D.T. Suzuki, Zen and the Nazis, by Brian Daizen Victoria

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The Postwar Zen Responses to Imperial-Way Buddhism, Imperial-State Zen, and Soldier Zen, Chapter Ten, [Excerpt] from "Zen at War", by Brian Daizen Victoria
Second Edition
© 2006 by Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, Inc.

PART III: POSTWAR TRENDS

CHAPTER TEN: THE POSTWAR ZEN RESPONSES TO IMPERIAL-WAY BUDDHISM, IMPERIAL-STATE ZEN, AND SOLDIER ZEN


Japan's surrender on August 15, 1945, marked the end of imperial-way Buddhism, imperial-state Zen, and soldier Zen. In the wake of Japan's defeat and the Allied Occupation, the sects of institutional Buddhism quickly changed aspects of their daily liturgies to reflect the demise of these movements. Buddhist leaders were faced with the question of how to explain their wartime conduct. Had their actions been a legitimate expression of Buddha Dharma or a betrayal of it?

D. T. SUZUKI'S RESPONSE

D. T. Suzuki was probably the first Buddhist leader in the postwar period to address the moral questions related to Buddhist war support. He first broached the topic of Buddhist war responsibility in October 1945, in a new preface for a reprint of Japanese Spirituality (Nihonteki Reisei), originally published in 1944. He began by assigning to Shinto the blame for providing the "conceptual background" to Japanese militarism, imperialism, and totalitarianism. He then went on to discuss the Buddhist role as follows:

It is strange how Buddhists neither penetrated the fundamental meaning of Buddhism nor included a global vision in their mission. Instead, they diligently practiced the art of self-preservation through their narrow-minded focus on "pacifying and preserving the state." Receiving the protection of the politically powerful figures of the day, Buddhism combined with the state, thinking that its ultimate goal was to subsist within this island nation of Japan.

As militarism became fashionable in recent years, Buddhism put itself in step with it, constantly endeavouring not to offend the powerful figures of the day. Out of this was born such things as totalitarianism, references to [Shinto] mythology, "imperial-way Buddhism," and so forth. As a result, Buddhists forgot to include either a global vision or concern for the masses within the duties they performed. In addition, they neglected to awake within the Japanese religious consciousness the philosophical and religious elements, and the spiritual awakening, that are an intrinsic part of Buddhism.

Although it may be said that Buddhism became "more Japanese" as a result of the above, the price was a retrogression in terms of Japanese spirituality itself. That is to say, the opportunity was lost to develop a world vision within Japanese spirituality that was sufficiently extensive or comprehensive.1


Suzuki also attached a large portion of the blame for the militarization of Zen to both Zen priests and the Zen establishment. In an article written in 1946 fox the magazine Zengaku Kenkyu entitled "Renewal of the Zen World" (Zenkai Sasshin), Suzuki called for a "renewal" of Japanese Zen: "Generally speaking, present-day Zen priests have no knowledge or learning and therefore are unable to think about things independently or formulate their own independent opinions. This is a great failing of Zen priests."2 One result of this "great failing" had been Zen's collaboration with the war, including mouthing government propaganda during wartime and then suddenly embracing world peace and democracy in the postwar era. As far as Suzuki was concerned, "it would be justifiable for priests like these to be considered war criminals."3

Interestingly, Suzuki did not deny that the Zen priests he criticized were enlightened, but rather that being enlightened was no longer sufficient for Zen priests:

With satori [enlightenment] alone, it is impossible [for Zen priests] to shoulder their responsibilities as leaders of society. Not only is it impossible, but it is conceited of them to imagine they could do so. . . . In satori there is a world of satori. However, by itself satori is unable to judge the right and wrong of war. With regard to disputes in the ordinary world, it is necessary to employ intellectual discrimination .... Furthermore, satori by itself cannot determine whether something like communism's economic system is good or bad.4


One reason Suzuki gave for this regrettable state of affairs was that Zen had developed under the "oppression" of a feudal society and had been forced to utilize that oppression in order to advance its own interests. It is only human nature, Suzuki pointed out, "to lick the hand that feeds you."5 In addition, Japanese Zen priests had failed to realize that a world existed outside of their own country. Suzuki concluded his article as follows:

In any event, today's Zen priests lack "intellectuality" (J. chisei) .... I wish to foster in Zen priests the power to increasingly think about things independently. A satori which lacks this element should be taken to the middle of the Pacific Ocean and sent straight to the bottom! If there are those who say this can't be done, those persons should confess and repent all of the ignorant and uncritical words they and others spoke during the war in their temples and other public places.6


In all the passages above Suzuki seems to except himself from the need to confess or repent, but in the preface to Japanese Spirituality, he alludes obliquely to his own responsibility: "I believe that a major reason for Japan's collapse was truly because each one of us lacked an awareness of Japanese spirituality."7 If Suzuki accepts any personal responsibility for Japan's collapse, it is responsibility shared equally with each and every Japanese.

Suzuki apparently regarded his active promotion of the unity of Zen and the sword, the unity of Zen and Bushido, as having had no connection to Japan's militarism, and he had very little to say about the possibility that any of his wartime writings may have influenced the course of events. He did, however, refer rather mysteriously to a deficiency in Japanese Spirituality: "This work was written before Japan's unconditional surrender to the Allies. I was therefore unable to give clear expression to the meaning of Japanese spirituality."8 Is Suzuki suggesting that he distorted or censored his own writings in order to publish them under Japan's military government? Apparently not, since later in the same preface he explains the lack of clarity was due to the book's "academic nature," coupled with its "extremely unorganized structure."

Suzuki spoke again of his own moral responsibility for the war in The Spiritualizing of Japan (Nihon no Reiseika), published in 1947. This book is a collection of five lectures that he had given at Shin sect-affiliated Otani University in Kyoto during the month of June 1946. The focus of his talks was Shinto, for by this time he had decided that Shinto was to blame for Japan's militaristic past. According to Suzuki, Shinto was a "primitive religion" that "lacked spirituality." These factors had led to Japan's "excessive nationalism" and "military control."9 The solution to this situation was, in Suzuki's eyes, quite simple: "do away with Shinto."10 But Suzuki also spoke of his own responsibility for events:

This is not to say that we were blameless. We have to accept a great deal of blame and responsibility .... Both before and after the Manchurian Incident [of 1931] all of us applauded what had transpired as representing the growth of the empire. I think there were none amongst us who opposed it. If some were opposed, I think they were extremely few in number. At that time everyone was saying we had to be aggressively imperialistic. They said Japan had to go out into the world both industrially and economically because the country was too small to provide a living for its people. There simply wasn't enough food; people would starve.

I have heard that the Manchurian Incident was fabricated through various tricks. I think there were probably some people who had reservations about what was going on, but instead of saying anything they simply accepted it. To tell the truth, people like myself were just not very interested in such things.11


Even in the midst of Japan's utter defeat, Suzuki remained determined to find something praiseworthy in Japan's war efforts. He described the positive side of the war as follows:

Through the great sacrifice of the Japanese people and nation, it can be said that the various peoples of the countries of the Orient had the opportunity to awaken both economically and politically. . .. This was just the beginning, and I believe that after ten, twenty, or more years the various peoples of the Orient may well have formed independent countries and contributed to the improvement of the world's culture in tandem with the various peoples of Europe and America.12


Here, in an echo of his wartime writings, Suzuki continued to praise the "great sacrifice" the Japanese people allegedly made to "awaken the peoples of Asia."

To his English-reading audience, Suzuki offered a different interpretation of the war. The following appeared in an essay entitled ''An Autobiographical Account." included in the commemorative anthology A Zen Life: D. T. Suzuki Remembered:

The Pacific War was a ridiculous war for the Japanese to have initiated; it was probably completely without justification. Even so, seen in terms of the phases of history, it may have been inevitable. It is undeniable that while British interest in the East has existed for a long time, interest in the Orient on the part of Americans heightened as a consequence of their coming to Japan after the war, meeting the Japanese people, and coming into contact with various Japanese things.13


Added to the awakening of the peoples of Asia, Suzuki tells us that another positive side bf the "inevitable" war was the increased American presence and interest in Japan. In sum, it would seem that both friend and foe alike benefited in some way from Japan's "great sacrifice."

It is also noteworthy that Suzuki did not find war itself "ridiculous" but only the Pacific War, which was "probably" unjustified. Nowhere in Suzuki's writings does one find the least regret, let alone an apology, for Japan's earlier colonial efforts in such places as China, Korea, or Taiwan. In fact, he was quite enthusiastic about Japanese military activities in Asia. In an article addressed specifically to young Japanese Buddhists written in 1943 he stated: ''Although it is called the Greater East Asia War, its essence is that of an ideological struggle for the culture of East Asia. Buddhists must join in this struggle and accomplish their essential mission."14 One is left with the suspicion that for Suzuki things really didn't go wrong until Japan decided to attack the United States. What was it that made this particular war so "ridiculous"?

I suggest the answer is that Suzuki, having previously lived for more than a decade in the United States, knew Japan would be defeated. In support of this conclusion I point to a guest lecture Suzuki presented at Kyoto University in September 1941, just three months before Pearl Harbor. His ostensible topic was "Zen and Japanese Culture." but after finishing the formal part of his presentation, Suzuki added:

Japan must evaluate more calmly and accurately the awesome reality of America's industrial productivity. Present-day wars will no longer be determined as in the past by military strategy and tactics, courage and fearlessness alone. This is because of the large role now played by production capacity and mechanical power.15


Some observers, including Suzuki's former student Hidaka Daishiro, who recorded these remarks, interpret them as "antiwar" statements. Another way to view them is as simple common sense, without any moral or political intent: Don't pick a fight with someone you can't beat! Suzuki did not continue to make such statements of common sense after Pearl Harbor, when Japan had already engaged the United States in combat. Much more important, however, is the fact that he never criticized Japan's long-standing aggression against the peoples of Asia. Suzuki thought that punishing the "unruly heathens" was all right as long as Japan was strong enough to do so.

DECLARATIONS OF WAR RESPONSIBILITY BY JAPANESE BUDDHIST SECTS

In the postwar years there have only been four declarations addressing war responsibility or complicity by the leaders of traditional Buddhist sects in Japan's war effort. None of these statements was issued until more than forty years after the end of the war. By comparison, Japan's largest Protestant organization first issued a statement, "A Confession of Responsibility During World War II by the United Church of Christ in Japan," in 1967, twenty years before any Buddhists spoke up-though even that statement was more than a generation in the making. Most leading Japanese Buddhist sects remain silent to this day. None of the branches of the Rinzai Zen sect, for example, has formally addressed this crucial issue, which institutional Japanese Buddhism is only beginning to face.

The first of the four Buddhist sects to make an admission of war responsibility was the Higashi Honganji branch of the Shin sect in 1987. Koga Seiji, administrative head of the branch, read the statement aloud as part of a "Memorial Service for All War Victims" held on April 2, 1987. It read in part:

As we recall the war years, it was our sect that called the war a "sacred war." It was we who said, "The heroic spirits [of the war dead] who have been enshrined in [Shinto's] Yasukuni Shrine have served in the great undertaking of guarding and maintaining the prosperity of the imperial throne. They should therefore to be revered for having done the great work of a bodhisattva ." This was an expression of deep ignorance and shamelessness on our part. When recalling this now, we are attacked by a sense of shame from which there is no escape ....

Calling that war a sacred war was a double lie. Those who participate in war are' both victims and victimizers. In light of the great sin we have committed, we must not pass it by as being nothing more than a mistake. The sect declared that we should revere things that were never taught by Saint [Shinran]. When we who are priests think about this sin, we can only hang our heads in silence before all who are gathered here.16


The Nishi Honganji branch followed suit four years later, in 1991. The following statement was issued by the administrative assembly of the Nishi Honganji branch on February 27, 1991. It was entitled "The Resolution to Make Our Sect's Strong Desire for Peace Known to All in Japan and the World." The central focus of this declaration, however, was the Gulf War coupled with the question of nuclear warfare mentioned in the second and third paragraphs. The sect's own wartime role did not rate mention until the fourth paragraph:

Although there was pressure exerted on us by the military-controlled state, we must be deeply penitent before the Buddhas and patriarchs, for we ended up cooperating with the war and losing sight of the true nature of this sect. This can also be seen in the doctrinal sphere, where the [sect's] teaching of the existence of relative truth and absolute truth was put to cunning use.17


In 1992 the Soto sect published a "Statement of Repentance" (sanshabun) apologizing for its wartime role. If the Rinzai Zen sect has been unwilling to face its past, it cannot be claimed that the postwar leadership of the Soto Zen sect was any more anxious to do so. Yet, a series of allegations concerning human rights abuses by this sect had the cumulative effect of forcing it to do so in spite of its reluctance. Unquestionably, the single most important event in this series of allegations was the sect headquarters' publication in 1980 of The History of the Soto Sect's Overseas Evangelization and Missionary Work (Soto Shu Kaigai Kaikyo Dendo Shi).

In the January 1993 issue of Soto Shuho, the sect's administrative headquarters announced that it was recalling all copies of the publication:

The content of this book consists of the history of the overseas missionary work undertaken by this sect since the Meiji period, based on reports made by the persons involved. However, upon investigation, it was discovered that this book contained many accounts that were based on discriminatory ideas. There were, for example, words which discriminated against peoples of various nationalities. Furthermore, there were places that were filled with uncritical adulation for militarism and the policy to turn [occupied peoples] into loyal imperial subjects.18


Immediately following the above announcement was the Statement of Repentance issued by the administrative head of the sect, Otake Myogen. The statement contained a passage which clearly shows how the preceding work served as a catalyst for what amounted to the sect's condemnation of its wartime role. The statement's highlights are as follows:

We, the Soto sect, have since the Meiji period and through to the end of the Pacific War, utilized the good name of overseas evangelization to violate the human rights of the peoples of Asia, especially those in East Asia. This was done by making common cause with, and sharing in, the sinister designs of those who then held political power to rule Asia. Furthermore, within the social climate of ceasing to be Asian and becoming Western, we despised the peoples of Asia and their cultures, forcing Japanese culture on them and taking actions which caused them to lose their national pride and dignity. This was all done out of a belief in the superiority of Japanese Buddhism and our national polity. Not only that, but these actions, which violated the teachings of Buddhism, were done in the name of Buddha Shakyamuni and the successive patriarchs in India, China, and Japan who transmitted the Dharma. There is nothing to be said about these actions other than that they were truly shameful.

We forthrightly confess the serious mistakes we committed in the past history of our overseas missionary work, and we wish to deeply apologize and express our repentance to the peoples of Asia and the world.

Moreover, these actions are, not merely the responsibility of those people who were directly involved in overseas missionary work. Needless to say, the responsibility of the entire sect must be questioned inasmuch as we applauded Japan's overseas aggression and attempted to justify it.

To make matters worse, the Soto sect's publication in 1980 of the History of the Soto Sect's Overseas Evangelization and Missionary Work was done without reflection on these past mistakes. This meant that within the body of the work there were not only positive evaluations of these past errors, but even expressions which attempted to glorify and extol what had been done. In doing this, there was a complete lack of concern for the pain of the peoples of Asia who suffered as a result. The publication involved claimed to be a work of history but was written from a viewpoint which affirmed an imperial view of history, recalling the ghosts of the past and the disgrace of Japan's modern history.

We are ashamed to have published such a work and cannot escape a deeply guilty conscience in that this work was published some thirty-five years after the end of the Pacific War. The reason for this is that since the Meiji period our sect has cooperated in waging war, sometimes having been flattered into making common cause with the state, and other times rushing on its own to support state policies. Beyond that, we have never reflected on the great misery that was forced upon the peoples of Asia nor felt a sense of responsibility for what happened.

The historian E. H. Carr has said: "History is an endless conversation between the past and the present." Regretfully, our sect has failed to engage in that conversation, with the result that we have arrived at today without questioning the meaning of the past for the present, or verifying our own standpoint in the light of past history. We neglected to self-critically examine our own war responsibility as we should have done immediately after having lost the war in 1945.

Although the Soto sect cannot escape the feeling of being too late, we wish to apologize once again for our negligence and, at the same time, apologize for our cooperation with the war .... We recognize that Buddhism teaches that all human beings are equal as children of the Buddha. And further, that they are living beings with a dignity that must not, for any reason whatsoever, be impaired by others. Nevertheless, our sect, which is grounded in the belief of the transference of Shakyamuni's Dharma from master to disciple, both supported and eagerly sought to cooperate with a war of aggression against other peoples of Asia, calling it a holy war.

Especially in Korea and the Korean peninsula, Japan first committed the outrage of assassinating the Korean Queen [in 1895], then forced the Korea of the Lee Dynasty into dependency status [in 1904-5), and finally, through the annexation of Korea [in 1910), obliterated a people and a nation. Our sect acted as an advance guard in this, contriving to assimilate the Korean people into this country, and promoting the policy of turning Koreans into loyal imperial subjects.

All human beings seek a sense of belonging. People feel secure when they have a guarantee of their identity deriving from their own family, language, nationality, state, land, culture, religious belief, and so forth. Having an identity guarantees the dignity of human beings. However, the policy to create loyal imperial subjects deprived the Korean people of their nation, their language, and, by forcing them to adopt Japanese family and personal names, the very heart of their national culture. The Soto sect, together with Japanese religion in general, took upon itself the role of justifying these barbaric acts in the name of religion.

In China and other countries, our sect took charge of pacification activities directed towards the peoples who were the victims of our aggression. There were even some priests who took the lead in making contact with the secret police and conducting spying operations on their behalf.

We committed mistakes on two levels. First, we subordinated Buddhist teachings to worldly teachings in the form of national policies. Then we proceeded to take away the dignity and identity of other peoples. We solemnly promise that we will never make these mistakes again ....

Furthermore, we deeply apologize to the peoples of Asia who suffered under the past political domination of Japan. We sincerely apologize that in its overseas evangelism and missionary work the Soto sect made common cause with those in power and stood on the side of the aggressors.19


Of all the Japanese Buddhist sects to date, the Soto sect's statement of apology is certainly the most comprehensive. Yet, it almost totally ignores the question of the doctrinal and historical relationship between Buddhism and the state, let alone between Buddhism and the emperor. Is, for example, "nation-protecting Buddhism" an intrinsic part of Buddhism or merely a historical accretion? Similarly, is the vaunted unity between Zen and the sword an orthodox or heretical doctrine? Is there such a thing as a physical "life-giving sword" or is it no more than a Zen metaphor that Suzuki and others have terribly misused?

The most recent statement by a Japanese Buddhist sect concerning its wartime role was issued on June 8, 1994 by the Jimon branch of the Tendai sect, the smallest of that sect's three branches. Its admission of war responsibility amounted to one short phrase contained in "An Appeal for the Extinction of Nuclear [Weapons)." It read: "Having reached the fiftieth anniversary of the deaths of the atomic bomb victims, we repent of our past cooperation and support for [Japan's) war of aggression."20

In spite of the positive good that has issued from the Soto sect's statement of apology, including the posthumous reinstatement of the priestly status of Uchiyama Gudo in 1983, Zen scholars such as Ichikawa Hakugen make it clear that the rationale for Zen's support of state-sponsored warfare in general, and Japanese militarism in particular, is far more deeply entrenched in Zen and Buddhist doctrine and historicaL practice, especially in its Mahayana form, than any Japanese Buddhist sect has yet to publicly admit.

ICHIKAWA HAKUGEN AND OTHER COMMENTATORS

Far more has been written on the relationship of the Zen school to war than on any other school or sect of Japanese Buddhism. This is due to the voluminous writings of one man, the late Zen scholar and former Rinzai Zen priest, Ichikawa Hakugen (1902-86). In the postwar years he almost singlehandedly brought this topic before the public and made it into an area of scholarly research. His writing, in turn, has sparked further investigation of this issue within other sects as well.

Before examining Ichikawa's writings, however, it would be helpful to look at comments made by other Zen adherents to get some idea of the overall tenor of the discussion and to bring the breadth and depth of Ichikawa's contribution into clearer focus. Several Zen scholars after Ichikawa continued to pursue this theme, coming to some remarkable conclusions, and a review of their writings closes out this chapter.

Yanagida Seizan Yanagida Seizan (b. 1922) started life as the son of a Rinzai Zen priest in a small village temple in Shiga Prefecture. As an adult he became the director of the Institute for Humanistic Studies at Kyoto University. Following retirement, he founded and became the first director of the International Research Institute f~r Zen Buddhism located at Hanazono University. In 1989 he presented a senes of lectures on Zen at both Stanford University and the University of California, Berkeley.

In 1990 Seizan published a book entitled Zen from the Future (Mirai kara no Zen). This book, containing a number of lectures he had presented in the United States, included material that was both personal and confessional in nature, making it relatively unusual among Zen scholarship. In the book Seizan speaks of his experience as a young Rinzai Zen priest during and immediately after the war:

When as a child I began to become aware of what was going on around me, the Japanese were fighting neighboring China. Then the war expanded to the Pacific region, and finally Japan was fighting the rest of the world. When Japan surrendered on August 15, 1945, I had experienced two major wars. As someone who was brought up while these wars were expanding, I did not have the luxury of thinking deeply about the relationship between the state as a sovereign power engaged in war and Zen Buddhism. No doubt this was largely due to the fact that I had neither the opportunity to go to the battlefield nor directly engage in battle. Furthermore, having been brought up in a remote Zen temple, I was completely ignorant of what was happening in the world. In the last phase of World War II, I was training as a Zen monk at Eigenji, proud of being away from the secular world and convinced that my total devotion to Zen practice would serve the state.

At any rate, with Japan's defeat I became aware of my own stupidity for the first time, with the result that I developed a deep sense of self-loathing. From 1945 to 1950 I did not see any point to human life, and I was both mentally and physically in a state of collapse. I had lost many of my friends; I alone had been left behind. We had fought continuously against China, the home country of Zen. We had believed, without harboring the slightest doubt, that it was a just war. In a state of inexpressible remorse, I could find rest neither physically nor mentally, and day after day I was deeply disturbed, not knowing what to do.

There is no need to say how complete is the contradiction between the Buddhist precepts and war. Yet, what could I, as a Buddhist, do for the millions upon millions of my fellow human, beings who had lost their lives in the war? At that time, it dawned on me for the first time that I had believed that to kill oneself on the state's behalf is the teaching of Zen. What a fanatical idea!

All of Japan's Buddhist sects-which had not only contributed to the war effort but had been one heart and soul in propagating the war in their teachings-flipped around as smoothly as one turns one's hand and proceeded to ring the bells of peace. The leaders of Japan's Buddhist sects had been among the leaders of the country who had egged us on by uttering big words about the righteousness [of the war]. Now, however, these same leaders acted shamelessly, thinking nothing of it. Since Japan had turned itself into a civilized [i.e., democratic] nation overnight, their actions may have been unavoidable. Still, I found it increasingly difficult to find peace within myself. I am not talking about what others should or should not have done. My own actions had been unpardonable, and I repeatedly thought of committing suicide.21


Seizan did not, of course, commit suicide, but it is bracing to meet a Japanese Buddhist who was so moved by his earlier support for the war that he entertained the idea of killing himself. The irony is that by comparison with the numerous Zen and other Buddhist leaders we have heard from so far, Seizan bore very little responsibility for what had happened. Yet in the idealism of youth he felt obliged to take the sins of his elders on his own shoulders. He neither sought to ignore what had happened nor place the blame on anyone else.

Seizan's disdain for the way in which the previously prowar leaders of the various sects had so abruptly abandoned their war cries and become "peacemakers." coupled with his overall dissatisfaction with Rinzai Zen war collaboration, led him to stop wearing his robes in 1955:

I recognized that the Rinzai sect lacked the ability to accept its [war] responsibility. There was no hope that the sect could in any meaningful way repent of its war cooperation .... Therefore, instead of demanding the Rinzai sect do something it couldn't do, I decided that I should stop being a priest and leave the sect .... As far as . I'm concerned, [Zen] robes are a symbol of war responsibility. It was those robes that affirmed the war. I never intend to wear them again."22


Seizan's return to lay life did not, however, signal a lessening of his interest in Zen, for he became one of Japan's preeminent contemporary scholars of Buddhism, earning an international reputation for his research into the early development of Chinese Zen, or Chan Buddhism.

Masanaga Reiho Ichikawa Hakugen recorded numerous statements made by these instant converts to peace, Masanaga Reiho prominent among them. During the war, as we noted earlier, Reiho extolled the virtues of Japan's kamikaze pilots. On September 15, 1945, exactly one month after Japan's surrender, Reiho wrote the following:

The cause of Japan's defeat ... was that among the various classes within our country there were not sufficient capable men who could direct the war by truly giving it their all .... That is to say, we lacked individuals who, having transcended self-interest, were able to employ the power of a life based on moral principles .... It is religion and education that have the responsibility to develop such_ individuals ....

We must develop patriotic citizens who understand [the Zen teaching] that both learning and wisdom must be united with practice. They will become the generative power for the revival of our people . . . and we will be able to preserve our glorious national polity .... It is for this reason that religionists, especially Buddhists, must bestir themselves.23


In peace as well as war, it would seem, the national polity required Buddhists to bestir themselves. Reiho certainly did. He became vice-president of Komazawa University.

Yamada Mumon Rinzai Zen master Yamada Mumon was the editor in 1942 of the strongly prowar book by his teacher Seki Seisetsu entitled The Promotion of Bus hi do. As already noted, in postwar Japan Mumon became both president of Hanazono University and chief abbot of Myoshinji, the largest branch of the Rinzai Zen sect.

