'A Critique of the Laws of Agricultural Science' - The Laws of Modern Agriculture - 'MASANOBU FUKUOKA'

3.  A Critique of the Laws of Agricultural Science
The Laws of Modern Agriculture

Certain  generally  accepted  laws  have  been  critical  to  the  development  of  modern
agricultural practices and serve as the foundation  of scientific agriculture. These are the
laws  of  diminishing  returns,  equilibrium,  adaptation,  compensation  and  cancellation,
relativity,  and  the  law  of  minimum.  I  would  like  to examine  here  the  validity  of  each
from the standpoint of natural farming. But before  doing so, a brief description of these
laws  will  help  to  show  why  each,  when  examined  by  itself,  appears  to  stand  up  as  an
unassailable truth.
Law  of  Diminishing  Returns:   This  law  states,  for  example,  that  when  one  uses
scientific technology to grow rice or wheat on a given plot of land, the technology proves
effective  up  to  some  upper  limit,  but  exceeding  this  limit  has  the  reverse  effect  of
diminishing yields. Such a limit is not fixed in the real world; it changes with time and
circumstance, so agricultural technology constantly seeks ways to break through it. Yet
this law teaches that there are definite limits to  returns and that beyond a certain point
additional effort is futile.
Equilibrium;  Nature works constantly to strike a balance, to maintain an equilibrium.
When  this  balance  breaks  down,  forces  come  into  effect  that  work  to  restore  it.  All
phenomena in the natural world act to restore and maintain a state of equilibrium. Water
flows from a high point to a low point, electricity from a high potential to a low potential.
Flow ceases when the surface of the water is level,when there is no longer any difference
in  the  electrical  potential.  The  chemical  transformation  of  a  substance  stops  when
chemical equilibrium has been restored. In the same way, all the phenomena associated
with living organisms work tirelessly to maintain a state of equilibrium.
Adaptation:  Animals live by adapting to their environment and crops similarly show
the  ability  to  adapt  to  changes  in  growing  conditions.  Such  adaptation  is  one  type  of
activity aimed at restoring equilibrium in the natural world. The concepts of equilibrium
and adaptation are thus intimately related and inseparable from each other.
Compensation and Cancellation:  When rice is planted densely, the plants send out
fewer tillers, and when it is planted sparsely, a larger number of stalks grow per plant.
This  is  said  to  illustrate  compensation.  The  notion of  cancellation  can  be  seen,  for
example, in the smaller heads of grain that result from increasing the number of stalks per
plant, or in the smaller grains that form on heads of rice nourished to excessive size with
heavy fertilization.
Relativity:  Factors that determine crop yield are associated with other factors, and all
change  constantly  in  relation  to  each  other.  An  interrelationship  exists,  for  example,
between the planting period and the quantity of seed sown, between the time and amount
of fertilizer application, and between the number of seedlings and the spacing of plants.
No particular amount of seed broadcast, quantity of fertilizer applied, or sowing period is
decisive or critical under all conditions. Rather,  the farmer constantly weighs one factor
against  another,  making  relative  judgments  that  this  variety  of  grain,  that  method  of
cultivation, and that type of fertilizer over there is right for such-and-such a period.
Law of Minimum:  This universally known law, first proposed by Justus von Liebig, a
German chemist, may be said to have laid the foundation for the development of modern
agriculture. It states that the yield of a crop is determined by the one element, of all those
making up the yield, in shortest supply. Liebig illustrated this with a diagram now known
as Liebig’s barrel.
The  amount  of  water—or  yield—the  barrel  holds  is  determined  by  that  nutrient  in
shortest supply. No matter how large the supply of  other nutrients, it is that nutrient of
which there is the greatest scarcity that sets the upper limit on the yield.
A  typical  illustration  of  this  principle  would  point  out  that  the  reason  crops  fail  on
volcanic soil in spite of the abundance of nitrogen, potassium, calcium, iron, and other
nutrients is the scarcity of phosphates. Indeed, the addition of phosphate fertilizer often
results  in  improved  yields.  In  addition  to  tackling problems  with  soil  nutrients,  this
concept has also been applied as a basic tool for achieving high crop yields.
All Laws Are Meaningless
Each  of  the  above  laws  is  treated  and  applied  independently,  yet  are  these  really
different  and  distinct  from  one  another?  My  conclusion  is  that  nature  is  an  indivisible
whole; all laws emanate from one source and return to Mu, or nothingness.
Scientists  have  examined  nature  from  every  conceivable  angle  and  have  seen  this
unity as a thousand different forms. Although they  recognize that these separate laws are
intimately related and point in the same general direction, there is a world of difference
between this realization and the awareness that all laws are one and the same.
One  could  read  into  the  law  of  diminishing  returns  a  force  at  work  in  nature  that
strives to maintain equilibrium by opposing and suppressing gradual increases in returns.
Compensation and cancellation are mutually antagonistic. The forces of cancellation
act to negate the forces of compensation, by which mechanism nature seeks to maintain a
balance.
Equilibrium and adaptability are, beyond any doubt,means of protecting the balance,
order, and harmony of nature.
And if there is a law of the minimum, then there must also be a law of the maximum.
In their search for equilibrium and harmony, plants have an aversion not only to nutrient
deficiencies, but to deficiencies and excesses of anything.
Each one of these laws is nothing other than a manifestation of the great harmony and
balance of nature. Each springs from a single source that draws them all together. What
has  misled  man  is that, when  the  same  law  emanates  from  a  single  source  in  different
directions, he perceives each image as representing a different law.
Nature is an absolute void. Those who see nature as a point have gone one step astray,
those who see it as a circle have gone two steps astray, and those who see breadth, matter,
time, and cycles have wandered off into a world of illusion distant and divorced from true
nature.
The law of diminishing  returns, which concerns  gains and losses, does not reflect a
true  understanding  of  nature—a  world  without  loss  or  gain.  When  one  has  understood
that there is no large or small in nature, only a great harmony, the notion of a minimum
and a maximum nutrient also is reduced to a petty, circumstantial view.
There was never any need for man to set into play his vision of relativity, to get all
worked up over compensation and cancellation, or equilibrium and disequilibrium. Yet,
agricultural  scientists  have  drawn  up  elaborate  hypotheses  and  added  explanations  for
everything, leading farming further and further away from nature and upsetting the order
and balance of the natural world.
Life on earth is a story of the birth and death of individual organisms, a cyclic history
of the ascendance and fall, the thriving and failure, of communities. All matter behaves
according to set principles—whether we are talking  of the cosmic universe, the world of
microorganisms, or the far smaller world of molecules and atoms that make up living and
nonliving matter. All things are in constant flux while preserving a fixed order; all things
move in a recurrent cycle unified by some basic force emanating from one source.
If we had to  give this fundamental law  a name, we could  call it the “Dharmic  Law
That All Things Return to One.” All things fuse into a circle, which reverts to a point, and
the point to nothing. To man, it appears as if something has occurred and something has
vanished, yet nothing is ever created or destroyed.This is not the same as the scientific
law  of  the  conservation  of  matter.  Science  maintains  that  destruction  and  conservation
exist side by side, but ventures no further.
The different laws of agricultural science are merely scattered images, as seen through
the prisms of time and circumstance, of this fundamental law that all things return to one.
Because these laws all derive from the same source and were originally one, it is natural
that they should fuse together like stalks of rice at the base of the plant. Man might just as
well have chosen to group together the law of diminishing returns, the law of minimum,
and the law of compensation and cancellation, for example, and refer to these collectively
as the “law of harmony.” When we interpret this single law as several different laws, are
we really explaining more of nature and achieving agricultural progress?
In his desire to know  and understand nature, man applies numerous laws to it from
many  different  perspectives.  As  would  be  expected,  human  knowledge  deepens  and
expands,  but  man  is  sadly  deceived  in  thinking  that he  draws  closer  to  a  true
understanding  of  nature  as  he  learns  more  about  it. For  he  actually  draws  further  and
further away from nature with each new discovery and each fresh bit of knowledge.
These laws are fragments cut from the one law that flows at the source of nature. But
this is not to say that if reassembled, they would form the original law. They would not.
