Dreams, memories, the sacred – they are all alike in that they are beyond our grasp. Once we are even marginally separated from what we can touch, the object is sanctified; it acquires the beauty of the unattainable, the quality of the miraculous. Everything, really, has this quality of sacredness, but we can desecrate it at a touch. How strange man is! His touch defiles and yet he contains the source of miracles.

- Excerpt from: Spring Snow, by Yukio Mishima

“The average age for a man in the Bronze Age was eighteen. In the Roman era, twenty-two. Heaven must have been beautiful then. Today it must look dreadful. When a man reaches forty, he has no chance to die beautifully. No matter how he tries, he will die of decay. He must compel himself to live.”

- From: A Life In Four Chapters, by Yukio Mishima

The Meaning and Context of Zen

by

Julius Evola

We know the kind of interest Zen has evoked even outside specialized disciplines, since being popularized in the west by D.T. Suzuki through his books Introduction to Zen Buddhism and Essays in Zen Buddhism. This popular interest is due to the paradoxical encounter between East and West. The ailing West perceives that Zen has something “existential” and surrealistic to offer. Zen’s notion of a spiritual realization, free from any faith and any bond, not to mention the mirage of an instantaneous and somehow gratuitous “spiritual breakthrough”, has exercised a fascinating attraction on many Westerners. However, this is true, for the most part, only superficially. There is a considerable difference between the spiritual dimension of the “philosophy of crisis”, which has become popular in the West as a consequence of its materialistic and nihilist development, and the spiritual dimension of Zen, which has been rooted in the spirituality of the Buddhist tradition. Any true encounter between Zen and the West, presupposes, in a Westerner, either an exceptional predisposition, or the capability to operate a metanoia. By metanoia I mean an inner turnabout, affecting not so much one’s intellectual “attitudes”, but rather a dimension which in every time and in every place has been conceived as a deeper reality.

Zen has a secret doctrine and not to be found in scriptures. It was passed on by the Buddha to his disciple Mahakassapa. This secret doctrine was introduced in China around the sixth century C.E. by Bodhidharma. The canon was transmitted in China and Japan through a succession on teachers and “patriarchs”. In Japan it is a living tradition and has many advocates and numerous Zendos (“Halls of Meditation”).

As far as the spirit informing the tradition is concerned, Zen may be considered as a continuation of early Buddhism. Buddhism arose as a vigorous reaction against the theological speculation and the shallow ritualism into which the ancient Hindu priestly caste had degraded after possessing a sacred, lively wisdom since ancient times. Buddha mad tabula rassa of all this: he focused instead on the practical problem of how to overcome what in the popular mind is referred to as “life’s suffering”. According to esoteric teachings, this suffering was considered as the state of caducity, restlessness, “thirst” and the forgetfulness typical of ordinary people. Having followed the path leading to spiritual awakening and to immortality without external aid, Buddha pointed the way to those who felt an attraction to it. It is well known that Buddha is not a name, but an attribute or a title meaning “the awakened One”, “He who has achieved enlightenment”, or “the awakening”. Buddha was silent about the content of his experience, since he wanted to discourage people from assigning to speculation and philosophizing a primacy over action. Therefore, unlike his predecessors, he did not talk about Brahman (the absolute), or about Atman (the transcendental Self), but only employees the term nirvana, at the risk of being misunderstood. Some, in fact, thought, in their lack of understanding, that nirvana was to be identified with the notion of “nothingness”, an ineffable and evanescent transcendence, almost bordering on the limits of the unconscious and of a state of unaware non-being. So, in a further development of Buddhism, what occurred again, mutatis mutandi, was exactly the situation against which Buddha had reacted; Buddhism became a religion, complete with dogmas, rituals, scholasticism and mythology. It eventually became differentiated into two schools: Mahayana and Hinayana. The former was more grandiose in metaphysics an Mahayana eventually grew complacent with its abstruse symbolism. The teachings of the latter school were more strict and to the point, and yet too concerned about the mere moral discipline which became increasingly monastic. Thus the essential and original nucleus, namely the esoteric doctrine of the enlightenment, was almost lost.

