The Invisible Protagonist E-Book

Carla Ricci

• Herausgeber: Youcanprint
• Kategorie: Sachliteratur, Reportagen, Biografien
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

Set in Japan, the book tells of Kou, his extraordinary life and the compelling thread that gives the work its title. It is powerful because it shatters the notion that every human being has of himself, of feeling that he is the protagonist of his own existence. Although it is an inevitable perception, Kou helps us to understand that this is not the case. He presents us with evidence of the fact that the real protagonist is someone else, an invisible presence who silently waits for man to do what he must, does nothing to show itself but never denies its being if it is sought. In the first part, the author narrates Kou's story, but in the second part, it is The Invisible Protagonist who speaks about himself and the man he inhabits, their roles, their missions and also what death means for both of them. It is about a man, but also about all men, because the sense of infinity that permeates the book belongs to every human being and the reader cannot help but feel it. It will be like sensing the beating of your own essence, which you have ignored or forgotten until now, but which you can now rediscover and discover why and for whom you are living along with it.

Leseprobe

Contents

Foreword

PART ONE

A Passionate Observer

The Kamo Firefly

Being but Also Not Being

A Dual Self

Composure and Rebellion

Transience Immersed in Infinity

The Solitude of the Earth

Dreams and Stars

Symbols for Shaping the World

PART TWO

Another Observer

Inseparable Companions

The Invisible Protagonist

The Divine Feeling

The Revolutionary Mission

Dual Nationality

Death, Whatever It Is

An Unexpected Symptom

Fearless Warriors

CARLA RICCI

THE

INVISIBLE

PROTAGONIST

Title | The Invisible Protagonist

Author | Carla Ricci

ISBN | 9791221438260

Translated and revised from Italian to English by Heather Carroll and Sarah Schneider on account of Translated S.r.l.

© 2023 All rights reserved by the Author

No part of this book may be reproduced without the prior permission of the Author.

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Foreword

These pages are itching to introduce themselves to the world, so I will do my utmost to oblige them. Here they are now, in the hands of the reader, palpitating with my own desire to summon unknown, or perhaps merely forgotten, sensibilities that will help alleviate a difficult and at times even overwhelming life. Learning to understand this life again is not an impossible task. We might start by trying to distance ourselves from humanity’s shared assumptions and then allow ourselves to be accompanied by a sense of humility and the wisdom that comes with it. There are a thousand reasons for trusting in this and allowing ourselves to be driven by the unexpected insights that can be gained from these pages, as they reveal themselves in all their disarming wholeness. Thus it will be easy to understand that although the chaos and inconsistencies of this world will never end, each individual is able to reassess them, instilling renewed boldness to his or her own life. A boldness that comes from discovering that you are not actually that person you thought you were. My desire, shared with the weaver of this story, Kou, is that this discovery will become your own deepest and strongest supporter. That it might enrich your whole life and make it shine with a new and splendid meaning.

Thank you.

C.R.

Tokyo, 30 December 2022

The terms man and men are used frequently in the text and obviously refer to any individual belonging to the human race, regardless of gender.

The image on the cover is taken from a painting by Japanese artist, Ryou Aoki, who kindly granted permission to use it.

To you who live for me, thank you.

A PASSIONATE OBSERVER

Kyoto, Autumn 1948.

He was six years old. He could see the elegant contours of the hills surrounding Kyoto in the distance through the window of his small, south-facing bedroom. They seemed to form the backdrop for a narrow trail that was difficult to see from that distance, but not for those who knew it was there. It meandered its way through a bamboo grove before ending in front of the entrance torii, or gate, of a small, old Shinto temple long forgotten by all but this child. He immensely enjoyed going to the now almost completely abandoned place, even though he didn’t go there as often as he would have liked, for many reasons. The first being that doing so involved something quite challenging, for crossing the torii meant abandoning and surrendering yourself. It meant detaching yourself from the known and trusting in the unknown, where the reassuring, conventional passage of time and space disappeared in the blink of an eye to make way for a dimension that even the most vivid imagination could hardly have anticipated. Even the air seemed different there, magically becoming palpable, as if it were enveloped in a soft yet dense veil that made you want to plunge your hands into it. A fantasy world of strange and alien dimensions emerged from this unfamiliar state that seemed to overlap one another. They were made up of unusual shapes and colours of such extraordinary clarity that they awakened unprecedented and vivid emotions in the child, who had the special talent of not letting them fade quickly but rather consuming them slowly and enjoying them at length. Indeed, as if expanded by that jellification, they seemed to move backwards until they returned to their point of origin, only then seeming ready to exhaust themselves, when their primordial essence had been grasped.