Just as in the tale of the blind men and the elephant in which one blind man touches
the  elephant’s  trunk  and  believes  it  to  be  a  snake  and  another  touches  one  of  the
elephant’s legs and calls it a tree, man believes himself capable of knowing the whole of
nature  by  touching  a  part  of  it.  There  are  limits  to  crop  yields.  There  is  balance  and
imbalance.  Man  observes  the  dualities  of  compensation  and  cancellation,  of  life  and
death,  loss  and  gain.  He  notes  nutrient  excess  and  deficiency,  abundance  and  scarcity,
and  from  these  observations  derives  various  laws  and  pronounces  them  truths.  He
believes  that  he  has  succeeded  in  knowing  and  understanding  nature  and  its  laws,  but
what he has understood is nothing more than the elephant as seen by the blind men.
No  matter  how  many  fragmentary  laws  extracted  from  the  single  unnamed  law  of
nature are collected together, they can never add up to the great source principle. That the
nature observed through these laws differs fundamentally from true nature should come
as no surprise. Scientific farming based on the application of such laws is vastly different
from natural farming, which observes the basic principle of nature.
As  long  as  natural  farming  stands  on  this  unique  law,  it  is  guaranteed  truth  and
possesses  eternal  life.  For  although  the  laws  of  scientific  farming  may  be  useful  in
examining the status quo, they cannot be used to develop better cultivation techniques.
These laws cannot boost rice yields beyond those attainable by present methods,  and are
useful only in preventing reduced yields.
When the farmer asks: “How many rice seedlings should I transplant per square yard
of  paddy  ?”  the  scientist  launches  into  a  long-winded  explanation  of  how  the  seedling
does  not  increase  yields,  how  compensation  and  cancellation  are  at  work  keeping
seedling  growth  and  the  number  of  tillers  within  a  given  range  to  maintain  an
equilibrium, how too small a number of seedlings may be the limiting factor for yield and
too large a number can cause a decline in the harvested grain. At which point, the farmer
asks with exasperation: “So what am I supposed to do?” Even the number of seedlings that  should  be  planted  varies  with  the  conditions,  and  yet  this  has  been  the  subject  of endless research and debate. No one knows how many stalks will grow from the seedlings planted in spring, or how
this will affect yields in the fall. All one can dois theorize, after the harvest is in, that a smaller  number  of  seedlings  would  have  been  better  because  of  the  high  temperatures that  summer,  or  that  the  combination  of  sparse  planting  and  low  temperatures  were  at fault for the low yields. These laws are of use only in explaining results, and cannot be of any help in reaching beyond what is currently possible. A Critical Look at Liebig’s Law of Minimum In any discussion of increased production and high  yields, the following are generally given as factors affecting yield:
Scientific farming pieces together the conditions and factors that make up production,
and either conducts specialized research in each area or arrives at generalizations, on the
basis of which it attempts to increase yields.
The  notion  of  raising  productivity  by  making  partial  improvements  in  a  number  of
these  factors  of  production  most  likely  originated  with  Liebig’s  thinking,  which  has
played a key role in the development of modern agriculture in the West.
According  to  Liebig’s  law  of  minimum,  the  yield  of  a  crop  is  determined  by  that
nutrient  present  in  shortest  supply.  Implicit  in  this  rule  is  the  notion  that  yield  can  be
increased by improving the factors of production. Going one step further, this can also be
understood  to  imply  that,  because  the  worst  factor  represents  the  largest  barrier  to
increased yields, significant improvement can be made in the yield by training research
efforts on this factor and improving it.
Using the analogy of a barrel (Fig. 2.5), Liebig’s law states that, just as the level of the
water  in  a  barrel  cannot  rise  above  the  height  of  the  lowest  barrel  stave,  so  yields  are
determined by the factor of production present in shortest supply. In reality, however, this
is not the case.
Granted, if we break down the crop nutrients and analyze them chemically, we find
that  these  can  be  divided  into  any  number  of  components:  nitrogen,  phosphorus,
potassium, calcium, manganese, magnesium, and so on. But to claim that supplying all
these factors in sufficient quantity raises yield is dubious reasoning at best. Rather than
claiming that this increases yield, we should say only that it maintains yield. A nutrient in
short supply decreases yield, but providing a sufficient amount of this nutrient does not
increase yield, it merely prevents a loss in yield.
Liebig’s barrel fails to apply to real-life situations on two counts. First, what holds up
the  barrel?  The  yield  of  a  crop  is  not  determined  by  just  one  factor;  it  is  the  general
outcome  of  all  the  conditions  and  factors  of  cultivation.  Thus,  before  becoming
concerned with the effects that the surplus or shortage of a particular nutrient might have,
it would make more sense to decide first the extent to which nutrients play a determining
role on crop yields. Unless one establishes the limits, coordinates, anddomain represented by  the  factor known as nutrients, any results obtained from research on nutrients break apart in midair.
Liebig’s  barrel  is  a  concept  floating  in  the  air.  In  the  real  world,  yield  is  composed  of
innumerable interrelated factors and conditions, sothe barrel should be shown on top of a column or pedestal representing these many conditions.
As Figure 2.7 shows,  yield is determined by various factors and conditions, such as
scale of operations, equipment, nutrient supply, and other considerations. Not only is the
effect of a surplus or deficiency of any one factor on the yield very small, there is no real
way of telling how great this effect is on a scale of one to ten.
Then also, the angle of the column or pedestal holding up the barrel affects the tilt of
the barrel, changing the amount of water that it can hold. In fact, because the tilt of the
barrel exerts a greater influence on the amount of water held by the barrel than the height
of the staves, the level of individual nutrients is often of no real significance.
The second reason Liebig’s barrel analogy does not apply to the real world is that the
barrel has no hoops. Before worrying about the height of the staves, we should look at
how  tightly  they  are  fitted  together.  A  barrel  without  hoops  leaks  horribly  and  cannot
hold water. The leakage of water between the barrel staves due to the absence of tightly
fastened  hoops  represents  man’s  lack  of  a  full  understanding  of  the  interrelatedness  of
different nutrients. One  could  say  that  we  know  next  to  nothing  about  the  true  relationships  between nitrogen, phosphorus, potassium, and the dozens of  other crop nutrients; that no matter how much research is done on each of these, man will never fully understand the organic connections between all the nutrients making up a single crop. Even  were  we  to  attempt  to  fully  understand  just  one  nutrient,  this  would  be impossible because we would also have to determine  how it relates to all other factors, including  soil  and  fertilizers,  method  of  cultivation,  pests,  and  the  weather  and
environment. But this is impossible because time and space are in a constant state of flux.
Not understanding the relationships between nutrients amounts to the lack of a hoop to
hold the barrel staves together. This is the situation at an agricultural research center with separate  sections  devoted  to  the  study  of  cultivation  techniques,  fertilizers,  and  pest control; even the existence of a planning section and a farsighted director will be unable to pull these sections together into an integral whole with a common purpose. The  point  of  all  this  is  simple:  as  long  as  Liebig’s  barrel  is  constructed  of  staves
representing  various  nutrients,  the  barrel  will  not hold  water.  Such  thinking  cannot produce  a  true  increase  in  yield.  Examining  and repairing  the  barrel  will  not  raise  the level of the water. Indeed, this can be done only by changing the very shape and form of the barrel.Broad interpretation of Liebig’s law of minimum leads to propositions such as “yield can  be  raised  by  improving  each  of  the  conditions  of  production,”  or  “defective
conditions  being  the  controlling  factors  of  yield,  these  should  be  the  first  to  be improved.” But these are equally untenable and false. One often hears that yields cannot be increased in  a certain locality because of poor
weather conditions, or because soil conditions are poor and must first be improved. This sounds very much as if we were talking of a factorywhere production is the output of components such as raw materials, manufacturing equipment, labor, and capital. When a damaged gearwheel in a piece of machinery slows production in a factory, productivity can  soon  be  restored  by  repairing  the  problem.  But  crop  cultivation  under  natural
conditions differs entirely from industrial fabrication in a plant. In farming, the organic
whole cannot be enhanced by the mere replacement of parts. Let us retrace the steps of agricultural research and examine the errors committed by the thinking underlying the law of minimum and analytical chemistry. Where Specialized Research Has Gone Wrong
Research  on  crop  cultivation  began  by  examining  actual  production  conditions.  The
goal being to increase production by improving each of these conditions, research efforts
were  divided  initially  into  specialized  disciplines such  as  tillage  and  seeding,  soil  and
fertilizers,  and  pest  control  As  research  progressed  in  each  of  these  areas,  the  findings
were collected together and applied by farmers to boost productivity. Factors identified as
having  a  controlling  influence  on  productivity  were targeted  as  high-priority  research
topics.