In 1964 a collection of Mumon's sayings was published in English under the title A Flower in the Heart. Although Mumon did not intend it to be a scholarly work, he nevertheless made some noteworthy observations about both modern Buddhist history and Japan's participation in the Pacific War:

The only time when Buddhism in Japan met a suppression by the hand of a government was during the Meiji Restoration. Then, its ' teachings were denounced and its sacred images desecrated. Only the desperate efforts of its leaders saved it from the fate of an utter extinction, but the price they had to pay for its survival was high, for the monks, they agreed, would take up arms at the time of national emergencies. The dealing was surely regrettable. If those celebrated priests of the Meiji era were deceived by the name of loyalty and patriotism, we of today were taken in by the deceitful name of holy war. As a consequence, the nation we all loved lost its gear and turned upside down. This teaches us that we must beware not so much of oppression as of compromise.24


Interestingly, Mumon described the events from what is basically a third party's point of view. Nowhere does he take personal responsibility for what happened. Later, however, he did broach this topic:

For a long time I have entertained a wish to build a temple in every Asian nation to which we caused so much indescribable sufferings and damages during the past war, as token of our sincere penitence and atonement, both to mourn for their deads and ours and to pray for a perpetual friendship between her and our country and for further cultural intercourses.25 [English as in original]


Here Mumon does at least admit to a collective responsibility for what happened, though he still does not discuss any personal role. Later, however, Mumon tries to justify the war, at least to some degree:

The sacrifices listed above were the stepping stones upon which the South-East Asian peoples could obtain their political independence. In a feeble sense, this war was a holy war. Is this observation too partial? ... "If it were for the sake of the peace of the Far East." a phrase in one of the war-time songs, still rings in my ears.26


In the face of all these contradictions, it is difficult indeed to identify Mumon's true views. This is made even more challenging by a subsequent statement made in Japanese and distributed at the inaugural meeting of the "Association to Repay the Heroic Spirits [of Dead Soldiers]" (Eirei ni Kotaeru Kai) on June 22, 1976. Mumon was one of the founders of this association, whose purpose was to lobby the Japanese Diet for reinstatement of state funding for Yasukuni Shrine, the Shinto .shrine in Tokyo dedicated to the veneration of the "heroic spirits" of Japan's war dead. Mumon's statement was entitled "Thoughts on State Maintenance of Yasukuni Shrine." It contained the following passage:

Japan destroyed itself in order to grandly give the countries of Asia their independence. I think this is truly an accomplishment worthy of the name "holy war." All of this is the result of the meritorious deeds of two million five hundred thousand heroic spirits in our country who were loyal, brave, and without rival. I think the various peoples of Asia who achieved their independence will ceaselessly praise their accomplishments for all eternity.27


To his English-speaking audience Mumon described the war as having been in some "feeble sense" a holy war. To his Japanese audience, however, he invokes "meritorious deeds." "heroic spirits." and the "ceaseless praise" of a Southeast Asia liberated by the Japanese imperial forces. Now the real Mumon speaks up-at least to his Japanese audience. In the introduction to A Flower in the Heart, Umehara Takeshi described Mumon as "one of those rare monks from whose presence emanates a sense of genuine holiness." 28 Questions of "genuine holiness" aside, Mumon clearly persisted in his belief in Japan's holy war even into the postwar period, a belief that has been a credo for conservative Japanese politicians to this day.

Asahina Sagen Asahina Sogen (1891-1979) was the chief abbot and administrative head of the Engakuji branch of the Rinzai Zen sect. It will be recalled that Shaku Soen had earlier been the abbot of this same temple, and though Sogen had never been his disciple, their thinking was quite similar. Furthermore, like Yamada Mumon, Sogen was active in conservative causes in the postwar years, most notably as one of the founders of the ''Association to Protect Japan" (Nihon o Mamoru Kai).

In 1978 Sogen published a book entitled Are You Ready? (Kakugo wa Yoi ka), the last part of which was autobiographical in nature and included extensive comments about the war, its historical background, and his own role in it. Sogen began his discussion, as so many others had, by praising the thirteenth-century military ruler Hojo Tokimune and his Chinese Zen master Mugaku Sogen. According to Sogen, the roots of both Zen involvement in prayer services and the subsequent dose relationship between Zen and the state can be traced back to this period:

The reason that Japanese Zen began to chant sutras in both morning and evening services was due to the Mongol invasion. Although other temples were making a big fuss of their prayers [to protect the country], Zen priests were only doing zazen. They were out of step [with the other sects] and said to be indifferent to the affairs of state. The result was that they began to recite sutras.29


Jumping more than six hundred years to the nineteenth century, Sogen wrote that the Sino-Japanese War had been caused by China, which tried "to put Japan under its thumb" in Korea.30 The subsequent Russo-Japanese War was, in his opinion, due entirely to Russian actions. "Russia rapidly increased its armaments and intended to destroy Japan without fighting. It was decided that if Japan was going to be destroyed without fighting, it might as well have a go at it and be destroyed."31

These remarks were only a warm-up for Sogen's lengthy discussion of the Pacific War. He began this discussion with the following comments:

Shortly after the [Pacific] War started, I realized that this was one we were going to lose. That is to say, the civil and military officials of whom the Japanese were so proud had turned into a totally disgusting bunch ....

I'm not going to mince words-the top-level leadership of the navy was useless. I know because living in Kamakura as I did, I had met many of them .... For example, two dose friends of [Admiral] Yamamoto Isoroku [1884-1943] told me the following story: After the great victory Yamamoto achieved in the air attack on Pearl Harbor, he had a meeting with [General] Tojo Hideki. Yamamoto told him that this was no longer the era of battleships with their big guns. Rather, it was unquestionably the era of the airplane. Therefore every effort should be made to build more airplanes. Yamamoto was right, of course, in having said this.

Tojo, however, being the kind of person he was, in addition to being an army general, was consumed with jealousy, for, unlike the navy, the army had yet to achieve any major victories. The result was that, due to his stubbornness, Tojo told Yamamoto that he refused to accept orders from him because the latter was merely the commander-in-chief of the combined fleet while he [Tojo) was the nation's prime minister. They were like two children fighting. Yamamoto's two friends claimed that because Japan wasn't building more airplanes, it was losing the war.

[Sogen) said to them, "Why wasn't Yamamoto willing to risk his position in opposing him? Why didn't he tell Tojo he would resign his position as combined fleet commander?" ... If I had been there, I would have let go with an explosive "Fool!" ... The army and the navy don't exist for themselves, they exist to defend the country .... With people like these at the top how can they accomplish what is expected of them? We're already losing. With people like them as commanders, we cannot expect to win .... They're only thinking about themselves.32


Even though Sogen claimed to have realized that Japan faced defeat at an early stage of the war with the Allies, he did not withdraw his support for the nation's war effort. On the contrary, he wrote that on numerous occasions he had given lectures and led "training camps" (rensei kai) to help maintain the people's morale. One of his earliest efforts (omitted from his book) was given on national radio (NHK) in July 1939. Speaking in support of the government's newly issued order for a general mobilization of the civilian population, he said:

Lieutenant Colonel Sugimoto Goro was revered as a god of war, having undergone Zen training .... Had he possessed a weak spirit, or lacked the ability to carry out [what needed to be done), he would have been held in contempt by the people, given today's emergency situation. Let us be inspired by the [Zen] expression: ''A day without work is a day without eating." If we were to carry this over into every aspect of our daily lives, that is to say, if we were to dedicate ourselves totally to repaying the debt of gratitude we owe the nation, we would have a splendidly coherent life. Though we found ourselves on the home front and not on the battlefield, we would have nothing to be ashamed of.33


A second lecture, which Sogen did choose to write about, was given at the Naval Technical Research Institute in Tokyo. With evident pride, he twice mentioned that all the members of this institute were university graduates and that it was the most important center for naval technology in Japan. His lecture was given to all two hundred workers at the institute and lasted for a full three hours and twenty minutes. Perhaps embarrassed by its content (within the context of the postwar era), he did not give the details of his talk, but he claimed there was not so much as a cough from his audience the entire time. "I'll be satisfied if what I've said has been of even a small benefit to the state." he concluded.34 As an example of one of the training camps he led, Sogen described a military-sponsored visit of some forty-four wounded war veterans to Engakuji. They underwent Zen training as best they could for a one-week period. When it came time for them to leave, Sogen addressed them:

Even though you have sustained injuries to your eyes or to your hands, you are still brave and seasoned warriors. This is now a time when the people must give everything they have to the state. You, too, have something precious to give. That is to say, transfer your spirit to the people of this nation, hardening their resolve. You were not sent to a place like this to be pampered. I took charge of you because I wanted you to have the resolve and the courage to offer up the last thing you possess [to the state].35


"They cried." Sogen reported, "all of them."36

Sogen was not critical of all those in leadership positions during the war. There was one institution, or figure, for whom he had unwavering respect both during and after the war, the emperor: "The debt of gratitude owed the emperor ... is so precious that there is no way to express one's gratitude for it or to repay it."37 Although Sogen didn't discuss Emperor Hirohito's wartime role, he had nothing but praise for his actions following Japan's defeat. It was the emperor's "nobility of spirit." Sogen maintained, that so moved General Douglas MacArthur, head of the Allied Occupation Forces, that he decided to treat Japan leniently, maintaining its integrity as a single country. It was in this spirit that Sogen left his Japanese readers with the following parting thought: "The prosperity and everything we enjoy today is completely due to the selflessness and no-mindedness of the emperor's benevolence. I want you to remember this. Human beings must never forget the debt of gratitude they owe [others )."38 Though the terms "imperial-state Zen" and "soldier Zen" may have ceased being rallying cries in postwar Japan, Sogen, like Yamada Mumon, demonstrates that their spirit lived on. He was far from the only postwar Zen master to maintain this attitude, a fact which explains, at least in part, why even today not a single branch of the Rinzai Zen sect has ever publicly discussed, let alone apologized for, its wartime role. To do so would call into question not only the modern history of that sect but much of its seven-hundred-year history in Japan.

Ichikawa Hakugen While the Rinzai Zen sect has spawned some of the strongest advocates of imperial-state Zen and soldier Zen, it has also produced some of its most severe critics. Yanagida Seizan may be considered one, though his was at best a limited critique. The Rinzai Zen-affiliated priest and scholar Ichikawa Hakugen took up this challenge on a much broader scope and a much deeper level.

Hakugen's classic statement on the role of Buddhism, particularly Zen, in the wartime era is The War Responsibility of Buddhists (Bukkyosha no Senso Sekinin), published in 1970. Three years before, in 1967, he had begun to examine this issue in Zen and Contemporary Thought (Zen to Gendai Shiso). He developed his ideas still further in a series of articles and books including Religion Under Japanese Fascism (Nihon Fashizumu Ka no Shukyo), published in 1975, and a major article entitled "The Ideology of the Military State" (Kokubo Kokka Shiso) included in Buddhism During the War(Senji Ka no Bukkyo), published in 1977 and edited by Nakano Kyotoku.

In Religion Under Japanese Fascism, Hakugen justified his call for a critical evaluation of the relationship between Buddhism and Japanese militarism:

In recent times, Japanese Buddhists talk about Buddhism possessing the wisdom and philosophy to save the world and humanity from collapse. However, I believe Buddhism first has to reflect on what, if any, doctrines and missionary work it advocated during the Meiji, Taisho, and Showa periods to oppose exploitation and oppression within Japan itself, as well as Korea, Taiwan, Okinawa, China, and Southeast Asia. Beyond that, Buddhism has the duty and responsibility to clarify individual responsibility for what happened and express its determination [never to let it happen again].39


In the preceding work, as well as many of his other works, Hakugen set out to do just what he said needed to be done. He not only clarified individual responsibility but also looked at those doctrinal and historical aspects of both Zen and Buddhism which he believed lent themselves, rightly or wrongly, to abuse by supporters of Japanese militarism. One of the individuals whom Hakugen felt was most responsible for the development of imperial-way Zen was D. T. Suzuki.

Hakugen felt that Suzuki's position as expressed in A Treatise on the New [Meaning of] Religion in the latter part of the Meiji period helped form the theoretical basis for what followed. In justification of this assertion, he quoted the same passage from that treatise introduced in chapter 2. He stated that Suzuki had been speaking of China when he mentioned a "lawless country" in this treatise. Hakugen then went on to say:

[Suzuki] considered the Sino-Japanese War to be religious practice designed to punish China in order to advance humanity. This is, at least in its format, the very same logic used to support the fifteen years of warfare devoted to "The Holy War for the Construction of a New Order in East Asia." Suzuki didn't stop to consider that the war to punish China had not started with a Chinese attack on Japanese soil, but, instead, took place on the continent of China. Suzuki was unable to see the war from the viewpoint of the Chinese people, whose lives and natural environment were being devastated. Lacking this reflection, he considered the war of aggression on the continent as religious practice, as justifiable in the name of religion ....

The logic that Suzuki used to support his "religious conduct" was that of "the sword that kills is identical with the sword that gives life" and "kill one in order that many may live." It was the experience of "holy war" that spread this logic throughout all of Asia. It was Buddhists and Buddhist organizations that integrated this experience of war with the experience of the emperor system.40


Needless to say, Suzuki was not the only Zen adherent who Hakugen believed shared responsibility for the war. Mention has already been made, for example, of Harada Daiun Sogaku, whom Hakugen identified as a "fanatical militarist." Hakugen went on to point out that yet another of Harada's chief disciples and Dharma successors, Yasutani Hakuun (1885-1973) was, in postwar years, "no less a fanatical militarist and anticommunist" than his master.41

Specifically, in 1951, Hakuun established a publication known as Awakening Gong (Gyosho) as a vehicle for his religious and political views. The following passage is typical of his political views:

Those organizations which are labeled right-wing at present are the true Japanese nationalists. Their goal is the preservation of the true character of Japan. There are, on the other hand, some malcontents who ignore the imperial household, despise tradition, forget the national polity, forget the true character of Japan, and get caught up in the schemes and enticements of Red China and the Soviets. It is resentment against such malcontents that on occasion leads to the actions of young [assassin) Yamaguchi Ojiya or the speech and behavior of [right-wing novelist) Mishima Yukio.42


Coupled with Hakuun's admiration for Japan's right wing was his equal distaste for Japan's labor movement and institutions of higher learning. Less than a year after the above, he wrote:

It goes without saying the leaders of the Japan Teachers' Union are at the forefront of the feeble-minded [in this country) .... They, together with the four opposition political parties, the General Council of Trade Unions, the Government and Public Workers Union, the Association of Young Jurists, the Citizen's League for Peace in Vietnam, and so forth, have taken it upon themselves to become traitors to the nation ....

The universities we presently have must be smashed one and all. If that can't be done under the present constitution, then it should be declared null and void just as soon as possible, for it is an un-Japanese constitution ruining the nation, a sham constitution born as the bastard child of the allied occupation forces.43


As for the theoretical basis of Hakuun's political views, he shared the following with his readers six months later: "All machines are assembled with screws having right-hand threads. Right-handedness signifies coming into existence, while left-handedness signifies destruction."44 When Hakuun went to the United States to lead meditation training on seven different occasions between 1962 and 1969, sentiments like the above were noticeably missing from his public presentations. It would appear that they were for domestic consumption only. Yet Hakuun did not hesitate to tell his American students what the true cause of conflict in the world was. In a 1969 essay entitled "The Crisis in Human Affairs and the Liberation Found in Buddhism," he wrote:

Western-style social sciences have been based on a deluded misconception of the self, and they attempt to develop this "I" consciousness. This is dichotomy. As a result, they have reinforced the idea of dichotomy between human beings which has lead to conflicts and fighting. They have even created a crisis which may destroy all of mankind.45


Naturally, Hakugen was sharply critical of "god of war" Sugimoto Goro and his Zen master and eulogist Yamazaki Ekiju:

First, Sugimoto and Yamazaki used Zen as nothing more than a means for the practice of the imperial way. Not only that, but by forcing the meaning and tenets of Zen to fit within the context of a religion centered on the emperor, Zen itself was obliterated.46


Hakugen also pointed out that the Soto Zen sect had gone so far as to actually change its fundamental principles in order to place itself squarely behind the state's war efforts. In 1940 this sect revised its creed to read: "The purpose of this sect is ... to exalt the great principle of protecting the state and promoting the emperor, thereby providing a blessing for the eternal nature of the imperial throne while praying for the tranquility of a world ruled by his majesty."47 In its new creed promulgated following Japan's defeat, the Soto sect dropped the preceding paragraph in its entirety, as it was clearly no longer politically acceptable.

Hakugen was the first postwar Zen and Buddhist scholar to try to determine what Buddhist doctrines or pre-Meiji historical developments might have either contributed to or facilitated Buddhist war collaboration. He identifies one example of a contributing historical development in Zen and Contemporary Thought:

In the Edo period [1600-1867) Zen priests such as Bunan [1603-76), Hakuin [1685-1768), and Torei [1721-92) attempted to promote the unity of Zen and Shinto by emphasizing Shinto's Zen-like features. While this resulted in the further assimilation of Zen into Japan, it occurred at the same time as the establishment of the power of the emperor system. Ultimately this meant that Zen lost almost all of its independence, the impact of the High Treason Incident on the Zen world representing the final stage of this transformation.48


Hakugen also looked for those Buddhist tenets that seem to· have made Buddhism susceptible to militaristic manipulation. One example he gave of such an idea concerned the Buddhist teaching of wago (harmony). Out of harmony, he postulated, had come Buddhism's "nonresistance" and "tolerance":

With what has modern Japanese Buddhism harmonized itself? With State Shinto. With the power of the state. With militarism. And therefore, with war. To what has modern Japanese Buddhism been nonresistant? To State Shinto. To the power of the state. To militarism. To wars of aggression. Toward what has modern Japanese Buddhism been tolerant? Toward the above mentioned entities with which it harmonized. Therefore, toward its own war responsibility.

And I should not forget to include myself as one of those modern Japanese Buddhists who did these things.49


Hakugen's self-indictment was, in fact, quite appropriate, for during the war years he had indeed been a strong advocate of Japan's "holy war." For example, in September 1942, he published an article in Daihorin entitled, "War, Science, and Zen." He began his article with the following observation:

Pacifistic humanitarianism, which takes the position that all conflicts are inhumane crimes, is the sentiment of moralists who don't know the true nature of life. We, on the other hand, know of numerous instances in which peace is far more unwholesome and evil than conflict. In this regard, Nietzsche, who taught the logic of war instead of peace, was a man with a firm grip on living truth rather than the abstractions of pacificists.50
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Re: D.T. Suzuki, Zen and the Nazis, by Brian Daizen Victoria

Postby admin » Sat Mar 30, 2019 5:08 am

Part 2 of 2

Hakugen went on to relate these ideas to Zen:

The words [of Zen master Dogen] discuss the "falling away" of body and mind of both oneself and others. A truly solemn battle must be one in which one conquers not only the evil within the enemy, but within one's own side as well. A conflict which thoroughly incorporates within itself defense, penitence, and liberation, is one that is worthy of the name "holy war."

By protecting. oneself one can truly save others, and through saving others one can undoubtedly be saved oneself. It is in such a war that the "sword which kills" can, at the same time, be the "sword which gives life." It is the creativity which emerges from tragedy that gives the title "holy war" its appropriateness.51


And finally Hakugen becomes quite concrete and specific: "The current war is a fight for 'eternal peace in the Orient'."52

Motivated by his awareness of his wartime complicity, Hakugen tenaciously uncovered layer after layer of factors that had facilitated or caused Buddhism, and Zen in particular, to unite with militarism. Nowhere is this clearer than in his examination of the historical character of Japanese Buddhism that was included in his book The War Responsibility of Buddhists. Hakugen outlined twelve historical characteristics which, developing over the centuries, produced in Japanese Buddhism a receptiveness to authoritarianism. 53

The first of these characteristics was the subservience of Buddhism to the state. Hakugen pointed out that there were a number of Mahayana sutras originating in India that emphasized the role of Buddhism as "protector of the state." These sutras had been particularly welcomed in Japan, where this aspect of Buddhism became even more pronounced. During the Edo period Buddhism came under complete government control and, mixed together with Shinto, evolved into what was essentially a state religion.

As a state religion, Buddhism became a mere shell of its former self. Its attention was now focused on ancestor veneration in the form of funerals and memorial services, making it a religion with a limited social nexus., the extended family. It was antagonistic to Christianity because of the latter's transnational and modern character. Furthermore, the Meiji government's opposition to Christianity and socialism only reinforced Buddhism's opposition to those movements. Buddhism sought to protect itself by ever greater subservience to the state, including opposition to any group or movement that threatened nationalism based on the emperor system and military expansionism.

Hakugen's second characteristic concerned Buddhist views on humanity and society. On the one hand, Buddhism emphasizes the equality of human beings based on their possession of a Buddha nature, the innate potential to realize Buddhahood. On the other hand, the doctrine of karma, with its corollary belief in good and bad karmic retribution, tends to serve as a kind of moral justification for social inequality. Differences in social status, wealth, and happiness are seen as just rewards for good or bad conduct both in this and previous lives, having nothing to do with the political or social structure of society.

Understood in this light, social inequality is not only just, but represents true equality. It is, furthermore, only natural for Buddhism to protect a society with clear differences in social status since such a society facilitates the working out of past karma. Socialism, on the other hand, advocates the . purposeful leveling of these social differences, thus becoming the proponent of "evil equality." As such, it must be rejected.

The third characteristic was concerned with the question of Social morality, the encouragement of go od and the punishment of evil. In this context Hakugen discussed one of Japan's oldest quasi-legal documents, the Seventeen Article Constitution of Prince Regent Shotoku, allegedly promulgated in 604. This Constitution contained the following warning: "If you receive an imperial command, it must be obeyed without fail. The sovereign is heaven, and imperial subjects are the earth .... Should the earth seek to overthrow heaven, there will only be destruction."

Hakugen maintained that as a semistate religion from this period onwards, Buddhism sought to protect not only the state but its hierarchical social structure as well. On the basis of having completely internalized-this essentially Confucian logic over the centuries, Buddhism readily became a faithful servant of the Meiji government's conservative social policies, working to create the ideal imperial subject.

The fourth characteristic concerned both human rights and justice. Hakugen first introduced the Buddhist doctrine of dependent co-arising or causality, explaining that all phenomena are regarded as being in a constant state of flux, born and dying without any permanent substance to them, empty. When this doctrine is applied to the self, it produces the concept of egolessness or no-self, leaving no room for the independence of the individual.

According to Hakugen, this doctrine prevented the development of the Western principle of Natural Law within Buddhism, leaving the modern concepts of human rights and justice without a foundation. In the Seventeen Article Constitution, there is an admonition to "turn one's back on self-interest and embrace the public good." Hakugen believed there existed a direct connection between this and the wartime slogan "exterminate the self and serve the public" (messhi hoko). The "public" referred to, he maintained, was none other than the state and the emperor. Thus, "The teaching of 'no-self' became both a theory and ethic serving mikado imperialism."54

The lack of Buddhist dogma was the fifth characteristic Hakugen identified. Lacking a transcendent, personal God who had to be worshiped and defended, Buddhism failed to establish the type of compelling basic dogma a believer would fight to preserve. In Japan, this resulted in the neglect of both discursive thought and logical theory. Instead, Buddhism concentrated on the inner self, giving the central role to the individual's subjective feelings. There was little concern for the results of external actions.

The sixth characteristic was the concept of on. Forming the heart of Mahayana Buddhist ethics, on is the teaching that a debt of gratitude is owed to those from whom favors are received. Traditionally, on was owed to four classes or types of individuals: (1) one's parents; (2) the ruler; (3) all sentient beings; and (4) either heaven and earth, or the Three Treasures of Buddhism, the Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha. Hakugen argued that in Japan the debt of gratitude owed one's parents had converged with that owed one's sovereign, the emperor, who assumed the role of the head of the entire Japanese family. This produced a corresponding weakening of the sense of universal indebtedness to all sentient beings.

The Buddhist belief in the mutual interdependence of all things was the seventh characteristic. Hakugen stated that this belief led in modern Japan to an organic view of the state coupled with a feeling of intimacy towards it. Encompassed within this viewpoint was the recognition of the preeminence of the state, with the individual being no more than a constituent element. In similar fashion, it meant that capitalists, too, were preeminent, with workers being subsumed beneath them in an extended family system that emphasized harmony and cooperation.

Hakugen's eighth characteristic focused on the doctrine of the Middle Way. He maintained that the Middle Way doctrine of early Buddhism in India had become the operating principle for social development in modern Japanese Buddhism. This did not manifest itself as some type of compromise between extreme left-wing and right-wing political ideology. Instead, it took the form of a constant search for compromise with the aim of avoiding confrontation before it occurred. This lead to an unwillingness to take clearcut positions on social issues as well as very hazy ideas about social reform.

The ninth characteristic centered on the tradition of ancestor veneration. As "nation-protecting Buddhism" assimilated itself to Japan, it promoted the customs and virtues of ancestor veneration. The entire nation came to be regarded as one large family in which loyalty between subject and sovereign was the chief virtue. This logic was extended and employed as a support mechanism for the sacred war as voiced by the wartime slogan "the whole world under one roof" [hakko ichiu].

The tenth characteristic was the idea of "aging." The Middle Ages in Japan gave rise to a culture in which old and mature things were valued. Out of this came such aesthetic concepts as wabi (rustic antiqueness) and sabi (ancient solitariness). According to this way Of thinking, society was based on a set of ancient and immutable laws, especially as regarded its hierarchical structure. To challenge those laws and to suggest new social structures was seen as the act of an immature person who had not fully grasped the laws. The mature person, in contrast, would dismiss proposals for social change, especially those threatening the existing social order, while remaining accepting, obedient, and uncritical of the status quo.

The eleventh characteristic involved Buddhism's emphasis on inner peace rather than justice. Lacking a God as the author of transcendental principles, Buddhism was not compelled to build a Kingdom of God based on justice here on earth. Furthermore, because Buddhism is a religion based on the idea of the emptiness of things, it had almost no basis for maintaining an antagonistic attitude towards State Shinto. Buddhism's focus on the inner peace of the individual also contributed to its failure to encourage and justify the will to reorganize society.

Hakugen's twelfth and final characteristic concerned the Buddhist logic of soku, a copula that means "just as it is" and is related to the Buddhist concepts of suchness and nonduality. Ichikawa contended that the logic of soku, appearing as it does throughout Buddhist thought, leads to a static, aesthetic perspective, a detached, subjective harmony with things. In Hakugen's view, Buddhism lacks a dynamic theoretical basis for either confronting reality or promoting social change.

Each one of the twelve characteristics identified by Hakugen is, certainly, open to debate. Nevertheless, his critique strongly suggests that the issue of Buddhism's collaboration with Japanese militarism is one with very deep roots in Buddhist history and doctrine, by no means limited to Japan alone. For this insight, and much more, future students of this topic will remain indebted to this pioneering scholar.

