It showed him the eternal error people make in imagining that happiness is the realization of desires.
Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina (465)
It seems impossible to watch Wim Wenders latest film, Perfect Days, and not be filled with a deep sense of peace and contentment. The film follows the day-to-day life of a man who works for "The Tokyo Toilet" as he goes about his work cleaning public restrooms in the morning and how he goes about his free time after work. The film demonstrates the ways in which people may find joy even if their circumstances may be deemed miserable by society. The key, I think, to the happiness of Perfect Days, is that he has achieved a wonderful sense of balance in his life. I've been thinking a lot about this cliché of "life balance" that we like to throw around nowadays. Like all clichés, it contains a deep truth, one so painfully obvious that it can be easy to ignore. I'm going to take a moment to speak on this subject of balance and use Perfect Days as an example of the balanced life.
The concept of the "four humors" is arcane—perhaps even hilarious—by modern standards of health. It used to be thought that every human contained four fundamental elements (blood, phlegm, yellow bile, and black bile) and that the purpose of medical practice and of a philosophy of well-being was to achieve a balance between these elements at all times. This intellectual tradition stretches all the way back to Hippocrates in many ways, although it was most popular as an actual medical theory during the Middle Ages. But while the concept of bloodletting might seem barbaric by today's standards; the principle of balance, which is achieved by attending to your needs and health holistically, is still with us.
Today, I'll suggest a different set of "four humors" with vocabulary that may be specifically helpful in today's landscape. These four "humors" are: socialization, introspection, consumption, and production. They can be put together in a compass like so:
My basic concept is that your daily goal is to stay somewhere in the middle of the compass. One can spend too much time alone just consuming things, but one can also become too focused on productivity and can't stand the idea of spending time alone. In my opinion, you can live a pretty ideal life as long as you maintain this precarious balance. Keep in mind that you can combine certain things; there are social-production things and introspective-consumptive things you can do. But this doesn't mean that balance is within immediate reach. Humans are pretty bad at doing anything more than one thing at a time. If you're socializing and being productive, or, in other words, engaging in social-productive activities, this is no replacement for being social or being productive. The more you do, the less present you are. And the key here, too, is that it literally does not matter where you are or what you're doing—as long as you're not stranded in the desert, you always have the ability to achieve this type of life balance. I'd venture so far to say even those who live in monasteries or prisons have to strive for a similar balance. And some of them are far better at achieving it than we who live in an industrialized society as political and social individuals. Let's look at Perfect Days as an example.
1
When we first see our protagonist, Hirayama, go about his daily routine, we are struck by the beauty of his surroundings. His apartment has a particular aesthetic beauty, which is the opposite of lavish. He owns very little. He has a futon, which he sets aside once he wakes up, a lamp, a bookshelf full of paperbacks, a stereo system, a shelf full of cassette tapes, and a room with a dozen or so plants illuminated by a beautiful purple light. That's just about it. He goes about his day, cleaning public bathrooms which are very modern and beautiful. Whenever he gets a chance, he looks up at the light shining through the flickering leaves—what in Japanese is called komorebi—and he smiles. He doesn't need to listen to music or to a podcast or what have you to focus. But he also makes sure to listen to his cassette tapes in his car, while driving from one place to another. Let's take a moment and analyze his daily routine based on his mornings, his workday, and his evenings.
He wakes up and checks where he left off in the book. He memorizes the page number and sets the book aside, without the need for a bookmark. This immediately clues the audience into the incredible amount of focus our protagonist possesses, as one must keep their mind clear to remember such a mundane detail as a page number.
He sprays his plants with water. He walks downstairs, buys a can of coffee from the vending machine, and gets in his car. He then selects one of his cassette tapes to listen to before driving to work. An important detail we may notice here is that he does not play music until after he has begun driving. He is so meticulous and deliberate that even playing music while starting his commute seems like too much distraction. It is only when he has begun cruising on the highway that he plays his music, which allows him to give it the fullness of his appreciation.
This is his only act of consumption in the morning: the coffee plus the music. He takes every action deliberately, understanding the depths that underlie each aspect of modern life. After all, what could be more miraculous, entertaining, or pleasurable than a piece of technology that allows us to hear that transcendent cacophony of sound which we cohere as music anytime we like? But even in such a simple and pleasurable thing as music, he uses constraint.