Tillage  and  seeding  specialists  believe  that  improvements  in  these  techniques  are
critical to increasing yields. They see such questions as when, where, and how to seed,
and how to plow a field as the first topics research on crop cultivation should address.
A fertilizer specialist will tell you: “Keep fertilizing your plants and they’ll just keep
on  growing.  If  it’s  high  yields  you’re  after,  you’ve  got  to  give  your  crops  a  lot  of
fertilizer. Increased fertilization is a positive way to raise  yields.” And the pest control
specialist  will  say:  “No  matter  how  carefully  you  grow  your  crops  and  how  high  the
yields you’re after, if your fields are damaged by  a crop disease or an insect pest, you’re
left  with  nothing.  Effective  disease  and  pest  control  is  indispensable  to  high-yield
production.”
All such factors appear to help increase production, but the conventional view is that
tillage  and  seeding  methods,  breeding,  and  fertilizer  application  have  a  direct  positive
influence  on  yields,  disease  and  pest  damage  reduces  yields,  and  weather  disasters
destroy crops.
But are these actually important factors that work  independently of each other under
natural conditions to set or increase yields? And is there perhaps a range in the degree of
importance of these factors? Let us consider natural disasters, which result in extensive
crop damage.
Gales  that  occur  when  the  rice  is  heading  and  floods  coming  shortly  after  transplantation  can  have  a  very  decisive  effect  on  yields  regardless  of  the  combination  of
production factors. However, the damage is not  the  same everywhere. The effects of  a
single gale can vary tremendously depending on the time and place. In a single stretch of
fields, some of the rice plants will have lodged while others will remain standing; some
heads  of  rice  will  be  stripped  clean,  others  will  have  less  than  a  quarter  of  the  grains
remaining,  and  yet  others  more  than  three-quarters. Some  rice  plants  submerged  under
flood  waters  will  soon  recover  and  continue  growing,  while  others  in  the  same  waters
will rot and die. Damage  may  have  been  light  because  a  host  of  interrelated  factors—seed  variety, method of cultivation, fertilizer application, disease and pest control—combined to give healthy  plants  that  were  able  to  recover  as  growth  conditions  and  the  environment returned  to  normal.  Even  inclement  weather  or  a  natural  disaster  is  intimately  and
in separately tied in with other production factors.So it is a mistake to think that any one
factor can act independently to override all other  factors and exert a decisive effect on
yield.
This  is  true  also  for  disease  and  pest  damage.  Twenty-percent  crop  damage  by  rice
borers does not necessarily mean a twenty-percent decline in harvested grain.
Yields may actually rise in spite of pest damage. If a farmer expecting twenty-percent
crop damage by leaf hoppers in his fields forgoes the use of pesticides, he may find the
damage  to  be  effectively  contained  by  the  appearance  of  vast  numbers  of  spiders  and
frogs that prey on the leaf hoppers.
Insect damage arises from a number of causes. If we trace each of these back, we find
that  the  damage  attributable  to  any  one  cause  is  generally  very  insignificant.  Natural
farming  takes  a  broad  view  of  this  tangle  of  causality  and  the  interplay  of  different
factors, and chooses to grow healthy crops rather than exercise pest control.
Breeding  programs  have  sought  to  develop  new  high-yield  strains  that  are  easy  to
grow, resistant to insect pests and disease, and soon. But the creation and abandoning
over the past several decades of tens of thousands  of new varieties shows that the goals
set for these change constantly, an indication thatthe question of seed variety cannot be
resolved independently of other factors.
Although breeding techniques may be useful in achieving temporary gains in yield and
quality,  such  gains  are  never  permanent  or  universal.  The  same  is  triK  for  methods  of
cultivation.  Undeniable  as  it  is  that  plowing,  the  time  and  period  of  seeding,  and  the
raising  of  seedlings  are  basic  to  growing  crops,  we are  wrong  to  think  that  the  skill
applied to these methods is decisive in setting yields.
Deep plowing was for a long time considered an important factor in determining crop
yield, yet today a growing number of farmers no longer believe plowing to be necessary.
Some even think that inter tillage, weeding, and transplantation, all practices held to be of
central importance by most farmers, are not needed  at all. The use of such practices is
dictated by the thinking of the times and other factors.
Another  pitfall  is  the  belief  that  fertilizers  and  methods  of  fertilizer  application  are
directly linked to improved yields. Damage by heavy fertilization can just as easily lead
to  reduced  yields.  No  single  factor  of  production  is  powerful  enough  by  itself  to
determine  the  yield  or  quality  of  a  harvest.  All  are  closely  interrelated  and  share
responsibility with many other factors for the harvest.
The  moment  that  he  applied  discriminating  knowledge to  his  study  of  nature,  the
scientist broke nature into a thousand pieces. Today, he picks apart the many factors that
together contribute to the production of a crop, and studying each factor independently in
specialized  laboratories,  writes  reports  on  his  research  which  he  is  confident,  when
studied, will help raise crop productivity. Such isthe state of agricultural science today.
While  such  research  helps  throw  some  light  on  current  farming  practices  and  may  be
effective in preventing a decline in productivity, it does not lead to discoveries of how to
raise productivity and achieve spectacularly high yields.
Far  from  benefiting  agricultural  productivity,  progressive  specialization  in  research
actually has the opposite effect. Methods intended  to boost productivity lead instead to
the  devastation  of  nature,  lowering  overall  productivity.  Science  labors  under  the
delusion that the accumulated findings of an army of investigators pursuing specialized
research in separate disciplines will provide a total and complete picture of nature.
Although parts may be broken off from the whole, “the whole is greater than the sum
of  the  parts,”  as  the  saying  goes.  By  implication,  a  collection  of  an  infinite  number  of
parts  includes  an  infinite  number  of  unknown  parts. These  may  be  represented  as  an
infinite  number  of  gaps,  which  prevent  the  whole  from  ever  being  completely
reassembled.
Scientific  agriculture  believes  that  by  applying  specialized  research  to  parts  of  the
whole, partial improvements can be made which will translate into overall improvement
of the whole. But nature should not forever be picked apart. Man has become so absorbed
in his pursuit of the parts that he has abandoned his quest for the truth of the whole. Or
perhaps, inevitably, his attempt to know the parts has made him lose sight of the whole.
Fragmented research only produces results of limited utility. All scientific farming can
provide  are  partial  improvements  that  may  give  high yields  and  increased  production
under  certain  conditions,  but  these  tenuous  “gains” soon  fall  victim  to  the  violent
recuperative backlash of nature and never ultimately result in higher yields.
Being limited and imperfect, human knowledge cannot hope to win out over the whole
and  ever-perfect  wisdom  of  nature.  Hence,  all  efforts  to  raise  productivity  founded  on
human knowledge can enjoy only limited success. While they may help deter a decline in
yields by compensating for an irregular dip in productivity, such efforts will never be a
means for significantly boosting productivity. Although man may interpret the result as
an  increase  in  yield,  his  efforts  can  never  amount  to  anything  more  than  a  means  for
staving off reduced  yields. All of which goes to show that, try as he may, man cannot
equal the yields of nature.
Critique-of the Inductive and Deductive Methods
Scientific  thought  is  founded  on  inductive  and  deductive  reasoning,  so  a  critical
review of these methods will allow us to examine the basic foundations of science. As my
example, I will use the process of conducting research on rice cultivation.
One normally begins by drawing up a general proposition from a number of facts or
observations.  Let us say that a  comprehensive study of rice is made. To determine the
most suitable quantity of rice seed to be sown, the scientist experiments with a variety of
seeding quantities. To establish the optimal spacing of plants, he runs tests in which he
varies the number of days seedlings are grown in a  nursery, and the number and spacing
of transplanted seedlings. He compares several different varieties and selects those that
give the highest yields. And to set guidelines for  fertilizer application, he tries applying
different  amounts  of  nitrogen,  phosphorus,  and  potassium.  Inferences  drawn  from  the
results of these tests form the basis for selecting suitable techniques and quantities to be
used in all methods of producing rice. The scientist or farmer, as the case may be, relies
on these conclusions to make general decisions and  erect standards that he believes help
improve rice cultivation.