Hakamaya and Matsumoto The Soto Zen sect has made a beginning in addressing some of the many issues involved in the modern historical relationship between the sect and the Japanese state and militarism. This work continues even now through the ongoing research and writings of such contemporary Soto Zen scholars at Komazawa University as Hakamaya Noriaki (b. 1943) and Matsumoto Shiro (b. 1950 ). Both of these scholars, like Ichikawa Hakugen before them, have undertaken an in-depth look at some of the doctrinal underpinnings of Zen which facilitated, if not prompted, its support for Japanese militarism. They have reached some surprising and radical conclusions.

Matsumoto discusses the relationship of patriotism to Buddhism:

I believe that to love Japan is to love one's self. To me "Japan" is an extension of my own mind and body. As I love my own body, so I love Japan. Self-love, or narcissism, is very enticing and sweet. ... However, love is something which should be directed to others; if it is directed at one's self, it becomes self-attachment.

On the basis of the Buddhist teaching of no-self, I have come to the following conclusions: (1) one should disdain oneself; and (2) one should love only the absolute other (God or Buddha). Therefore, as a Buddhist, based on the teaching of no-self, I must not love Japan, since it is an extension of my self.

Even if I believe I should not love myself, it is certainly true that I am always loving myself; even if I believe I should not love Japan, I cannot avoid loving Japan. However, the teaching of the Buddha is absolute .... A Buddhist must not love Japan [i.e. one's own country].55


Hakamaya's conclusions are no less dramatic. In his 1990 book Critical Buddhism (Hihan Bukkyo), Hakamaya echoed Ichikawa Hakugen's earlier critique of the Buddhist concept of "harmony" (wa):

True Buddhists must, having disavowed the Law of the Sovereign, believe in the Law of the Buddha. They must draw a sharp distinction between Buddhist teachings and anti-Buddhist teachings, using both intellect and language to denounce the latter ....

In the present age dominated by a harmony which is ever ready to compromise, to be opposed to war means to reject harmony. 56


Hakamaya also directed his attention to those Soto Zen masters who supported Japan's war effort. He had the following to say about Sawaki Kodo, whose wartime writings have been previously introduced:

When one becomes aware of Sawaki Kodo's [wartime] call to "Invoke the power of the emperor; invoke the power of the military banner," it is enough to send shivers down one's spine .... Not only was Sawaki not a Buddhist, but he took up arms against [Soto Zen Master] Dogen himself .... 57


This is very strong criticism coming from a Soto Zen-affiliated scholar, for even today that sect continues, on the whole, to regard Kodo as one of its great scholar-priests of this century. But Hakamaya is driven by the belief that Buddhists "must draw a sharp distinction between Buddhist and anti-Buddhist teachings."

Even more surprising, Hakamaya and Matsumoto are ready and willing to subject traditional, nearly sacrosanct Zen doctrines to the test of Buddhist versus anti-Buddhist teachings. Nowhere is this better seen than in Hakamaya's assertion that the doctrine of the original or inherent enlightenment of all sentient beings, which forms a crucial part of East Asian Buddhism in general and Zen in particular, is not a Buddhist concept at all. It is this assertion that serves as the basis of his attack on harmony, claiming that it, too, is "not Buddhism."58

Hakamaya's basic position is that the doctrine that all beings are inherently, therefore originally enlightened (hongaku shiso), violates the fundamental Bnddhist teaching of causality, the twelvefold chain of dependent arising said to have been discovered by Buddha Shakyamuni through his enlightenment experience. Hakamaya sees the doctrine of original enlightenment as affirming an eternal, substantial, underlying essence, often referred to as Buddha nature, on which everything else in the phenomenal world depends or arises from. The teaching of causality, on the other hand, describes a temporal sequence from cause to effect, and is predicated on the logic that if B exists, then A has existed; if A does not exist, then B will not exist. In other words, each precondition is dependent on the one before it, with a total of twelve preconditions linked together and forming an indivisible circle, typically represented in Buddhist art as the Wheel of Life. In this scheme, there is no place for an unchanging substratum such as original enlightenment beneath or behind the phenomenal world.

For a similar reason both Hakamaya and Matsumoto criticize the doctrine of tathagatagarbha (J. nyoraizo), a second foundation of East Asian Buddhism. Unlike original enlightenment, which lacks a Sanskrit equivalent and may well be a later Chinese creation, the latter doctrine is a clear if relatively minor part of the Indian Mahayana tradition.59 In this compound term, tathagata denotes the Eternal Buddha and therefore can also be translated as "suchness," "thusness," or "the absolute." The word garbha literally means a "seed" or "embryo." and refers to the receptacle or womb in which the absolute resides. As a compound, this term refers to the absolute residing as a constituent element, though in embryonic form, within sentient beings-the universal potential for enlightenment waiting to be realized. While the phenomenal world is regarded as ultimately unreal (i.e. non-existent), being devoid of any unchanging self-nature, the realm of the unconditioned absolute, of suchness, is real (existent).

In Japan the doctrine of original enlightenment was expanded over time to embrace the idea that all things, animate and inanimate alike, were inherently enlightened. Hence the famous phrase, often encountered in Japanese literature, that "mountains and rivers, plants and trees, all attain Buddhahood" (sansen somoku shikkai jobutsu). On the surface this appears to an optimistic, even democratic idea, for enlightenment becomes equally and inherently open to all, regardless of wealth, sex, age, education, or nationality, and embraces even the objects of the inanimate world.

The question is, of course, what these abstract doctrinal arguments have to do with Hakamaya's and Matsumoto's social critiques. They discovered that in historical practice these two doctrines produced what they regard as very undesirable consequences, a major one of which is a philosophy of discrimination. They argue that if-a single, unchanging reality underlies all phenomena, then everything in the phenomenal world becomes essentially the same. This includes, of course, such moral distinctions as right and wrong and good and bad, and such social distinctions as rich and poor and strong and weak. Accordingly, there is no longer any need or reason to fight injustice or to right wrongs. Discrimination and injustice come to be regarded as no more than the way things are and ought to be. The moral imperative to act selflessly, to reach out to those in need, disappears.

Hakamaya further argues that original enlightenment functions as an authoritarian idea because suchness is seen as being ineffable, with no place for either words or concepts, let alone faith or intellect. This in turn leads to those Zen terms so beloved by Suzuki and other Zen masters, terms such as "no reliance on words or letters" (furyu monji), "direct intuition" (chokkan), and especially, "no-thought" and "no-reflection." In this connection it may be helpful to recall Suzuki's comments concerning the way of the sword:

In the Kendo ("the Way of the Sword"), what is most essential to attain besides its technique is the spiritual element controlling the art throughout. It is a state of mind known as munen or muso, "no-thought" or "no-reflection." ... It means letting your natural faculties act in a consciousness free from thoughts, reflections, or affections of any kind .... When this is understood, your art is perfect. Finally, Zen and the Sword's Way are one in this, that both ultimately aim at transcending the duality of life and death.60


Matsumoto identified this type of thinking as a philosophy of death and rejected it categorically.

Hakamaya rejected the idea of harmony, calling it an enemy of Buddhism because it inevitably promotes compromise and tolerance-tolerance that is exploited by the powerful in society to maintain the status quo, no matter how unjust it may be. At the same time, it is used to stifle internal dissent, thereby making people easy prey for political propaganda. In one of his strongest statements on this issue, Hakamaya said:

The previous Greater East Asia War was prosecuted in accord with the concept of harmony utilizing [such slogans as] "The Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere" and "The Whole World Under One Roof." The sons of Japan, unable to become traitors, silently and obediently took their bodies to the battlefield, regarding it as a virtue to do so. If we reflect on this for but a moment, it is clear that it is through faith one becomes a true Buddhist. Should there be an occasion when the Law of the Sovereign and the Law of the Buddha come into conflict, then ... the Law of the Buddha should be chosen. One must never allow oneself to be reduced to a mere physical entity. Instead, the intellect must be used to its utmost to dearly distinguish what is right, and words used to their utmost to criticize what is wrong. I believe this is the way in which faith becomes an activity opposed to war.61


Needless to say, statements like the above have not gone unchallenged within Japanese Buddhist circles. For one, critics want to know what these two scholars consider Buddhism is if the preceding doctrines are dismissed as invalid. Their reply has been to present what they consider to be true Buddhism's three defining characteristics. Briefly, they are: (1) Buddha Shakyamuni's teaching of the law of causality, which denies the existence of any underlying or unchanging substance in the world, including the self; (2) the duty of those who would call themselves Buddhist to act altruistically, or "selflessly." to benefit others; and (3) the use of words and the intellect in making a conscious decision to believe in the law of causality.

Though the positions set forth by Hakayama and Matsumoto are certainly not impervious to criticism (for example, the teaching of the universal possession of the Buddha nature, "with neither superior nor inferior." was a catalyst for Uchiyama Gudo's social activism, which battled social repression and discrimination), the willingness of these two scholars to call into question some long held and cherished tenets of both Japanese Buddhism in general and Zen in particular augurs well for an intellectual revitalization of Japanese Buddhist thought, not least of all within the Zen tradition. It also demonstrates how far Japanese Buddhism has come in the half century since its leaders claimed that it was the only Buddhist country in Asia, the country in which pure Mahayana Buddhism was to be found.

Hirata Seiko As noted above, not one of the numerous branches of the Rinzai Zen sect has ever formally admitted or examined its own war complicity. 62. (Ichikawa Hakugen's critique was personal, not official.) It is difficult to escape the conclusion that this inability to come to grips with its past is due to the fact that the Rinzai sect's complicity was even more thoroughgoing than that of the Soto sect.

In the absence of any formal statement from official Rinzai spokesmen, let us conclude this chapter with a look at the most contemporary statement on Zen war responsibility made by a Rinzai Zen-sect priest, Hirata Seiko (b. 1924). Chief abbot of Tenryuji temple in Kyoto, former Professor of Buddhism at Hanazono University, and a disciple of Seki Seisetsu, Seiko responded to this issue in an article entitled "Zen Buddhist Attitudes to War" which is included in Rude Awakenings (Zen, the Kyoto School, & the Question of Nationalism).

At first glance, Seiko seems to take a position not unlike that of Ichikawa Hakugen. For example, he frankly admitted that Japan's war efforts were, at least in part, "a self-serving attempt on the part of certain Japanese political and economic leaders to jump onto the imperialist bandwagon and carve out a piece of the Asian mainland for themselves." He further stated that "the Pacific War can only be seen as a reckless undertaking that simply reflected the military leaders' ignorance of the international situation."63

Seiko was no less frank in admitting Zen complicity in Japan's wartime activities:

The Zen priesthood is made up of individuals, and as in any religion during times of war, there were among them many who appear to have abandoned the ideals of their faith to embrace the narrower ideals of their country. Not a few Zen priests joined hands with State Shinto and its imperialist view of history in order to promote the war. None of the historical arguments brought forth in their defense (for example, the indignation at the West's colonization of the East ... ) can justify their simple failure to speak out on the Buddhist ideal of nonbelligerence, much less their active support of the war effort.64


There is also another, more subtle, apologist dimension to Seiko's admissions. On the secular level this is manifest in such statements as "the Russo-Japanese War of 1904-5 can be seen as a defensive strategy by Japan to halt the southward advance of the Russian Empire," or "as the leading power of Asia it was incumbent on Japan to stand up to the [Western] colonizers." 65 That neither the Korean nor Chinese people ever asked to be defended or colonized by Japan seems to have eluded Seiko's grasp.

Seiko's most questionable statements, however, are reserved for his description of the wartime activities of his own Zen teacher, Seki Seisetsu. According to Seiko, Seisetsu was one representative of "domestic criticism of the trend toward militarism." Thus, at the time of an extreme ultranationalist rebellion led by junior imperial army officers on February 26, 1936, Seisetsu wrote a letter to the minister of the army, Terauchi Hisaichi, "urg[ing] him take what action he could to check the reactionary elements in the officer corps." Terauchi was, we are told, "a frequent visitor of the master."66

What Seiko fails to mention, however, is that in spite of the major policy differences between them, the leaders on both sides of the rebellion were ultranationalists, equally committed to the maintenance and expansion of Japan's empire. As far as foreign policy was concerned, the conflict between them was over the best strategy for accomplishing their shared expansionist goals. From the viewpoint of Japan's colonial subjects, it made little difference which side prevailed. In the words of the colloquial Japanese expression, the 'only difference was whether they [the colonial peoples] were to be "broiled and eaten or boiled and eaten."

Seiko goes on to admit that "Unfortunately, the effort bore no fruit, for whatever reason, and Japan continued its downslide into military rule." The reason it bore no fruit, of course, is that it was little more than a factional dispute in the officer corps, both sides of which supported Japan's overseas empire. This is further attested to by the fact that once the central government succeeded in putting down the rebellion (as Seisetsu had requested), Terauchi went on, the following year, to become the commander of the North China area army and lead Japan's full-scale invasion of that country. By the end of the war this "frequent visitor of the master'·' would rise to the rank of field-marshal and command the entire southern area army in Southeast Asia.

Seisetsu went on, as previously described, to write The Promotion of Bushido in 1942. Even earlier, in Septemner 1937, Seisetsu had gone on national radio to say:

Showing the utmost loyalty to the emperor is identical with engaging in the religious practice of Mahayana Buddhism. This is because Mahayana Buddhism is identical with the Law of the Sovereign. The truth is that when the ego has been thoroughly destroyed, that which manifests itself is identical with the Buddha nature. The truth is that when the ego has been thoroughly discarded, that which springs forth is identical with the spirit of Japan. It is the red devils [i.e., Communists] who seek to throw our noble national polity into disarray. We must seek to exterminate the devils at home, while stamping out the devils abroad. This can be accomplished by uniting together as one, working harmoniously, being loyal, and serving the emperor.67


And finally, to what did Seiko attribute the willingness of Zen leaders to support Japanese militarism? Was its cause to be found deeply embedded in Japanese or Chinese Zen doctrines, as Hakugen and Hakamaya have asserted? Could it be connected to organizational Buddhism's early willingness to protect the nation, or Zen's willingness to assert the identity of Zen and the sword? In Seiko's view it could not, for it was all much simpler than that. Just as "the Pacific War can only be seen as a reckless undertaking that simply reflected the military leaders' ignorance of the international situation," so too "the Zen priesthood can be faulted for its ignorance of the international situation at the time of the Pacific War."68 Some fifty years after the end of the war, this Rinzai leader had come to the conclusion that Zen complicity in the wartime deaths of millions upon millions could be explained by ignorance of the international situation.

_______________

Notes:

CHAPTER TEN

1. D. T. Suzuki, Nihonteki Reisei in Vol. 8, Suzuki Daisetsu Zensha, pp. 6-7.

2.. D. T. Suzuki, "Zenkai Sasshin" (Renewal of the Zen World) in Vol. 28, Suzuki Daisetsu Zensha, p. 411.

3. Ibid., p. 412.

4. Ibid., p. 413. Compare this quotation with what Suzuki wrote only two years earlier, in 1944, in Nihonteki Reisei (Japanese Spirituality): "When the bright and pure mind [of a Japanese) no longer works on the surface of consciousness but begins to move submerged in its deepest parts, when it is moving unconsciously, without discrimination, without discursive thought, then Japanese spirituality can be recognized." (Suzuki Daisetsu Zensha, Vol. 8, p. 29.)

5. Ibid., p. 415.

6. Ibid., p. 417.

7. D. T. Suzuki, Nihonteki Reisei in Vol. 8, Suzuki Daisetsu Zensha, pp. 7.

8. Ibid., p. 7.

9. D. T. Suzuki, Nihon no Reiseika, p. 34.

10. Ibid., p. 1.

11. Ibid., pp. 5-6.

12. Ibid., p. 7.

13. Quoted in Abe, A Zen Life: D; T. Suzuki Remembered, p. 24.

14. D. T. Suzuki, "Daijo Bukkyo no Sekaiteki Shimei-Wakaki Hitobito ni Yosu" (The World Mission of Mahayana Buddhism-Given to Young People) in Vol. 28, Suzuki Daisetsu Zensha, p. 343.

15. Recorded by Hidaka Daishiro in "Nogi Taisho to Suzuki Daisetsu Sensei no Insho Oyobi Omoide" (Impressions and Remembrances of General Nogi and D. T. Suzuki) contained in Hisamatsu, Suzuki Daisetsu, p. 286. I find even further support for my conclusion in a postwar magazine article written by Suzuki in 1946 entitled "Special Attack Forces." (Tokko Tai). Here Suzuki blamed the Japanese people's "lack of a scientific and technical nature" for the country's defeat. He went on to say: "As for the recent war, the Japanese people revealed from the beginning that as far as their scientific nature is concerned, they were vastly inferior to the peoples of Europe and America. This lack of insight and decisiveness is shown by their complete failure to plan for war; their failure to investigate how much military, economic, and spiritual power the enemy possessed; and their inability to watch for an opportunity to end the war when it became clear that defeat was inevitable. Furthermore, it can be said that Japan was certain to be defeated from the very beginning inasmuch as this country was unable to give the least freshness to the creative power of machinery; or control, organize, master, and efficiently use, scientific technology." (p. 401) This is, of course, the same Suzuki who during the war years urged Zen-inspired warrior-soldiers to "rush forward to one's ideal," ignoring everything else including questions of right and wrong.

16. Quoted in Nihon Shukyo-sha Heiwa Kyogikai, Shukyo-sha no Sensi Sekinin; Zange, Kokuhaku, Shiryo-shu, p. 34.

17. Ibid., p. 39.

18. January 1993 issue of Soto Shuho, p. 26.

19. Ibid., pp. 28-31. To its credit, the Soto sect's administrative headquarters, spearheaded by its Human Rights Division, continues the drive to distance itself from the emperor and the state. This is seen, most notably, in administrative directives issued in 1994 to discourage the inclusion in ritual prayers of references either to the emperor or the term "heroic spirits" (eirei) when referring to the nation's war dead. In addition, the sect's Human Rights Division has also sought to end sectarian practices that support either sexual discrimination or discrimination against Japan's former outcaste group (burakumin).

20. Quoted in Nihon Shukyosha Heiwa Kyogikai, Shukyosha no Senso Sekinin; Zange, Kokuhaku, Shiryo Shu, p. 54.

21. Yanagida Seizan, Mirai kara no Zen, PP. 56-7.

22. Interview in 16 February 1995 issue of Chugai Nippo, p. 8.

23. Quoted in Ichikawa Hakugen, Nihon Fashizumu ka no Shakyo, p. 311.

24. Yamada Mumon, A Flower In The Heart, p. 11.

25. Ibid., p. 28.

26. Ibid., p. 31.

27. The leaflet was entitled "Thoughts on State Maintenance of Yasukuni Shrine" (Yasukuni Jinja Kokka Goji o Omou), as quoted in Maruyama, Nihonjin no Kokoro o Dame ni Shita Meiso, Akuso, Guso, p. 49. Mumon's attempt to find something good about the war is by no means unique among postwar Japanese leaders, especially conservative politicians and some historians. Typically those who seek to affirm Japan's wartime actions point to the liberation of the nations of Southeast Asia, especially Indonesia, from the yoke of Western colonialism. They consistently fail, however, to address Japan's own colonial control of Korea, Taiwan, and Manchuria.

28. Yamada, A Flower In The Heart, p. 7.

29. Asahina Sogen, Kakugo wa Yoi ka, pp. 151-52.

30. Ibid., p. 155.

31. Ibid., p. 157.

32. Ibid., pp 150-64.

33. Quoted in Ichikawa, Nihon Fashizumuka no Shakyo, p. 194.

34. Asahina, Kakugo wa Yoi ka, p. 168.

35. Ibid., p. 171.

36. Ibid., p. 171.

37. Ibid., p. 183.

38. Ibid., p. 189.

39. Ichikawa, Fashizumuka no Shakyo, pp. 22-23.

40. Ibid., p. 35.

41. Ibid., p. 15.

42.Ibid., p. 16. Yamaguchi Ojiya was a rightest youth who stabbed to death the popular leader of the Socialist Party of Japan, Asanuma Inejiro, at an outdoor rally in Tokyo in October 1960. Mishinta Yukio (1925-1970) was a famous novelist well-known in Japan for his rightwing views, which included restoring the emperor to his prewar status. In pursuit of his political goals, Mishima formed his own private army, the Shield Society (Tate no Kai), which trained together with the postwar Japanese military, the Self-Defense Forces. In November 1970 Mishima made a dramatic call for an uprising among members of the Self-Defense Forces. When this failed, he committed ritual suicide at the Self-Defense Force Headquarters in Tokyo.

43. Ibid., p. 16.

44. Ibid., p. 15.

45. Quoted in ZCLA Journal (Yasutani Roshi Memorial Issue), Summer I Fall, 1973, p. 46.

46. Ichikawa, Fashizumuka no Shakyo, p. 87.

47. Sotosha Kyogi. For a survey of the immediate postwar reactions of other Buddhist sects, see Ichikawa, Fashizumu ka no Shukyo, pp. 305-11.

48. Ichikawa Hakugen, Zen to Gendai Shiso, p. 177.

49. Ibid., p. 111-12.

50. September 1942 issue of Daihorin, p. 132.

51. Ibid., p. 139.

52. Ibid, p. 135.

53. See Ichikawa Hakugen, Bukkyosha no Senso Sekinin, pp. 150-54.

54. Ibid., p. 152.

55. Quoted in Paul Swanson's "Zen is Not Buddhism," in Numen 40 (1993), p. 123.

56. Hakamaya Noriaki, Hihan Bukkyo, pp. 297-98.

57. Ibid., p. 297.

58. Ibid., pp. 297-98. See pp. 275-304 for a more complete treatment of this thesis.

59. The short treatise entitled Awakening of Faith in the Mahayana is the primary vehicle through which the doctrines of original enlightenment and tathagatagarbha have been introduced into East Asian Buddhism. Although Chinese Buddhist tradition attributes this treatise to the Indian author Asvaghosha, who lived in the first or second century C.E., most scholars today regard it as an original Chinese composition. For further information on these two terms see either the "Introduction" to Yoshito S. Hakeda's translation, The Awakening of Faith, pp. 3-19, or Paul L. Swanson's article, "Zen Is Not Buddhism," in Numen 40 (1993) pp. 13-14.

60. D. T. Suzuki, Zen and Japanese Culture, p. 127.

61. Hakamaya, Hihan Bukkyo, pp. 293-94. For an in-depth look at the "Critical Buddhism" movement, see Jamie Hubbard and Paul Swanson, eds. Pruning the Bodhi-tree-Storm over Critical Buddhism. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 1997.

62. The closest to anything like an official Rinzai examination of its wartime conduct is to be found in a 1984 officially sponsored history of the Myoshinji branch entitled Myoshinji: Roppyaku Gojunen no Ayumi (Myoshinji: Over the Course of Six Hundred and Fifty Years). In the only direct reference to the branch's wartime collaboration, the book's author, Kimura Joyu, first noted the April 1945 donation of the fighter aircraft Hanazono Myoshinji. He then went on to say, " ... [this donation I cannot help but be said to be a reflection of the times," p. 225. Should this be interpreted as a mere oversight, it is noteworthy that in an address given on April 26, 1995, the current president of Hanazono University, Kono Taitsu (b. 1930), had the temerity to suggest to the Myoshinji branch hierarchy that, in conjunction with the fiftieth anniversary of the war's end, Myoshinji officially issue a statement repenting its war complicity. As he admitted, however, his proposal went over "like a lead balloon" (nuka ni kugi). For a full discussion of this incident, see Senso, Sengo Sekinin to Sabetsu (Discrimination and Responsibility for the War and its Aftermath), pp. 1-16, edited by Hanazono Daigaku Jinken Kyoiku Kenkyushitsu.

63. Heisig and Maraldo, Rude Awakenings, p. 10.

64. Ibid., p. 11.

65. Ibid., p. 10.

66. Ibid., p. 10. For a description of the February 26th Incident and the events surrounding it, see, for example, Beasley's The Modern History of Japan, pp. 236-57.

67. Quoted in Endo Makoto, Ima no Otera ni Bukkyo wa Nai, p. 157.

68. Heisig & Maraldo, Rude Awakenings, P. 15.
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Re: D.T. Suzuki, Zen and the Nazis, by Brian Daizen Victoria

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Corporate Zen in Postwar Japan, Chapter Eleven [Excerpt] from "Zen at War", by Brian Daizen Victoria
Second Edition
© 2006 by Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, Inc.

CHAPTER ELEVEN: CORPORATE ZEN IN POSTWAR JAPAN

During World War II, we have seen, Zen was used a a method to train not only officers and soldiers but "industrial warriors" as well. In postwar Japan, when the "infinite power" supposedly derived from zazen was no longer needed on the battlefield, some Japanese businessmen decided it could be put to use in the rebuilding of Japan's devastated industrial base. The Occupation had introduced democracy and education reform, including anew-emphasis on individual rights, to Japanese society. In addition, the terrible postwar poverty had encouraged the growth of leftist forces, including militant labor unions. Some in the business community saw Zen as a way of restoring the traditional values of discipline, obedience, and loyalty to superiors.

CORPORATE TRAINING PROGRAMS

One form the corporate response took was the creation of training programs for their new employees. An article entitled "Marching to the Company Tune," appearing in the June 1977 issue of Focus Japan, an English-language magazine published by the semi-governmental Japan External Trade Organization (JETRO), describes the history of these programs:

[These programs] were developed in the late 1950s when companies realized that schools were no longer emphasizing the old virtues of obedience and conformity. Living and training together, sometimes for as long as a month, are designed to artificially recreate the old neglected virtues.1


What better place than a Zen monastery for the artificial recreation of the old neglected virtues? Here monk and lay trainees rise at 3:30 A.M. to meditate, eat rice gruel for breakfast, and endure the winter cold with only tiny charcoal braziers for heat. Extended periods of sitting in the traditional cross-legged lotus posture can be quite painful even for an experienced meditator, let alone a novice. If even the slightest movement is detected, the meditator will be "encouraged" to remain immobile by one or more blows of a long wooden stick known as a kyosaku wielded by a senior monk-monitor. After being struck, the offending meditator is required to place the palms of his hands together and bow as an expression of his appreciation for the blows.

There can be no doubt that this Spartan life style does increase the ability to withstand adversity; and, as George A. DeVos has pointed out, endurance has long been a highly desirable virtue in Japanese business organizations.2 It is, however, in the social rather than the physical environment of a Zen monastery that there is the greatest emphasis on obedience and conformity. To be allowed to enter a monastery as a trainee, a monk is expected to prostrate himself in supplication before the entrance gate for hours, if not days, depending on the monastery. When asked why he wishes to enter the monastery, the monk should reply, "I know nothing. Please accept my request!" indicating that his mind is like a blank sheet of paper, ready to be inscribed by his superiors as they wish. If a monk fails to give the proper answer, he is struck repeatedly with the kyosaku until his shoulders are black and blue and the desired state of mind is achieved.

