For Whom the Bell Tolls | Naoyuki Agawa (Dean of the Faculty of Policy Management)
March 27, 2008
In mid-March, I traveled to Washington, D.C., the capital of the United States. It was a short trip, lasting just three full days. I was originally scheduled to depart on the 5th to attend a conference on Japan-U.S. relations, but in the early morning of the 4th, former Dean Tomoaki Kojima passed away, and I had to cancel my plans abruptly. However, as there was another meeting I absolutely had to attend, I left in a hurry after the funeral service was over.
The death of someone close is painful. It is all the more so when that person is Mr. Kojima, who had been so helpful since I came to SFC and with whom I had shared the hardships of running the school for the past few years. When I heard of his passing and rushed to the hospital, it was still pitch dark outside. Yet, after a few hours, the birds began to sing, and the night gave way to the pale light of dawn. People started walking down the hospital corridors. An ordinary day was beginning.
People leave this world, leaving behind much unfinished work and many half-made memories. What Mr. Kojima—who encouraged so many, was loved by so many, and accomplished so much—left behind is particularly immense. Yet, after the deceased has gone, the bereaved family, as well as close friends and colleagues, must rush about in a flurry of activity, even while grieving deeply. Death is surprisingly busy.
Shortly after noon, while waiting for Professor Kojima's casket to be carried out, a moment of silence fell. Everyone was silent. In the clear but still cold air, only the sound of the clock on the wall ticking away the time echoed loudly, even though for the deceased, time no longer flows.
A few days later, Professor Kojima returned to SFC. Under a clear sky, the gathered crowd welcomed him, each with their own thoughts in their hearts. This was followed by the wake and then the funeral service. As I delivered the farewell address, I was acutely aware that Mr. Kojima would not reply as he always had.
Immediately after that, I flew to America. The day before I was to leave, after finishing some work, I drove to a town called Charlottesville in Virginia. The University of Virginia, located in this town, is a school I feel a fondness for, as I have been visiting it to give lectures from time to time for about ten years. After getting off the expressway, I drove for about two hours straight on State Route 29. The road continued southwest, climbing and descending gentle hills, passing through forests, crossing pastures, and going over small streams. Upon reaching the crest of a hill, the Blue Ridge Mountains are visible in the distance. The literally blue ridgeline, sharply defining the sky, is beautiful. The willows by the roadside were faintly showing yellowish-green leaves, and the buds on the trees had a reddish tinge. The grass in the pastures was also beginning to show color.
Seeing the signs of spring in Virginia, I was suddenly reminded of a passage from a poem by the 16th-century English poet John Donne.
No man is an island, entire of itself
every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main
any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind
and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls
it tolls for thee.
A person is not an island, not complete in itself; a piece of the great continent, a part of the whole. A person's death is like a part of me being chipped away, for I am one of humankind. Therefore, do not ask for whom the bell tolls; the bell, it tolls for thee.
Mr. Kojima's death was a loss for all of SFC and a personal loss for each and every one of us. But just as the fields turn green again after winter passes, and the trees bloom and show new leaves once more, new life is born and grows even after he is gone. In both life and death, we are enveloped by something larger than ourselves.
Soon, the fourth-year students will graduate and begin to walk new paths. In April, the new students will arrive. Looking forward to that, I shall return to my home country, to SFC.
These were my thoughts as I drove through the Virginia countryside with Easter just around the corner.
(Published: March 27, 2008)