What is the first question about human nature that emerges in your mind?

Is it whether man is inherently good or evil? Were we born noble, but decay morally in this harsh world? Is society the only civilising force on the inherent baseness of man? Is evil a mere aberation from humanity, or an integral part of it?

What if I were to tell you that the very thing that provides humanity with morality is the same thing that allows us to deceive, manipulate, and betray others? That goodness is directly fused with evil?

How many times have there been moments in your life where you wanted to betray a friend for your personal gain? Try to remember a moment of temptation where such an act would give you an immediate gain, such as stealing money from your friend. What held you back? Some of you would say that your inner goodness prevented you from such an act, but let me propose underlying reasons for your goodness by using two hypothetical examples.

Let us pretend that your friend would never find out that it was you that stole the money. If you still refrain from stealing, then you felt empathy for your victim. You could imagine his anger and frustration, you could imagine his fear and desperation if that amount threatens his financial survival. You feel these emotions of your friends as if you yourself were that victim. You don’t want someone stealing from you, so you don’t do unto others what you yourself don’t want to experience. Your empathy is the basis for your morality.

But now imagine a more complicated situation where you do not feel empathy. Imagine you could steal that money but blame it on another person. You know that your victim (let’s call him Pete) trusts you and is not aware of your desire to steal. Pete is much more distrustful of a mutual friend called Albert who has a criminal history. If both you and Albert had the opportunity to steal the money, you reason that Pete will blame Albert and confront him. Nothing that Albert will say will convince Pete of Albert’s innocence. You were able to discern Pete’s thoughts and his possible reaction to a future act of betrayal. You may feel some guilt, but you are perfectly willing to betray both Pete and Albert in your deception for your personal gain.

You acted morally in the first situation and despicable in the second. But what was the common element in both scenarios?

Your ability to imagine the feelings and thoughts of another person. It is an ability called theory of mind.

In the first scenario, you felt empathy for the victim and refrained from stealing. In the second, you could predict the thoughts and possible reactions of your victims and use that to deceive them for your personal gain. This ability comes from you being able to construct a “theory of mind”, and this ability may come from the mirror neurons in your brain.

Evolutionary psychologists point to mirror neurons as the basis for civilisation and human nature. Mirror neurons allow us to imagine the feelings, thoughts and emotions of another person without experiencing it ourselves. If we see another person performing an action, the same parts of the brain required for that action will light up in our person’s brain (performing that action) and our brain (only watching that action). This may be fundamental in learning skills and languages, but it also may also enable us to empathise with others. If we see another person being physically assaulted, we can feel the fear and pain of the assaultee, even though we ourselves are not being beaten. Empathy leads to morality. We do not hurt others if we understand the pain that this will cause them. We ourselves do not want to experience that pain, so we treat others like we want to be treated. This, we hope, will lead others to treat us well in return.

How can this wonderful ability lead to manipulation and deception? Franz de Waal first used the term machiavellian intelligence in his book Chimpanzee Politics to describe the ability of primates to deceive for personal gain. Chimpanzess share our ability to maintain complex social exchanges based on their ability to learn skills from others and to predict the actions of others. They can also make alliances and then break them, deceive other chimps of their intentions. In his recent book Primates and Philosophers, he also explains how morality and empathy are also inherent parts of human and primate nature.

Evolutionary biologists claim that our primate ancestors have the same mirror neurons as we do. We have evolved to even more complex forms of civilisation, but we still share the inherent animal characteristics that definen our human nature. The need for social interaction, moral guidance, and the ability to deceive are inherent characteristics of our human nature, based on our theory of mind abilities.

I came to Mishima because he was the type of character I might’ve invented if he had not existed.
Director Paul Shrader on Japanese writer Yukio Mishima. Source.

The film Mishima: a life in four chapters does not have a logical reason to exist. A ten million dollar production about an insane Japanese writer, in Japanese with English subtitles, had no chance of recouping its cost in America. It was not shown in Japanese theaters either until recently on television in an edited form. Yukio Mishima’s homosexuality, the resistance of Mishima’s widow who directed the Mishima estate, and Mishima’s ultranationalistic political beliefs barred it from being shown there. Death threats were made against Shrader’s production, and Shrader claims to have directed the film while wearing a kevlar suit.