At this crucial time Zen appeared, declaring the uselessness of these so-called methods and proclaiming the doctrine of satori. Satori is a fundamental inner event, a sudden existential breakthrough, corresponding in essence to what I have called the “awakening”. But this formulation was new and original and it constituted a radical change in approach. Nirvana, which had been variously considered as the alleged Nothingness, as extinction, and as the final end result of an effort aimed at obtaining liberation (which according to some may require more than one lifetime), now came to be considered as the normal human condition. By these lights, every person has the nature of Buddha and every person is already liberated, and therefore, situated above and beyond birth and death. It is only necessary to become aware of it, to realize it, to see within one’s nature, according to Zen’s main expression. Satori is like a timeless opening up. On the one hand, satori is something sudden and radically different from all the ordinary human states of consciousness; it is like a catastrophic trauma within ordinary consciousness. On the other hand, satori is what leads one back to what, in a higher sense, should be considered as normal and natural; thus, it is the exact opposite of an ecstasis, or trance. It is the rediscovery and the appropriation of one’s true nature: it is the enlightenment which draws out of ignorance or out of the subconscious the deep reality of what was and will always be, regardless of one’s condition in life. The consequence of satori is a completely new way to look at the world and at life. To those who have experienced it, everything is the same (things, other beings, one’s self, “heaven, the rivers and the vast earth”), and yet everything is fundamentally different. It is as if a new dimension was added to reality, transforming the meaning and value. According to the Zen Masters, the essential characteristic of the new experience is the overcoming of every dualism: of the inner and outer; the I and not I; of finitude and infinity; being and not-being; appearance and reality; “empty” and “full”; substance and accidents. Another characteristic is that any value posed by the finite and confused consciousness of the individual, is no longer discernible. And thus, the liberated and the non-liberated, the enlightened and the non-enlightened, are yet one and same thing. Zen effectively perpetuates the paradoxical equation of Mahayana Buddhism, nirvana-samsara, and the Taoist saying “the return is infinitely far”. It is as if Zen said: liberation should not be looked for in the next world; the very world is the next world; it is liberation and it does not need to be liberated. This is the point of view of satori, of perfect enlightenment, of “transcendent wisdom” (prajnaparamita)

Basically, this consciousness is a shift of the self’s center. In any situation and in any event of ordinary life, including the most trivial ones, the ordinary, dualistic and intellectual sense of one’s self is substituted with a being who no longer perceives an “I” opposed to a “non-I”, and who transcends and overcomes any antithesis. This being eventually comes to enjoy a perfect freedom and incoercibility. He is like the wind, which blows where it wills, and like a naked being which is everything after “letting go” -abandons everything, embracing poverty.

Zen, or at least mainstream Zen, emphasizes the discontinuous, sudden and unpredictable character of satori disclosure. In regard to this, Suzuki was at fault when he took issue with the techniques used in Hindu schools such as Samkya and Yoga. These techniques were also contemplated in early Buddhist texts. Suzuki employed the simile of water, which in a moment turns into ice. He also used the simile of an alarm, which, as a consequence of some vibration, suddenly goes off. There are no disciplines, techniques or efforts, according to Suzuki, which by themselves may lead one to satori. On the contrary, it is claimed that satori often occurs spontaneously, when one has exhausted all the resources of his being, especially the intellect and logical faculty of understanding. In some cases satori it is said to be facilitated by violent sensations and even by physical pain. Its cause may be the mere perception of an object as well as any event in ordinary life, provided a certain latent predisposition exists in the subject.

Regarding this, some misunderstandings may occur. Suzuki acknowledged that “generally speaking, there are no indications on the inner work preceding satori”. However, he talked about the necessity of first going through “a true baptism of fire”. After all, the very institution of the so-called “Halls of Meditation” (Zendo), where those who strive to obtain a satori submit themselves to a regimen of life which is partially analogous to that of some Catholic religious orders, bespeaks the necessity of a preliminary preparation. This preparation may last for several years. The essence of Zen seems to consist in a maturation process, identical to the one in which one almost reaches a state of an acute existential instability. At that point, the slightest push is sufficient to produce a change of state, a spiritual breakthrough, the opening which leads to the “intuitive vision of one’s nature”. The Masters know the moment in which the mind of the disciple is mature and ready to open up; it is ten that they eventually give the final. Decisive push. This push may sometimes consist of a simple gesture, an exclamation, in something apparently irrelevant, or even illogical and absurd. This suffices to induce the collapse of the false notion of individuality. Thus, satori replaces this notion with the “normal state”, and one assumes the “original face, which one had before creation”. One no longer “chases after echoes” and “shadows”. This under some aspects brings to mind the existential theme of “failure”, or of “being shipwrecked” (das Scheitern, in Kierkegaard and in Jaspers). In fact, as I have mentioned, the opening often takes place when all the resources of one’s being have been exhausted and one has his back against the wall. This can be seen in relation to some practical teachings methods used by Zen. The most frequently employed methods, on an intellectual plane, are the koan and the mondo. The disciple is confronted with a saying or with questions which are paradoxical, absurd and sometimes even grotesque and “surrealistic”. He must labor with his mind, if necessary for years, until he has reached the extreme limit of all his normal faculties of comprehension. Then, if he dares proceed further on that road he may find catastrophe, but if he can turn the situation upside down, he may achieve metanoia. This is the point where satori is usually achieved.