Once permitted to enter the monastery, the monk finds that everyone is his superior. Even a fellow monk who was admitted only a few hours before· him will automatically precede him on any formal or semiformal occasion, including meals, and exercise some degree of authority over him. Those senior monks who have been in training for more than one or two years seem, to the new entrant, to be superior beings. They not only wield the kyosaku but also determine whether or not the novice's work assignments are performed satisfactorily. These senior monks wear finer and more colorful robes than their juniors and live in more spacious quarters. They also have the official privilege of leaving the monastery for short periods of time and the unofficial privileges of surreptitiously eating meat, drinking alcohol, and keeping petty monetary and in-kind gifts made to the monastery.

There are striking parallels between Zen monastic life and training, and military life and training. During the war Soto Zen master Sawaki Kodo noted that Zen monasteries and the military "truly resemble each other closely." Among other things, this was because both required communal life styles. Kodo continued:

The first thing required in communal life is to discard the self .... In battle those who· have been living together communally can work together very bravely at the front .... Today the state requires that we all follow a communal life style wherever we are, thus repaying the debt of gratitude we owe the state. The spirit of Zen monastic life does not belong to Zen priests alone but must be learned by all the people.3


The prospect of incoming employees learning a communal life style to "repay the debt of gratitude" owed their company is, of course, no less attractive to Japan's business world than it was to the imperial military. Not surprisingly, therefore, corporate Zen training is often conducted in tandem with or in place of so-called "temporary enlistment" (kari nyutai) in the Japanese Self-Defense Forces. In the case of Zen monasteries, senior monks act very much like drill sergeants, and novice monks are their recruits. As one new salesman who had just completed his company's training program noted: "My work has much in common with that of a soldier."4

If senior monks are the drill sergeants, then it is the Zen master or masters who act as the generals or corporate heads. They enjoy the real authority in a Zen monastery and are ultimately responsible for directing the training programs for both monks and lay persons. In the talks they give to incoming trainees, one of the most frequently recurring themes is the Zen phrase daishu ichinyo, which means that all members of the monastic community (daishu) should act as one (ichinyo). When it is time to do zazen, everyone sits. When it is time to eat, engage in long, silent hours of manual labor, or sleep, everyone acts together as if they were one body. To do otherwise is called katte na kodo or "self-willed action" and condemned as the very antithesis of the Zen life. In a Zen monastery, complete conformity is by no means an old, neglected virtue.

Discipline, obedience, conformity, and physical and mental endurance in the face of hardship are not the only features of monastic life attractive to corporate Japan. The traditional Buddhist teaching of the non-substantiality of the self has also been given a unique corporate twist. This twist is well illustrated by Ozeki Soen (b. 1932), the abbot of Rinzai Zen-sect affiliated Daisen'in temple and one of the best-known of the Zen priests conducting employee-training courses. In a collection of his sermons delivered during such training courses, he stated:

Employing your vital life force, you should exert yourselves to the utmost, free of any conceptual thought .... This is what it means to be alive. That is to say, at every time and in" every place, you should work selflessly.5


Sakai Tokugen A further example of Zen's corporate twist is provided by Sakai Tokugen (1912--96), another leading Zen master involved with employee-training programs. Tokugen, a disciple of Sawaki Kodo, was also a former professor of Buddhist Studies at Komazawa University. In the May 1974 issue of Daihorin, he lamented the lack of sincerity in carrying out the orders of one's superiors in postwar Japan:

Sincerity [in carrying out orders 1 means having feelings and actions of absolute service, giving one's all [to the task at hand]. In doing this there can be no thought of personal loss or gain .... By carrying out our [assigned] tasks, we become part of the life of the entire universe; we realize our original True Self .... This is the most noble thing human beings can do.6


For Tokugen, then, selfless devotion to the accomplishment of one's assigned duties is none other than enlightenment itself. Is it any wonder that he has also been a popular leader of employee-training programs? How many Western companies can promise enlightenment as an added employee benefit? Here, certainly, the Protestant work ethic, with eternal salvation as its reward, has met its match.

It should be clear by now that, at its most basic, the same spirit of self-renunciation characterizes both Tokugen's exhortations to be a good worker and those of D. T. Suzuki, Yamazaki Ekiju, Harada Sogaku, and others to be a good soldier. The only difference between them is the object of loyalty and devotion. In premodern Japan, absolute loyalty was owed to one's feudal lord. From the Meiji period onward the focus shifted to the central government and its policies as embodied in the person of the emperor. In postwar Japan the focus shifted once again, this time to the corporation and its interests-which are of course very closely connected in Japan with those of the state.

There is one further aspect of Zen training that is very attractive to Corporate Japan, the practice of zazen itself. The samadhi power supposedly derived from the practice of zazen was originally utilized in Zen training to give the practitioner a deeper insight into his or her own nature and the nature of reality itself. Yet this same power, facilitating as it does complete absorption into the present moment, can be applied to any work, from wielding a samurai sword with lightning swiftness, to fighting selflessly on the battlefield, to manufacturing computer components with flawless precision. What could be more attractive to a Japanese company?

In reality, Japan's defeat meant not the demise of imperial-way Zen and soldier Zen but only their metamorphosis and rebirth as corporate Zen. Perhaps Zen's newest incarnation is more benign than its past variants, in that it does not seem to require loyalty even unto death. But in the mid- 1970s, a new phenomenon was detected among Japan's corporate warriors: karoshi, or "death from overwork." At least some part of postwar Japan's economic miracle must be assigned to the willingness of company employees to work themselves to death.

Katsuhira Sotetsu The emergence of corporate Zen in postwar Japan was not entirely without its critics. Perhaps the most prominent of these was Katsuhira Sotetsu (1922-1983), head of the Nanzenji branch of the Rinzai Zen sect. In his posthumous 1988 book Enlightenment of a Pickle-pressing Stone (Takuan Ishi no Satori) Sotetsu wrote:

Of late there has been a Zen boom, with various companies coming to Zen temples saying they wish to educate their new employees. But it is clear what kind of education they are seeking. They want to educate their employees to do just as they are told. They claim that Zen is good at this. However, their claim is a bunch of rubbish! Zen is not as paltry as all that. It is not so small-minded as to restrict a person to such a limited framework. This said, the responsibility for having sanctioned such a Zen boom lies with the Zen temples themselves.7


During the war years, as a young Zen priest, Sotetsu had volunteered to become a pilot in a special-attack, or kamikaze unit. He frequently begged his unit commander to send him on a mission, but the war ended before he got his wish. Sotetsu wrote about this: "Without entertaining the slightest doubt, I believed I should die for my country, killing even a single enemy. I now recognize that, as a priest, there could be no greater contradiction than this. I will carry this contradiction with me to the day I die."8 In November 1983, at sixty-one years of age, Sotetsu committed suicide.

ZEN AND THE POSTWAR JAPANESE MILITARY

Zen remains influential in Japanese military circles as well. The reconstituted Japanese military, the Self-Defense Forces, with a budget in 1996 second only to the United States military, continue to call on Zen masters for spiritual guidance despite Japan's so-called "Peace Constitution" of the postwar era.

Sugawara Gido In his 1974 book, If I Die, So What! (Shinde Motomoto) Sugawara Gido (1915-78), the chief abbot of Rinzai Zen sect-affiliated Hokoku Zenji temple, writes with evident pride of his more than ten years of service as an adjunct instructor for the Self-Defense Forces.9 Gido goes on to draw a parallel between the "unwavering faith" displayed by both Fleet Commander Admiral Togo Heihachiro (1848-1934) and Army General Nogi Maresuke during the Russo-Japanese War, and Zen enlightenment.10 As for the Pacific War, he wrote:

There is no doubt that all those involved in the Greater East Asia War had discarded their self-centeredness and, sacrificing their lives, acted on what they believed was right for their country.11 I think they attained the path of Truth [makoto]. If you believe that something is right, that it is the path of Truth, you should rush forward towards it.12


Gido also discussed Bushido, remarking that it was such Kamakura period (1185-1333) Zen masters as Eisai and Dogen who helped develop the samurai spirit, which "regarded the body as of no more value than so many goose feathers and was ever willing to sacrifice life itself in the service of one's lord."13 Gido argued that the ultimate spiritual beauty of Bushido was to be found in two of its uniquely Japanese practices, which he believed continue to course through the veins of the Japanese people: ritual disembowelment (seppuku) and seeking revenge on one's enemies (ada uchi). What made these two acts so compelling was that their practitioners "were well-acquainted with shame, propriety, and Truth." Moreover, the "selfless mind" embodied in these practices was the equivalent of the classical Zen koan Mu. Needless to say, Gido regarded these acts as being "incomprehensible to foreigners."14

In Gido's eyes, one of the most persistent problems facing the Self-Defense Forces was that their members were subjected to various forms of social discrimination at the hands of those. Japanese, including local government officials, who were opposed to the reestablishment of a military force. According to Gido, however, there was no need for Self-Defense Forces soldiers to be concerned about whether they were loved or hated. "Just silently continue polishing your machine guns and cleaning your tanks, even if you don't have to use them for the next two, three, or even five hundred years .... This is where your true life lies."15.

Omori Sogen Omori Sogen (1904-94) began his Zen practice in 1925 as a lay disciple of Seki Seisetsu, abbot of Tenryuji. Sogen claimed to have realized enlightenment at the age of twenty-nine, after having meditated intensely for eight years on the koan Mu. His breakthrough occurred as follows:

I finished zazen and went to the toilet. I heard the sound of the urine hitting the back of the urinal. It splashed and sounded very loud to me. At that time I thought, "Aha!" and I understood I had a deep realization.16


In 1966 Sogen published a book with a familiar ring to its title, Sword and Zen (Ken to Zen). Sogen opened his book by admitting that he didn't know when the phrase "The sword and Zen are one" (ken Zen ichinyo) had first been used.17 Nevertheless, he had no hesitation in stating "there can be doubt that with regard to their ultimate goals and aims, the sword and Zen are identical."18 He described the nature of this unity:

[quote[Zen is the sword of the mind while the sword is the Zen of the sword blade .... For a warrior to discharge his duties he must necessarily clarify the origin of life, and transcend life and death in order to reach the absolute realm .... This is the reason the destiny of the sword is inevitably connected to Zen.19[/quote]

Abstract as this quotation may seem, Sogen was prepared to cut through the metaphorical rhetoric when it came justifying the use of the sword in the defense of "peace and justice":

Can someone tell me just how justice is to be protected and peace preserved? Are there any concrete ways of protecting justice and maintaining peace other than resolutely making evil submit and eliminating those who threaten peace? In order to accomplish this, those [who do such things] must be harmed, even though in one respect it is, I dare say, wrong to do so.20


Sogen was well aware that "protecting justice and maintaining peace [in East Asia]" was precisely the rationale given to justify Japan's wartime actions; he had formerly been an ardent supporter of those same actions. In August 1945, Sogen made plans to preempt the broadcast of the emperor's announcement of Japan's surrender and fight till the end.21 He would have had to have very powerful friends indeed to even know in advance of the emperor's radio broadcast, let alone its contents. But in fact Sogen was very well connected, for he enjoyed the patronage of the Toyama family, the patriarch of which, Toyama Mitsuru (1855-1944), was a central figure in two of Japan's most infamous ultranationalist secret societies, the Genyosha (Dark Ocean Society) and Kokuryokai (Black Dragon Society). The historian David Bergamini described Toyama as the Lord High Assassin of these two secret societies.22 A second historian, E. H.Norman, noted that the two secret societies that Toyama helped run formed "the advance guard of Japanese imperialism ... mold[ing] public opinion in favor of aggression."23

Sogen also praised the elder Toyama for providing him with the wisdom necessary to endure his life of hardship amidst the poverty of the immediate postwar period. Toyama, he wrote, had once told him that "Since ancient times there has never been a person who starved from doing the right thing. If you are doing what is right, heaven will surely provide food. Therefore, even if you starve and die, do the right thing.24 What Sogen conveniently omitted from his account is that, for Toyama, doing the right thing had meant a lifetime of assassinations, drug dealing, and terrorism in Japan's colonies, coupled with political blackmail, intimidation, and backstairs intrigue at home.

Just how close Sogen was to the Toyamas is demonstrated by the fact that Toyama Mitsuru's son, Ryusuke, served as an advisor to the martial arts hall, Jiki Shin Dojo, that Sogen founded in 1933 and headed through the end of the war. For Sogen, Toyama Ryusuke's most attractive feature was his utter fearlessness:

During his [Ryusuke's] student days at Dobun Shoin, a very good friend had tuberculosis. Seeing this person who was depressed and in despair vomit blood, Toyama Sensei said, "Tuberculosis is nothing. Watch this!" and drank down the blood.25


According to Sogen, Ryusuke was "a great man that one can meet only once in a lifetime."26

Because Japan lost the war, Sogen decided "according to the Way of the Samurai." to formally enter the Rinzai Zen priesthood.27 He then went on to become a professor at Rinzai-affiliated Hanazono University in 1970 and its president in 1978. Six years earlier, in 1972, he had established Chozenji International Zen Dojo, complete with a martial arts training hall, in Hawaii. In material published in 1988, Sogen's American disciples described him as having earlier been an antiwar activist. They wrote:

Omori Roshi was influential in government circles before the outbreak of World War II and strenuously appealed to [Prince] Konoe, who was to be the next prime minister, to appoint either Ugaki or Mazaki to the post of Commander of the Army instead of Tojo. He hoped to avert Japan's war with the United States. He blamed his own spiritual weakness for his failure.28


As with D. T. Suzuki and others, the question must be asked as to whether Sogen was opposed to war in principle or merely opposed to fighting a losing war with the United States. The two generals whom Sogen supported, Ugaki Kazushige (1869-1956) and Mazaki Jinzaburo (1876-1956), were both longstanding supporters of Japan's colonial expansion. Ugaki, for example, had willingly accepted appointment as governor general of Korea in 1931. Similarly, there is nothing in the record to suggest that Sogen himself was opposed to the subjugation of Taiwan, Korea, or Manchuria. Thus, even if his "strenuous appeal" to Prince Konoe had been successful, it would have done little or no good for the millions of Chinese, Koreans, and other Asian peoples who became the victims of Japanese aggression, supported by such doctrines as the identity of the sword and Zen.

While corporate Zen is the primary manifestation of imperial-way Zen and soldier Zen in postwar Japan,29 Zen's connection to the Japanese military, and to the sword, has by no means disappeared. Yasutani Hakuun was another of those Zen masters leading retreats for members of the Self-Defense Forces, specifically for officer-candidates at the elite Self-Defense Academy.30 In fact, thanks to the writings and missionary activities of numerous postwar and small numbers of prewar Zen leaders like Yasutani, it can be argued that modern-day variations of imperial-way Zen and soldier Zen are now to be found in the West as well as in Japan, although often without the knowledge or support of their Western adherents. As these Zen variations settle into their new home in the West, the critical question is simply this: Will the doctrine of the unity of Zen and the sword, with all this implies historically, settle in with them?

_______________

Notes:

CHAPTER ELEVEN

1. "Marching to the Company Tune" in the June 1977 issue of Focus Japan, p. 36.

2. See DeVos, "Apprenticeship and Paternalism" in Modern Japanese Organization and Decision-Making, pp. 221-23.

3. Sawaki, "Zenrin no Seikatsu to Kiritsu" in the June 1944 issue of Daihorin, pp. 23-25.

4. "Marching to the Company Tune" in the June 1977 issue of Focus Japan, P. 36.

5. Quoted in Maruyama Teruo, Nihonjin no Kokoro o Dame ni Shita Meiso, Akuso, Guso, p. 194.

6. Sakai Tokugen, "Onoda-san to Shoji no Mondai" (The Question of Life and Death and Mr. Onoda) in the May 1974 issue of Daihorin, pp. 23-24.

7. Katsuhira, Takuan Ishi no Satori, p. 100. Sotetsu's critique notwithstanding, there has been no lessening of the Rinzai Zen sect's interest in promoting "corporate Zen" over the intervening years. For example, shortly after the collapse of Japan's so-called "bubble economy" in 1992, the Zen Studies Institute at Hanazono University collaborated with the Rinzai sect's Tenryuji branch to produce a video tape in both Japanese and English entitled "Introduction to Zazeil." The promotional material accompanying this tape began with the following headline: "Zazen, the Generative Power for Overcoming Economic Recession." It went on to add: "Zen, the wisdom fostered by Japanese culture, can be said to be the key to overcoming the current economic slump, the worst since the end of the war .... Zazen is now the focus of businessmen's attention."

8. Ibid., p. 40.

9. See Sugawara Gido, Shinde Motomoto!, p. 182. Gido also mentions on p. 178 that postwar temple visitors sometimes ask if his temple was established during the Pacific War. This is because his temple's name included the word "hokoku" which refers to "repaying the debt of gratitude one owes the state," a popular wartime slogan. Gido, however, informs such visitors that his temple was founded and named by a feudal lord of the Ashikaga family during the Kamakura period (1185-1333). This fact again points to the medieval origins of the unity of Zen and the state, suggesting that its modern manifestation should be considered less an aberration than an extension of its premodern character.

10. Ibid., p. 189.

11. The phrase "Greater East Asian War" (Dai Toa Senso), was the official wartime term for the Pacific War. Due to the militarist connotations of the term, it has generally been shunned in postwar Japan. In fact, during the Allied Occupation (1945-52) its use was officially forbidden. Given this, it can be said that Gido's use of the term here represents, at least to some degree, an endorsement of Japan's wartime actions.

12. Sugawara, Shinde Motomoto!, p. 182.

13. Ibid., p. 187.

14. Ibid., p. 188.

15. Ibid., p. 183.

16. Quoted in Hosokawa and Sayama, "The Chozen-ji Line (Omori Sogen Rotaishi)" in the Journal of the Institute of Zen Studies 3 (1988), p. 2.

17. Omori, Ken to Zen, p. 1.

18. Ibid., p. 69.

19. Ibid., pp. 7-8.

20. Ibid., pp. 206-207.

21. Hosokawa and Sayama, "The Chozenji Line (Omori Sogen Rotaishi)" in the Journal of the Institute of Zen Studies 3 (1988), p. 3.

22. Bergamini, Japan's Imperial Conspiracy Vol. 1, p. 340.

23. Norman, "The Genyosha: A Study in the Origins of Japanese Imperialism" in Livingston, The Japan Reader I, pp. 366-67.

24. Hosokawa and Sayama, "The Chozen-ji Line (Omori Sogen Rotaishi)" in the Journal of the Institute of Zen Studies 3 (1988), p. 3.

25. Ibid., p. 2.

26. Ibid., p. 2.

27. Ibid., p. 3.

28. Ibid., p. 3.

29. The question of the exact number of participants in Zen-influenced corporate training programs is difficult to answer with any degree of specificity. When the author was in training himself at Soto Zen-affiliated Jokuin temple in Saitama Prefecture in the mid-1970s, he helped support some three to four such programs per month, each one of which typically lasted three to four days and involved ten to fifty or more employees. More recently, in an interview on October 3, 1996, Saito Meido, a priest administrator at the Rinzai Zen-affiliated head temple of Myoshinji, informed the author that a total of five hundred and fifty company employees had participated in its corporate-training programs during the first nine months of 1996. Meido went on to add, however, that this represented a significant drop in numbers in comparison with the past, something he attributed to Japan's economic slump.

30. Noted by Sharf, "Zen and the Way of the New Religions" in the Japanese Journal of Religious Studies, 2213-4 (1995), p.422.
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Re: D.T. Suzuki, Zen and the Nazis, by Brian Daizen Victoria

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Part 1 of 2

Was It Buddhism? Chapter Twelve, [Excerpt] from "Zen at War", by Brian Daizen Victoria
Second Edition
© 2006 by Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, Inc.

CHAPTER TWELVE: WAS IT BUDDHISM?

INTRODUCTION


This book has explored the relationship between institutional Japanese Buddhism, primarily Zen, and the state from 1868 to 1945. Now we turn to the broader issue of the relationship between Zen and war in light of the historical development of Buddhism.

In answering the question "Was it Buddhism?" I contend that both Imperial Way Buddhism and Imperial State/Soldier-Zen can only be understood in the context of their historical and doctrinal antecedents in Japan and East Asia as a whole, extending as far back as the life of Buddha Shakyamuni himself (if not before). Therefore, this chapter surveys 2,500 years of Buddhist social thought and practice, beginning with an introduction to the "social consciousness" of the Buddha and extending through the emergence of modern Japan. In attempting this ambitious sweep in only a few pages, no one is more aware than I that what follows is but the first step in explaining this vast and complex topic.

BUDDHA SHAKYAMUNI'S SOCIAL CONSCIOUSNESS

The basic teachings of Buddha Shakyamuni are well-known, so suffice it to . say, there is nothing in either the Four Noble Truths or the Holy Eightfold Path to suggest support for the use of violence, let alone warfare. On the contrary, two admonitions in the Holy Eightfold Path-"right action" and "right livelihood" -dearly indicate the very opposite.

Right action promotes moral, honorable, and peaceful conduct. It admonishes the believer to abstain from destroying life, from stealing, from dishonest dealings, and from illegitimate sexual intercourse. Instead, the believer should help others lead peaceful and honorable lives.

Right livelihood means that one should abstain from making one's living through a profession that brings harm to others, such as selling arms and lethal weapons, providing intoxicating drink or poisons, or soldiering, killing animals, or cheating. Instead, one should live in a way that does not cause harm or do injustice to others.

Together with right speech, right action and right livelihood form the basis for Buddhist ethical conduct. Underlying all Buddhist ethical conduct is a broad conception of universal love and compassion for all living beings, both human and nonhuman. Thus, based on these fundamental teachings of Shakyamuni, Buddhist adherents could in theory no more participate in that form of mass human slaughter known as "war" than they could purposely take the life of another. Yet ideals and practice often parted ways, as we will explore next.

LIFE OF THE BUDDHA

In accordance with the religious norms of his day, Shakyamuni offered advice on secular as well as purely spiritual matters. One example concerns a dispute that arose over the division of water from the drought-stricken Rohini River, which flowed between two kingdoms, one of them his own homeland of Kapilavastu. It is recorded that when the quarrel reached the point where a battle seemed imminent, Shakyamuni proceeded to the proposed battlefield and took his seat on the riverbank. He asked why the princes of the two kingdoms were assembled, and when informed that they were preparing for battle, he asked what the dispute was about. The princes said that they didn't know for sure, and they, in turn, asked the commander- in-chief. He also didn't know and sought information from the regent; and so the enquiry went on until it reached the husbandmen who related the whole affair. "What then is the value of water?" asked Shakyamuni. "It is but little," replied the princes. "And what of princes?" "It cannot be measured." they said. "Then would you." said Shakyamuni, "destroy that which is of the highest value for the sake of that which is worth little?" Reflecting on the wisdom of his words, the princes agreed to return peaceably to their homes.1

Another example of Shakyamuni's political intervention is said to have occurred in his seventy-ninth year, shortly before his death. King Ajatasattu of Magadha wished to make war on the tribal confederation of Vajji, so he sent an emissary to ask Shakyamuni what his chances of victory were. Shakyamuni declared that he himself had taught the Vajjians the conditions of true welfare, and as he was informed that the Vajjians were continuing to observe these conditions, he foretold that they would not be defeated. Upon hearing this, Ajatasattu abandoned his plan to attack.

Significantly, the first of the seven conditions Shakyamuni had taught the Vajjians was that they must "hold frequent public assemblies." Secondly, they must "meet in concord, rise in concord, and act as they are supposed to do in concord."2 As a noted scholar pointed out, these conditions represent "a truly democratic approach," and "any society following these rules is likely to prosper and remain peaceful."3

A. L. Basham suggests that incidents like these demonstrate Shakyamuni's clear support for a republican form of government, though with the caveat that we are speaking of a form of governance in which there was an executive - sometimes elected, sometimes hereditary-supported by an assembly of heads of families that gathered periodically to make decisions relating to the common welfare.4 Restated in more contemporary terminology, Shakyamuni advocated a political model approaching a small-scale, direct -democracy,-though it is also clear that he did not-deny his counsel to the kings of the rising monarchies of his day.

Other elements of Shakyamuni's stance on violence are illustrated in the lead-up to an attack on his homeland by King Vidudabha of Kosala, the most powerful of the sixteen major kingdoms of his time. Shakyamuni recognized that this time the nature of the feud was such that his words would not be heeded, and he did not attempt to intervene. But even when the very existence of his homeland was at stake, Shakyamuni, his warrior background notwithstanding, refused to take up arms in its defense.

Shakyamuni's teaching on warfare and violence is perhaps best clarified in the Dhammapada, a Pali canonical work. In chapter 1, stanza 1, for example, Shakyamuni states: "For never does hatred cease by hatred here below: hatred ceases by love; this is an eternal law." And again, in chapter 15, stanza 201: "Victory breeds hatred, for the conquered is unhappy. The person who has given up both victory and defeat, that person, contented, is happy." In chapter 10, stanza 129, he says: ''All persons tremble at being harmed, all persons fear death; remembering that you are like unto them, neither strike nor slay." And finally, in chapter 8, stanza 103: "If someone conquers in battle a thousand times a thousand enemies, and if another conquers himself, that person is the greatest of conquerors."5 While scholars doubt these admonitions came directly from Shakyamuni's lips, the admonitions are, nevertheless, entirely consistent with his earliest and most fundamental teachings.

Two further aspects of Shakyamuni's teachings are worthy of mention. First, he was concerned about what we would today call social justice. For example, in the Pali Cakkavattisihanada Sutta of the Digha Nikaya (no. 26), Shakyamuni clearly identified poverty as the cause of violence and other social ills:

As a result of goods not being accrued to those who are destitute, poverty becomes rife. From poverty becoming rife, stealing, ... violence, ... murder, ... lying, ... evil speech, ... adultery, ... incest, till finally lack of respect for parents, filial love, religious piety and lack of regard for the ruler will result.