But  do  a  number  of  disparate  improvements  add  up  to the  best  overall  result?  This
problem lies behind the notable failure of most research to achieve higher yields in rice
cultivation.  Respective  ten-percent  improvements  through  new  varieties  of  rice,  tilling
and seeding techniques, fertilization, and pest and disease control might be expected to add up to an overall increase of forty percent in yields, but actual improvements in the field amount to from two to ten percent, at best. Why do 1 + 1 + 1 not make 3, but 1? For the same reason that the pieces of a broken mirror can never be reassembled into a mirror more perfect than the original. The reason
agricultural  research  stations  were  unable  to  produce  more  than  15-20  bushels  per
quarter-acre until around 1965 was that all they were doing, essentially, was to analyze
and interpret rice that yielded 15-20 bushels per quarter-acre to begin with.
Although  such  research  was  launched  to  develop  high-yielding  techniques  that  are
more productive than those used by the ordinary farmer, its only achievement has been
the  addition  of  scientific  commentary  on  existing  rice-growing  methods.  It  has  not
improved farmer’s yields. Such is the fate of inductive research. Scientific agriculture first conducts research primarily by an inductive, or a posteriori, process,  then  does  an  about-face,  applying  deductive  reasoning  to  draw  specific
propositions from general premises. Natural farming arrives at its conclusions by applying deductive, or a priori, reasoning based  on intuition.  By  this,  I  do  not  mean  the  imaginative  formulation  of  wild hypotheses,  but  a  mental  process  that  attempts  to  reach  a  broad  conclusion  through intuitive understanding. During this process, it draws narrow conclusions adapted to the
time and place, and searches out concrete methods in keeping with these conclusions.
Natural farming thus begins by formulating conclusions, then seeks concrete means of
attaining these. This contrasts sharply with the inductive approach, whereby one studies
the  situation  as  it  stands  and  from  this  derives  a  theory  with  which  one  searches  for  a
conclusion while making gradual improvements along the way. In the first case, we have
a  conclusion,  but  no  means  of  achieving  it,  and  in  the  second,  we  have  means  at  our
disposal, but no conclusion.
Returning  again to our  original  example, natural farming uses intuitive  reasoning to
draw  up  an  ideal  vision  of  rice  cultivation,  infers the  environmental  conditions  under
which a situation approximating the ideal can arise, and work* out a means of achieving
this ideal. On the other hand, scientific farming studies all aspects of rice production and
conducts many different tests in an attempt to develop increasingly economical and highyielding methods office cultivation.
Such  inductive  experimentation  is  done  without  a  clear  goal.  Scientists  run
experiments oblivious to the direction in which their research takes them. They may be
pleased  with  the  results  and  confident  that  the  amassing  of  new  data  leads  to  steady
progress and scientific achievement. But in the absence of a clear goal by which to set
their course, this activity is just aimless wandering. It is not progress.
The  scientist  is  well  aware  of  the  restrictive  and  circumstantial  nature  of  inductive
research, and does give some thought to deductive reasoning. But he ends up relying on
the inductive approach because this leads more directly to practical and certain success
and achievement.
Deductive experimentation has never had much appeal to scientists because they are
unable to get a good handle on what appears to many a whimsical process. In addition, as
this requires a great deal of time and space, it runs counter to the natural inclinations of
scientists, who like to hole up in their laboratories. The reality is that both the inductive
and  the  deductive  method  thread  their  way  through  the  entire  history  of  agricultural
development. Of the two, deductive reasoning has always been the driving force behind
rapid leaps in development, which are invariably triggered by some oddball idea dreamed
up by an eccentric or a zealous farmer bit by curiosity.
Generally  lacking  scope  and  universality,  such  an  idea  tends  to  slide  back  into
oblivion unless the scientist recognizes it as a clue. After taking it apart and analyzing,
studying, reconstructing, and verifying it through  inductive experimentation, the scientist
raises the idea to the level of a universally applicable technique. It is only at this point
that  the  original  idea  is  ready  to  be  put  to  practical  use  and  may,  as  often  is  the  case,
eventually become widely adopted by farmers.
Thus, although the guiding force of agricultural development is inductive reasoning by
the scientist, the initial inspiration that lays the rails for progress is often the deductive
notion  of  a  progressive  farmer  or  a  hint  left  by  someone  who  has  nothing  to  do  with
farming.
Clearly then, the inductive method is useful only in a negative sense, as a means for
preventing  a  decline  in  crop  yields.  Although  throwing  light  on  existing  methods,  it
cannot break new ground in agriculture. Only deductive reasoning can bring forth fresh
ideas having the potential of leading to positive gains in yields. Yet, because deductive
reasoning  generally  remains  poorly  understood  and  is  defined  primarily  in  relation  to
induction, it is not likely to lead to any dramatic increases in yield. True deduction originates at a point beyond the world of phenomena. It arises when one has acquired a philosophical understanding of the true essence of the natural world and grasped the ultimate goal. All that man sees isa superficial image of nature. Unable
to perceive the ultimate goal, he assumes deduction to be merely the inverse of induction
and  can  go  no  further  than  deductive  reasoning,  which  is  but  a  dim  shadow  of  true
deduction. Experiments in which deduction is treated as the counterpart of induction have
brought us the confusion of modern science. Even in agriculture, farmers and scientists
are confounding measures for preventing crop losses with means for raising yields, and
by  discussing  both  on  equal  terms,  are  only  prolonging  the  current  stagnation  of
agriculture.
Induction  and  deduction  can  be  likened  to  two climbers  ascending  a  rock  face.  The
lower of the two, who checks his footing before giving the climber in the lead a boost,
plays an inductive role, while the lead climber, who lets down a rope and pulls the lower
climber up, plays a deductive role.
Induction and deduction are complementary and together form a whole. Surprising as
it  may  seem,  although  scientific  agriculture  has  relied  primarily  on  inductive
experimentation,  progress  has  been  made  as  well  in  deductive  reasoning.  This  is  why
measures to prevent crop losses and measures to boost yields have been confused.
Deduction here being merely a concept defined in relation to induction, we may see a
gradual  increase  in  yields,  but  are  unlikely  to  see a  dramatic  improvement.  Our  two
climbers make only slow progress and will never go  beyond the peak they have already
sighted.
To  attain  dramatically  improved  yields  of  a  type  possible  only  by  a  fundamental
revolution in farming practices, one would have to  rely not on this restricted notion of
deduction, but on a broader deductive method; namely, intuitive reasoning. In addition to
our two climbers with a rope, other radically different methods of reaching the top of the
mountain are possible, such as descending onto the peak by rope from a helicopter. It is
from just such intuitive reasoning, which goes beyond induction and deduction that the
thinking underlying natural farming arises.
The creative roots of natural farming lie in true intuitive understanding. The point of
departure must be a true grasp of nature gained by fixing one’s gaze on the natural world
that extends beyond actions and events in one’s immediate surroundings. An infinitude of
yield-improving possibilities lie hidden here. One must look beyond the immediate.
High-Yield Theory Is Full of_ Holes
It is easy for us to think that scientific farming,which harnesses the forces of nature
and  adds  to  this  human  knowledge,  is  superior  to  natural  farming  both  from  the
standpoint of economics and crop yields. This is not the case, of course, for a number of
reasons.
1. Scientific farming has isolated the factors responsible for yield and found ways to
improve  each  of  these.  But  although  science  can  break  nature  down  and  analyze  it,  it
cannot  reassemble  the  parts  into  the  same  whole.  What  may  appear  to  be  nature
reconstructed  is  just  an  imperfect  imitation  that  can  never  produce  higher  yields  than
natural farming.
2. What is trumpeted as high-yield theory and technology amounts to nothing more
than an attempt to approach natural harvests. Rather than aiming at large jumps in yields,
as is claimed, these are really just measures to stave off crop losses.
3. Not only does the endeavor to artificially achieve high yields that surpass natural
output  only  increase  the  level  of  imperfection,  it  invites  a  breakdown  in  agriculture.
Viewed in a larger sense, this is just so much wasted effort. Yields that outstrip nature
can never be achieved.
The  diagram  in  Fig.  2.10  compares  the  yields  of  natural  farming  and  scientific
farming. Outermost circle 0 represents the yields of pure Mahayana natural farming (see
page 93). Actually, this cannot be properly depicted as either large or small, but lies in
the  world  of  Mu,  shown  as  innermost  circle  0  at  the center  of  the  diagram.  Circle  (2)
represents the yields of narrower, relativistic Hinayana natural farming. Growth in these
yields always parallels growth in the yields of scientific farming (3). Circle ® stands for
the yields likely to result from the application of Liebig’s law of minimum.