Zen’s norm is that of absolute autonomy; no gods, no cults, no idols. To literally empty oneself of everything, including God. “If you meet Buddha on the road, kill him”, a saying goes. It is necessary to abandon everything, without leaning on anything, and then to proceed forward, with one’s essence, until the crisis point is reached. It is very difficult to say more about satori, or to compare it with various forms of initiatory mystical experience whether Eastern or Western. One is supposed to spend only the training period in Zen monasteries. Once the disciple has achieved satori, he return to the world, choosing a way of life that fits his need. One may think of satori as a form of transcendence which is brought to immanence, as a natural state, in every form of life.

The behavior which proceeds from the newly acquired dimension, which is added to reality as a consequence of satori, may well be summarized by Lao Tzu’s expression: “To be the whole in the part”. In regard to this, it is important to realize the influence which Zen has exercised on the Far-Eastern way of life. Zen has been called “the samurai’s philosophy,” and it had also been said that “the way of Zen is identical to the way of archery,” or to the “way of the sword”. This means that any activity in one’s life, may be permeated by Zen and thus be elevated to a higher meaning, to a “wholesomeness” and to an “impersonal activity”. This kind of activity is based on a sense of the individual’s irrelevance, which nevertheless does not paralyze one’s actions, but which rather confers cam and detachment. This detachment, in turn, favors an absolute and “pure” undertaking of life, which in some cases reaches extreme and distinct forms of self-sacrifice and heroism, inconceivable to the majority of Westerners (e.g. the kamikaze in WWII).

Thus, what C.G. Jung claims is simply ridiculous, namely that Psychoanalysis, more than any other Western school of thought, is capable of understanding Zen. According to Jung, satori coincides with the state of wholeness, devoid of complexes or inner splitting, which psychoanalytic treatment claims to achieve whenever the intellect’s obstructions and its sense of superiority are removed, and whenever the conscious dimension of the soul is reunited with the unconscious and with “Life”. Jung did not realize that the methods and presuppositions of Zen, are exactly the opposite of his own. There is no “subconscious”, as a distinct entity, to which the conscious has to be reconnected; Zen speaks of a superconscious vision (enlightenment, bodhi or “awakening”), which actualizes the “original and luminous nature” and which, in so doing, destroys the unconscious. It is possible though, to notice similarities between Jung’s view’s and Zen’, since they both talk about the feeling of one’s “totality” and freedom which is manifested in every aspect of life. However, it is important to explain the level at which these views appear to coincide.

Once Zen found its way to the West, there was a tendency to “domesticate” and to moralize it, playing down its potential radical and “antinomian” (namely, antithetical to current norms) implications, and by emphasizing the standard ingredients which are held so dear by “spiritual” people, namely love and service to one’s neighbor, even though these ingredients have been purified in an impersonal and non-sentimental form. Generally speaking, there are many doubts on the “practicability” o f Zen, considering that the “doctrine of the awakening” has an initiatory character.

Thus, it will only be able to inspire a minority of people, in contrast to later Buddhist views, which took the form of a religion open to everyone, for the most part a code of mere morality. As the re-establishment of the spirit of early Buddhism, Zen should have strictly been an esoteric doctrine. It has been so as we can see by examining the legend concerning its origins. However, Suzuki himself was inclined to give a different account; he emphasized those aspects of Mahayana which “democratize” Buddhism (after all, the term Mahayana has been interpreted to mean “Great Vehicle”, even in the sense that it extends to wider audiences, and not just to a few elect). If one was to fully agree with Suzuki, some perplexities on the nature and on the scope of satori may arise. One should ask whether such an experience merely affects the psychological, moral or mental domain, or whether it affects the ontological domain, as is the case in every authentic initiation. In that event, it can only be the privilege a very restricted number of people.

Taken from “Lo Zen,” Roma, Fondazione Julius Evola, Quaderni di testi evoliani, nº 15, 1981.