Being able to experience such a world was an exciting and wonderfully mind-blowing secret for the child that he would never reveal to anyone, yet he had another reason why he could not access it whenever he wanted. He could not imagine going inside under the pretence of controlling time and freely deciding when to leave, as it was not up to him but rather the order of things. That is why he could not go to that secret place as often as he would have liked, but had to wait for the right moment when everyone in the family was indifferent to his absence; only then did the ideal conditions arise for his journey beyond time without any silly, ordinary events to disturb the mysterious voyage that was just as strange as its traveller. Indeed, although he had displayed a keen interest in discovering the world around him from an early age, he was unable to put it into practice with the sense of play that usually animates children when they get caught up in such exciting activities. This eccentricity worried his parents, who would rather have seen him scampering around the garden in the company of his peers than discover him squatting somewhere in solitude with a pensive, and sometimes decidedly brooding, expression, quite absorbed in exploring something that would have been unimportant to any other child but which carried far away, causing him to effortlessly transcend the reality around him. Yet the world beyond was not easy to penetrate. It required a different pace, a delicate and detached attention, constantly reverberating with a sense of wonder and respect. And he submitted himself to this feeling with a dedication that seemed only natural to him.

Unlike other children, whose ways of thinking, being and acting are continually shaped by those around them, by their environment and their daily experiences, he did not seem to be affected by these factors to the same extent. This was because the influence of circumstances and context had a more muted effect on him, as if obscured by something else, something that could be defined as a hidden but powerful force; instead of being diluted by external circumstances and eventually absorbed by them, he seemed to have great difficulty adapting to them and even ended up overpowering them, with the result that their conditioning characteristics were considerably weakened. The situation that was created did not, however, make the child more fearless and self-confident, but on the contrary confused him, leading to a sense of bewilderment and distress that was generated precisely because this force, so contrary to that of normal absorption, ended up making him feel permanently alienated from the world in which he found himself. This reinforced his feeling that the way things appeared did not represent true reality but that there was something else, veiled but in his opinion unveilable, obscure but also brilliant, to which, in his mind at least, he inevitably had to devote himself. As a child, he failed to distinguish the outline of what was happening to him, he could only feel that something bothered him, but to which he could not succumb. It was an elusive, strange and uncomfortable response, similar to rejecting a condition he inevitably ended up slipping into, but without being able to navigate it skilfully as other children could. It was considered to be the normal condition, but it was also characterised by conventionality and banality, which resulted in an inner laziness that influenced the desire for more in-depth knowledge but, in the end, satisfied everyone. As long as he was a child he wouldn’t be able to understand and was thus dragged into such normality, but he couldn’t help but oppose it, not out of a desire to do so, but because he was incapable of doing otherwise. The result was that what others considered he considered almost always meaningless and, conversely, events that he found remarkable went completely unnoticed by others. Their uniqueness did not stem from the fact that they occurred infrequently and, therefore, deserved special attention, but it was the care with which he devoted himself to them that made them extraordinary. That was precisely the point: he often felt intense, passionate interest in certain apparently insignificant situations, which led him to delve into them to the point of feeling their intimate, almost imperceptible nature, yet their rhythms were not alien to him, but rather subtly resonated with those of his young heart. When he reached that point, any sense of apathy that seemed to be gripping the world around him quickly crumbled and an opening was made to that which was his true and only interest, namely the meaning of his existence, his origin and his destiny. He had always wondered about these things, which seemed to have originated with him, ever since he could remember, and they were the real thread running through his entire tormented life. Of course, the tools he used to investigate changed over time according to the circumstances and experiences he lived through and the changes that inevitably marked his path, but the questions were always constant, as was his inability to assume truth from appearance and accept the fact that he existed only because he was there.