A Model of Harvest Yields:  A good  way to understand how crop  yields are determined by different factors or elements is to use the analogy of a building like that shown
in  Fig.  2.11.  The  hotel—this  could  just  as  well  be  a  warehouse—is  built  on  a  rock
foundation  that  symbolizes  nature,  and  the  floors  and  rooms  of  the  building  represent
cultivation conditions and factors which play a role in the final yield. Each of the floors
and rooms are integrally and inseparably related. A number of observations can be made
from this analogy.
1. Yield is determined by the size of the building and the degree to which each room
is full.
2. The upper limit of yield is set by the natural environment, represented here by the
strength of the rock foundation and the size of the building site. One could have gotten a
reasonably close idea of the potential yield from the blueprints of the building. The limit
became fixed when the frame for the building was put into place. This maximum yield
may be called the natural yield and is, for man, the best and highest yield.
3. The actual harvest is much lower than this maximum yield, for the harvest does
not  completely  fill  each  and  every  room.  If  the  building  were  a  hotel,  this  would  be
equivalent  to  saying  that  some  guest  rooms  are  vacant.  In  other  words,  there  are
invariably flaws or weaknesses in some of the elements of cultivation; these hold down
yields. The actual harvest is what we are left with after subtracting the vacant rooms from
the total number of guest rooms.
4. The approach usually taken by scientific farming to boost yields is to fill as many
of the rooms as possible. But in a larger sense, this is merely a way of minimizing losses in yield. The only true way to raise yields is to enlarge the building itself.
5. Any attempt to outdo nature, to increase production by purely industrial methods
that  brazenly  disregard  the  natural  order,  is  analogous  to  adding  an  annex  onto  the
building representing nature. If we imagine this annex to be built on sand, then we can
begin to understand the precariousness of artificial endeavors to raise yields. Inherently
unstable, these do not represent true production and do not really benefit man.
6. Although one would assume that filling each of the rooms would reduce losses and
produce a net increase in yield, this is not necessarily so because all the rooms are closely
interconnected.  One  cannot  make  selective  improvements  here  and  there  in  specific
factors of production.
Knowing all this, we can better comprehend what the building signifies. To accept the
thinking of  Liebig is to  say  that  yield is dominated by that  element present in shortest
supply. Such reasoning implies that, if one is not  applying enough fertilizer or is using
the wrong method of pest control, then correcting this will raise  yields. Yet half-baked
improvements of this sort are no more effective than renovating just the fourth floor, or
just  one  room  on  the  first  floor.  The  reason  is  that  there  are  no  absolute  criteria  with
which  to  judge  whether  one  element  or  condition  is  good  or  bad,  excessive  or
insufficient. The qualitative and quantitative aspects of an element vary in a continuously
fluid  relationship  with  those  of  other  elements;  at times  these  work  together,  at  other
times they cancel each other out.
Because he is nearsighted, what man takes to be improvements in various elements are
just localized improvements—like remodeling one room of the hotel.
There is no way of knowing what effect this will have on the entire building.
One cannot know how business is faring at a hotel just by looking at the number of
guest  rooms  or  the  number  of  vacancies.  True,  there may  be  many  empty  rooms,  but
other  rooms  may  be  packed  full;  in  some  cases,  one  good  patron  may  be  better  for
business  than  a  large  number  of  other  guests.  Good  conditions  in  one  room  do  not
necessarily have a positive effect on overall business, and bad conditions on the first floor
do not always exert a negative influence on the second and third floors. All the rooms and
floors of the building are separate and distinct, yet all are intimately linked together into
one  organic  whole.  Although  one  can  claim  that  the  final  yield  is  determined  by  the
combination  of  an  infinite  array  of  factors  and  conditions,  just  as  a  new  company
president  can  dramatically  change  morale  within  the company,  so  the  entire  yield  of  a
crop may turn on a change in a single factor.
In the final analysis, one cannot predict which element or factor will help or hurt the
yield. This can only be determined by hindsight—after the harvest is in. A farmer might
say that this year’s good harvest was due to the early-maturing variety he used, but he
cannot be certain about this because of the unlimited number of factors involved. He has
no  way  of  knowing  whether  using  the  same  variety  the  following  year  will  again  give
good results.
One could even go to the extreme of saying that the effects of all the factors on the
final  yield  can  hinge,  for  example,  on  how  a  typhoon  blows.  This  could  turn  bad
conditions  into  good  conditions.  Last  year’s  crop  failure  might  have  been  the  result  of
spreading too much fertilizer, which led to excessive plant growth and pest damage, but
this year is windier so the fertilizer may succeed  if the wind helps keep the bugs off the
plants. We cannot predict what will work and what will not, so there is no reason for us to
be so concerned about minor improvements.
Just  as  the  manager  of  our  hotel  will  never  succeed if  all  he  pays  attention  to  is
whether the lights in the guest rooms are on or off, careful attention to tiny, insignificant
details  will  never  get  the  farmer  off  to  a  good  start.  Clearly,  the  only  positive  way  to
increase yields is to increase the capacity of the  hotel. What we need to know is whether
the hotel can be renovated, and if so, how.
We must not forget that as the scientist makes additions and repairs and the building
gets higher and higher, it becomes increasingly unstable and imperfect. His observations,
experiences, and ideas being entirely derived from  nature, man can never build a house
that extends beyond the bounds of nature. But heedless of this and not content with crops
in their natural state, he has broken away from the natural arrangement of environmental
factors  and  begun  building  an  addition  to  the  house of  nature—artificially  cultivated
crops.
This artificial, chemically produced food unquestionably presents a dreadful danger to
man. More than just a question of wasted effort and meaningless toil, it is the root of a
calamity  that  threatens  the  very  foundations  of  human  existence.  Yet  agriculture
continues  to  move  rapidly  toward  the  purely  chemical  and  industrial  production  of
agricultural crops, an addition-—to return to my original analogy—built by man which
projects out from the cliff on which nature stands.
The side view of the building (Fig. 2.11) shows which path to follow in climbing from
floor to floor while meeting the requirements for each of the factors of production. For
example, since Course 1 begins under poor weather and land conditions, the yield is poor
regardless  of  special  efforts  invested  in  cultivation  and  pest  control.  Weather  and  land
conditions  in  Course  II  are  good,  so  the  yield  is  high  even  though  the  method  of
cultivation and overall management leave something to be desired.
One cannot predict, however, which pathway will give the highest yield as there are an
infinite  number  of  these,  and  infinite  variations  in  the  factors  and  conditions  for  each.
While no doubt of use to the theorist for expounding the principles of crop cultivation,
this diagram has no practical value.
A  Look  at  Photosynthesis:     Research  aimed  at  high  rice  yields  likewise  begins  by
analyzing  the  factors  underlying  production.  This  commences  with  morphological
observation, proceeds next to dissection and analysis, then moves on to plant ecology. By
conducting  laboratory  experiments,  pot  tests,  and  small-scale  field  experiments  under
highly selective conditions, scientists have been able to pinpoint some of the factors that
limit yields and some of the elements that increase harvests.
Yet  clearly,  any  results  obtained  under  such  special  conditions  can  have  little
relevance with the incredibly complex set of natural conditions at work in an actual field.
It  comes  as  no  surprise  then  that  research  is  turning  from  the  narrow,  highly  focused
study  of  individual  organisms  to  a  broader  examination  of  groups  of  organisms  and
investigations  into  the  ecology  of  rice.  One  line  of  investigation  being  taken  to  find  a
theoretical  basis  for  high  yields  is  the  ecological study  of  photosynthetic  crops  that
increase starch production.
Many scientists continue to feel, however, that ecological research aimed at increasing
the number of heads or grains of rice on a plant, or at providing larger individual grains,
are  crude  and  elementary.  These  people  believe  that physiological  research  which  lays
bare the mechanism of starch production is higher science; they subscribe to the illusion
that such revelations will provide a basic clue to high yields.
