yet, there is no life. Rather, one conclusion has emerged in Japanese urban development: there are no vibrant areas in the city centers. That is to say, Japanese urban development has failed completely, and the fact is, it has crossed a critical point of no return.

This is because the system premised on the dualism of Ri and Ki in the conception of Zhu Xi’s urban theory is the prerequisite. Simply put, it is the idea that if you build the hardware (form), the software (spirit) will enter. But when the population becomes excessively dense or exhaustive elements appear in society, a condition becomes rampant where the soul does not enter the created vessel. Tokyo is typical of this, but currently, this Tokyo model is being forcibly adopted throughout Japan, and total destruction is proceeding. Above all, the people involved in urban design do not realize this Ri itself. It is not so much that they do not notice, but that they are indifferent, or even if they notice, they ignore it. This is because, for their career advancement, evaluations that cannot be quantified are irrelevant.