Even if the child was able to accept the world around him as real, it was his own presence that did not seem so, that is, it did not seem to him to be his own; it was as if he had ended up in someone else's dream, in which he was playing the part of a human being assigned to him. This constant feeling of being utterly estranged from the earthly world and yet having to act in it without ever flinching never left him. It was a perception linked to what he felt he was and which he would later describe with the word karinosugata, meaning someone who temporarily belongs to a form that is not really his, that is not his true self. It was because of this feeling of being a temporary presence within a form of himself that felt alien to him that the child preferred to be alone, drawn to observing small details that seemed trivially ordinary to everyone else but which he found fascinating. This was not so much due to the significance of the event itself, but what he seemed to be able to glean from it, which also related to the meaning of his presence on earth.

This was also true of the secret guarded by the fragile, battered plum tree in his home’s garden, quietly resigned to its pitiful appearance for so many months of the year. For the child, its apparent fragility concealed mysterious laws that he did not understand but which excited him, knowing that the time would come when they would be revealed. When the cold winter weather arrived, numbing even the most exuberant expressions of nature, the modest plum tree experienced something different. The biting air did not make it shiver at all, but, on the contrary, enlivened its vitality, seeming to participate in transforming the state of this bitter wind. In fact, despite being harsh and austere, he was inebriated by the velvety fragrance generated by the small white hearts on the tree; blossoming by the hundreds, they filled the frail branches, creating a refined and gentle harmony in which the enchanted child felt like an excited participant. The elements varied: child, tree, flowers, wind, cold, perfume; yet each of them expressed themselves and was simultaneously connected to the others. This ensured that even the slightest change in one of them produced changes in all the others without creating any dissonance, but rather a perfect harmony, albeit in perpetual flux. Was the whole, then, a single thing that continuously shaped itself into countless different, individual expressions? And for them to manifest themselves in such a splendid form of unique wholeness, did they not have to be governed by a miracle? Something like a grand cosmic law beyond the understanding of men?

He was also interested in observing the hard-working ants and their endless journeys around his home; he was fascinated by their fearless and optimistic diligence, defiantly challenging the titans that constantly surrounded them. In fact, they didn’t care at all, absorbed as they were in the demanding task of feeding their great community so that it might live for a long time in fair prosperity. They were really clever and industrious, but one of the many times he crouched down to look at them, he was struck by an unusual thought. He wondered whether their stubborn and daring way of going about things was not, in fact, the result of courage, but only the result of a biological instinct for survival. That is to say, in accordance with their nature, they acted in relation only to the world they knew without being able to see and conceive of anything else outside it, since such otherness was of no use to them. It was at that moment that he wondered if it was not the same for the human world to which he belonged. That is to say, whether it was more convenient for men, too, to proceed all together, ignoring the realities and truths that existed beyond them, just as the ants did, or whether, having an intelligence and consciousness that the ants did not seem to possess, men should dare more and challenge the apparent limitations of their world? The answers would come one after the other, much later.

There was also the almost anxious anticipation that moved him every year in the run-up to summer when, shortly afterwards, time would be marked by the passionate song of the cicadas whose lives he had studied in his science book, and more importantly he had observed directly, at length and accurately, and which seemed so extraordinary to him that he wrote an essay about them, which he read in class in third grade. On this occasion, he had not just presented the detailed evidence he had observed, but also the images and feelings that poured out from his heart. The long life in a dark cocoon nestled in the bark of trees or sometimes underground must have seemed to the cicadas like a peaceful paradise that offered freedom and protection, plenty of food and no impending dangers to face. They lived there for a long time, sometimes for several years, and then, as they grew old and tired, they instinctively let themselves be transported towards death. Coming out of their burrow, perhaps a bit frightened after so long in peaceful refuge, they look for a place to die, climbing along the tree trunks. Yet there, at the very moment when what they had expected was fulfilled, namely death and leaving their bodies behind, they realise with great wonder that they possess a second one. They find it as a lighter shell, completely different from the previous one, giving them a sense of freedom that they had not experienced before when they had considered themselves free and happy cicadas. Now with this incredible, graceful new body, they can experience the new place in which they find themselves in a totally new way. Every aspect is triggered by something unfamiliar, a crisp but gentle breeze now gently caresses them and stirs up sensations they have never felt before. With amazement, they also realise that they are now living in a dimension where, for the first time, darkness is not the dominant element but rather the radiance of light. Intoxicated by so much splendour, amazed to be themselves and joyful to exist, they now sing their hymn of love to this short but miraculous life without any fear of what might come next.