Likewise, in the Kutadanta Sutta of the same Nikaya (no. 5), Shakyamuni praised a king named Mahavijita who, faced with an upsurge of robbery in his impoverished kingdom, provided his subjects with the economic means to improve their lives rather than imprisoning and executing the wrongdoers.6

THE EARLY BUDDHIST SANGHA AND THE STATE

Also important is the political or social dimension of the religious organization that Buddha Shakyamuni founded, the Sangha, that is, the community of monks and nuns (organized separately) dedicated to practicing his teachings. Primarily religious in nature, it embodied his concept of an ideal society.

The Sangha was based on noncoercive, nonauthoritarian principles by which leadership was acquired through superior moral character and spiritual insight, and monastic affairs were managed by a general meeting of the monks (or nuns). Unlike a modern business meeting, however, all decisions required the unanimous consent of those assembled. When differences could not be settled, a committee of elders was charged with finding satisfactory solutions.

Ideally, the Sangha was to be an organization that had no political ambitions and in whose ranks there was no striving for leadership. It sought by example and exhortation to persuade men and women to follow its way, not by force. Further, by his completely eliminating the then-prevalent caste system from its ranks, Shakyamuni may rightly be considered one of recorded history's first leaders to practice his belief in the basic equality of all human beings. He clearly hoped that the religious and social ideals of the Sangha would one day permeate the whole of society. This said, the historical subordination of the female Sangha to the male Sangha, through the imposition of eight additional precepts for nuns, betrays the ideal of human equality and points to the existence of a sexist attitude that may date back to Shakyamuni himself.

It is also true that even during the Buddha's lifetime, his Sangha became a wealthy landowner, though the lands referred to were held as the communal property of the various monastic communities.7 The lands themselves had all been donated by the faithful, initially kings, princes, and rich merchants. This raises the question as to what the donors expected of the Sangha in return for their material support. The classic answer is that they expected to acquire "merit," that spiritual reward that promises rebirth in a blessed state to all those who perform good deeds. As one Pali sutra relates, however, the accumulation of merit by the laity can also lead to the more immediate and mundane goals of "long life, fame, heavenly fortune, and sovereign power [italics mine]."8 The fact that King Ajatasattu also looked to Buddha Shakyamuni to forecast the likelihood of his victory against the Vajjians is significant here. Significant, in that it was already widely believed in ancient India that accomplished "holy men" possessed superhuman powers, including the ability to foresee the future.

Related questions are what effect the Sangha's collective possession of ever-greater amounts of land had on its own conduct, and equally important, whether as a major landholder it could fail in its actions and pronouncements to escape the notice and concern of state rulers. Would it be surprising to learn that these rulers also expected something in return for their material support of the Sangha, something approaching a moral endorsement of their rule, or the acquisition of merit, or the utilization of the supposed superhuman powers of Buddhist priests (and sutras) to protect the state from its enemies or ensure victory in battle?

KING ASHOKA-THE "IDEAL" BUDDHIST RULER?

If in the long run the Sangha willingly provided rulers with a moral endorsement, that endorsement was initially given only on the basis that rulers fulfill certain prerequisites or conditions. These conditions were contained in the Jataka stories, five hundred Indian folk tales that had been given a Buddhist didactic purpose and were incorporated into the Pali Buddhist canon sometime before the beginning of the Christian era. Among these tales we find a description of the "Ten Duties of the King," which include, among other things, the requirement that rulers abstain from anything that involves violence and destruction of life. Rulers are further exhorted to be free from selfishness, hatred, and falsehood, and to be ready to give up all personal comfort, reputation, fame, and even their very life if need be to promote the welfare of the people. Furthermore, it was the responsibility of kings to provide (1) grain and other facilities for agriculture to farmers and cultivators, (2) capital for traders and those engaged in business, and (3) adequate wages for those who were employed. When people are provided with sufficient income, they will be contented and have no fear or anxiety. Consequently, their countries will be peaceful and free from crime.9

It was, of course, one thing to present kingly duties in the abstract and another to find kings who actually practiced them. Buddhists discovered one such ruler in the person of King Ashoka (ca. 269-32 B.C.E.), who already controlled much of India at the time of his accession to the throne. Prior to converting to Buddhism, Ashoka is said to have engaged in wars of expansion until the bloodiness of his conquest of the kingdom of Kalinga caused him to repent and become a Buddhist layman, forswearing the use of violence. He then embarked upon a "Reign of Dharma" in which he advocated such moral precepts as nonharming, respect for all religious teachers, and noncovetousness.

In addition to renouncing aggressive warfare, Ashoka is said to have urged moderation in spending and accumulation of wealth, kind treatment of servants and slaves, cessation of animal sacrifices for religious purposes, and various other maxims, all carved as inscriptions and royal edicts on cliff faces and stone pillars throughout his vast realm, which extended almost the entire length and breadth of the Indian subcontinent. Further, he appointed officers known as Superintendents of Dharma for the propagation of religion, and arranged for regular preaching tours. Realizing the effectiveness of exhortation over legislation, he is said to have preached the Dharma on occasion. Ashoka become the archetypal Buddhist ruler, an ideal or Universal Monarch (see chapter 7).

As opposed to this idealized portrait, Indian historian A. L. Basham has pointed to another side of King Ashoka. For example, Ashoka maintained an army and used force against tribal groups that clashed with his empire. Beyond that, one Buddhist description of his life, the Sanskrit Ashokavandana, records that he ordered eighteen thousand non-Buddhist adherents, probably Jains, executed because of a minor insult to Buddhism on the part of single one. On another occasion, he forced a Jain follower and his entire family into their house before having it burnt to the ground. He also maintained the death penalty for criminals, including his own wife, Tisyaraksit whom he executed. In light of these and similar acts, we can say that Ashoka was an archetypal "defender of the faith" who was not averse to the use of violence.

Nor did King Ashoka's remorse at having killed over 100,000 inhabitants of Kalinga lead him to restore its freedom or that of any other of his earlier conquests. Instead, he continued to govern them all as an integral part of his empire, for "he by no means gave up his imperial ambitions."10 In fact, inasmuch as many of his edicts mention only support for Dharma, (a pan-Indian politico-religious term) and not the Buddha Dharma, it is possible to argue that he used Dharma not so much out of allegiance to the Buddhist faith and its ideals, but as a means to centralize power, maintain unity among his disparate peoples, and promote law and order throughout the empire.

At the very least, in promoting Buddhism throughout India, Ashoka was clearly also promoting his own kingship and establishing himself.11 That is to say, an alliance of politics and religion had been born. This is important to note because while Ashoka may have been the first to use Buddhism and the (Buddha) Dharma for what we would today identify as political purposes, he was hardly the last, as we shall see shortly when we examine the development of Buddhism in China and Japan.

A noted Indian political philosopher, Vishwanath Prasad Varma, pointed out that due to King Ashoka's royal patronage, "the Sangha became contaminated with regal and aristocratic affiliations."12 Similarly, the pioneer Buddhist scholar T. W. Rhys Davids remarked that it was the Sangha's close affiliation with King Ashoka that was "the first step on the downward path of Buddhism, the first step on its expulsion from India."13

What is certain is that Ashoka enjoyed a great deal of power over the Sangha. For example, a second Buddhist record of Ashoka's life, the Pali Mahavamsa, states that Ashoka was, with the aid of the great elder Moggaliputta Tissa, responsible for defrocking sixty thousand Sangha members who were found to harbor "false views."14 Ashoka had the power to prescribe passages from the sutras that Sangha members were required to study. Those who failed to do so could be defrocked by his officers.15 In fact, it became necessary to receive Ashoka's permission even to enter the priesthood.16 In short, during Ashoka's reign, if not before, the Raja Dharma (Law of the Sovereign) became deeply involved in, if not yet in full command of, the Buddha Dharma. This too was a harbinger of things to come.

In this connection, both Basham and Rhys Davids identified the concept of a so-called Universal Monarch, or Cakravartin (Wheel-Turning King), as coming into prominence within Buddhist circles only after the reign of Ashoka's father, Candragupta, who ascended the throne sometime at the end of the fourth century B.C.E.17 Thus, the idea of a Universal Monarch, who served as the protector of the Buddha Dharma and as the recipient of the Dharma's protection, did not originate as a teaching of Buddha Shakyamuni himself. Instead, it is best understood as a later accretion that "was an inspiration to ambitious monarchs, ... some [of whom] claimed to be Universal Monarchs themselves."18 It is also significant that as a Universal Monarch and Dharma Protector, Ashoka was accorded the personal title of Dharma Raja (Dharma King), a title he shared with Buddha Shakyamuni.19 This "sharing of titles" would play an important role in China.


BUDDHISM IN CHINESE SOCIETY

Confucian Critique of Early Buddhism in China


Buddhism entered China by way of Central Asia at the beginning of the Christian era. By this time China already had a sophisticated culture of its own that included two well-developed, indigenous, religious-oriented belief systems: Taoism and Confucianism. Buddhist advocates eventually reached an uneasy truce with both Taoists and Confucians, who initially opposed the introduction of this foreign religion.

Chinese Buddhist monks appeased the Taoists by discussing Buddhism in a Taoist vocabulary and proposing Buddhist solutions to unresolved Taoist doctrinal disputes, such as the relationship of the "holy man" to the world. However, it was the compromise reached with the Confucians that was to have the most far-reaching effects on the subsequent development of Buddhism throughout East Asia, including Japan.

The compromise concerned the relationship of the Sangha with the state. As propagators of a universal Dharma, Chinese monks of the Eastern Chin dynasty (317-420 C.E.) asserted they had no need to kowtow (show obeisance) to the emperor. From the popular Confucian viewpoint, this was a heretical doctrine that undermined Confucian advocacy of social harmony derived from a strictly hierarchical conception of society, in which nothing was higher than the "Son of Heaven."

Subordination of Buddhism to the State

While Buddhist monks in southern China (under the Chin dynasty) successfully maintained independence from the state, their northern counterparts did not fare as well. Faced with the non-Chinese rulers of the Northern Wei dynasty (386-534 C.E.), Buddhist monks offered their services as political, diplomatic, and military advisers. They claimed to be able to prophesy not only the outcome of battles and entire military campaigns, but even the rise and fall of empires. According to Kenneth Chen, in offering their technical services to the rulers, these imperial monk advisors were able to persuade them to become staunch supporters of Buddhism."20

In justifying the decision of northern monks to reverence the emperor in accordance with Confucian tradition, Fa-kuo, chief of monks from 396 to 398, came up with an "ingenious solution." Namely, he claimed that then Emperor T'ai-tsu was a living Buddha, the Tathagata himself. Therefore, when a monk bowed down to him, he was not doing obeisance to an emperor but was worshipping the Buddha, an entirely fit and proper act for all faithful.21 Fa-kuo, it should be noted, had been appointed to his position by Emperor T'ai-tsu. Although the effect this had on Fa-kuo's views is unknown, it is significant that a Chinese emperor possessed the authority to make such an appointment over the Sangha. This said, it must also be remembered that Fa-kuo's innovation was based on such Indian precedents as the "sharing of titles" in the Buddhist records of King Ashoka's reign. Furthermore, there was, by this time, scriptural justification for Fa-kuo's position in the Suvarnaprabhasa [Golden Light] Sutra. This Indian Mahayana sutra took the view that while a king is not a god in his own right, he does hold his position by the authority of the gods and is therefore entitled to be called a "son of the gods." It can readily be seen that this position, which is Brahmanical (not Buddhist) in origin, dovetails nicely with the Chinese doctrine of a ruler's Mandate of Heaven. Further paralleling the Chinese doctrine, there is an implicit admission in this sutra (and in its Chinese variant) that revolt against a wicked or negligent king is morally acceptable.

Whatever motives one may ascribe to these northern Buddhist monks, the fact remains they established a pattern that was to characterize Chinese Buddhism down through the ages. That is to say, in return for imperial patronage and protection, Buddhism was expected to serve and protect the interests of the state and its rulers, including the attainment of victory on the battlefield. Thus was the foundation laid for what came to be known in Japan as "Nation Protecting-Buddhism." It can be argued, of course, that this was but an extension of the Sangha's subservience to the state as first observed in India.

Be that as it may, when a subsequent emperor-Wen (r. 581-604) of the Sui dynasty (c. 581-618)-decided to enlist the spiritual aid of Buddhist monks in his military campaigns, he was doing no more than extending a precedent that had already existed for more than two hundred years, at least in northern China. Specifically, Wen constructed temples at sites where he and his father had won important battles, ordering temple priests to hold commemorative services for the spirits of his fallen soldiers. Already in the midst of planning future military campaigns, the emperor wanted to assure his followers that should they fall on some future battlefield, their spirits, too, would be looked after.22

Emperor Wen's innovation was his determination to use Buddhism as a method of unifying all of China. Presenting himself as a Universal Monarch, soon after establishing the Sui dynasty in 581 C.E. he declared:

With the armed might of a Cakravartin King, We spread the ideals of the ultimately benevolent one [that is, the Buddha]. With a hundred victories and a hundred battles, We promote the practice of the ten Buddhist virtues. Therefore We regard weapons of war as having become like incense and flowers [presented as offerings to the Buddha] and the fields of this visible world as becoming forever identical with the Buddha land [italics mine].23


To secure his position still further, Wen gave himself the title Bodhisattva Son of Heaven, and proceeded to have hundreds of stupas built throughout China to enshrine Buddhist relics. This conveyed the unity of king and empire through faith in Buddhism. In doing this, he was once again emulating pious acts by that other great empire builder, King Ashoka. Ashoka allegedly had eighty-four thousand stupas constructed throughout his empire.24

However, for the imperial support it enjoyed, the Sangha always paid a heavy price in the loss of its independence, even in internal affairs, and in increasing subservience to the state. Thus, after Emperor Yang succeeded to the throne in 604 (by killing his father, Emperor Wen), he issued a decree in 607 ending the exemption of monks in southern China from having to pay homage to the emperor and his officials. The Law of the Sovereign was now supreme in China and would remain so, as far as Buddhism was concerned, forevermore. One added "benefit" of this subservience was, however, that Buddhism gained at least a degree of acceptance by the Confucians.

The Sangha's support of state interests did not stop with prophesy, state ritual, and provision of a unifying ideology. By the time of the T'ang dynasty (c. 618-907), some monks had themselves begun to participate directly in politics. During the reign of Wu Tse-t'ien, for example, one monk by the name of Hsueh Huai-i was actually commissioned as a "grand general sustaining the state." As such, he led a number of military expeditions to expel Turks who had invaded China's border regions. Later, Huai-i even attempted to usurp the throne for himself.25

Monks meddling in politics (and warfare) suggests, of course, that decadence had infiltrated the Sangha under imperial patronage. In fact, one official of the time complained that "present-day temples surpass even imperial palaces in design, embodying the last word in extravagance, splendor, artistry, and finesse."26 Thus, when Emperor Hsuan-tsung ascended the throne in 712, he instituted a series of measures to control the Sangha's wealth and power, including limitations on the size of temple landholdings, defrocking of up to thirty thousand "unworthy monks." and requiring government permission before repairs to temples could be made. In order to control the number of entrants into the Sangha, the emperor also initiated a system of granting official "monk certificates" in 747.27

None of these acts, however, can begin to-compare to the suppression of Buddhism that occurred at the hands of Emperor Wu-tsung in 845. At the time, the emperor claimed to have forced 260,500 monks and nuns to return to lay life, while destroying 44,600 monasteries, temples, and shrines, and confiscating their vast, tax-exempt lands and 150,000 slaves.28 Although the emperor's death the following year marked the formal end of the persecution, Buddhism never regained its preeminent position in Chinese life and society. A long period of decline set in, extending to the present day. Only the Ch'an (Zen) and Pure Land schools maintained a certain degree of vitality.

Ch'an

Ch'an's resilience may have derived in part from its syncretism, for Ch'an had incorporated both Taoist and Confucian tenets into its practice and outlook. By the Sung period (960-1279) if not before, it was typical for Ch'an masters (like other Chinese Buddhists) to refer to Buddhism as one leg of a religious tripod that also included Confucianism and Taoism. Japanese Zen Master Dogen, who trained in China from 1223 to 1227, described this syncretism:

Among present-day monks ... not one of them, not even half of one of them, has understood that the Buddha's teachings are superior to those of the other two. It was only Ju-ching, my late master, who understood this fact and proclaimed it ceaselessly day and night.29


Ju-ching, it should be noted, also refused both an honorary purple robe and the title "Ch'an Master" from Emperor Ning-tsung. Further, in the context of explaining the differences between Buddhism and Confucianism, Dogen characterized Confucianism as "merely teach[ing] loyal service to the emperor and filial piety, the latter seen as a method of regulating one's household [italics mine]"30

This syncretism on the part of nearly all Ch'an masters meant that Ch'an, like the rest of Chinese Buddhism, internalized Confucian values, including emphasis on a hierarchical social structure with the emperor at the pinnacle of the social pyramid. Confucians argued that such a configuration would produce social harmony when everyone knew their place in society and faithfully followed the dictates of their superiors.

Iconoclasm

Although based more on rhetoric than actual historical practice, Ch'an has a reputation for iconoclasm, dismissing, as it does, the need for scholastic study of Buddhist texts and dependence on Buddhist images and rituals. Coupled with Ch' an's emphasis on productive labor, this led, at least initially, to a certain degree of independence from, if not indifference to, the emperor and the imperial state. For example, consider Hui-neng, traditionally seen as the pivotal Sixth Patriarch of the Southern school of Ch'an. Although there are conflicting accounts of his life, the Special Transmission of the Great Master from Ts'ao-ch'i presents this master as being so unconcerned with worldly fame that he refused an invitation from the emperor to visit the imperial court. Notwithstanding this, the emperor still presented him with gifts, one of which was, significantly, a new name for his former residence, that is, Kuo-en-ssu (Temple to Repay the Debt of Gratitude Owed the State).

Hui-neng's disciple Shen-hui (684-758), however, maintained a much closer, if sometimes strained, relationship with the imperial court. Heinrich Dumoulin noted that Shen-hui first took up residence in Nan-yang, not far south of the imperial capital of Lo-yang, in 720 in obedience to an imperial decree. In 745, Shen-hui moved to a temple in Lo-yang, where large crowds were drawn to hear his exposition of Ch'an teachings. This led to charges, perhaps incited by his Northern Ch'an rivals, that he was fomenting social unrest, resulting in his banishment from the capital for three years (753-56).

In 755 when a major rebellion broke out in the northeastern part of the country, Shen-hui was recalled to the capital as a fundraiser for the imperial military. Offering his contributors exemption from both monetary taxation and the requirement to participate in yearly, government-sponsored labor battalions, Shen-hui proved an exemplary fundraiser, and the rebellion was suppressed. The emperor gratefully showered Shen-hui with honors, ensuring that his last days were spent "basking in the graces of the powers that be."31

In light of this and similar episodes, it is clear that Ch'an leaders also willingly served the state's needs, in war as well as peace. In fact, when the Soto and Rinzai sects raised funds to buy fighter aircraft for the Japanese military in the 1930s and 1940s, they were following a Ch'an and Zen precedent with a history of nearly 1,200 years! As for Shen-hui, he continued to be honored even after his death, and in 796 was formally recognized as the Seventh Patriarch, also by virtue of an imperial decree.32 Inasmuch as Shen-hui had been an untiring advocate of the Southern Ch'an school and its doctrine of sudden enlightenment, this imperial recognition was destined to have a major impact on subsequent Ch'an history.

Shen-hui was but one figure in the long-term decline of the Buddhist tradition of nonviolence. Consider the following poem in a sixth-century treatise from the Hsin-hsin Ming by the Third Ch'an Patriarch, Seng-ts'an (d. 606):

Be not concerned with right and wrong
The conflict between right and wrong
Is the sickness of the mind)3


Further, French scholar Paul Demieville pointed out that according to the seventh-century Ch' an text "Treatise on Absolute Contemplation," killing is evil only in the event the killer fails to recognize his victim as empty and dream-like. On the contrary, if one no longer sees his opponent as a "living being" separate from emptiness, then he is free to kill him.34 This antinomian license to kill with moral impunity is the most dangerous, and deadly, of Ch'an's many "insights."

This said, Ch'an's abandonment of Buddhist morality did not go unnoticed or unchallenged. As early as the eighth century, the famous writer Liang Su (753-93) criticized the Ch'an school as follows:

Nowadays, few men have true faith. Those who travel the path of Ch'an go so far as to teach the people that there is neither Buddha nor Dharma, and that neither good nor evil has any significance ... Such ideas are accepted as great truths that sound so pleasing to the ear. And the people are attracted to them just as moths in the night are drawn to their burning death by the candle light [italics mine].35


In reading this critique, one is tempted to believe that Liang was also a prophet able to foresee the deaths over a thousand years later of millions of young Japanese men who were drawn to their own deaths by the Zen-inspired "light" of Bushido. All the more, the millions of innocent men, women, and children who burned with (or because of) them, and who must never be forgotten.

By the Sung dynasty (960-1279), Ch'an monasteries not only maintained friendly relations with the imperial court but had become involved in political affairs as well.36 Emperors granted noted Ch'an masters purple robes and honorific titles such as "Ch'an Master of the Buddha Fruit" or "Ch'an Master of Full Enlightenment." Inevitably, however, imperial favors brought with them increased state control. One result was the establishment of the system of "Five Mountains [i.e., major monasteries] and Ten Temples." In the spirit of Confucian hierarchy, Ch'an temples were classified and ranked, those at the top being blessed with imperial favors. In this case, all of the privileged temples belonged to the Yang-ch'i line of the Linchi (J. Rinzai) school.

Among other things, Ch'an temples operating under imperial patronage were expected to pray for the emperor and the prosperity of the state. In describing this system, Yanagida Seizan wrote:

Given the danger of foreign invasion from the north, Buddhism was used to promote the idea of the state and its people among the general populace .... Inevitably, the Ch'an priests residing in these government temples in accordance with imperial decree gradually linked the content of their teaching to the goals of the state. This is not unconnected to the fact that Zen temples [in Japan] in the Kamakura and Tokugawa periods had ... a nationalistic character in line with the traditional consciousness of the Chinese Ch'an school that advocated the spread of Ch' an in order to protect the nation.37


The succeeding Yuan period (c. 1280-1368) would bring even greater state control of Ch' an and other temples and monasteries. Gradually however, the syncretic tendencies already at work within Buddhism grew ever stronger until by the Ming period (c. 1368-1644) all Chinese Buddhist schools and sects fused into a loose amalgamation of the Ch'an and Pure Land schools. This brought the story of a distinct Ch'an school or movement to an end.

Preliminary Conclusion

In light of this discussion, I would like to make three additional points. First, while Ch'an's iconoclastic tendencies and economic self-reliance may have initially enabled it to maintain a certain distance from the state, over the long term there was a spiritual price for this freedom. That is to say, paralleling a heavy emphasis on the practice of meditation (J. zazen), intellectual stimulation from such activities as lively discussions on points of doctrine were strongly discouraged by Ch'an masters, who insisted on intuitive comprehension and lightning-quick responses within an overall framework of anti-textualism and anti-scholasticism. To some extent, this can be seen as Ch' an's internalization of such Taoist values as spontaneity, originality, paradoxy, innate naturalness, and the ineffability of Truth.38

I am not suggesting that the strong emphasis on meditation or Taoist-influenced values was necessarily "un-Buddhist," but as Kenneth Ch'en pointed out:

The strength and vigor of Buddhism rested on the principle of equal emphasis on all three aspects of the Buddhist discipline -- moral conduct, [meditative] concentration, and wisdom. Special attention to one, to the neglect of the other two, would certainly result in the deterioration of the Dharma.39


The reader will recall that Hakamaya Noriaki also raised a related criticism of Japanese Zen when he said, "True Buddhists must draw a sharp distinction between Buddhist teachings and anti-Buddhist teachings, using both intellect and language to denounce the latter [italics mine]."

My second point is closely connected with the first. I refer to what might be called a "violence-condoning atmosphere" fostered as one dimension of Ch'an's iconoclastic attitude. Historically, this atmosphere began as early as the second patriarch, Hui-k'o (c. 484-590), who, tradition states, cut off his left arm at the elbow to show how fervently he wished to become a disciple of Bodhidharma, the legendary fifth-century Indian founder of the Ch'an school in China. T'ang Ch'an Master Chu-chih is also recorded as having cut off his disciple's finger with a knife after discovering that the latter had been imitating his "one finger Ch'an" (though in doing so, Chu-chih allegedly precipitated the disciple's enlightenment).

Less dramatic, though far more widespread, was the Ch'an use of such training methods as physical blows from both fists and staffs, together with thundering shouts. Lin-chi I-hsuan (d. 866), founder of the Lin-chi school, is the preeminent example of such a "rough and tumble" master. It was this master who taught his disciples:

Followers of the Way, if you wish to have a viewpoint that is in accord with the Dharma, it is only [necessary] that you not be beguiled by others. Whether you meet them within or without, kill them right away! When you meet the Buddha, kill him. When you meet a patriarch, kill him. When you meet an Arhat [enlightened person], kill him. When you meet parents, kill them. When you meet relatives, kill them. Thus you will begin to attain liberation. You will be unattached and be able to pass in and out [of any place] and become free.40


I do not suggest there is a direct link between Ch'an's physical and verbal violence and the later emergence of Zen's support for Japanese militarism. All of the examples given above have legitimate didactic purposes within the Ch'an and Zen tradition. For example, in Lin-chi's oft-misunderstood admonition quoted above, the "killing" referred to is that of detaching oneself from dependency on authority figures, whether they be people or ideas, in order to achieve genuine spiritual liberation. It might be called a dramatic restatement of Buddha Shakyamuni's own final instructions to his disciples:

You must be lamps unto yourselves. You must rely on yourselves and on no one else. You must make the Dharma your light and your support and rely on nothing else.41


Lin-chi's statement, like that of Shakyamuni, is basically antiauthoritarian in that it aims to free the trainee from dependence on anyone or anything outside of his own mind and apart from his own direct experience of the Dharma. Nevertheless, Ch'an's verbal and physical violence, didactic though it be, lent itself to misuse and abuse by later practitioners, especially in Japan. It provided the link that facilitated the connection made between Zen and the sword in feudal Japan, and in turn, between Zen and total war in modern Japan. Note too, that it was Ch'an Master Kuei-shan Ling-yu (771-853) who first referred to the interplay between action and silence in Ch'an as "sword-play."42 Lin-chi was also fond of referring to "swords" and "sword-blades." but the reference was to the "sword of wisdom." a common Buddhist metaphor referring to wisdom that can "cut through" (i.e., eliminate) all discriminating thought and conceptualization, not human flesh!