So why did Shrader feel a compulsion to make this film? I can only speculate based on how I felt drawn to this material. Yukio Mishima, in this film and in real life, is one of the most bizarre and contradictory figures I have encountered. A bisexual masochist who became perhaps the most prolific and reknowned writer in Japan, but his legacy is tarnished by his ridicoulous ultranationalist beliefs and laughable desire to fashion himself as a modern samurai and army general.

How can we sympathise with such a bizarre figure, or even understand his motivations? Shrader shows no interest in the sensational aspects of Mishima’s life; the film is somber and reserved. I believe that Shrader saw Mishima life as the perfect opportunity to show how the compulsions of an artist can both inspire and destroy the same artist. Much is written about the madness of creative people but this film is the best biography of a writer whose work draws from his compulsive obsessions, but that eventually result in his own destruction. Though most artists do not share his madness, I suspect they understand his fears, obsessions, and compulsions nonetheless. It is also the only film which discusses the futility of words. Many writers want to understand the world and change it with words, but writing removes the writer from the real world. What writer can live according to the lofty ideals he writes down? This film is definately the best biography I have seen about a writer.

Shrader achieves this largely by adopting an unconventional structure. The film is divided into four parts, each representing an aspect of Mishima’s philosophy. Within each chapter, the film cuts between three narratives.

In normal colors, we see the last day of Mishima as he visits a local army barrack with four members of his private army. Ken Ogata (Inception) plays Mishima without any outward signs of madness. He is calm, rational, friendly to everyone. The entire film treats this material with a somber, detached tone.

In black-and-white film, we see Mishima’s troubled past. Mishima acts as the narrator of these sequences, revealng the origins of Mishima’s fears and obsession.

These black-and-white scenes are interspersed with dramatisations from three of Mishima’s novels in gloriously rich colors. Each novel dramatisation illustrates the themes that underly Mishima’s philosophy.

This is not a gimmick, but essential in the film’s ability to explain Mishima’s thoughts, feelings, and motivations. Without it, we would not understand the final act of irrational violence. A straightforward biography could not have explained Mishima’s character as well as this approach. His novels explain the man better than his life itself. In fact, his fictional work provide the dress rehearsal for what he would later attempt to do in real life.

In the first chapter, Mishima is taken from his mother by his sick and domineering grandmother. The grandmother uses her illness to exert power over the young boy, guilting him to never leave her side and establishing an unhealthy attachment between them. She shelters him from all outside contact, claiming that the boy is a frail weakling who would die out in the real world. These either lead to or reinforce his masochism. Reading through an art collection book, he becomes aroused by a painting depicting Saint Sebastion’s martyrship. He becomes a poet by age 12, but realises that words can not change reality, no matter how great his writing capabilities. He becomes fascinated by death, wishing to die for his country like all great Japanese men, but when drafted for army service, he fakes an illness to escape the draft. His words were lies, he realises, he lacked the courage to die honourably.

In the same first chapter, we see a dramatisation of The temple of a golden pavillon. An acolyte with a stammer becomes obsessed with the beauty of a temple to the point that he is unable to bear its own existence. He hopes that the American bomber planes will destroy the temple in the raids over Japan and free him from his obsession. When that does not happen, he burns down the temple himself (based on a true occurence). It is easy to see Mishima in this, who became obsessed with beauty but viewed himself as ugly and deformed. Nothing earthly can replace this void. The only release from this obsession is through destruction of beauty.

In the b&w sequences of the second chapter, we see Mishima in a gay club(this scene was edited out of the Japanese television broadcast). He becomes offended by an innocent jibe of his gay lover about his weight Mishima confesses that he sees nothing beautiful when looking at his reflection mirror. A homosexual only sees decay when looking into a mirror. He begins pursuing bodybuilding, convinced that to build a beautiful body is the same as creating a beautiful piece of art. The pursuit of beauty for a man is the pursuit of death.

These obsessions with beauty and death are reflected in the dramatisation of Kyoko’s house. A vain actor is bored with theater and sex, even if those are his only daily activities. He pursues bodybuilding to make himself beautiful, but grows concerned when a friend who is a painter argues that physical beauty deteriotes with age. A man must kill himself at age fourty to preserve his beauty, the painter claims. Meanwhile, a female gangster threatens to close down the café of the actor’s mother because they are not able to pay back the loan. The actor agrees to become the slave of the gangster, and the two develop a sadomasochistic relationship that ends in a mutual suicide. The pain, death and power of the relationship inspire the actor more then normal emotions like love, sex, or the pleasure of being creative. The actor contends that true poetry must be written with a splash of blood. Consider how Mishima himself could not feel simple emotions like love or writing for its own sake. His obsession with power and beauty made this impossible.

