TETSUGAKu-do PARK

"When I resigned from the Philosophy Academy, today's Toyo University, I first thought of the Temple Garden of Philosophy as my retirement place. Yet, due to the subtlety of the precinct and the purity of its ether, it suggested itself naturally as a place for mental cultivation. Therefore, I wanted it to become a park in the outskirts of Tokyo for cultivating students, or young people in general. I enlarged its area and erected more buildings. Beginning in 1906, I dedicated myself exclusively to its management and finished its basic structures."

– Inoue Enryo (translated by Rainer Schultz)

Guide to the Temple Garden of Philosophy

The Temple Garden of Philosophy was established by my father, the late Doctor Inoue Enryō, as a work of his later years, subsequent to his retirement from the Tetsugaku-kan 哲學館 (the Philosophy Academy, today's Oriental College or Toyo University). The plan and design of this temple was quite original, and it is for this reason that I can, even to this day, divine his mood and mind as a living spirit which steps forth from this creation of his to meet and greet me.

To understand this creation of his, one must know certain aspects of his character. He declared that he valued the jewel and the stone equally. Some artist may consider my father's symbolic representations of philosophical ideas inconsistent with true art. Such a criticism would not touch the real value of his work, which is truly an expression of his character. He was a man of great initiative both as a philosopher and a businessman. Hence, in this unique creation we discern, if not the artistic notes, the unusual blending of the transcendent tones of the philosopher and the practical achievement of the man of business.

The Temple Garden of Philosophy was originally established by his own contributions. He acquired funds for this purpose by the sale of his calligraphies at moderate prices, ranging from fifty pence to ten yen. Half of the sum thus gained, together with private holdings accumulated by means of his thrift, were contributed to the Temple. The remaining half acquired by the sale of his ideograph compositions was denoted to local public works.

In order to accomplish his gigantic task he was obliged to give a total of 5503 lectures, to a total audience of 1,378,675 individuals, in 53 cities, in 481 counties, 2261 villages and towns, making all in all 2,796 places, covering a period of twelve years, dating from 1906 to 1918 (statistics covering the work of 1919 are not included herein). I have no definite knowledge as to what influence my father's lectures may have exercised upon the people. I do know, however, that he cherished the hope of making them understand Japan's national ethics. He exerted himself to the utmost to achieve this end, working ceaselessly with an indefatigable energy.

It was in the year 1919, when he was on his way back to Japan, having completed a lecturing tour in China, that he suddenly fell ill during a lecture at a Dàlián kindergarten. This illness proved fatal, for in the early dawn of the following day, June 6th, 1919, he passed away, taking his last breath in the school, where only the day before he had been lecturing. It might thus seem that his innermost desire was granted, inasmuch as he had hoped death would find him in the midst of his glorious task.

He had provided in his last will for the permanence of the Temple Garden of Philosophy by leaving for that purpose property approximating in value 500,000 yen. Accordingly, the Temple Garden of Philosophy Foundation was chartered by the Minister of Education on December 9, 1919. Under this charter the management is in the hands of three directors: OKADA Ryōhei 岡田良平, my father's friend, KANEKO Kyōsuke 金子恭輔, my brother-in-law, and me. It is gratifying, therefore, to realize that the will of my father will be carried out in accordance with his most cherished wishes.

As one of the directors, I wish to see forth the spirit and purpose of the Temple Garden of Philosophy. It is intended not for scholars who live their lives in books, but for the common people, to enable them to understand and realize in their lives principles of philosophy.

On the temple grounds we find a library comprising some forty thousand ancient volumes. However, this vast collection of books was only a means to an end, for after he had thoroughly read and digested this ancient literature, he cast it aside and faced the living truth of a living world. In one of his own books we find a passage which vividly pictures an experience of his youth that dominated his later life. It runs as follows:

In ascending Eminent Summit Mountain 比叡山 (Mt. Hiei) one day, I discovered to my surprise that but few pilgrims seemed to be intent upon making the ascent. Another mountain, Mount Highplain 高野 山 (Mt. Kōya), was greatly frequented and generally crowded with mountain climbers. The former is situated near Kyoto, the ancient capital of Japan, whereas the latter is located in a remoter section of the country, distant from that city. Why then, we may well ask, should the pilgrimage to one of the mountains be so great, while that to the other was so insignificant? It appeared that this strange circumstance was wholly dependent upon the individual characteristics of the holy men who had opened up the paths to these two mountains, and to the temples erected on their summits. The temple which is located on the top of Eminent Summit Mountain was founded by the Great Teacher Transmitting the Teaching 傳教大師, or Saichō 最 澄 (Utmost Clarity), and the one on Mount Highplain was founded by the Great Teacher Spreading the Dharma 弘法大師, or Kūkai 空海 (Sea of Emptiness). Although these two priests were contemporaries and both of them knew equal fame, Saichō, on the one hand, as the Emperor's adviser, kept himself aloof from the public at large, whereas Kūkai wandered through the country, exerting all his efforts towards the uplifting of the lower classes. For this reason Saichō's merits are today acknowledged but by the few, while Kūkai's praises are constantly sung and his great benevolence is never forgotten. Arrogant as it may appear to compare myself to these famed sages, it would be my desire to emulate the virtues of Kūkai rather than those of Saichō.

Inspiration derived from such early experience dominated my father's entire life. It is of importance, therefore, for those who visit the Temple Garden, if they would grasp the living spirit of my father dwelling therein, to bear in mind that, because of his unselfish devotion to his democratic ideals, he gave himself wholly to the service of the common good.

It may be said that while my father looked upon the priest Kūkai with great reverence, he also held Herbert Spencer, the English philosopher, in high esteem. At the time he was sojourning in England, some years ago, he was profoundly moved at the sight of the simple tomb of this renowned philosopher in the midst of the common people, as was befitting of a simple scholar who scorned titles and rank. Upon completing his country-wide wandering in Japan, it was his intention to found a philosophy, as Herbert Spencer had done, a plan which came to naught, owing to his unexpected and sudden death. There is no need, however, to lament this circumstance, since my father's mission as a scholar belonged to the past and had its climax in the period of enlightenment, the philosophic renaissance of Japan. His mission as a philosopher-saint, the Sage of Wadayama 和田山 (Peaceful Paddy Hill), has no end. Would his influence be more far-reaching and effective had he lived on and continued his education of the people than it will be as it now emanates from his living masterpiece, the Temple Garden of Philosophy, the fit crystallization of his spirit? His last poem, written just before his death, composed at the Great Wall of China, is very suggestive of his noble life. The poem in literal translation is as follows:

Leaving the country inn, as the morning dawns, Before the sun has risen over the valley

I ride forth upon my donkey and labor up the stony mountain path

Yonder in the distance, under the shining sun, I see the majestic work of the mighty Emperor of Qín

The thousand mile wall of a thousand years ago, Still unchanged, immutable for all eternity

The thought couched in the words of this poem, being the words of a philosopher and saint, is well expressed in an Oriental motto, he was "the first to suffer, the last to enjoy" 先憂後楽. I might indulge in loud lamentation, thinking how much more my father might have achieved had he lived to a greater age. I feel, though, that lamentation is needless. His temple, which may appear at first glance to be an anachronism, is animated by his spirit, a vital spirit working for social reconstruction.