To the casual observer, the study of photosynthesis within the leaves of the rice plant appears to be a research area of utmost importance,the findings of which could lead to a theory  of  high  yields.  Let  us  take  a  look  at  this  research  process.  If  one  accepts  that increased starch production is connected to high yields, then research on photosynthesis does take on a great importance. Moreover, as efforts are made to increase the amount of sunlight received by the plant and research is pursued on ways of improving the plant’s capacity  for  starch  synthesis  from  sunlight,  people begin  thinking  that  high  yields  are possible.
Current  high-yield  theory,  as  seen  from  the  perspective  of  plant  physiology,  says
essentially  that  yields  may  be  regarded  as  the  amount  of  starch  produced  by  photosynthesis in the leaves of the plant, minus the starch consumed by respiration. Proponents
of this view claim that yields can be increased by  maximizing the photosynthetic ability
of  the  plant  while  maintaining  a  balance  between  starch  production  and  starch
consumption.
But  is  all  this  theorizing  and  effort  useful  in  achieving  dramatic  increases  in  rice
yields? The fact of the matter is that today, as in the past, a yield of about 22 bushels per
quarter-acre  is  still  quite  good,  and  the  goal  agronomists  have  set  for  themselves  is
raising the national average above this level. The  possibility of reaping 26 to 28 bushels
has  recently  been  reported  by  some  agricultural  test  centers,  but  this  is only  on  a  very
limited scale and does not make use of techniques likely to gain wide acceptance. Why is
it that such massive and persistent research efforts have failed to bear fruit? Perhaps the
answer lies in the physiological process of starch  production by the rice plant and in the
scientific means for enhancing the starch productivity of the plant.
The diagram in Fig. 2.12 depicts a number of processes at work in the rice plant.
1) The leaves of the plant use photosynthesis to  synthesize starch, which the leaves,
stem, and roots consume during the process of respiration.
2) The plant produces starch by taking up water through the roots and sending it to
the leaves, where photosynthesis is carried out using carbon dioxide absorbed through the
leaf stomata and sunlight.
3) The starch produced in the leaves is broken down to sugar, which is sent to all
parts  of  the  plant  and  further  decomposed  by  oxidation.  This  degradative  process  of
respiration releases energy that feeds the rice plant.
4) A large portion of the starch produced in this way is metabolized by the plant and
the remainder stored in the grains of rice.
Armed  with  a  basic  understanding  of  how  photosynthesis  works,  the  next  thing
science  does  is  to  study  ways  in  which  to  raise  starch  productivity  and  increase  the
amount of stored starch. Countless factors affect the relative activities of photosynthesis
and respiration. Here are some of the most important:
Factors affecting photosynthesis: carbon dioxide, stomata closure, water uptake, water
temperature, sunlight.
Factors affecting respiration:  sugar, oxygen, strength of wind, nutrients, humidity.
One  way  of  raising  rice  production  that  immediately comes  to  mind  here  is  to
maximize starch production by increasing photosynthesis while at the same time holding
starch consumption down to a minimum in order to leave as much unconsumed starch as
possible in the heads of rice.
Conditions  favorable  for  high  photosynthetic  activity  are  lots  of  sunlight,  high
temperatures, and good water and nutrient uptake by the roots. Under such conditions, the
leaf  stomata  remain  open  and  much  carbon  dioxide  is absorbed,  resulting  in  active
photosynthesis and maximum starch synthesis.
There is a catch to this, unfortunately. The same conditions that favor photosynthesis
also promote respiration. Starch production may be  high, but so is starch consumption,
and hence these conditions do not result in maximum starch storage. On the other hand, a
low starch production does not necessarily mean that yields will be low. In fact, if starch
consumption is low enough, the amount of stored starch may even be higher—meaning
higher yields—than under more vigorous photosynthetic activity.
How  often  have  farmers  and  scientists  tried  techniques  that  maximize  starch  production only to find the result to be large rice plants that lodge under the slightest breeze?
A much easier and more certain path to high yields  would be to hold down respiration
and grow smaller plants that consume less starch. The combinations of production factors
and  elements  that  can  occur  in  nature  are  limitless and  may  lead  to  any  number  of
different yields.
Various  pathways  are  possible  in  Fig.  2.13.  For  example,  when  there  is  abundant
sunlight and temperatures are high—around 40°C (I04°F), as in Course 1, root rot tends
to occur, reducing root vitality. This weakens water uptake, causing the plant to close its
stomata to prevent excessive loss of water. As a result, less carbon dioxide is absorbed
and  photosynthesis  slows  down,  but  because  respiration  continues  unabated,  starch
consumption remains high, resulting in a low yield.
In  Course  2,  temperatures  are  lower—perhaps  30°C  (86°F),  and  better  suited  to  the
variety of rice. Nutrient and water absorption are good, so photosynthetic activity is high
and  remains  in  balance  with  respiration.  This  combination  of  factors  gives  the  highest
yield.
In  Course  3,  low  temperatures  prevail  and  the  other conditions  are  fair  but  hardly ideal. Yet, because good root activity supplies the plant with ample nutrients, a normal yield is maintained.
This is just a tiny sampling of the possibilities, and I have made only crude guesses at the effects several factors on each course might have on the final yield. But in the real world yields are not determined as simply as this. An infinite number of paths exist, and each  of  the  many  elements  and  conditions  during  cultivation  change,  often  on  a  daily basis, over the entire growing season. This is not  like a footrace along a clearly marked
track that begins at the starting line and ends at the finish line. Even were it possible to know what conditions maximize photosynthetic activity, one
would  be  unable  to  design  a  course  that  assembles  a combination  of  the  very  best
conditions. The best conditions cannot be combined under natural circumstances. And to
make  matters  even  worse,  maximizing  photosynthesis  does  not  guarantee  maximum
yields; nor do yields necessarily increase when respiration is minimized. To  begin  with,  there  is  no  standard  by  which  to  judge  what  “maximum”  and “minimum”  are.  One  cannot  flatly  assert,  for  example,  that  40°C  is  the  maximum temperature, and 30°C optimal. This varies with time and place, the variety of rice, and
the method of cultivation. We cannot even know for certain whether a higher temperature is better or worse. Another reason why we cannot know is that the notion of what is appropriate differs for each condition and  factor. People are usually satisfied with  an optimal temperature that is workable under the greatest range of conditions. Although this answers the most common needs and will help raise normal  yields, it  is not the temperature required for high  yields. Our inquiry into what temperatures are needed for high  yields thus proves fruitless and we settle in the end for normal temperatures.
What about sunlight? Sunlight increases photosynthesis, but an increase in sunlight is
not necessarily accompanied by a rise in yield. In Japan, yields are higher in the northern part of Honshu than in sunny Kyushu to the south, and Japan boasts better  yields than countries  in  the  southern  tropics.  Everyone  is  off  in  search  of  the  optimal  amount  of sunlight, but this varies in relation with many other factors. Good water uptake invigorates photosynthesis, but flooding the field can hasten root decay and slow photosynthesis. A deficiency in soil moisture and nutrients may at times help  to  maintain  root  vigor,  and  may  at  other  times inhibit  growth  and  bring  about  a decline in starch production. It all depends on theother conditions. And understanding of rice plant physiology can be applied to a scientific inquiry into how to maximize starch production, but this will not be directly applicable to actual ricegrowing operations. Scientific visions of high yields based on the physiology of the rice plant amount to just a lot of empty theorizing. Maybe the numbers add up on paper, but no one can build a theory like this and get it to work in practice. The rice scientist wellversed  in  his  particular  specialty  is  not  unlike  the  sports  commentator  who  can  give  a
good  rundown  of  a  tennis  match  and  may  even  make  a  respectable  coach,  but  is  not
himself a top-notch athlete. This  inability  of  high-yield  theory  to  translate  into  practical  techniques  is  a  basic inconsistency  that  applies  to  all  scientific  theory and  technology.  The  scientist  is  a scientist  and  the  farmer  a  farmer  and  “never  the  twain  shall  meet.”  The  scientist  may study farming, but the farmer can grow crops without knowing anything about science. This is borne out nowhere better than in the history of rice cultivation. Look Beyond the Immediate Reality:  Obviously, productivity and yields are measured in relative terms. A yield is high or low with respect to some standard. In seeking to boost productivity, we first have to define a starting point relative to which an increase is to be made. But do we not in fact always aim to produce more, to obtain higher yields, while believing all the while that no harm can come of simply moving ahead one step at a time? When people discuss rice harvests, for some reason they are usually most concerned with  attempts  to  increase  yields.  By  “high-yielding”  all  we  really  mean  is  higher  than current rice yields. This might be 20 bushels per quarter-acre in some cases, and over 25 bushels in others. There is no set target for “high-yielding” cultivation.
