Thought in Predicate Language

Unfixed Self in Japanese Thought

The Japanese language is frequently considered as tending not to explicitly express the self or “I.” It is often explained by the absence of subjects in Japanese; however, rather than accepting this negatively as lacking a subject, it is essential to pay attention to the linguistic structure itself, in which the context naturally determines who is “I” and who is “you” within conversations.

While English manages this with the single term “you,” Japanese dynamically alters forms of address depending on situational context. When foreigners learn Japanese, they might sense that conversations continually bring forth a new “I,” emerging moment by moment based on relationships, particularly those tied to specific places. Both self and others in Japan appear as variable entities within relational contexts; there is no fixed, predetermined self prior to encounters. In other words, the self in the Japanese language can be considered as fluidity itself. Essentially, this suggests the absence of a “self” in Japan.

Personally, when briefly explaining this concept to English-speaking audiences, I often describe it from the perspective of “existing within the flow” (流れの中に存在する). However, within the spirit of Japanese cultural regions, which lack clear-cut subjectivity, ego, and identity, even this notion of “existence” is questionable. While we may say it represents a fluid self that exists within continuous flow without fixed existence, the “self” mentioned here significantly differs from the Western interpretation of selfhood, particularly in subject-predicated linguistic areas. Language structure plays a central role here; thus, it becomes inevitably challenging to convey Japanese philosophical thought accurately in English, as the latter inherently requires a subject for communication.

Take, for example, the novelist Haruki Murakami, who enjoys considerable popularity in the West. His original Japanese texts and their English translations become entirely different works. It would not be an exaggeration to say that Murakami’s Japanese works are essentially his own creations, whereas their English counterparts are largely the works of his primary English translator, Jay Rubin. The worlds presented are drastically different. Translation, therefore, is not merely about quality as determined by dictionary equivalents but an intellectual task encompassing the differences in linguistic structures, hence differences in ways of thinking. Consequently, much original philosophical content inevitably vanishes during translation, giving rise to entirely distinct impressions.