In the b&w sequences of the third chapter, we see Mishima exhibiting his extremists political beliefs based on the samurai code. These beliefs are not based in reality, rationality, or even true political beliefs, but with his fascination of the samurai code of honor and culture of death. He equates extremism with purity. He creates his own private army, where he fashions the 300 members as the descendants of the samurai. When leftist protestors occupy the University of Tokyo, he enters the premises to engage the protestors in a debate. The student protestors despise Mishima’s rightwing nationalism and his insistence as recognising the emperor as the only true source authority, but Mishima charms some of the protestors through self-deprecation and humor, but insists that the Japanese must recognise the emperor as the sole divine authority. Mishima is inspired by this event, and believes that art is useless if it is not tied to action.

These beliefs are reflected in the dramatisation of Runaway horses. A group of conspirators seek to assassinate all figures in Japanese society that represent western infections of capitalism and democracy. The conspirators are betrayed and imprisoned. The main conspirator is not willing to renounce or moderate his beliefs, even if rationality and the need to conform should compel him to do so. A weakened form of a belief is not pure, he argues. He escapes from prison, assassinates one of the main targets, then commits seppuku, an act of disembowlment practiced by the samurai. It is eerie how this narrative foreshadows Mishima’s death years later.

The fourth and final chapter depicts the last day of Mishima, who enters an army garrison with four members of his private army (on the pretense of a friendly visit to the garrison officer) and takes the officer hostage. He demands to speak from the office balcony to all the soldiers in the garrison. When this is granted, he starts a speech where he urges the soldiers to overthrow the current government and restore the bushido code of honor. The soldiers boo him almost immediately. Mishima, defeated, returns to the office and commits seppuku.

This suicide became news over the world, and its absurdist nature slowly led to Mishima becoming somewhat of a laughable figure. Shrader has managed to portray Mishima in a way where we understand his motives and even sympathise with a disturbed individual. Shrader achieved this same result with his earlier screenplay Taxi Driver, where a psychopath commits an irrational act of violence, but the audience feel sympathy for a character that would normally alienate them. In this film, we understand what the suicide meant to Mishima. He could die before age destroyed his body. He could escape from his fears and obssession. He could play the role of a samurai, but actually die for his art, unlike the fake theatrics of actors. He could stay true to his beliefs without the real world diluting the purity of these convictions. And he finally combined words with action.

Most ambitious people fear obscurity, and the impatient want fame as soon as possible. But consider this: obscurity gives you the space needed to make mistakes and learn. You may hate the initial years where you drudge through your work and training without receiving any recognition. But these frustrating years can represent the time where you have the most freedom and learn the most. Once you do enter the public gaze of your chosen field, you have years of experience that prepare you to deal with the pressures of expectation.

Feelings of comfort can hampen our progress. Dissatisfaction and despair often motivate us to improve our lives despite the costs of doing so. Words of comfort can reduce our drive for change. Words that are meant to inspire can lead to complacency.

Knowledge is not the same as action. The Chinese have a proverb; To know but not do is not to know. The German poet Goethe expressed it this way: Knowing is not enough; we must apply. Willing is not enough; we must do. It still surprises me how the simplest truths take years of experience to fully understand, even if we believe we understand them immediately.

Education is an admirable thing. But it is well to remember from time to time that nothing that is worth knowing can be taught.

Oscar Wilde, A few maxims for the over-educated, source

No schooling was allowed to interfere with my education.

Rosalba: the Story of Her Development, by Grant Allen. Often misattributed to Mark Twain.

What greater accomplishment has civilisation brought us then mass education? It is the spring board for our life and our ambitions. To deprive a child of education amounts to child abuse.

But are you receiving adequate education? Many of you readers may come from areas where public education is is in ruins. Reading articles and watching documentaries on the state of education in parts of America fills me with despair. Changing the education system is one of the hardest things to do. The education system is marked by bureaucracy from within and political resistance from citizens (education is a hot button, and most politicians shy away from change for this reason). Many children in impoverished environments are forced to fend for themselves, including their own education. Only a precious few take this responsibility seriously.