English trans. by Guido Stucco, Holmes Publishing Group, 1994.

Uyoku Rōnin Dō

by

Daiki Shibuichi

Introduction

Military-style vans circulate through the streets of major Japanese cities. Drivers in uniforms blare slogans via loudspeakers bolted to the vans’ roofs. These are the Japanese right-wingers, or uyoku radical right-wing activists, who routinely demonstrate in front of foreign embassies and government buildings, and who can also be seen protesting in smaller towns. While the leftist Japan Teachers’ Union, or Nikkyōso, holds assemblies in local town halls, uyoku activists organize demonstrations in front of city halls and shout slogans. Furthermore, some of them may demand to meet with members of the mass media who make what the uyoku deem to be ‘inappropriate’ remarks, and they then insist on retractions and apologies for these remarks. In December 2000, journalist and academic David McNeill experienced this pressure from a group of uyoku activists after he mentioned the Nanking massacre on a Japanese radio program (McNeill 2001). He was shocked to learn that the radio station gave in to the group’s demand and asked him to apologize on the next show. The station’s director explained that radical violence directed at the station was unlikely, but it could not be ruled out. The director’s concern was legitimate. There have in fact been sporadic violent incidents attributed to the uyoku. In August 2006, senior Liberal Democratic Party politician Katō Kōichi was targeted by an uyoku radical. After confirming that the home of Katō’s parents was empty, the radical burnt it down and used a sword to stab himself in the stomach at the scene (Noda 2007). The failed Molotov cocktail attack on the residence of Kobayashi Yōtarō, president of Fuji Xerox, in January 2005, by an unidentified perpetrator was followed by anonymous threats. This incident was also suspected to be the work of the uyoku.

One might assume that these radical uyoku activists are dangerous zealots driven purely by ideology. However, cost-benefit analyses could also enter into their motives. Cases of criminal fund-raising through pressure and tacit intimidation against corporations by the radical uyoku or quasi-radical uyoku have been reported by police and the mass media. In the abovementioned case of Kobayashi Yōtarō, it is possible that some groups or individuals were secretly demanding that Fuji Xerox offer material benefits in exchange for stopping further harassment. Similarly, in the case of David McNeill, the radio station might have been the true target. In fact, experts have confirmed the Japanese uyoku right-wing radicals’ overlapping membership with crime syndicates, the yakuza or bōryokudan, as well as with the sōkaiya or professional corporate extortionists.

Researchers Szymkowiak and Steinhoff (1995) try to analyze these phenomena in their study. They first refer to incidents in which readers can see complex and ill-defined relations among the radical right, criminal groups, corporations and politicians. Then Szymkowiak and Steinhoff ask, ‘Is the term “radical right” merely a convenient cover for what are actually organized crime operations? Or is there a true radical right, deeply committed to the emperor and the protection of Japan’s national identity in the face of foreign pressure and corrupting leftist influences?’ To answer these questions, Szymkowiak and Steinhoff explain the political and social structure of post-war Japan, where radical activists mingled with underworld elements.[1] Szymkowiak and Steinhoff also depicted the emergence in the 1970s of the ‘new right’ or shin-uyoku, which found this overlap with underworld elements disgusting, causing them to split from the existing radical right-wing camp. As of the mid-1990s when Szymkowiak and Steinhoff’s study was published, the majority of Japanese right-wing radicals remained entangled with yakuza and sōkaiya, and the Liberal Democratic Party and private corporations still had not completely weaned themselves from suspect relationships.

Szymkowiak and Steinhoff’s analytical framework subscribes to a political process model of social movements, linking the behavior of the radical right to historical and structural changes in Japanese society, and particularly to changes in political opportunities. This provides their study both with analytical clarity and the power to convince. Having said this, adopting this model perhaps led Szymkowiak and Steinhoff to focus less on examining the Japanese right-wing radicals per se. Szymkowiak and Steinhoff explained that the radical right-wing has an agenda that includes the following six aspects:

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Taken From Temple of the Golden Pavilion

Taken from, “Runaway Horses”

by

Yukio Mishima

“The law is an accumulation of tireless attempts to block a man’s desire to change life into an instant of poetry. Certainly it would not be right to let everybody exchange his life for a line of poetry written in a splash of blood. But the mass of men, lacking valor, pass away their lives without ever feeling the least touch of such a desire. The law, therefore, of its very nature is aimed at a tiny minority of mankind.”