D. T. Suzuki's application of the Zen phrase "the sword that gives life" (J. katsujin-ken) to the modern battlefield is a particularly pernicious example of the abuse of Zen terminology. This phrase together with its twin, that is, "the sword that kills" (J. satsujin-to), is found in the famous Sung dynasty collection of one hundred Zen koans known as the Blue Cliff Record. In introducing the twelfth koan of the collection, Ch'an master Yuan Wu K'e Ch'in (1063-1135) wrote:

The sword that kills people and the sword that gives life to people is an ancient custom that is also important for today. If you talk of killing, not a single hair is harmed. If you talk of giving life, body and life are lost [italics mine].43


Although phrased paradoxically, it is obvious that the above does not refer to anyone's physical death. Rather, Yuan Wu, once again using the sword as a metaphor for Buddhist wisdom, dramatically restates the classical Zen (and Buddhist) position that the destruction (i.e., the "killing") of the illusory self does not result in the least injury to the true self (hence, "not a single hair is harmed"). Or, expressed in reverse order, "giving life" to the true self inevitably involves the destruction of the illusory self (hence, "body and life are lost"). Thus, whichever sword is spoken of, no one physically dies!

One can only marvel at the fact that the transference of these terms to the real battlefield by later generations, Suzuki and his ilk included, has for so long escaped criticism and condemnation. At least part of the responsibility for this must be laid at the feet of those Ch'an pioneers, like Lin-chi, who chose to incorporate "life-giving" blows and shouts, coupled with a vocabulary of violence, into their instructional regimen. In the hands of lesser men (especially those aided and abetted by the state) these methods became, as has been seen, lethal in the extreme.

Finally, I would point out that the subordination of the Buddha Dharma to the state continues to exert a significant impact on Chinese Buddhism to this very day. In his book Buddhism under Mao, Holmes Welch noted that in 1951-52, Chinese Buddhists raised money for a fighter aircraft named Chinese Buddhist to be used against UN (mainly American) forces in the Korean War. In justifying Buddhist support for the Chinese government's policy of military intervention, a Buddhist leader named Hsin-tao addressed a meeting of Nan-ch'ang Buddhists as follows:

We know that the People's Government absolutely guarantees the freedom of religious belief. We Buddhists must unite as quickly as possible and, with the followers of other religions, completely support the Chinese Volunteer Army and the Korean People's Army. The best thing is to be able to join the army directly and to learn the spirit in which Shakyamuni, as the embodiment of compassion and our guide to Buddhahood, killed robbers to save the people and suffered hardship on behalf of all living creatures. To wipe out the American imperialist demons who are breaking world peace is, according to Buddhist doctrine, not only blameless but actually gives rise to merit [italics mine].44


Once again, America and its allies were fighting "Buddhism." if not necessarily at sea, then at least on the ground and in the air. Once again, Buddhists themselves took up arms, out of a spirit of compassion, to fight the American "demons." As in wartime Japan, scriptural justification was also used in the Buddhist campaign to raise funds for weapons. Chu-tsan, another Buddhist leader wrote,

The [Mahaparilnirvana Sutra advocates wielding the spear and starting battle. Therefore there is nothing contrary to Buddhist doctrine in a Buddhist responding to the appeal to contribute towards fighter planes, bombers, cannons and tanks.45


Ironically, when Tibetan monks revolted against the Communist Chinese Army's occupation of Tibet in 1959, they used the same scriptural evidence to justify their armed resistance.

The Chinese government's political use of Buddhism is by no means at an end, most especially in relation to Tibet. As recently as May 1996, the Chinese government donated a large memorial plaque to a Tibetan temple that read "Protect the State; Benefit the People."46 In doing this, the state (albeit communist) sought to portray itself once again as a patron of Buddhism, but on the same condition as always, that is to say, that Buddhism agree to protect the state. In this instance there was an added "Tibetan twist" to the state's munificence, for clearly Tibetan Buddhists were also expected to protect the unity of the state from those alleged "splittists" (like the Dalai Lama and his supporters) who continued to seek some form of Tibetan autonomy.

In Taiwan, on the other hand, the Nationalist Chinese government has supported Buddhism far more strongly, receiving in return Buddhist leaders' endorsement of that government's longstanding dream to militarily retake the mainland. In light of this, it is not surprising to learn that Taiwanese monks share the same attitude toward Buddhist-endorsed violence as their mainland brethren. One such monk, a disciple of the modern Buddhist reformer T'ai-hsu (1890-1947), said,

According to the Mahayana it is guiltless to kill from compassion. If I kill you, the objective is not to kill you, but to save you, because if I do not kill you, you will kill a great many other people, thus causing great suffering and incurring great guilt. By killing you, I prevent you from doing this, so that I can save both you and them. To kill people from compassion in such a way is not wrongdoing.47


There was, of course, one difference between the refugee monks on Taiwan and in Hong Kong and those on the mainland: the former wished Buddhist-condoned violence to be used against the Communists, instead of on their behalf. As always, the one constant is that the Law of the Sovereign, or in other words, the state and its rulers, is supreme!

BUDDHISM IN JAPANESE SOCIETY

Prince Shotoku and the Introduction of Buddhism to Japan


In his History of Japanese Religion, Anesaki Masaharu noted that the Buddha Dharma was closely identified with the state and its interests from its first introduction into Japan from Korea in the sixth century. He wrote, ''A close alliance was established between the throne and the [Buddhist] religion, since the consolidation of the nation under the sovereignty of the ruler was greatly supported by the fidelity of the imported religion to the government."48

This development was far from being uniquely Japanese. On the contrary, it was only a replication of the relationship between Buddhism and the state that already existed on the Korean peninsula. As S. Keel pointed out,

Buddhism [in Korea] was available as the politico-religious ideology which would serve the cause of building a powerful centralized state with a sacred royal authority .... [It] was understood primarily as the state-protecting religion, hoguk pulgyo [J. gokoku Bukkyo] not as the supra-mundane truth of salvation for individuals.49


The subservience of Buddhism to the state in Japan was nothing more than a copy of its Korean counterpart that, in turn, differed little from its Chinese antecedent. In fact, when Emperor Wen had hundreds of stupas built throughout China at the start of the seventh century, envoys from the three Korean kingdoms of Koguryo, Paekche, and Silla requested, and received, relics to take back to their own countries. Prince Shotoku was also greatly impressed by this display of imperial support for Buddhism.50

In Japan, the Sangha's subservience to the state is made clear in the so-called Seventeen Article Constitution of 604, traditionally ascribed to Prince Shotoku. In article 2 of the constitution, Shotoku called on his subjects to "faithfully respect the 'Three Treasures,' i.e., the Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha." However, in article 3, he wrote:

Respect the Imperial commands. The ruler is analogous to heaven, the subjects to the earth. The heaven covers the earth, and the earth supports heaven; if the four seasons pass smoothly, everything functions well. But if the earth tries to dominate heaven, it crumbles into powder. For this reason heaven commands and the earth receives, and for the same reason the ruler commands and the subjects obey. Therefore, every subject should respect the Imperial commands, if not there will be confusion [italics mine].51


Although a number of distinctly separate Buddhist sects would later develop in Japan, the one thing they always agreed on was that "the ruler commands and subjects obey." It may be argued that given the fragile nature of Shotoku's only recently unified central government, his emphasis on the supremacy of the ruler was necessary. Thus, it may also be argued that Buddhism made a positive contribution to the subsequent development of Japanese civilization by providing the newly formed state with a highly moral unifying ideology that transcended the clan divisions (and clan deities) of Shotoku's day. What cannot be disputed, however, is that this emphasis on the supremacy of the ruler also set the stage for the historical subservience of Buddhism to the Japanese state.

The Japanese ruler who made the most blatant political use of the Buddha Dharma was probably Emperor Shomu, whose reign lasted from 724 to 748. He focused on the teachings of the Avatamsaka Sutra, particularly its doctrine of a central celestial, or cosmic, Buddha (i.e., Mahavairocana) surrounded by an infinite number of Bodhisattvas. Mahavairocana's mind was believed to pervade all of reality and to be present in all things, the latter being ranked in harmonious interdependence.

With this imagery in mind, Emperor Shomu built the giant central cathedral of Todaiji in Nara and enshrined there a sixteen-meter-high statue of Mahavairocana (J. Dainichi). As Anesaki described it, this cathedral "was to be a symbolic display of the Buddhist ideal of universal spiritual communion centered in the person of the Buddha, parallel to the political unity of national life centered in the monarch."52 Devotion and loyalty to this Buddha became synonymous with the same virtues directed toward the person of the emperor and the state that he embodied. The use of Mahavairocana had the added benefit that as a celestial or Sun Buddha, the Mahavairocana also provided a symbolic link to the indigenous Shinto Sun goddess, Amaterasu Omikami, the mythical progenitor of the imperial house.
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Re: D.T. Suzuki, Zen and the Nazis, by Brian Daizen Victoria

Postby admin » Sat Mar 30, 2019 5:17 am

Part 2 of 2

The State and Zen Masters Eisai and Dagen

In order to discuss the relationship of Eisai (1141-1215) and Dagen (1200-1253) to the state, it is necessary to start with a brief description of the political situation at the beginning of the Kamakura period (1185-1333). This can be summarized in one word, turbulent. On the one hand, there was a power struggle between the traditional nobility, including the emperor, and an increasingly more powerful warrior class. Due to the nobility's own decadence, this struggle was one it was bound to lose, though the emperor would be retained as an important national symbol, albeit with increasingly limited powers.

The nobility's decadence was matched by that of the competing monastic institutions, which by then had accumulated large, tax-free estates defended by monk-soldiers (sahei). Holmes Welch alluded to this situation when he noted, "In China fighting monks were rare; in Japan they became a national institution."53 One caveat to this, however, is that many, if not most, of these monk-soldiers were in the nature of a hired mercenary force doing the bidding of their clerical masters, many of whom were court nobles themselves.

In any event, it was not unusual for major Buddhist monasteries to use their standing armies not only in power struggles with rival Buddhist institutions, but to press their demands on the government itself. The government, that is, the nobility, had no choice but to turn to the warrior class for protection, thus hastening the demise of its own political power. What power the reigning emperor had left was often exercised by a former emperor who had ostensibly retired to become a Buddhist monk but who continued to exercise power from behind monastic walls.

With the establishment of the Kamakura Shogunate (military government) in 1192, real political power came to be exercised by the leaders of the warrior class. Though there would be many internal upheavals, betrayals, and battles along the way, it was this class that continued to hold power through the Meiji Restoration of 1868. And it was to this class that the straightforward, vigorous, and austere doctrines and practice of Zen appealed. In addition, Zen had the advantage of being a direct import from China, thereby offering the new government an opportunity to escape the embrace of the large, nobility- dominated monastic institutions in the Kyoto area.

The Rinzai Zen sect introduced by Eisai would find greater acceptance in the new and former political power centers of Kamakura and Kyoto respectively. In fact, thanks to its powerful benefactors in these two centers, the Rinzai Zen sect would itself become a major landholder by the Muromachi period (1333-1573). Dagen's Soto Zen, on the other hand, found its major benefactors among provincial warrior lords. It was for this reason that the popular designations Rinzai Shogun (Rinzai of the Shogun) and Soto Domin (Soto of the Peasants) came to characterize the difference in social status of the two Zen sects.

With this background in mind, we can now examine Eisai's and Dagen's attitudes to the state. In his famous treatise Kazen Gokoku-ron (A Treatise on Protecting the Nation by Spreading Zen), Eisai argued that it was through the universal adoption of Zen teachings that the nation could be protected. In identifying Zen with the state, Eisai had an immediate concern in mind, that is, the need to seek state assistance in overcoming the strong opposition of other monastic institutions-especially the Tendai sect headquartered on Mount Hiei-to the introduction of new and competing sects into Japan.

Eisai's appeal did eventually succeed, with the result that the Kamakura Shogunate had the temple of Jufukuji built for him in Kamakura in 1200, and two years later the emperor had the temple of Kenninji built for him in Kyoto. However, this victory was tempered by the fact that the emperor also ordered him to erect shrines within Kenninji honoring both the Tendai and esoteric Shingon sects. In this connection, it is noteworthy that toward the end of his life, Eisai focused more and more on the conduct of esoteric rituals associated with the Tendai sect embodying, as they did, the promise of immediate, "this-worldly" benefits for his benefactors.

In the following years, the Rinzai Zen sect's connection to, and patronage by, the state would grow only stronger. To give but one example, the famous Rinzai master Muso Soseki (1275-1351) successfully sought Shogunal patronage to have one Ankokuji (Temple to Pacify the State) built in each of Japan's sixty-six regions and two islands. Muso himself was rewarded for his efforts by having the unique title of State Teacher (Kokushi) bestowed on him by no less than seven successive emperors.

On the Soto Zen side, Dagen designated the first temple he established in Japan upon his return from China as Kosho-gokokuji (Temple to Protect the State by Propagating the Holy Practice). Dagen also wrote a treatise titled Gokoku-shobogi (The Method of Protecting the State by the True Dharma). Although the contents of this latter treatise are no longer extant, its title, and Dagen's other writings on the same topic, suggests a similar position to that of Eisai (and probably for the same reason). For example, in the Bendowa section of his masterwork, the Shobogenzo (Treasury of the Essence of the True Dharma), Dagen wrote, "When the true Way is widely practiced in the nation, the various Buddhas and heavenly deities will continuously protect it, and the virtue of the emperor will exert a good influence on the people, thereby bringing peace,"54

Dogen, unlike Eisai, did not conduct esoteric rituals seeking worldly benefits, but this did not stop those who followed in his footsteps from introducing a similar element into Soto Zen. Even Zen practice, especially the practice of zazen, came to take on supposedly magical powers. As William Bodiford noted:

For powerful warrior patrons who prayed for military victories [italics mine] and economic prosperity, the purity of [Soto] monks ensured the efficacy of simple religious prayers (kito). For local villagers who expected the Zen masters to pacify evil spirits, summon rain, or empower talismans, the meditative powers (zenjoriki) of the monks energized simple folk magic.55


The chief abbots of Soto Zen head temples also quickly acceded to the custom of receiving the title of Zen master (Zenji) from the emperor, though it must be admitted that Dagen had himself accepted the gift of a purple robe from retired Emperor Gosaga (1220-72). Dagen did, however, refuse to accept it the first two times it was offered, and tradition states that he never wore the robe even after finally accepting it. The following poem, attributed to Dagen, is thought to express his sentiments in this regard:

Though the valley below Eiheiji is not deep,
I am profoundly honored to receive the emperor's command.
But I would be laughed at by monkeys and cranes
If I, a mere old man, were to wear this purple robe.56


During the Kamakura period, the same hierarchically ranked system of Five Mountains and Ten Temples (J. Gozan Jissetsu) was introduced into the Japanese Rinzai Zen sect as the system had been first established in China. By the Muromachi period there would be two such systems, one in Kyoto (which was superior in rank) and the second in Kamakura. As in China, however, the government expected something in return for its patronage. For example, Zen monks, with their knowledge of Chinese, were sent on diplomatic and commercial missions to China. They were also used to suppress unruly elements among the populace. In short, as Dumoulin noted, "The organization of the gozan temples of the Rinzai sect made immeasurable contributions to the political, social, and economic power of the state apparatus."57

Development of "Samurai Zen"

The reader will recall earlier discussions by D. T. Suzuki and others of how Shogun Hojo Tokimune (1251-84) sought strength from Zen to deal with the threat of a second Mongol invasion. Tokimune went for guidance to his spiritual mentor, Chinese Zen Master Sogen (Ch. Tsu-yiian, 1226-86), shortly before the expected invasion in 1281.

When Tokimune said, "The greatest event of my life is here at last," the master asked, "How will you face it?" Tokimune replied by merely shouting the exclamatory word Katsu! as though he were frightening all of his enemies into submission. Pleased with this show of courage, Sogen indicated his approval of Tokimune's answer by saying, "Truly, a lion's child roars like a lion."

A similar though somewhat lesser-known incident is recorded as having occurred at the time of the first Mongol invasion in 1274. This one involved a second Chinese Zen master by the name of Daikyu Shanen (Ch. Ta-hsui Cheng-nien, 1214-89). At the time, Daikyu directed Tokimune to solve the koan concerning Chao-chou (J. Jashu, 778-897) on whether or not a dog has the Buddha nature. Chao-chou's famous answer was Mu (literally, "nil" or "naught"). Tokimune is said to have solved this koan, "thereby releasing his mind to deal calmly with the grave issues of war and peace."58

Collectively, these two incidents appear to be the earliest indications of the unity of Zen and the sword in Japan, though it is noteworthy that neither of them involved Japanese Zen masters. That is to say, it was Chinese Zen masters who introduced the idea of the efficacy of Zen training in warfare, or at least in developing the right mental attitude for it. Both Daikyu and Sogen, themselves refugees from the Mongol conquest of China, were acting on the basis of a long Chinese tradition of Buddhist service to the state and the needs of its rulers.

UnlikeChina with its long history of government by civil administrators- that is, "Mandarins"-Japan, from the Kamakura period onward, was ruled by a warrior class composed of a Shogun (generalissimo) at the top, lesser feudal lords (daimyo), and the samurai armies they commanded. These early warriors, however, were a far cry from the Bushido-inspired ideal of the Tokugawa period. Instead, as Hee-jin Kim noted, they were "greedy, predatory, ruthlessly calculating, a strict business dealing with little or no sense of absolute loyalty and sacrifice."59 If Japan were ever to become and remain a unified nation at peace (albeit under warrior control), a code like Bushido had to arise and be relentlessly drilled into the heads of otherwise self-seeking warriors!

And who better to do the "drilling into" than Confucian-influenced Zen monks with their ethical system that emphasized unquestioning, self-less loyalty to one's superiors? A letter written by the famous Zen master Takuan (1573-1645) clearly reveals what Zen had to offer the samurai. The letter shows how the mind that has transcended discriminating thought, technically known in Zen as "no-mind" (mushin), can be identified with martial prowess, particularly in the use of the sword. Addressing the famous swordsman Yagyu Tajima no Kami Munenori (1571-1646), Takuan wrote:

"No-mind" applies to all activities we may perform, such as dancing, as it does to swordplay. The dancer takes up the fan and begins to stamp his feet. If he has any idea at all of displaying his art well, he ceases to be a good dancer, for his mind "stops" with every movement he goes through. In all things, it is important to forget your "mind" and become one with the work at hand.

When we tie a cat, being afraid of its catching a bird, it keeps on struggling for freedom. But train the cat so that it would not mind the presence of a bird. The animal is now free and can go anywhere it likes. In a similar way, when the mind is tied up, it feels inhibited in every move it makes, and nothing will be accomplished with any sense of spontaneity. Not only that, the work itself will be of a poor quality, or it may not be finished at all. Therefore, do not get your mind "stopped" with the sword you raise; forget what you are doing, and strike the enemy [italics mine].60


Takuan also placed stress on the warrior's acquisition of "immovable wisdom" (J. fudochi). He viewed this not as a static concept or the absence of movement but, on the contrary, as the immovable ground in which existed the potential for movement in all directions. For this reason, it was as applicable to the swordfighter's art as it was to the life of the Zen priest. "When the mind freely moves forwards and backwards, to the left and to the right, in the four and eight directions, if it clings to nothing, this is 'immovable wisdom."'61

In Fudo Mya-o (Skt. Acala-vidya-raja), the fierce-looking Hindu god introduced into Zen via esoteric Buddhism, Takuan saw the incarnation of his ideal of immovable wisdom. He described this figure as follows:

Fuda Mya-o holds a sword in his right hand and a rope in his left. His lips are rolled back revealing his teeth, and his eyes are full of anger. He thrusts violently at all evil demons who interfere with the Buddha Dharma, forcing them to surrender. He is universally present as a figure who protects the Buddha Dharma. He reveals himself to people as the embodiment of immovable wisdom.62


Although in Buddhism, Fudo's sword was originally a symbol of "cutting through" one's own desire and illusion, Takuan succeeded in transmuting this figure into a slayer of "evil demons who interfere with the Buddha Dharma," as well as into the embodiment of the swordsman's ideal of "immovable wisdom."  In a short work titled Taia-ki (History of the Sword), Takuan also discussed the dual nature of the sword. He emphasized the "total freedom" of the Zen-trained swordsman "to give life or to kill."63 Takuan further advocated the absolute necessity for the warrior to sacrifice his self in the process of acquiring this freedom.

In light of the above, it is hardly surprising that Takuan also had something to say about the ever-present, overriding virtue of loyalty. To the Mysteries of Immovable Wisdom (Fudochi Shinmyo-roku) quoted above, Takuan added:

To be totally loyal means first of all to rectify your mind, discipline your body, and be without the least duplicity toward your lord. You must not hate or criticize others, nor fail to perform your daily duties .... If the spirit in which the military arts are practiced is correct, you will enjoy freedom of movement, and though thousands of the enemy appear, you will be able to force them to submit with only one sword. This is [the meaning of] great loyalty.64


As one of the greatest Zen masters of the Tokugawa period, Takuan's thought, including his emphasis on complete and selfless devotion to one's lord-would have a deep and lasting effect on his and later times.

Takuan was by no means the only Tokugawa Zen figure to interpret Zen in this manner. The same emphasis can also be seen in the teachings of Zen monk Suzuki Shosan (1579-1655). Shosan, born into a samurai family in the old province of Mikawa (present-day Aichi prefecture), originally fought on behalf of Tokugawa Ieyasu (1542-1616), founder of the Tokugawa Shogunate, at the major battle of Sekigahara in 1600, and at the sieges of Osaka Castle in 1614 and 1615. In 1621, after a period of guard duty at Osaka Castle, Shosan determined to enter the Zen priesthood and is thought to have been ordained by Rinzai master Daigu (1583-1668). His Rinzai ordination notwithstanding, Shosan went on to become a vigorous champion of the Soto sect, though he was never formally affiliated with it. 65

Like Takuan, Shosan taught that selflessness was the critical element of both true service and true freedom. It was only in overcoming the fear of death that true selflessness could be realized. In addressing samurai, Shosan urged them to practice tokinokoe zazen, that is, zazen in the midst of war cries. As the following quotation reveals, Shosan maintained that meditation that could not be applied to the battlefield was useless:

It's best to practice zazen from the start amid hustle and bustle. A warrior, in particular, absolutely must practice a zazen that works amid war cries. Gunfire crackles, spears clash down the line, a roar goes up and the fray is on: and that's where, firmly disposed, he puts meditation into action. At a time like that, what use could he have for a zazen that prefers quiet? However fond of Buddhism a warrior may be, he'd better throw it out if it doesn't work amid war cries.66


In terms of the subsequent development of "soldier-Zen" previously introduced in this book, it is also significant that Shosan clearly articulated the unity of samadhi power and the military arts. Shosan stated,

It's with the energy of Zen samadhi that all the arts are executed. The military arts in particular can't be executed with a slack mind. ... This energy of Zen samadhi is everything. The man of arms, however, is in Zen samadhi while he applies his skill. 67


As the phrase "all the arts" suggests, Shosan's admonitions were not reserved for warriors alone. In fact, Shosan insisted that the truth of Buddhism was to be found in any form of work or activity whatsoever. As the following passage makes clear, he believed that work itself could be equated with religious practice:

You must work in extremes of heat and cold-work with all your heart and soul. When you toil, your heart is at peace. In this way you are always engaged in Buddhist practice .... Every kind of work is Buddhist practice. Through work we can attain Buddhahood. There is no occupation that is not Buddhist.68


In his religious affirmation of the value of all forms of work, Shosan has come to be viewed in modern Japan as one of the major contributors to the development of a Japanese work ethic. While this may be true, as a Zen monk Shosan, like Takuan, also laid the foundations of not only "soldier Zen" but "corporate Zen" as well. And it must not be forgotten that in a classic work on Bushido titled Hagakure, Shosan is quoted as having said, "What is there in the world purer than renouncing one's own life for the sake of one's lord?"69

And speaking of the Hagakure, the reader will recall an earlier reference to this same work made by D. T. Suzuki. It was this work "that was very much that the government found unacceptable. More controversially, they aided in the maintenance and reinforcement of the traditional social discrimination that existed in Japanese society against so-called outcastes (burakumin). Although its members were physically indistinguishable from other Japanese, this pariah group had long been forced to live in separate villages and engage in what were considered lowly, if not "unclean." trades such as animal butchery, leather working, and refuse collection.

In a study done in 1989, Tomonaga Kenzo found that the Soto Zen sect had been one of the leading sects promoting social discrimination not only during the Tokugawa period but right up through the 1980s. Popular Soto sermons commonly included references to the Ten Fates Preached by the Buddha (Bussetsu Jurai). These "fates" included:

Short life-spans resulting from butchering animals.
Ugliness and sickness resulting from ritual impurities.
Poverty and desperation resulting from miserly thoughts.
Being crippled and blind as coming from violating the Buddhist precepts [italics mine].74


Further doctrinal support for social discrimination came from the highly esteemed Mahayana work, the Lotus Sutra. Specifically, in chapter 28 we are informed that anyone slandering this scripture or those who uphold it will be stricken with blindness, leprosy, missing teeth, ugly lips, flat noses, crooked limbs, tuberculosis, evil tumors, stinking and dirty bodies, and more "for life after life [italics mine]."75 Not only Soto Zen, but all of Tokugawa Buddhism engaged in the classic ruse of blaming the victims for their misfortunes. Thus, not only outcastes, but the sick and disabled as well were afflicted in their present lives as karmic retribution for the evil acts of their past lives. That is to say, they had it coming!

And this discrimination did not stop with their death, for Tomonaga discovered that 5,649 Soto temples (out of nearly 15,000) as late as 1983 maintained records indicating which families were or were not descended from outcastes, and that 1,911 temples identified such families on their tombstones. Such post-death discrimination has very real consequences for the descendants of outcastes who seek employment or hope to marry the son or daughter of a "good family." In these situations, at least until recently, many temples would cooperate with private investigators who were regularly hired to check into a person's personal background.