The  point  of  departure  defines  the  destination,  and a  starting  line  makes  sense  only
when there is a finish line. Without a starting line we cannot take off. So it is meaningless
to talk of great or small, gain or loss, good or bad.
Because  we  take  the  present  for  granted  as  certain  and  unquestionable  reality,  we
normally make this our point of departure and view as desirable any conditions or factors
of production that improve on it. Yet the present is actually a very shaky and unreliable
starting point. A good hard look at this so-called  reality shows the greater part of it to be
man-made, to be erected on commonsensical notions,  with all the stability of a building
erected on a boat.
Taking  any  one  of  the  traditional  notions  of  rice  cultivation—plowing,  starter  beds,
transplantation, flooded paddies—as our basic point of departure would be a grave error.
Indeed, true progress can be had only by starting out from a totally new point.
But where is one to search for this starting point?I believe that it must be found in
nature  itself.  Yet  philosophically  speaking,  man  is the  only  being  that  does  not
understand the true state of nature. He discriminates and grasps things in relative terms,
mistaking his phenomenological world for the true natural world. He sees the morning as
the beginning of a new day; he takes germination as the start in the life of a plant, and
withering as its end. But this is nothing more than biased judgment on his part.
Nature  is  one.  There  is  no  starting  point  or  destination,  only  an  unending  flux,  a
continuous  metamorphosis  of  all  things.  Even  this  may  be  said  not  to  exist.  The  true
essence  of  nature  then  is  “nothingness.”  It  is  here that  the  real  starting  point  and
destination are to be found. To make nature our foundation is to begin at “nothing” and
make this point of departure our destination as well; to start off from “nothing” and return
to “nothing.” We should not make conditions directly before us a platform from which to
launch  new  improvements.  Instead,  we  must  distance  ourselves  from  the  immediate
situation, and observing it at a remove— from the standpoint of Mu, seek to return to Mu
nature.
This may seem very difficult, but may also appear very easy because the world beyond
immediate  reality  is  actually  nothing  more  than  the world  as  it  was  prior  to  human
awareness of reality. A look from afar at the total picture is no better than a look up close
at a small part because both are one inseparable whole.
This undivided and inseparable unity is the “nothingness” that must be understood as
it is. To start from Mu and return to Mu, that is natural farming.
If we strip away the layers of human knowledge and  action from nature one by one,
true nature will emerge of itself, A good look at the natural order thus revealed will show
us just how great have been the errors committed by science. A science that rejects the science of today will surely ensue. Crops need only be entrusted to the hand of nature. The starting point of natural farming is also its destination, and the journey in-between. One may believe the productivity of natural farming—which has no notion of time or space—to  be  quantifiable  or  unquantifiable;  it  makes  no  difference.  Natural  farming merely provides harvests that follow a fixed, unchanging orbit with the cycles of nature.
Yet, let there be no mistake about it, natural harvests always give the best possible yields;
they are never inferior to the harvests of scientific farming. The  scientific  world  of “somethingness”  is  smaller  than  the  natural  world  of “nothingness.” No degree of expansion can enable the world of science to arrive at the
vast, limitless world of nature. Original Factors Are Most Important:  We have seen that resolving production into elements  or  constituent  factors  and  studying  ways  of  improving  these  individually  is basically  an  invalid  approach.  Now  I  would  like  to  examine  the  propriety  of  scientists ignoring  correlations  between  different  factors,  of their  adherence  to  a  sliding  scale  of importance in factors, and of their selective studyof those elements that offer the greatest chances for rapid and visible improvement in yields.
The  factors  involved  in  production  are  infinite  in  number,  and  all  are  organically
interrelated. None exerts a controlling influence on production. Moreover, these cannot
and should not be ranked by importance. Each factor is meaningful in the tangled web of
interrelationships, but ceases to have any meaning  when isolated from the whole. In spite
of this, individual factors are extracted and studied in isolation all the time. Which is to
say  that  research  attempts  to  find  meaning  in  something  from  which  it  has  wrested  all
meaning.
There  are  commonly  thought  to  be  a  number  of  important  topics  that  should  be
addressed,  and  factors  that  should  be  studied,  in  order  to  boost  crop  production.  Since
people feel that the quickest way to raise production is to make improvements in those
factors thought to be deficient in some way (Liebig’s law of minimum), they sow seed,
apply fertilizer, and control disease and insect damage. So it comes as no surprise when
research follows suit by focusing on methods of cultivation, soil and fertilizers, disease
and insect pests. Environmental factors such as climate that are far more difficult for man
to alter are given a wide berth.
But  judging  from  the  results,  the  factors  most  critical  to  yields  are  not  those  which
man believes he can easily improve, but rather the  environmental factors abandoned by
man  as  intractable.  Furthermore,  it  is  precisely  those  factors  that  we  break  down,
meticulously  categorize,  and  view  as  vital  and  important  that  are  the  most  trivial  and
insignificant. Those primitive, unresolved factors  not yet subjected to the full scrutiny of
scientific analysis are the ones of greatest importance.
The fact that agricultural research centers are divided into different sections breeding,
cultivation,  soil  and  fertilizers,  plant  diseases  and  pests—is  proof  that  agricultural
research does not take a comprehensive approach to  the study of nature. Instead, it starts
from simple economic concerns and proceeds wherever man’s desires take him, with the
result that fragmented research is conducted in response to the concerns of the moment,
almost as if by impulse. Whichever  field  of  inquiry  we  look  at—plant  breeders  who  chase  after  rare  and unusual strains; agronomic and its preoccupation with high yields; soil science based on the  premise  of  fertilizer  application;  entomologists  and  plant  pathologists  who  devote themselves entirely to the study of pesticides for  controlling diseases and pests without ever  giving  a  thought  to  the  role  played  by  poor  plant  health;  and meteorologists  who perform  token  research  in  agricultural  meteorology, a  marginal  and  very  narrowly defined  discipline  that  only  gets  any  attention  when  there  is  no  other alternative—one thing  is  clear:  modern  agricultural  research  is  not an  attempt  to  gain  a  better understanding of the relationship between agricultural crops and man. From beginning to
end,  this  has  consisted  exclusively  of  limited,  inconsequential  analytic  research  on
isolated  crops  that  does  not  set  as  its  goal  an  understanding  of  the  interrelationships between man and crops in nature.
As  research  grows  increasingly  specialized,  it  advances  into  ever  more  narrowly
defined disciplines and penetrates into ever smaller worlds. The scientist believes that his
studies reach down to the deepest stratum of nature and his efforts bring man that much
closer to a fundamental understanding of the natural world, but these endeavors are just
peripheral research that moves further and further away from the fountainhead of nature.
Early man rose with the sun and slept on the ground. In ancient times, the rays of the
sun,  the  soil,  and  the  rains  raised  the  crops;  people  learned  to  live  by  this  and  were
grateful to the heavens and earth.
The man of science is well versed in small details  and confident that he knows more
about  growing  crops  than  the  farmer  of  old.  But  does  the  scientist—who  is  aware  that
starch is produced within the leaf by photosynthesis from carbon dioxide and water with
the aid of chlorophyll, and that the plant grows with the energy released by the oxidation
of  this  starch—know  more  about  light  and  air  than  the  farmer  who  thinks  the  rice  has
ripened by the grace of the sun? Certainly not! The scientist knows only one aspect, only
one  function  of  light  and  air—that  seen  from  the  perspective  of  science.  Unable  to
perceive light and air as broadly changing phenomena of the universe, man isolates these
from nature and examines them in cross-section like dead tissue under a microscope. In
fact,  the  scientist,  unable  to  see  light  as  anything  other  than  a  purely  physical
phenomenon, is blind to light.
The soil scientist explains that crops are not raised by the earth, but grow under the
effects of water and nutrients, and that high yields can be obtained when these are applied
at the right time in the proper quantity. But he should also know that what he has in his
laboratory  is  dead,  mineral  soil,  not  the  living  soil  of  nature.  He  should  know  that  the
water which flows down from the mountains and into the earth differs from the water that
runs over the plains as a river; that the fluvial waters which give birth to all forms of life,
from microorganisms and algae to fish and shellfish, are more than just a compound of
oxygen and hydrogen.