But even those among my readers who received the best education possible may lack true knowledge. Perhaps the greatest cost of going to school is that we are, in our most formative years, exposed to an environment that has little relation to the real world. Many of us go through school, doing our homework and get the grades, in the mistaken belief that this will prepare us for the real world. Many of the greatest skills in life, far more important than any book knowledge, will never be discussed in the class room. We become dependent on someone else giving us information, which can reduce our drive to seek out information ourselves. I am constantly amazed by highly educated and intelligent people who have no curiosity beyond their specific field. Sometimes the most educated people are the laziest intellectually.

The greatest knowledge comes through our own efforts, and I am spending my time unlearning all the false ideas I formed in my adolescence. How has school prepared you for finding out what you want? How has it helped you to deal with others who try to gain power at your expense? How has it prepared you to approach the person you love? Many of you reading may scoff, thinking that these are soft skills that have no place in the class room. Perhaps, but many of us have failed in life because of these soft skills, no matter how great our knowledge of hard science.

Ellis’ book Overcoming Procrastination (co-authored with William J. Knaus) helped me finish my master thesis, and I started reading his work on anxiety afterwards. All his advice is based on the core philosophy of rationality and unconditional acceptance. This unconditional acceptance of humanity and the human condition seems almost spiritual in its completeness, and I sometimes fear it is unattainible. But I keep returning to this philosophy in my life and keep seeing the wisdom of it. A rational/realist view of humanity and the human condition seems to provide a more efficient way to navigate through life’s problems.

Ellis central claim is that irrational beliefs are the agent that cause most psychological suffering. It is not simply traumatic events or circumstances, but our perception of these events and circumstances that cause unnecessary suffering (rational mourning or sadness are not irrational, even beneficial). Instead of rehashing your past for closure, it is more important to find your irrational beliefs and dispute them.

Ellis identified three main irrational beliefs that lead to psychological suffering. I found these invaluable to help overcome my own fears and doubts. Avoiding these three irrational thoughts allow you to focus on reality and make decisions based on rationality.

Irrational thoughts
1. Everyone must think that I’m perfect or I will be worthless.
2. Everybody has to act the way I want them to act, and if they don’t, I will find that insufferable.
3. The universe has to give me what I want and the way I want it, and if it doesn’t, I will find that insufferable.

Albert Ellis humurously termed this way of thinking “musturbation”. Instead of simply preferring something, one demands that these wants must be satisfied or one feels like dying. Ellis advised to dispute these irrational beliefs whenever they rear their ugly head.

Disputing irrational thoughts
1. Ellis said that the concept of self esteem has caused the greatest emotional suffering in the twentieth century (Ellis is infamous for his abrasive polemic). The idea of self-esteem is highly subjective and far too dependent on factors outside of our control. We humans are flawed and highly fallible, no matter how great our strengths. We may feel great after a great action or turn of events, but we also feel shitty after something shitty happens. Managing the opinions of others is even more difficult, because we can never please everybody. Since self-esteem can not be accurately quantified, we should stop basing our self-worth based on our actions and accomplishments. Instead, we should accept ourselves unconditionally. We may rate our actions as good, bad, succesful or unsuccesful, but this does not mean that it has to reflect on our self worth.

2. Other people are flawed and fallible, too. They can lie, cheat, hurt others, and otherwise fail to live up to their lofty words or ideals. Civilisation has brought us wealth and security, but we still suffer many of the same evils of human nature that society can not eradicate. We are at the mercy of people who often do not have our interests at heart. We blind ourselves to this reality by imposing our values on others and expect them to act accordingly. We then act surprised when they disappoint our wishes and take advantage of us. The only way to deal with this is to understand human nature and unconditionally accept it, no matter how positive or negative, and realise that they have no real obligation to act according to our wishes.

3. The idea that we can shape our own destiny is the most powerful and seductive idea of all. Every religion or new sect has this at the very root of their philosophy. The notion that we live in an indifferent universe that doesn’t care for our suffering is unbearable. Again, we obsess at the injustice of the universe in not providing us with what we want, instead of focusing on what we can achieve. Accepting that we live in an universe where we have little to no power to control events allows us to focus on what we can change.

Algernon, in Oscar Wilde’s play The importance of being earnest.

We often fear the uncertain outcome in the beginning of any relationship. It inspires too much anxiety. We thereby rush through the motions, trying to reach a positive outcome as quickly as possible. Often this results in an unsuccesful mess, but even if succesful, it bypasses the opportunity for a pleasurable courtship. Uncertainty inspires the other person to think of you, not to take you for granted. It gives them the pleasure of trying to figure out your motives and intentions. It makes them more involved. And any delayed climax will induce a greater release of emotions.