It may take a while, but one gradually notices that our protagonist in Perfect Days does not own a smart phone. This is not an insignificant detail by any means. Because he does not own a phone, it allows him to be completely present while he works. But why would he want to be present? It would be easy to wonder. After all, cleaning toilets is an unpleasant job. But this would miss the point entirely. It requires his full attention because it is a productive activity. He is not simply grinding through the cleaning process, attempting to make it look clean enough to not get fired— no, he treats each bathroom like a piece of art. Only when it is fully clean can he be satisfied to move on, because it is only then that it will actually be "enjoyed" by someone else.
As awkward of a note as this is to make, bathrooms are products just like any other space is a product, meaning it was designed by a human being in order to be used by other human beings. This means that a bathroom has a producer-consumer relationship, just like a piece of music does. He is being mindful of his role as someone who produces a bathroom experience for others, and by trying to make it as pleasant as possible for the consumers, he is acting out of a type of universal love for humankind. The decision to use bathrooms as the main setting of the film was a brilliant one— is there any space in modern life more peripheral or maligned? Is there anyone we think of less than those kind souls who clean those spaces? It is a job that must be done by someone, and the film’s carefulness and precision in depicting this particular occupation should hopefully inspire a deep respect in the viewers, which we all too often lack.
After work, he still has much of his day free due to the nature of his shifts being in the morning. This is likely the only enviable aspect of his job. He goes to the public baths to cleanse himself before riding his bike to a restaurant he returns to daily. Here he gets some socialization. But he only truly socializes with others on the weekends. On those days, he likes to browse a bookshop for something new to read, where the bookstore owner knows him by name. Then he heads to a bar, where he makes conversation with the bartender and clientele. No matter where he goes, though, he doesn't say much. This should not be mistaken for simple-minded sheepishness. He deliberately restrains himself from speaking when it is unnecessary to do so.
He ends every night the same way: by reading in bed. He seems to read quite a bit, as we see him finish one book and start another in the course of the film, which spans two weeks. Plus, he was reading Faulkner, so his pace is probably usually even quicker.
2
Let's briefly bring this all together: how does the daily routine of this cinematic character demonstrate a balanced life? And, more importantly, how does it demonstrate a return to real life, something nearly all of us have lost touch with to some extent? He begins his day with a bit of easygoing production: he waters his plants. The need to feed these plants gives him a sense of responsibility by which to wake up. I find that the first thing you do in the morning either has to be productive or consumptive; these are the only things that may seem appealing or necessary in your half-asleep, demotivated mood. I find it hard to get up unless there's a concrete duty that must be done immediately or if there's a movie that I tell myself I will watch.
He then engages in a small act of consumption—with the music and the coffee while heading to work. One's work should be an act of production. Most jobs certainly are (consumptive jobs are appealing but are actually rather awful). As previously stated, even a clean bathroom is a "product," which can be produced with either intention or carelessness. Because he has a balanced diet of consumption (just a bit of caffeine and just a bit of music), he is able to focus entirely on devoting himself to his work. According to my model, you can't be totally productive and social at the exact same moment either. So, the social interaction he gets at work and so on should not be factored into the balance of life. It is important that he actually takes time to be in public for the rest of the day. If he sees his production-devoted time as socialization, then he may simply get home and excuse the need to interact with other people. Isn't this what so many of us do in the modern world? We tell ourselves that seeing people at work has already filled our quota for interaction, and we flip on our designated consumption device. But our protagonist cleverly doesn't have enough stuff at home to keep him there, so if he wants to engage with consumption, it must be social-consumption. The only TVs he watches are in the bathhouse or at the bar. The difference between watching TV at home and looking at a TV in the background of a public space could not be more different. One is simple consumption, the other is social-consumption. Even if he doesn't end up having a conversation with anyone, he has placed himself in a situation which readies him for it and welcomes any random encounters which may occur.
Finally, reading is an act of introspection, balancing out his socialization, it is an act of introspective-consumption. While nobody loves a good piece of audiovisual media such as yours truly, I do think it is rare for the act of viewing to also be an act of introspection, especially when you are talking about serialized television. Meanwhile, it is unusual for reading time to not also involve some time for introspection. And so, in this film we receive a depiction of a perfectly balanced life… right? Well, we should probably hesitate a bit on the "perfect" part, seeing as it is also a rather lonely life. We receive some indication that he has distanced himself from his family, although we have no concept as to why. He has no real close friends or anyone whom he shares his life with. His life is not perfect, but whose is? The point, in fact, is not how perfectly calibrated his routine is, it is the way in which he performs it with gratitude and grace which is "perfect". Similarly "minimalist" lifestyles try to sell such a lifestyle to you, in order to generate a desire in you for a type of perfect life. But the only thing which can make you truly happy is happiness itself. Looking up at the light flickering through the leaves and feeling grateful— that is happiness. To look at reality without distraction and to react to it with gratitude. That's what we must be after.