The natural world quivered around this child in an extraordinarily vibrant way and this often resulted in an effervescent, throbbing euphoria. It did not implode within itself but seemed to expand, as if it yearned to offer him tiny shards of light from that distant star that had spawned him long ago. This exuberance could not be restrained and was expressed in any way possible, one of which was to encourage the child to ask an endless series of questions in the hope that the answers received would open something up in his heart. These were often complex questions concerning his existence, that of the world and the universe as a whole. They were fascinating topics but also difficult for a child, in the sense that asking himself these questions was complex, and thus finding the right words to use to ask them of others, without the risk of being laughed at, was even more of a challenge. Other times the questions that crossed his mind were less complicated because they concerned more tangible issues that had to do with real-life events that he witnessed through the eyes of a child. He would then look for someone who seemed suitable for the task and when he thought he had found them, he would try to find the right context for his little investigation. This was not something to be taken lightly, because for Kou - as the child was called - it was a defining event. So he used every last drop of his concentration to formulate the question, not only because he was afraid of not being understood, but also because he wanted to actively participate in every tiny detail of what was happening. It was something that brought him joy, just as it amused him that he was never able to ask the question as he had prepared it. It seemed that the words could not be prepared in advance, but needed to be given free form at that very moment. Kou asked questions while simultaneously listening to himself, trying his best to fully convey the care and drive that motivated him so that his listener would be drawn into his same state of mind and would feel ready to give thoughtful, passionate and above all thorough answers. If things went as planned, the child was happy and enjoyed these moments, letting himself be infused by each sentence, finding the right place to treasure it until, later on and at the least expected moment, it would find the right occasion for him to re-shape it into a new creative expression.