Farmers  build  greenhouses  and  hot  beds  where  they  grow  vegetables  and  flowers
without  knowing  what  sunlight  really  is  or  bothering  to  take  a  close  look  at  how  light
changes  when  it  passes  through  glass  or  vinyl  sheeting.  No  matter  how  high  a  market
price  they  fetch,  the  vegetables  and  flowers  grown  in  such  enclosures  cannot  be  truly
alive or of any great value.
No Understanding of Causal Relationships:  The farmer might talk about how this
year’s poor harvest was due to the poor weather, while the specialist will go into more
detail: “Tiller formation was good this year resulting in a large number of heads. Grain
count per head was also good, but insufficient sunlight after heading slowed maturation,
giving a poor harvest.” The  second  explanation  is  far  more  descriptive  and  appears  closer  to  the  real  truth. Surely one reason for poor maturation is insufficient sunshine, since the two clearly are causally  related. Yet one cannot make the claim that a lack of sunlight during heading
was  the  decisive  factor  behind  the  poor  harvest  that  year.  This  is  because  the  causal
relationship between these two factors—maturation and sunlight—is unclear. Insufficient
sunlight and poor maturation mean that not enough sunlight was received by the leaves.
The  cause  for  this  may  have  been  drooping  of  the  leaves  due  to  excessive  vegetative
growth, and the drooping may have been caused by any number of factors. Perhaps this
was a result of the over application and absorption of nitrogenous fertilizers, or a shortage
of  some  other  nutrient.  Perhaps  the  cause  was  stem  weakness  due  to  a  deficiency  of silica,  or  maybe  the  leaf  droop  was  caused  merely  by  an  excess  of  leaf  nitrogen  on account  of  inhibition,  for  some  reason,  of  the  conversion  of  nitrogenous  nutrients  to protein. Behind each cause lies another cause. When  we  talk  of  causes,  we  refer  to  a  complex  web  of  organically  interrelated causes—basic  causes,  remote  causes,  contributing  factors,  predisposing  factors.  This  is why one cannot give a brief, simple explanation of the true cause of poor maturation, and it is also why a more detailed explanation is no closer to grasping the real truth. The poor harvest might be attributed to insufficient sunshine or to excess nitrogen during heading or merely to poor starch transport due to inadequate water. Or perhaps the basic cause is
low temperatures. In any event, it is impossible to tell what the real cause is.
So  what  do  we  do?  The  conclusion  we  draw  from  all  this  is  that  the  poor  harvest
resulted  from  a  combination  of  factors,  which  is  no more  meaningful  than  the  farmer
saying it was written in the stars. The scientist may be pleased with himself for coming
up with a detailed explanation, but it makes not the slightest bit of difference whether we
carefully analyze the reasons for the poor harvest  or throw all analysis to the winds; the result is the same.
Scientists think otherwise, however, believing thatan analysis of one  year’s harvest will benefit rice growers the following year. Yet the weather is never the same, so the rice growing environment next year will be entirely different from this year’s. And because all factors of production are organically interrelated, when one factor changes, this affects all other factors and conditions. What this means is that rice will be grown under entirely
different conditions next year, rendering this year’s experience and observations totally
useless. Although useful for examining results in retrospect, the explanations of yesterday
cannot be used to set tomorrow’s strategy.
The causal relationships between  factors in nature  are just too entangled for man to
unravel through research and analysis. Perhaps science succeeds in advancing one slow
step at a time, but because it does so while groping in total darkness along a road without
end, it is unable to know the real truth of things.This is why scientists are pleased with
partial explications and see nothing wrong with pointing a finger and proclaiming this to
be  the  cause  and  that  the  effect.  The  more  research progresses,  the  larger  the  body  of
scholarly  data  grows.  The  antecedent  causes  of  causes  increase  in  number  and  depth,
becoming  incredibly  complex, such  that,  far  from  unraveling  the  tangled  web  of  cause
and effect, science succeeds only in explaining in  ever greater detail each of the bends
and  kinks  in  the  individual  threads.  There  being  infinite  causes  for  an  event  or  action,
there  are  infinite  solutions  as  well,  and  these  together  deepen  and  broaden  to  infinite
complexity.
To resolve the single matter of poor maturation, one must be prepared to resolve at the
same  time  elements  in  every  field  of  study  that  bears  upon  this—such  as  weather,  the
biological environment, cultivation methods, soil, fertilizer, disease and pest control, and
human factors. A look at the prospects of such a simultaneous solution should be enough
to make man aware of just how difficult and fraught with contradiction this endeavor is.
Yet, in a sense, this is already unavoidable.
Many people believe that if you take a variety of rice which bears large heads of grain,
grow  it  so  that  it  receives  lots  of  sunlight,  apply plenty  of  fertilizer,  and  carry  out
thorough  pest  control  measures,  you  will  get  good  yields.  However,  varieties  that  bear
large heads usually have fewer heads per plant. Thus it will do no good to plant densely if
the intention is to allow better exposure to sunlight. Moreover, the heavy application of
fertilizers  will  cause  excessive  vegetative  growth, again  defeating  attempts  to  improve
exposure to sunlight. Efforts to obtain large stems and heads only weaken the rice plant and increase disease and insect damage, while thorough pest control measures result in lodging of the rice plants.
The  use  of  water-conserving  rice  cultivation  to  improve  light  exposure  of  the  rice
plants may actually cut down the available light due to the growth of weeds, and the lack
of sufficient water may even interfere with the transport of nutrients. An attempt to raise
the efficiency of photosynthesis may lower the photosynthetic ability of the plant. If we
then conclude that irrigation is beneficial for therice plants and try irrigating, just when
high  temperatures  would  be  expected  to  encourage  vigorous  growth,  root  rot  sets  in,
resulting in poor maturation.
In  other  words,  while  a  means  of  improving  photosynthesis  may  prove  effective  at
increasing the amount of starch, it does not necessarily  exe^t a beneficial influence on
those  other  elements  that  help  set  harvest  yields  and  is  in  fact  more  likely  to  .have
countless negative effects.
In short, there is no way to join all these into one overall method that works just right.
The  more  improvement  measures  are  combined,  the  more  these  measures  cancel  each
other out to give an indefinite result, so that theonly conclusion ends up being no clear
conclusion at all.
If what people have in mind is that a plant varietythat bears in abundance, is easy to
raise, and has a good flavor would solve everything, they are in for a long wait. The day
will never come when one variety satisfies all conditions.
The  breeding  specialist  may  believe  that  his  endeavors  will  produce  a  variety  that
meets the needs of his age, but an improved varietywith three  good features will also
have  three  bad  features,  and  one  with  six  strengths will  have  six  weaknesses.  All  of
which goes to show that any variety thought to be better will probably be worse, because
in it will lie new contradictions that defy solution.
Although  when  examined  individually,  each  of  the  improvements  conceived  by
agricultural  scientists  may  appear  fine  and  proper, when  seen  collectively  they  cancel
each other out and are totally ineffective.
This  property  of  mutual  cancellation  derives  from  the  equilibrium  of  nature.  Nature
inherently  abhors  the  unnatural  and  makes  every  effort  to  return  to  its  true  state  by
discarding  human  techniques  for  increasing  harvests.  For  this  reason,  a  natural  control
operates  to  hold  down  large  harvests  and  raise  low  harvests,  such  as  to  approach  the
natural yield without disrupting the balance of nature.
In any case, since the basic causes of actions and  effects that arise at any particular
time and place cannot be known to man, and he can have no true understanding of the
causal relationships involved, there is no way for  him to know the true effectiveness of
any of his techniques. Although he knows that no grand conclusion is forthcoming in the
long run, man persists nevertheless in the belief that his partial conclusions and devices
are effective in an overall sense. It is utterly impossible to predict what effects will arise
from actions undertaken using the human intellect.  Man only thinks the effects will be
beneficial. He cannot know.
Although it would be desirable to erect comprehensive measures and simultaneously
apply  methods  complete  on  all  counts,  only  God  is  capable  of  doing  this.  As  the
correlations and causal relationships between all the elements of nature remain unclear,
man’s understanding and interpretation can at best  be only myopic and uncertain. After
having  succeeded  only  in  causing  meaningless  confusion,  his  efforts  thus  cancel  each
other out and are eventually buried in nature.