Having read this, the reader may recall Uchiyama Gudo's struggle in the Meiji period against an interpretation of karma that provided a religious justification for both social discrimination and social privilege. The failure of his struggle then meant it would not be until 1974 that the Soto sect would express a willingness to consider its role in sustaining this type of discrimination. Significantly, the sect's willingness to examine this issue did not come from within but from without, that is to say, from demands made by social activists associated with the Outcaste Liberation League (Buraku Kaiho Domei). This led, in 1982, to the establishment of a Human Rights Division within the sect's administrative headquarters, some 110 years after the Meiji government had, at least on paper, emancipated the outcastes in an edict issued in 1872.

Although at first glance this issue may not seem to be directly relevant, to the question of (Zen) Buddhism and war, it is, in fact, quite relevant. If a society succeeds in identifying a sizable segment of its own people as being inferior to other citizens, justifying this on moral and religious grounds, then it is not difficult to identify other religions, ethnic groups, nations, and others as being even more inferior. In this book we have seen how this happened to Christians, Russians, Koreans, Chinese, and eventually to American and English "savages." In the same connection, it should be noted that as early as 1611, Soto Zen documents referred to outcastes as hinin, that is to say, "nonhumans."76

Needless to say, discrimination in its various guises is hardly limited to either Japan or Buddhism. Indeed, it can be found to a greater or lesser degree, at one time or another, in all cultures and major world religions. But this does not lessen the tragedy that in this instance it was found among the adherents of a religion whose founder, Buddha Shakyamuni, so clearly advocated the equality of all human beings irrespective of t.heir birth, lineage, occupation, and so forth. For Shakyamuni, there was only one acceptable standard for judging others: their words and actions.

It is also noteworthy that it was as a direct consequence of establishing the Soto sect's Division of Human Rights that the Soto headquarters issued its official war apology and, in 1993, reinstated Uchiyama Gudo's clerical status. Both of these issues were seen as further examples of this sect's abuse of human rights.

For more than two hundred and fifty years, Zen, and Japanese Buddhism in general, remained locked in the warm but debilitating embrace of the Tokugawa Shogunate. Interestingly, the founder of the Tokugawa Shogunate, Tokugawa Ieyasu (1542-1616) was brought up in a Jodo (Pure Land) sect-affiliated family. Ieyasu himself regularly recited the name of Buddha

[Page 224 and 225 missing]

a ship, Shakyamuni discovers that there is a robber intent on killing all five hundred of his fellow passengers. Shakyamuni ultimately decides to kill the robber, not only for the sake of his fellow passengers but also to save the robber himself from the karmic consequences of his horrendous act. In Shakyamuni's so doing, the negative karma from. killing the robber should have accrued to Shakyamuni but it did not, for as he explained:

Good man, because I used ingenuity out of great compassion at that time, I was able to avoid the suffering of one hundred thousand kalpas of samsara [the ordinary world of form and desire) and that wicked man was reborn in heaven, a good plane of existence, after death [italics mine ).79


Here we see one justification for the idea so often quoted by wartime Japanese Buddhist leaders that it is morally right "to kill one in order that many may live" (J. issatsu tasho).

The Upaya-kaushalya is by no means the only Mahayana sutra that has been historically interpreted as in some sense excusing, if not actually sanctioning, violence. The Jen-wang-ching (Sutra on Benevolent Kings) also states that one can escape the karmic consequences arising from such acts as killing others by simply reciting the sutra.

It is noteworthy that this latter sutra is also closely connected with the protection of the state. Section 5 of the sutra is, in fact, titled exactly that: "Section on the Protection of the State." This section claims to give Buddha Shakyamuni's detailed instructions to kings in order that they might ensure the protection of their kingdoms from both internal and external enemies. Armies, if needed, could be assembled and used with the assurance that the soldiers involved in the killing could later be totally absolved of the karmic consequences of their acts.

Although the above sutras provided a somewhat passive justification for Buddhist participation in warfare, this is not the case with the Sanskrit Mahaparinirvana Sutra, previously mentioned. In this sutra, Buddha Shakyamuni tells how he killed several Brahmins in a previous life in order to prevent them from slandering the Dharma. Once again, this is said to have been done out of compassion for the slain Brahmins, that is, to save them from the karmic consequences of their slander.

In a more aggressive vein, chapter 5 of the same sutra admonishes Mahayana followers to protect the Dharma at all costs, even if this means using weapons to do so and breaking the prohibition against taking life. This injunction is similar to that found in the Gandavyuha Sutra. Here, an Indian king by the name of Anala is singled out for praise because he is "said to have made killing into a divine service in order to reform people through punishment."80

In his seminal article "Le Bouddhisme et la guerre" (Buddhism and War), Demieville identified even further scriptural basis for Buddhist participation in killing and warfare. Demieville also pointed out the paradox that exists in this regard between the Southern Hinayana (i.e., Theravada) and Northern Mahayana schools: the Hinayana, which tends to condemn life, has remained strict in the prohibition of killing; but it is the Mahayana, which extols life, that has ended up by finding. excuses for killing and even for its glorification.81

CONCLUSION

State-Protecting Buddhism


As we have already seen, Buddha Shakyamuni himself praised a republic as the ideal form of the state. Further, Indian Buddhism prior to Ashoka was also clearly suspicious of monarchs, placing them in the same category as robbers, for both were capable of endangering the people's welfare. In this regard, Uchiyama Gudo's identification of Japan's imperial ancestors as people who "kill[ed] and rob[bed] as they went" harkens back to Buddhism's earliest attitudes.

According to early Buddhist legends, a ruler was to be selected by election, not by birth or divine right. Such an election represented a social contract between the ruler and his subjects in which the former was responsible for protecting the country and seeing to it that good was rewarded and evil punished. The underlying attitude expressed in these legends is consistent with Buddha Shakyamuni's own praise of the Vajjian state, for it provided its inhabitants with a voice in their governance.

It is noteworthy that in spite of various Mahayana sutras to the contrary, Japan's leaders were both well aware of, and adamantly opposed to, this earliest Buddhist attitude toward the state. The Shinto-influenced writer, Kitabatake Chikafusa (1293-1354) wrote:

The Buddhist theory [of the state) is merely an Indian theory; Indian monarchs may have been the descendants of a monarch selected for the people's welfare, but Our Imperial Family is the only continuous and unending line of family descending from its Heavenly Ancestors. 82


Further, with regard to the Japanese nation, Kitabatake had this is say:

Our Great Nippon is a Divine Nation. Our Divine Ancestors founded it; the Sun Goddess let her descendents reign over it for a long time. This is unique to Our Nation; no other nation has the like of it. This is the reason why Our Nation is called "Divine Nation"!83


As this book has demonstrated, it was this Shinto-inspired attitude that was to find almost universal acceptance among Japanese Buddhists, especially among Zen masters. This said, it must also be recognized that the foundation for Buddhism's subservience to the state dates back to at least the time of King Ashoka in India, not to mention its even greater subservience in China and Korea. Unlike D. T. Suzuki's claim that Shinto alone was to blame for Japan's "excessive nationalism" in the modern era, the truth is that Shinto was no more than the proximate cause of a tendency in Buddhism that, by 1945, had been developing for more than two thousand years.

If historical developments in a religion may be judged according to their consistency with the avowed teachings of the founder of that religion, in this case, Buddha Shakyamuni, then the best scholarship to date strongly suggests that Buddhist subservience to the state is an accretion to the Buddha Dharma that not only does not belong to that body, but actively betrays it.

This is said knowing full well that had Buddhism remained faithful to its earliest teachings, it is quite possible that it would not have survived, let alone prospered, in those countries that adopted it. Its subsequent almost total disappearance from the land of its birth is but one indication of the dangers it faced. Yet, admitting this does not change one central fact: the historical phenomenon known as Nation-Protecting Buddhism (Gokoku-Bukkyo) represents the betrayal of the Buddha Dharma.

Samurai Zen

If Nation-Protecting Buddhism is a betrayal of the Buddha Dharma, it should come as no surprise that Samurai Zen is a particularly pernicious variation of the same aberration. What is perhaps surprising, however, is that confirmation of this assertion is contained in the Zen-inspired work already quoted extensively above, the Hagakure.

Returning to this work one last time, we find Jocho quoting a Zen master about whom D. T. Suzuki had nothing to say. This was the Zen priest Tannen (d. 1680), under whom Jocho himself had trained. What is so surprising about this priest is that Jocho quoted him as saying, "It is a great mistake for a young samurai to learn about Buddhism." Tannen then went on to say, "It is fine for old retired men to learn about Buddhism as a diversion."84

What was it about Buddhism that made it a fit religion for old samurai to study but not young ones? In a word, it was Buddhism's teaching of compassion. Tannen explained that the feelings of compassion prompted by Buddhism could interfere with the most essential characteristic of a samurai, that is, his courage: According to Tannen, if a young samurai studied Buddhism, "he [would] see things in two ways." That is to say, he would be torn between the courage needed to fulfill his duties toward his lord, and feelings of compassion for his victims. Hence, ''A person who does not set himself in just one direction will be of no value at all."85

In Tannen's eyes, a young samurai could ill afford to let compassion rule his conduct. Only an elderly samurai had that luxury. This is not to say, however, that a Buddhist priest had no need of courage as well as compassion. Still, a Buddhist priest's courage should be devoted to "things like kicking a man back from the dead, or pulling all living creatures out of hell." A Buddhist priest required courage to save dead or near-dead sentient beings. On the other hand, among warriors, "there are some cowards who advance Buddhism."86

In the end, Tannen attempted to resolve the conflict between courage and compassion by stating that priests and samurai had need of equal measures of both, though each of the parties should manifest them differently:

A monk cannot fulfill the Buddhist Way if he does not manifest compassion without and persistently store up courage within. And if a warrior does not manifest courage on the outside and hold enough compassion within his heart to burst his chest, he cannot become a retainer. Therefore, the monk pursues courage with the warrior as his model, and the warrior pursues the compassion of the monk.87


Leaving aside the appropriateness of the resolution of the conflict between courage and compassion for the moment, what is significant about the above is the recognition that there is any conflict at all between the teaching of Buddhist compassion and the courage expected of a samurai. In fact, the potential conflict between them is so severe that it is a "great mistake" for the f young samurai to even learn about Buddhism; for to do so is to be turned into a "coward."

As for the proposed all-embracing resolution of the conflict, it should be noted that the compassion of the warrior is to beheld "within his heart" and not acted upon. This corresponds to a very strong dichotomy manifested in Japanese society between duty (giri) to one's superiors and human feelings (ninja) of kindness and compassion toward others. In classical Japanese drama there can be no question, in the end, which of these conflicting values will prevail. That is to say, nothing can be allowed to interfere with the accomplishment of one's duty. Buddhism, therefore, may be studied safely only by "retired old men."

As with Nation-Protecting Buddhism, it can be cogently argued that Buddhism would not have survived in a warrior-dominated society without compromising its ethical code as expressed in the Holy Eightfold Path, especially its prohibitions against the taking of life, pursuing a career as a soldier, or even selling weapons. Once again however, this does not alter the fact that all of these acts endorsed by Samurai Zen are a violation of the fundamental teachings-of-Buddhism.

In particular, advocates of the unity of Zen and the sword such as Takuan, Shosan, and D. T. Suzuki have taken the very real power emanating from the concentrated state of mind arising out of Buddhist meditation, that is, samadhi power, and placed it in the service of men who can, in the final analysis, only be described as "hired killers." Especially when viewed in light of the innumerable atrocities perpetrated by 'the Japanese military during the Asia-Pacific war, including the systematic, institutionalized killing and raping of civilians, D. T. Suzuki's statements that "the enemy appears and makes himself a victim," or that "the swordsman turns into an artist of the first grade, engaged in producing a work of genuine originality," and so forth must be clearly and unequivocally recognized as desecrations of the Buddha Dharma. As we have amply seen, Suzuki was far from being the only one to say or write such things.

Experienced Zen practitioners know that the "no-mind" of Zen does in fact exist. Equally, they know that samadhi (i.e., meditative) power also exists. But they also know, or at least ought to know, that these things, in their original Buddhist formulation, had absolutely nothing to do with bringing harm to others. On the contrary, authentic Buddhist awakening is characterized by a combination of wisdom and compassion-identifying oneself with others and seeking to eliminate suffering in all its forms. Thus, the question must be asked, even though it cannot be answered in this book-How is the Zen school to be restored and reconnected to its Buddhist roots? Until this question is satisfactorily answered and acted upon, Zen's claim to be an authentic expression of the Buddha Dharma must remain in doubt.

_______________

Notes:

CHAPTER TWELVE

1. Ananda K. Coomaraswamy, Buddha and the Gospel of Buddhism, pp. 52-53.

2. Kogen Mizuno, The Beginnings of Buddhism, p. 174.

3. Ibid., p. 175.

4. A. L. Basham, The Wonder That Was India, p. 96.

5. All quotes adapted from Irving Babbitt, trans., The Dhammapada.

6. For a full discussion of this issue see Thera Nanavasa, ed., Digha-nikaya, I.

7. Richard H. Robinson, The Buddhist Religion: A Historical Introduction, p.33.

8. Mizuno, The Beginnings of Buddhism, p. 185.

9. For a more complete discussion see Walpola Rahula, What the Buddha Taught, pp. 81-89.

10. Basham, The Wonder That Was India, p.54.

11. J. S. Strong, The Legend of King Ashoka, p. 131.

12. Vishwanath Prasad Varma, Early Buddhism and Its Origins, p. 432.

13. T. W. Rhys Davids, Buddhism, p. 222.

14. Strong, The Legend of King Ashoka, p.23.

15. Basham, The Wonder That Was India, p.56.

16. Strong, The Legend of King Ashoka, p.87.

17. See Basham, The Wonder That Was India, p. 83; and Rhys Davids, Buddhism, pp. 18-19.

18. Basham, The Wonder That Was India.

19. Strong, The Legend of King Ashoka, p.61.

20. Kenneth Ch' en, Buddhism in China p.78.

21. Strong, The Legend of King Ashoka, Pp.131-32.

22. Ch'en, Buddhism in China, p.197.

23. Holmes Welch, Buddhism under Mao, p.297.

24. Strong, The Legend of King Ashoka, Pp. 115-16.

25. For a more complete discussion of his life, see Kenneth Ch' en, The Chinese Transformation of Buddhism, p. 113.

26. Quoted in Ch' en, Buddhism in China, p.221.

27. Ibid., pp. 223-24.

28. Ibid., p. 232.

29. Quoted in Yuho Yokoi with Daizen Victoria, Zen Master Dogen: An Introduction with Selected Writings, p. 163.

30. Ibid., p. 162.

31. Heinrich Dumoulin, Zen Buddhism: A History; vol. 1, India-and China, p. 114.

32. For a more complete account of this incident, see Hu Shih, "Chugoku ni okeru Zen Bukkyo-Sono Rekishi to Hoho [Zen Buddhism in China: Its History and Methodology]," in Zen ni tsuite no Taiwa, pp. 51-55.

33. Quoted in Arthur Koestler, The Lotus and the Robot, p. 271.

34. Paul Demieville, "Le Bouddhisme et la guerre," Choix d'etudes Bouddhiques (1929-1970), p. 296.

35. Quoted in Ch' en, Buddhism in China, p. 357.

36. Dumoulin, Zen Buddhism, vol. 1, p. 244.

37. Yanagida, "Chugoku Zenshu-shi," in Koza Zen, vol. 3, pp. 96-97.

38. For further discussion see Dumoulin, Zen Buddhism, vol. 1, pp. 166-70.

39. Ch'en, Buddhism in China, p. 399.

40.Quoted in Kazumitsu Kato, Lin-chi and the Record of His Sayings, p. 104.

41. Quoted in Mizuno, The Beginnings of Buddhism, p. 180.

42. Dumoulin, Zen Buddhism, p. 216.

43. Quoted in Iriya Yoshitaka et al., trans., Hekigan-roku, vol. 1, p. 182.

44. Quoted in Welch, Buddhism under Mao, p. 277.

45. Ibid., pp. 278-79.

46. Contained in the New Zealand Herald, 31 May 1996, p. 8.

47. Quoted in Welch, Buddhism under Mao, p. 283.

48. Anesaki Masaharu, History of Japanese Religion, p. 12.

49. S. Keel, "Buddhism and Political Power in Korean History," Journal of the International Association of Buddhist Studies 1, no. 1 (1978), pp.16-17.

50. Ch' en, Buddhism in China, p. 201.

51. Committee for the Celebration of the 70th Anniversary of the Introduction of Buddhism to America, ed., The Teaching of Buddha, p. 231.

52. Anesaki, History of Japanese Religion, p.231.

53. Welch, Buddhism under Mao, p. 281.

54. "Zen Master Dogen's Social Consciousness," Journal of Asian Culture 1, no. 1 (Spring 1977), p. 18, translated by the author.

55. William Bodiford, Soto Zen in Medieval Japan, p. 216.

56. Translated in Hajime Nakamura, Ways of Thinking of Eastern Peoples: India-China-Tibet-Japan, p. 684.

57. Heinrich Dumoulin, Zen Buddhism: A History, vol. 2, Japan, p. 153.

58. George Sansom, A History of Japan to 1334, p. 431.

59. Hee-jin Kim, Dogen Kigen: Mystical Realist, p. 13.

60.Quoted in D. T. Suzuki, Essentials of Zen Buddhism, p. 458.

61. From Takuan's Fudochi Shinmyoroku as quoted in Ichikawa Hakugen, Fudochi Shinmyo-roku/Taia-ki, Pp. 57-58.

62. Ibid., p. 58.

63. Ibid., p. 101.

64. Ibid., p. 89-90.

65. See discussion of sectarian adherence in Royall Tyler, trans., Selected Writings of Suzuki Shosan, Pp.1-3.

66.Quoted in ibid., p.1l5.

67. Quoted in ibid.

68. Quoted in Jack Seward and Howard Van Zandt, Japan: The Hungry Guest, pp. 89-90.

69. Quoted in Charles A. Moore, ed., The Japanese Mind, p. 233.

70. Tsunetomo [Jacho] Yamamoto, Hagakure, p. 164.

71. Ibid., p. 146.

72. Quoted in Philip B. Yampolsky, trans., The Zen Master Hakuin: Selected Writings, p. 69.

73. Ibid., p. 72.

74. Tomonaga study introduced in William Bodiford, "Zen and the Art of Religious Prejudice," Japanese Journal of Religious Studies 23, nos. 1-2 (1996), p. 11. "Ten Fates Preached by the Buddha" quote found on p. 15.

75. Tsugunari Kubo and Akira Yuyama, The Lotus Sutra, p.339.

76. Bodiford, "Zen and the Art of Religious Prejudice," p. 13.

77. Quoted in Charles Eliot, Japanese Buddhism, p. 305.

78. Makoto Hayashi, "The Historical Position of Early Modern Religion as Seen through a Critical Examination of R. Bellah's 'Religious Evolution,'" Acta Asiatica 75 (1998), p. 31.

79. Quoted in Garma C. C. Chang, ed., A Treasury of Mahayana Satras, pp. 456-57.

80. Quoted in Paul William, Mahayana Buddhism, p. 161.

81. Demieville, "Le Bouddhisme et la guerre," p. 267.

82. Quoted in Moore, The Japanese Mind, p. 153.

83. Ibid., p. 153.

84. Yamamoto, Hagakure, p. 95.

85. Ibid.

86. Ibid.

87. Ibid.
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Re: D.T. Suzuki, Zen and the Nazis, by Brian Daizen Victoria

Postby admin » Fri Aug 09, 2019 12:51 am

Part 1 of 4

A Zen Nazi in Wartime Japan: Count Dürckheim and his Sources—D.T. Suzuki, Yasutani Haku’un and Eugen Herrigel
by Brian Victoria
The Asia Pacific Journal
Volume 12 | Issue 3 | Number 2
January 13, 2014

Introductory Note: This is the final article in a three part series on the relationship of D.T. Suzuki and other Zen figures in wartime Japan to Count Karlfried Dürckheim and other Nazis. Part I of this series, "D.T. Suzuki, Zen and the Nazis" is available here. Part II, "The Formation and Principles of Count Dürckheim's Nazi Worldview and his interpretation of Japanese Spirit and Zen" is available here. Readers who have not yet done so are urged to read at least Part II of this series that provides crucial background information for understanding Part III.

Introduction

By the late 1930s Japan was well on the way to becoming a totalitarian society. True, in Japan there was no charismatic dictator like Hitler or Mussolini, but there was nevertheless a powerful "divine presence," i.e., Emperor Hirohito. Although seldom seen and never heard, he occasionally issued imperial edicts, serving to validate the actions of those political and military figures claiming to act on his behalf. At least in theory, such validation was absolute and leftwing challenges to government policies, whether on the part of Communists, socialists or merely liberals, were mercilessly suppressed. For example, between 1928 and 1937 some 60,000 people were arrested under suspicion of harboring "dangerous thoughts," i.e., anything that could conceivably undermine Japan's colonial expansion abroad and repressive domestic policies at home. Added to this was the fact that Japan had begun its full-scale invasion of China on July 7, 1937.

Japan's relationship with Germany was in flux according to the changing political interests of both countries.1 Because of negative international reactions to the Anti-Comintern pact of November 1936, resistance against it increased in Japan soon after it was made, and the Japanese froze their policy of closer ties. However, in 1938 it became clear to Japan that the war against China would last longer than expected. Thus, Japanese interest in a military alliance with Germany and Italy reemerged. On the German side, Joachim von Ribbentrop had become Foreign Minister in February 1938, and as he had long been a proponent of closer ties with Japan, negotiations between the two countries resumed in the summer of 1938.

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Joachim von Ribbentrop

Count Karlfried Dürckheim´s first Japan trip was probably connected with the beginning of this thaw in German-Japanese relations. The birth of "total war" in the wake of World War I and even earlier had demonstrated that victory could not be achieved without the strong support and engagement of civilian populations, one aspect of which was not simply knowledge of potential adversaries but of one's allies as well. This meant enhanced cultural relations and mutual understanding between the citizens of allied nations.

It was under these circumstances that Dürckheim undertook what was portrayed as an education-related mission to Japan, a mission that would impact on him profoundly for the remainder of his life. This was not the first such mission Dürckheim had undertaken on behalf of Foreign Minister Von Ribbentrop and Education Minister Bernhard Rust, for he had previously made somewhat similar trips to other countries, including South Africa and Britain. Dürckheim's trip to South Africa took place from May thru October 1934 on behalf of Rust. He conducted research on the cultural, political and educational situation of Germans in South Africa while at the same time promoting the new regime.

During his work in Ribbentrop's office from 1935 to 1937, Dürckheim was a frequent visitor to Britain, around 20 times altogether. His task was to gather information about the image of National Socialism in Britain while at the same time promoting the "new Germany." Toward this end, he met such notables as King Edward VII and Winston Churchill and arranged a meeting between Hitler and Lord Beaverbrook, the owner of the Evening Standard. This was part of Hitler's ultimately unsuccessful plan to form a military alliance with Britain directed against the Soviet Union. Dürckheim's work officially ended on December 31, 1937.

Dürckheim's First Visit to Japan

Dürckheim began his journey to Japan on June 7, 1938 and did not return to Germany until early 1939. According to his biographer, Gerhard Wehr, Dürckheim initially received a research assignment from the German Ministry of Education that consisted of two tasks: first, to describe the development of Japanese national education including the so-called social question,2 and second, to investigate the possibility of using cultural activities to promote Germany's political aims both within Japan and those areas of Asia under Japanese influence.3 Dürckheim arrived by boat and travelled extensively within Japan as well as undertaking trips to Korea, Manchukuo (Japan's puppet state in Manchuria) and northern China. During his travels Dürckheim remained in close contact with the local NSDAP (Nazi) offices and the Japan-based division of the National Socialist Teachers Association.

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Count Karlfried Dürckheim

Dürckheim Meets D.T. Suzuki

Dürckheim described his arrival in Japan as follows:

I was sent there in 1938 with a particular mission that I had chosen: to study the spiritual background of Japanese education. As soon as I arrived at the embassy, an old man came to greet me. I did not know him. "Suzuki," he stated. He was the famous Suzuki who was here to meet a certain Mister Dürckheim arriving from Germany to undertake certain studies.

Suzuki is one of the greatest contemporary Zen Masters. I questioned him immediately on the different stages of Zen. He named the first two, and I added the next three. Then he exclaimed: "Where did you learn this?" "In the teaching of Meister Eckhart!" "I must read him again..." (though he knew him well already). . . . It is under these circumstances that I discovered Zen. I would see Suzuki from time to time.4


Although the exact sequence of events leading up to their meeting is unknown, a few points can be surmised. First, while Dürckheim states he had been sent to Japan on an educational mission, specifically to study "the spiritual foundations of Japanese education,"5 it should be understood that within the context of Nazi ideology, education referred not only to formal academic, classroom learning but, more importantly, to any form of "spiritual training/discipline" that produced loyal citizens ready to sacrifice themselves for the fatherland. Given this, it is unsurprising that following Dürckheim's return to Germany in 1939 the key article he wrote was entitled "The Secret of Japanese Power" (Geheimnis der Japanisher Kraft).

Additionally, it should come as no surprise to read that Dürckheim was clearly aware of, and interested in, Suzuki's new book. Wehr states: "In records from his first visit [to Japan] Dürckheim occasionally mentions Zen including, among others, D. T. Suzuki's recently published book, Zen Buddhism and Its Influence on Japanese Culture. In this connection, Dürckheim comments: 'Zen is above all a religion of will and willpower; it is profoundly averse to intellectual philosophy and discursive thought, relying, instead, on intuition as the direct and immediate path to truth.'"6

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D.T. Suzuki

In claiming this is it possible that Dürckheim had misunderstood the import of Suzuki's writings? That is to say, had he in fact begun what might be called the 'Nazification' of Zen, i.e., twisting it to fit the ideology of National Socialism. In fact he had not, for in his 1938 book, Suzuki wrote: "Good fighters are generally ascetics or stoics, which means to have an iron will. When needed Zen supplies them with this."7 Suzuki futher explained: "From the philosophical point of view, Zen upholds intuition against intellection, for intuition is the more direct way of reaching the Truth...Besides its direct menthod of reaching final faith, Zen is a religion of will-power, and will-power is what is urgently needed by the warriors, though it ought to be enlightened by intuition."8
In light of these quotes, and many others like them, whatever other faults the wartime Dürckheim may have had, misunderstanding Suzuki's explication of Zen was not one of them.