Of the many questions that interested him, one concerned what adults referred to as peace and, even more so, the meaning of war, like the one that had ravaged his country a few years earlier. The war that had destroyed nature's beauty, colours and fertile landscapes and killed many thousands of people with barbaric absurdity, even though most of them had not gone to war. Initially he was inclined to believe that, with the exception of Japan, which was the victim, the whole world was unjust and violent, but then not finding a full answer, he began to seriously doubt, and then became certain, that this was not the case and that there were no countries wise enough to never practice injustice and cruelty. The more time passed and the older he became, the more he realised that the virtuous heart of man, if there was one, was silenced by inclinations of another nature which overwhelmed it; inclinations that often seemed to have a common root, which Kou believed was arrogance. Observing his surroundings, he was convinced that bullying others was a tendency that was common to all, whether children or adults. Even as a child, bullying always provoked an instinctive angry reaction in him, whether he was the one who instigated it, was being bullied by someone else or saw somebody else being bullied. In the first case, when the arrogance was his own, the fruits were truly bitter because facing his own inconsistency made him suffer, also physically, to the point of sometimes making him ill. In the second case when he was subjected to arrogance, he had no difficulty accepting it and challenged himself to carefully avoid any reaction. The third instance was the most unfortunate: the outrage he felt at seeing others suffering was suddenly transformed into anger which drove him to impetuous reactions that were always a source of trouble and which, even after many years, he was never able to completely tame. He had also noticed how an arrogant attitude fostered other equally unedifying ones and at the same time restrained the expression of those that help bring men together instead of driving them apart. These included one that he had experienced many times since he was a small child: it was a feeling formed by the fusion of emotion and affection for someone's suffering, which also filled Kou's heart with the same pain. It was usually called compassion and identified as a benevolent pity felt for the suffering of others. However, Kou was certain that this definition did not apply to him and was delighted when he learned of the original meaning of its Latin etymology cum patior in high school, quitedifferent from commiseration but translatable as 'to be with the other in suffering'. As time went by he realised why much more gentle feelings never managed to shine through, the reason being that they needed a slightly less intrusive ego to express themselves, so as to leave room for emotions and sensations that were not just related to his own gratification. Yet everything was complex. Observing the things that happened around him, it became increasingly clear that he never forgot about his own self and that it snuck in everywhere, even where it seemed impossible. For this reason, arrogance was practised in such subtle ways that it was difficult to recognise, that is, it could manifest itself even without overt abuse, but in subtle forms that are part of the common way of doing things and which upon superficial observation appear to be normal ways of behaving, also marked by opposing attitudes such as politeness and good manners. Kou was able to define this aspect more clearly when he reached the age of 18 or so, observing the nature of the relationships between men with immense interest and perceiving that these were not what they appeared to be. In fact, even when they implied deep and challenging feelings, they were often built on that old arrogance, so old that people could no longer recognise it, but which nevertheless remained such even though it tried to express itself through devotion, care and affection. Although it pained him to admit it, he, too was no exception and it was perhaps for this reason, hat when faced with grandiose words used to express the nobility of certain feelings, he felt confused and as he grew older, annoyed. One example was the word love and the redundant meaning commonly attributed to it; it was extolled as a supreme feeling but it was not and this embarrassed him. If it were such, it could not be a feeling a person offers in order to receive something in return, nor could it be affection for someone whose way of being the person would like to change according to their own expectations. Nor could it be a condition that might be useful to fill emptiness or loneliness or to have psychological or material security. Kou was confused, and as time went by the idea grew in him that if love really existed as a supreme feeling, it had to be part of something transcendent and very powerful, and perhaps that was why it was so difficult for men to enter into true communion with this feeling and give it concrete expression in their own lives.

When he became a young adult, he was able to better understand the remote origins of arrogance, realising that it had close ties with the strength and supremacy that man had always recognised in himself and that had definitively convinced him that he was superior to all other living creatures and phenomena. A condition absorbed within oneself as a self-evident, unquestionable truth and so deeply rooted that it exerts an influence not only between men and the rest of existence but between men and men, bringing out a striving to fulfil what the self requires. This peculiarity of man’s sense of superiority could thus be defined as the source of an arrogance no one is immune to, even if its forms of expression vary from person to person, from context to context, and from the events that mark each life. It knows how to charm the ego, but not only that of each individual, but that of every society on earth, so that its formative values, its systems and its moral and ethical codes are also inevitably shaped by its exuberant force.