The important thing about the balance is not that it is an end unto itself, it actually serves a higher purpose— to ensure that you may be able to adapt to change. When your life is unbalanced, when you simply flick back and for the between consumptive and productive modes without introspection or socialization, you won't be able to cope with the inevitable unpredictability of life. This is demonstrated in Perfect Days. He is not perfectly emotionless, but, actually, rather upset after an incident with his family occurs. About a third through the film, his niece comes to visit him. She sleeps in his apartment as a means of "running away" from her mother. Hirayama and his niece enjoy some time together, and she is even appreciative of being able to observe and help out with his work. Hirayama's sister eventually comes to retrieve her daughter, however, and makes subtle blow to his entire world by simply saying, "you really clean toilets now?" It is suggested to us that the rest of his family is rather successful and wealthy, but it is still ambiguous as to whether his occupation was a deliberate choice. After this encounter, he cries. He is able to experience the fullness of his emotions before returning to his routine. After several other disruptions occur, He demonstrates to us that a balanced routine does not replace the ups and downs of life, it simply provides a stable place to consistently return to.
How we choose to engage with technology is of particular importance to our equation. Our model, Hirayama, is not a Luddite by any means. In fact, compared to a Luddite, he lives a lavish, technological lifestyle. He has a car, a stereo, a film camera, and a flip phone. But compared to everyone around him, he barely uses any technology at all. Again, it is not that he rejects modern technology, it is that he selectively chooses to engage with any new piece of technology insofar as it actually benefits him. This is a type of discretion which is exceedingly rare. He has a stereo and cassette tape collection which he surely bought decades ago, and he has never "upgraded" since. Why should he? After all, the tapes still work! Likewise with his camera. There's no real reason why he must "upgrade" from film to digital. Unless there's a genuine reason to get rid of something old (i.e. it doesn't work anymore) why should we replace it with something new? This is completely counter to the calculus of consumerism we are all expected to follow. But there's no real reason we can't join Hirayama in this type of selective engagement. In particular, I was struck by his usage of a flip phone. If he were truly Luddite, he'd have no phone; if he were just trying to live in the past, he'd have a landline.
But there are very legitimate reasons to "upgrade" from a landline to a mobile phone (need I even state them?) but what real, legitimate reasons are there to go from the flip phone to the smart phone? "Oh, but you need this stuff nowadays" I can hear my fellow Zoomers whispering from the wings, "you need it to park or to read a menu!" But I think when we think this sort of thing we are mistaking convenience as a need. When faced with two options, one is more convenient, one is less... we modern folk will likely select the more convenient option every time, even if it is not necessary. But if we don't need it, it is not necessary. If it's not necessary, we don't need it! And that is reason enough. I remember reading once that the Amish don't actually reject every new piece of technology. They actually have a system by which they evaluate and deliberate over any new technology they want to accept. For instance, they debated whether or not to make use of that new-fangled device, the zipper. There's no reason it is necessary… Therefore they didn't accept it. What if we even brought a modicum of this attitude to our everyday living? I insist that it will do us tremendous good.
3
But what is this goodness that we gain by way of inconvenience? It gives us time for gratitude. Believe it or not, gratitude takes time-- just like every other thing which exists. When we let ourselves live lives of convenience, we make time for distraction. If it is convenient to watch 20 TikToks while I have to painfully endure a 2-minute wait for something, why wouldn't I gladly be distracted? But it will give us no time to really sit in reality. And when we have time to do that, we can let ourselves respond to reality as it is. Anytime I pick up my phone, I am giving numerous people I don't know the chance to influence me, to make me feel certain ways, to think certain things. When I simply look up at at the sky, the clouds, the trees, etc. I engage with reality and I develop a response to it, free of human intervention.
So, there you have it. My very own hokey self-help conceptualization of the four humors. Yet what I have described here does not aim towards physical health or even mental health… So what is it I am striving for? Well, if you can forgive the somewhat pretentious terminology— what I’m after is a type of ontological well-being. The point, quite literally, is to find how to do that “being” thing well.
There really is no one way to live. It matters very little to anyone but your ego what you spend your time doing. In the final analysis, it doesn’t matter what job you spent your life working.
But there is only one right way of living. That is, with gratitude. To not let your thoughts and your emotions trap you and to live in the now. That is the only right way of living. There are an infinitude of wrong ways. You may invent your own anytime you like.