THE KAMO FIREFLY

These countless reflections took shape as time went by, but it could be argued that their first seeds crept into little Kou very early on, maturing quickly and eventually bursting forth one day during his final year of primary school during a European History lesson. That morning he had woken up in a worse mood than usual, realising that waking up had interrupted one of his special dreams and with it the fantastic journey he had been taking there. He was used to them, those strange dreamlike excursions during which, despite their strangeness, he seldom felt distressed but instead felt reassured by them. It was like an enchantment that was more vivid than any reality and carried him into uncharted worlds, which he somehow felt were already known. In those ancient silences he was no longer able to sense his own breathing, as if absorbed by an immense, perennial pulse that marked and signified his existence. Emotion, nothing more than an overwhelming but controlled emotion, was the essence of what remained of him there, from which two simple, unequivocal certainties emerged: the expectation of reaching the destination of that journey and the excitement of recognising it, even before arriving there, as a point of return where the sense of alienation that characterised his presence on earth would subside. When he woke up, Kou was always in a foul mood because although the images of those dreams quickly faded away, he retained the feelings he had experienced for many hours and was deeply saddened by having to deal with earthly reality. Yet that time something unusual happened, because unlike his normal experience, he remembered the dream so well that it remained extraordinarily vivid even much later, making him grateful and uncommonly joyful every time he recalled it. So it was that that morning, while getting dressed and hastily checking that nothing was missing from his schoolbag, he inadvertently found himself mentally reordering the events of his dream, which he was able to retrace and review without any particular effort. He felt as if he were alone, and although he could not see his body, he recognised himself as being inside a transparent balloon floating in the atmosphere and then far beyond. He re-lived that strange sensation of floating in nothingness, but he didn't see it as a real emptiness but as something that seemed to possess a certain kind of substance. At the same time, he also experienced a sense of permanent separation from his place of departure. The further he moved away from it, the greater the darkness, but this did not cause him any apprehension, feeling as if he were cocooned in an infinite womb that he was sure would always protect him, so that the nature of that darkness became reassuring, caring and loving. In that soothing state, everything seemed to be alive and alert and Kou quite naturally felt himself participating in this vibrant awareness but also driven by a strong and unexpected emotion. It was an emotion arisen from the disconcerting recognition that everything was intelligent substance and he was the thought of that thought. This feeling was literally an enchantment, amplified by the sight of something that seemed to pierce the warm, dark sea: a small, beautiful, reverberating, intensely blue globe. The planet was beautiful but with a poignant beauty, because more than just inspiring, it stirred; this is what Kou felt, noticing the fragility that gently bathed the globe, so much so that it seemed to be supported by a delicate invisible hand holding it up, preventing it from falling who knows where. At the same time, there was the intuition that it was the earth, but there was also the certainty that it was not the place he had left at the beginning of the journey, even though he recognised it so well that he could have imagined the borders of its continents and seas without error. He felt a bond similar to that of being in a new place but with the certainty of having been there before; a bond that was amplified as an emotional wave enveloped him, releasing the warmth of the life that was unfolding there and that he recognised as familiar. He was totally absorbed in this undisturbed observation and his amazement grew even more when he realised that something powerful was taking place. The shining blue of the globe seemed to be wrapped in a lighter, bluer patina that was slowly transforming its appearance and when this coating was complete, Kou realised that the entire surface was now completely covered with ice. The vision did not alter the stillness that had been guiding him since the beginning of his journey, but the perception he now had was different, for what emanated from it was only silent, regular breathing like the characteristic breathing of people during undisturbed and peaceful sleep. He came to think that it was that of the earth as a child, as it must have been at some primordial time, or at a time yet to come, and again from that mental image he did not feel anguish, for he knew that everything that took place was what it should be. This was the last thought that concluded the dreamlike memory, full of the same astonishment that he had felt upon awakening.

Walking quickly towards the school, still captivated by these images, he wondered if they might have come to him for a specific reason, perhaps to make him think of something, for example whether time and space really existed or were just a necessary convention for humans to comfort themselves as existing in some place and time and not at the mercy of an infinite and unknown universe. If so, he thought, the past would not be something that had ended but would still exist, perhaps in a different part of cosmic space from the one in which men were now living. Might not the present and the future be included in the same concept? A boundless cosmic picture in which everything has always existed and in which beings, and not only terrestrial ones, do not strictly live within it but pass by it and see it flow like the images of a kaleidoscope. It was a thought that appealed to him and, rather pleased that he had been able to formulate it, he pressed on vigorously. Totally absorbed by the questions that were so much bigger than he was, he found himself walking down the main corridor of the school, nodding a greeting to some of his classmates and entering the classroom. Once there, settling at his usual front-row desk he couldn't help smiling, thinking that the time had truly come to get back into the present, whether he was inside it or observing it from the outside... and that he would have to do so quickly if he didn't want to miss the European history lesson he was so passionate about. He had been looking forward to this morning's topic for a week. It concerned the period of the European Renaissance, particularly the Italian one, which fascinated Kou because of some of its extraordinary figures who had been able to use their creative powers so ingeniously. For this reason, he was determined not to miss a single minute of the lesson. After a few moments, the teacher introduced the historical and cultural context of the period and then went on to discuss the Renaissance man's view of himself, something that caught all the children's attention. It was a concept that the teacher described as revolutionary, so much so that it profoundly and radically influenced the events that would follow in the future not only in Europe but throughout the world, including Japan. This multifaceted line of thought argued, amongst other things, that each individual was considered, for the first time in recorded history, to be an extraordinary and unique individual within the whole of creation, capable of cultivating their own individual capacities to the point of being able to shape their own destiny and dominate nature, modifying it at will. This implied that the Renaissance man did not consider himself a part of Creation, as had been the case in previous civilisations, but became the only thinking being capable of dominating Creation itself. Although it was a brief and partial presentation designed to be understood by eleven-year-olds, that morning's careful approach to understanding and absorbing content made Kou particularly receptive to both what he was hearing and to every emotional vibration that arose within through listening. Amidst this, he immediately recognised something that could be described as disbelief, bewilderment and disappointment. This fusion of sensations strengthened his mood and was further amplified when the teacher, in order to further elaborate the lesson, emphatically cited a particular quote from the past that had been rediscovered during the Renaissance and taken up as a motto with which to focus the concept. These were words attributed to a certain figure from the Roman Empire known as Cicero, which went something like this: "Man is the king of creation". It was at this point that Kou's perplexity was compounded by a sense of profound demoralisation, both because he considered the enthusiastic zeal with which the teacher had expressed himself to be a betrayal of an opposite concept that culturally belongs to all Japanese, but above all, because everything he was listening to strongly clashed with what he had felt about himself and the world in which he had found himself since he was very small. He was certainly a complicated, strange child full of questions that no one else of his age had the slightest interest in asking and for which he stubbornly sought answers. Yet he had never had any doubts about the relationship he perceived as existing between himself - that is, between every human being - and everything else, visible or invisible. This relationship implied a natural and unequivocal state of affairs composed of a mysterious and unlimited complexity, which man could only strive to understand if he was able to recognise that he was limited and therefore not the most powerful. Now Cicero's words shook him, as they seemed to be a legalised endorsement of human arrogance in relation to tangible and intangible universality. This arrogance, in turn, was bound to cross over into other expressions of aggression, namely arrogance not only towards creation in a general sense, but naturally also between living beings and elements. In fact according to Kou's thinking, which despite his young age was already quite clear, hubris and arrogance existed in all men and if they didn't want to degenerate, they had to find a way to control them. If the cultural environment considered them to be normal traits, however, the focus on trying to dominate them inevitably slackened and they were accepted exactly as they were. This led to a tacit tendency to approve of them, also because they were consistent with the evidence of undisputed human power governed by the law of the strongest and the consequent supremacy of men even over their own kind, since the strongest would overcome the weakest. Following this reasoning, many events that Kou had considered disconcerting and incomprehensible were now creeping in with subtle and disturbing comprehension. They were events that people rhetorically condemned without, however, knowing how to recognise their true source and would thus be repeated again, perhaps in different forms but with equally ruinous outcomes. One of them was the absurdity of dropping two atomic bombs on his country a few years earlier, but now, on reflection, it was not so absurd. For Kou, the Renaissance idea was not at all the reflection of a renewed man, at least not in the sense he understood the word. On the contrary, it was a very limited idea of the kind of innovation he understood, focusing on a narrow, unquestionably relative and egocentric way of thinking. The idea of man as master of creation also cancelled out the extraordinary ascendancy that he knew could generate a sense of humility towards everything that exists apart from man. He thought of nature, for example, about which he would involuntarily nurture real enthusiasm. The reason for this was perhaps precisely because these feelings were less personal, in other words, less tied to himself alone, and were therefore able to awaken a broader consciousness in him. Men were not superior, that is to say, they were not more perfect than any other living element, because each element was perfect in its own way, perfect in terms of the task it had to perform as part of its existence. So as soon as the teacher invited the students to express their opinion on Cicero's quotation, Kou impetuously raised his hand with the intention of expressing his feelings. He regretted this gesture almost immediately however, recognising its complete uselessness, and his instinctive desire to reply dissolved as a result. Nevertheless, he made an effort to express his thoughts, albeit in an unmotivated and incomplete way, arguing that man could not call himself king of creation since he was only a tiny presence on a tiny planet that belonged to an infinite reality that could not be comprehended by man, let alone dominated. He paid no attention to the teacher's predictable comment and did not even reply, as was his custom when he was convinced he was right.