And, significantly, Suzuki was not content in his book to simply link Zen as a religion of will to Japanese medieval warriors. He was equally intent to show that the same self-sacrificial, death-embracing spirit of the samurai had become the modern martial spirit of the Japanese people as a whole:

The Japanese may not have any specific philosophy of life, but they have decidedly one of death which may sometimes appear to be that of recklessness. The spirit of the samurai deeply breathing Zen into itself propagated its philosophy even among the masses. The latter, even when they are not particularly trained in the way of the warrior, have imbibed his spirit and are ready to sacrifice their lives for any cause they think worthy. This has repeatedly been proved in the wars Japan has so far had to go through for one reason or another. A foreign writer on Japanese Buddhism aptly remarks that Zen is the Japanese character.9


Given these words, Dürckheim could not fail to have been interested in learning more about a Zen tradition that had allegedly instilled death-embracing values into the entire Japanese people. Hitler himself is recorded as having lamented, "You see, it's been our misfortune to have the wrong religion. Why didn't we have the religion of the Japanese, who regard sacrifice for the Fatherland as the highest good?"10 Thus Dürckheim's mission may best be understood as unlocking the secret of the Japanese people's power as manifested in the Zen-Bushidō ideology Suzuki promoted. No doubt, his superiors were deeply interested in duplicating, within the context of a German völkisch faith, this same spirit of unquestioning sacrifice for the Fatherland.

It is unlikely that Dürckheim had read Suzuki's book prior to his arrival. Written in English, the Eastern Buddhist Society of Ōtani College didn't publish it in Japan until May 1938. Suzuki reports that he first received copies of his book on May 20, 1938.11 This suggests that it was Embassy personnel, knowing of Dürckheim's interests and Suzuki's reputation, who requested Suzuki's presence. Yet another possibility is that Dürckheim had heard about Suzuki during his frequent trips to Britain, since much of the material in Suzuki's 1938 book consisted of lectures first delivered in Britain in 1936.

It is noteworthy that the first conversation between the two men centered on Meister Eckhart, the thirteenth century German theologian and mystic. On the surface this exchange seems totally innocuous, the very antithesis of Nazism. Yet, as discussed in Part II, Meister Eckhart was the embodiment of one major current in Nazi spirituality. That is to say, within German völkisch religious thought Eckhart represented the very essence of a truly Germanic faith.

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Meister Eckhart

Meister Eckhart's reception in Germany had undergone many changes over time, with Eckhart becoming linked to German nationalism by the early 19th century as a result of Napoleon's occupation of large parts of Germany. Many romanticists and adherents of German idealism regarded Eckhart as a uniquely German mystic and admired him for having written in German instead of Latin and daring to oppose the Latin speaking world of scholasticism and the hierarchy of the Catholic Church.

In the 20th century, National Socialism - or at least some leading National Socialists - appropriated Eckhart as an early exponent of a specific Germanic Weltanschauung. In particular, Alfred Rosenberg regarded Eckhart as the German mystic who had anticipated his own ideology and thus represented a key figure in Germanic cultural history. As a result, Rosenberg included a long chapter on Eckhart, entitled "Mysticism and Action," in his book The Myth of the Twentieth Century.

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Alfred Rosenberg

Rosenberg was one of the Nazi's chief ideologists and The Myth of the Twentieth Century was second in importance only to Hitler's Mein Kampf. By 1944 more than a million copies had been sold. Rosenberg was attracted to Eckhart as one of the earliest exponents of the idea of "will" as supreme:

Reason perceives all things, but it is the will, Eckhart comments, which can do all things. Thus where reason can go no further, the superior will flies upward into the light and into the power of faith. Then the will wishes to be above all perception. That is its highest achievement.12

Suzuki would no doubt have readily agreed with these sentiments, for, as we have already seen, he, too, placed great emphasis on will, identifying it as the very essence of Zen.

Rosenberg also included this almost Zen-like description of "Nordic Germanic man":

Nordic Germanic man is the antipode of both directions, grasping for both poles of our existence, combining mysticism and a life of action, being borne up by a dynamic vital feeling, being uplifted by the belief in the free creative will and the noble soul. Meister Eckhart wished to become one with himself. This is certainly our own ultimate desire.13

This said, the fact that there were similarities between Rosenberg's description of Eckhart and Suzuki's descriptions of Zen by no means demonstrates that Suzuki's interest in Eckhart was identical with Rosenberg's racist or fascist interpretation. In fact, Suzuki's interest in Eckhart can be traced back to his interest in Theosophy in the 1920s.

Nevertheless, there is a clear and compelling parallel in the totalitarian nature of völkisch Nazi thought as represented by Rosenberg, as well as Dürckheim, and Suzuki's own thinking. As pointed out in Part II, one of the key components of Nazi thought was that "individualism" was an enemy that had to be overcome in order for the "parts" (i.e., a country's citizens) to be ever willing to sacrifice themselves for the Volk, i.e., the "whole," as ordered by the state. Rudolph Hess, Hitler's Deputy Führer, not only recognized the importance of this struggle but also admitted that the Japanese were ahead of the Nazis in this respect. Hess wrote:

We, too, [like the Japanese] are battling to destroy individualism. We are struggling for a new Germany based on the new idea of totalitarianism. In Japan this way of thinking comes naturally to the people.14


Just how "naturally" (or even whether) the Japanese people rejected individualism and embraced totalitarianism is open to debate. Yet, we find Suzuki adopting an analogous position beginning with the publication of his very first book in 1896, i.e., Shin Shūkyō-ron (A Treatise on the New [Meaning of] Religion). Suzuki wrote:

At the time of the commencement of hostilities with a foreign country, then marines fight on the sea and soldiers fight in the fields, swords flashing and cannon-smoke belching, moving this way and that. In so doing, our soldiers regard their own lives as being as light as goose feathers while their devotion to duty is as heavy as Mt. Tai in China. Should they fall on the battlefield they have no regrets. This is what is called "religion in a national emergency."15


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The Myth of the 20th Century, by Alfred Rosenberg

Suzuki was only twenty-six years old when he wrote these lines, i.e., long before the emergence of the Nazis. Yet, he anticipated the Nazi's demand that in wartime all citizens must discard attachment to their individual well-being and be ever ready to sacrifice themselves for the state, regarding their own lives "as light as goose feathers." During the Russo-Japanese War of 1904-5, Suzuki exhorted Japanese soldiers as follows: "Let us then shuffle off this mortal coil whenever it becomes necessary, and not raise a grunting voice against the fates. . . . Resting in this conviction, Buddhists carry the banner of Dharma over the dead and dying until they gain final victory."16 Given these sentiments there clearly was no need for the Nazis to inculcate völkisch values, emphasizing self-sacrifice for the state, into Suzuki's thought, for they had long been present.

In any event, the content of the initial conversation between Suzuki and Dürckheim does suggest why, from the outset, these two men found they shared so much in common. For his part, like "Nordic man" in the preceding quotation, Suzuki frequently equated Zen with the Japanese character.17 In other words, within one of the two major strands of Nazi religiosity, Dürckheim would perhaps have understood, and welcomed, Suzuki as a völkisch proponent of a religion, i.e., Zen, dedicated to, and shaped by, the Japanese Volk. This may well explain what initially drew the two men together and led to their ongoing relationship.

It should also be noted that Suzuki was not the first to recognize affinities between Eckhart and Buddhism. In the 19th century the German philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer had postulated this connection. He wrote:

If we turn from the forms, produced by external circumstances, and go to the root of things, we shall find that [Buddha] Shākyamuni and Meister Eckhart teach the same thing; only that the former dared to express his ideas plainly and positively, whereas Eckhart is obliged to clothe them in the garment of the Christian myth, and to adapt his expressions thereto.18


As for Dürckheim, his interest in Eckhart, as noted in Part II, can be traced back to the 1920s when he began to practice meditation together with his friend Ferdinand Weinhandl, the Austrian philosopher who later became a professor in Kiel and another strong proponent of National Socialism. Additionally, the Swiss psychologist C. G. Jung identified Eckhart as the most important thinker of his time.

Suzuki's View of Nazi Germany

There is one vital question that warrants our attention, i.e., why had Suzuki accepted an invitation to come to a German Embassy so firmly under Nazi control? In the context of the times, this may not seem so surprising, but it is in fact a very surprising turn of events. Very surprising, that is, if one believes the testimony of Satō Gemmyō Taira, a Shin (True Pure Land) Buddhist priest who, readers of Part I of this article will recall, identifies himself as one of Suzuki's disciples in the postwar period.

Satō claims:

Although Suzuki recognized that the Nazis had, in 1936, brought stability to Germany and although he was impressed by their youth activities (though not by the militaristic tone of these activities), he clearly had little regard for the Nazi leader, disapproved of their violent attitudes, and opposed the policies espoused by the party. His distaste for totalitarianism of any kind is unmistakable.19


If, as Satō asserts, Suzuki "opposed the policies espoused by the [Nazi] party," etc. why would he have agreed to meet a Nazi researcher like Dürckheim on his arrival in Japan? And why would he subsequently have continued to meet him "from time to time"? Still further, why would the German Embassy have invited a known critic of the Nazis, someone whom Satō claims had publicly expressed his anti-Nazi views in October 1936, to meet a visiting Nazi researcher less than two years later? While these questions may seem unrelated to Dürckheim's wartime activities in Japan, they do point to a striking parallel between the two men in the postwar period, a parallel that will become apparent below.

First, however, it should be noted that there is an alternate narrative that readily explains Suzuki's willingness to assist a Nazi-affiliated researcher like Dürckheim. This narrative begins by noting that in his 1938 book, Zen Buddhism and Its Influence on Japanese Culture, Suzuki wrote:

Zen has no special doctrine or philosophy with a set of concepts and intellectual formulas, except that it tries to release one from the bondage of birth and death and this by means of certain intuitive modes of understanding peculiar to itself. It is, therefore, extremely flexible to adapt itself almost to any philosophy and moral doctrine as long as its intuitive teaching is not interfered with.

It may be found wedded to anarchism or fascism, communism or democracy, atheism or idealism, or any political and economical dogmatism. It is, however, generally animated with a certain revolutionary spirit, and when things come to a deadlock which is the case when we are overloaded with conventionalisms, formalism, and other cognate isms, Zen asserts itself and proves to be a destructive force.20


Given that Suzuki, at least in 1938, claimed that Zen could be wedded to almost any political ideology, fascism included, he would have had no reason for refusing to meet Dürckheim at the German Embassy. As Part I of this article revealed, Suzuki's staunch defender, Satō Gemmyō Taira, was willing to go so far as to fabricate part of his translation of Suzuki's October 1936 newspaper description of the Nazis in order to make it appear his master was critical of this movement. This bears repeating because a similar phenomenon occurred on the part of those who were close to Dürckheim, including his family members.

If in Dürckheim's case it was impossible to deny outright his Nazi connection, then the least his admirers could do was minimize the significance of that connection, for example, by describing his role in wartime Japan as that of a "Kulturdiplomat" (cultural diplomat). This title suggests that Dürckheim did nothing more than engage in "cultural activities" during his nearly eight-year residence in Japan. However, as this article makes clear, Dürckheim was in fact an indefatigable propagandist for the Nazis, anything but a mere cultural envoy. This point will be touched upon again below.

In part, this attempt to disguise Dürckheim's actions as being cultural in nature can be explained by the fact that for the Nazis "culture," like "education," was an all-embracing concept subsumed into the overall struggle for a totalitarian society and state. Thus, the primary focus of Dürckheim's "cultural activities," including his interest in Zen, was his mission to promote the cultural, educational and political policies of the Third Reich in Japan as a part of the overall struggle to ensure the triumph of National Socialism.

As for the frequency of Suzuki's meetings with Dürckheim during his first visit to Japan we know relatively little. However, Suzuki did include the following entries in his English language diary: (January 16, 1939), "Special delivery to Durkheim (sic), at German Embassy";21 (January 17, 1939), Telegram from Dürkheim";22 (January 18, 1939), "Went to Tokyo soon after breakfast. Called on Graf. [Count] Durkheim at German Embassy, met Ambassador [Eugen] Otto [Ott], and Dr. [space left blank] of German-Japanese Institute. Lunch with them at New Grand [Hotel]."23 It is likely that this flurry of activity in early 1939 was connected to Dürkheim's impending return to Germany. If so, Dürkheim's luncheon invitation may well have been by way of thanking Suzuki for the latter's assistance during his stay.

Suzuki's assistance appears to have extended to aiding Dürckheim indirectly during a sightseeing visit he made to Kyoto on November 20-24, 1938. Wehr informs us that while in Kyoto Dürckheim met ikebana master Adashi and participated in a tea ceremony. In describing his visit Dürckheim wrote in his diary: "My loyal companion, Mr. Yanasigawa, was – what a happy coincidence! – Suzuki's secretary."24

Dürckheim's Second Visit to Japan

Dürckheim returned to Japan in January 1940 and remained there throughout the war. It was during this time that his most important work for the Nazis was undertaken. This time Dürckheim travelled to Japan by train through Russia, taking advantage of the new, and once unthinkable, non-aggression pact between Germany and the Soviet Union. It was, however, this very treaty that had produced a crisis in Germany's relationship with Japan. That is to say, the promising negotiations of 1938 between the two countries had led to nothing, mostly because of Japan's hesitant attitude. As a result, Germany changed its plans and on August 23, 1939 Foreign Minister Ribbentrop signed a "Treaty of Non-Aggression between Germany and the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics," thereby allying itself with Japan's archenemy. This ruptured the Anti-Comintern pact, and the relationship between the two countries hit rock bottom.

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Signing of the Nazi-Soviet Non-aggression Pact

Interestingly, Dürckheim appears to have had advance knowledge of this development. That is to say, in his 1992 book, Der Weg ist das Ziel (The Way is the Goal), Dürckheim recalls:

As soon as I had returned to Germany [from Japan in 1939], Ribbentrop summoned me. In the meanwhile he had become foreign minister, yet he never abandoned people he had worked with. He said to me: "I would like to conclude a treaty with Russia. Here is the draft. You are the first one I'm showing it to. What will the Japanese say?" "Well," I replied, "of course they will not be very happy about it, Mr. von Ribbentrop."25

This incident suggests just how important Dürckheim had already become, at least concerning Japanese affairs.

By the spring of 1940 Germany had achieved an impressive list of military victories leading to the occupation of Denmark, Norway, the Netherlands, and, most important, France. The defeat of England seemed to be only a matter of time. This led Japan to approach Germany with the goal of ensuring protection of its own sphere of influence in East Asia. As for Germany, as it became clear that the defeat of England would take longer than expected, especially in the face of possible US intervention in Europe as well as East Asia. Thus, Germany, too, once again became interested in a military alliance with Japan. This time renewed negotiations bore fruit in the form of the Tripartite Pact between Germany, Japan and Italy, signed on September 27, 1940.

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Signing of the Tripartite Pact

Dürckheim continued to work for Ribbentrop during his second stay in Japan. This time his work included collecting information about Japanese opinion concerning Germany and its policies as well as organizing propaganda for the Nazis, especially at the academic level. About this, Dürckheim recalls:

Then the war started. The day after [Germany's invasion of Poland on September 1, 1939] Ribbentrop summoned me and said: "We need somebody to maintain contact with scientists in Japan." I answered: "Mr. Von Ribbentrop, I can't wait to return to Japan." "OK," he answered, "then come back tomorrow and tell me what you want to have [to carry out this task]." The next day I said to him: "I want eighty libraries consisting of one hundred volumes each." "What do you mean?" "Eighty libraries with one hundred volumes in each is a library for every teacher at German schools [in Japan]." He said "OK, approved. I think this is reasonable."26


In addition, Dürckheim sought to place pro-Nazi articles in important Japanese journals while supplying the German Foreign Office's propaganda magazine, Berlin-Rom-Tokyo, with articles about Japan. He also claims to have played a role in the preparation of the Tripartite Pact signed on September 27, 1940.27 Despite his lack of official status in Germany's Foreign Ministry, Dürckheim was clearly an important, even key, figure in promoting the wartime relationship between the two countries.

Gerhard Wehr's View of Dürckheim in Japan

A major divergence in viewpoints is evident in the available descriptions of Dürckheim's activities during his second residence in Japan. This divergence might best be characterized as a divergence between those in Europe who described Dürckheim's residence in Japan from outside Japan, and without knowledge of Japanese, and those who described him from within Japan, primarily from Japanese sources.

Among those in the first category is Gerhard Wehr, Dürckheim's biographer and admirer. Wehr acknowledges that his subject eagerly embraced his new duties as a Nazi emissary: "In the wave of enthusiastic nationalism, Dürckheim saw himself as a useful representative of the 'new Germany' for his people and his employers in Berlin, for the Minister of Foreign Affairs Von Ribbentrop, and for the Minister of Education, Bernhard Rust."28

Wehr further states: "And as his biography shows, it was not hard for him to obey the orders of his superiors." Yet, Wehr immediately adds: "But in the background, there was always this other tendency toward the spirituality of the East, and especially toward Zen Buddhism; later it will be for Zen as a trans-religious attitude in universal man, the practice of spiritual exercise and disciplines."29

Wehr also informs us: "From the outside, in the years 1930 to 1940, Professor Karlfried Graf [Count] Dürckheim seemed to be a cultural envoy of the Third Reich. At the same time, a subterranean process of transformation of which he was hardly conscious was taking place."30

Thus, on the one hand, Wehr admits that, at the very least, Dürckheim was in the employment of the Nazis, but on the other hand he claims that from the very outset of his residence in Japan, Dürckheim was drawn toward the spirituality of the East, most especially Zen.

Yet, what exactly was this transformational "subterranean process" Dürckheim was undergoing? Wehr introduces a quote from Dürckheim describing how his spiritual journey after arriving in Japan led him to practice not only Zen but also traditional Japanese archery and painting as well:

Out of personal preference, I came to know many Zen exercises. I even worked outside of meditation (zazen), especially in archery and painting. It is surprising to notice that from the point of view of Zen, the most varied arts have the same purpose, whether it be archery or dance, song or karate, floral decoration or aikido, the tea ceremony or spear throwing. . . . Done in the spirit of Zen, they are merely different ways aiming toward the same thing: the breakthrough toward the nature of Buddha, toward "Being."31


Wehr goes on to inform his readers that "the thought at the foundation of this special exercise [i.e., archery] . . . is Zen. Further, through his practice of Zen and Zen-influenced arts Dürckheim feels that he is able to approach "the Japanese character," the ultimate expression of which is that "a person realizes himself completely, discovering in his way the Divine. And that is of course what man feels most directly."32 Yet, throughout the entire period Dürckheim pursues his spiritual interests he remains in the service of the Nazis.

The preceding comments raise two interesting questions. First, is Zen practice, especially as it is allegedly found in Japanese arts like archery, really in conflict with the ideology of National Socialism? And second, are all of these arts, particularly archery, really connected to Zen in the first place?

Dürckheim and Eugen Herrigel

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Eugen Herrigel

Dürckheim tells us that he was drawn to the practice of archery thanks to Eugen Herrigel, the well-known author of the short classic, Zen in the Art of Archery. According to Wehr:

Dürckheim remembers having read an article by his colleague Eugen Herrigel dealing with the martial arts. He is therefore already familiar with the thought at the foundation of this special exercise that is Zen. And as this master of archery follows the same tradition as Herrigel, it is an added incentive to become initiated in this discipline. "That is what led me to begin this activity. I knew that I would learn things about Japan which would be useful to me and which cannot be found in books or in any other way."33

The first problem with Wehr's description is that subsequent research has shown that Dürckheim did not study archery with a teacher in the lineage of Awa Kenzō, i.e., someone who "follows the same tradition as Herrigel." However, Dürckheim may not have been aware of this. Dürckheim provides a more detailed description in his book Der Weg ist das Ziel (The Way is the Goal): "One day in 1941 a Japanese friend invited me, 'Come with me, my master is here. What master? The master of archery.' This is how I got to know master Kenran Umechi [Umeji]."34

The Japanese scholar Yamada Shoji emphasizes that Umeji was not in Awa's lineage. Instead, he was simply another archery instructor of that era. The only known connection between the two men was that Awa once visited Umeji to query him about a fine point of archery technique. In the aftermath of his visit Umeji's disciples claimed that their master was the greater of the two, going so far as to suggest that Awa was one of Umeji's students. Unsurprisingly, Awa's students adamantly rejected this claim.35

Be that as it may, there nevertheless appears to be a genuine connection between Dürckheim and the martial art of archery. Additionally, Zen is identified as the "foundation of this special exercise." There is, however, yet another problem with this scenario, for as Yamada Shoji has demonstrated, the connection of Zen to archery is, historically speaking, little more than a modern myth, primarily created even in Japan itself by Herrigel:

Looking back over the history of kyūdō [archery], one can say that it was only after World War II that kyūdō became strongly associated with Zen. To be even more specific, this is a unique phenomenon that occurred after 1956 when Zen in the Art of Archery was translated and published in Japanese. . . . This suggests that the emphasis on the relationship between the bow and Zen is due to the influence of Zen in the Art of Archery.36


Yamada reveals moreover that Herrigel himself never underwent any formal Zen training during his five-year stay in Japan from 1924-29. Yamada also informs us that Awa "never spent any time at a Zen temple or received proper instruction from a Zen master."37 Awa did, however, teach something he called Daishadōkyō (Great Doctrine of the Way of Shooting) that included a religious dimension he expressed using elements of Zen terminology. Awa's Japanese students noted this Great Doctrine consisted of "archery as a religion" in which "the founder of this religion is Master Awa Kenzō."38 Herrigel also refers to the "Great Doctrine" but, as Yamada notes: "Herrigel offered no explanation of what the "Great Doctrine" might be, so readers of Zen in the Art of Archery had no way of knowing that this was simply Awa's personal philosophy."39

Yet another key component of Herrigel's archery training was the mystical spiritual experience he claimed to have had, expressed verbally as "'It' shoots" rather than the familiar "I shoot (an arrow)." The spiritual connection came from Herrigel's identification of "It" with "something which transcends the self."40 Inasmuch as this expression appears to resonate with Zen teaching the question must be asked, what's the problem?

The problem is, as Yamada explains: "There is no record of Awa ever having taught: "'It' shoots" to any of his disciples other than Herrigel."41 How is this possible? Yamada's painstaking research led him to the following conclusion:

When Herrigel made a good shot, Awa cried, "That's it!". . . . "That's it" was mistakenly translated to Herrigel [in German] as "'It' shoots," and Herrigel understood "It" to mean "something which transcends the self." If that is what happened, then the teaching of "'It' shoots" was born when an incorrect meaning filled the void created by a single instance of misunderstanding.42


The relevance of this alleged "misunderstanding" to Dürckheim is that the latter shared the same misunderstanding, albeit under a different master with only a tenuous connection to Awa. During an interview with German television at the age of eighty-seven Dürckheim said:

I still remember the day, in the presence of the master, when I shot an arrow and it left on its own. "I" had not shot it. "It" had shot. The master saw this and took the bow in his hands, then took me in his arms (which is very rare in Japan!) and said: "That's it!" He then invited me to tea. That is how archery taught me so much, for the mastery of a traditional Japanese technique does not have as goal a performance, but on the contrary requires the achievement of a step forward on the inner path.43


Dürckheim thus used nearly the same words as Herrigel to describe his mystical experience, i.e., "'It' had shot." Yet, unlike Herrigel, Dürckheim did not claim that his archery master had used these words. Instead, he states that, upon seeing Dürckheim's accomplishment, his archery master said, "That's it!" Not only does this episode provide strong evidence that Yamada's conclusion is correct, but it also suggests that, since neither Herrigel nor Dürckheim were fluent in Japanese, Dürckheim, at least, had the superior interpreter.

That said, where had Dürckheim first learned the expression, "'It' shoots" if not from Herrigel's writings? As noted above, Awa did not employ this expression in his teaching which, in any case, was not based on any Zen training but rather on his own personal philosophy that included Zen expressions. This forces us to recognize that there was no "Zen" in the "art of archery" other than that first created in Herrigel's mind based on a mistaken translation of Awa's words.

For his part, Dürckheim subsequently accepted this mistaken translation at face value. Further, as we have seen, Dürckheim mistakenly believed his archery master "follow[ed] the same tradition as Herrigel."44 Thus, it can be said that while Dürckheim had the superior interpreter, there was nothing "superior" or even "accurate" in either man's understanding of their practice of archery or its non-existent historical relationship to Zen.45

Be that as it may, the importance of this discussion is that the connection of archery to Zen was not an ancient tradition that Herrigel encountered while in Japan, nor was the practice of archery understood as an alternate form or expression of Zen practice. As Yamada, himself an accomplished student of archery, states, Zen's connection to archery is primarily a postwar "myth" that Herrigel himself promoted.46

Finally, it is not surprising that Dürckheim would have also embraced this myth in light of the fact that Herrigel, in his writings from 1936, promoted a völkisch religious understanding very similar to that of Dürckheim. Further, Dürckheim was aware of these 1936 writings before he started his own practice of archery. This völkisch understanding was, however, not the only thing the two men shared in common.
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Re: D.T. Suzuki, Zen and the Nazis, by Brian Daizen Victoria

Postby admin » Fri Aug 09, 2019 12:58 am

Part 2 of 4

A Shared Nazi Past

In a political context, the most important feature Herrigel and Dürckheim shared was their active allegiance to National Socialism, an allegiance that was of great benefit to both of their careers. Herrigel joined the Nazi party on May 1, 1937. The following year he became the vice rector of the University of Erlangen and in 1944 was promoted to rector, a post he held to the end of the war. As Yamada notes: "In a climate where right-minded scholars were leaving the universities in droves, only a person who had ingratiated himself with the Nazis could hope to climb as high as rector."47

During the Nazi era Herrigel wrote such essays as "Die Aufgabe der Philosophie im neuen Reich" (The Task of Philosophy in the New [Third] Reich) in 1934 and "Nationalsozialismus und Philosophie" (National Socialism and Philosophy) in 1935. In 1944, as an expert on Japan, he wrote, "Das Ethos des Samurai" (The Ethos of the Samurai). Herrigel's wartime writings reveal him to have been an enthusiastic Nazi.48 For example, in 1935 Herrigel described Hitler as follows:

The miracle happened. With a tremendous drive that made all resistance meaningless, the German Volk was carried away. With unanimous determination it endorsed the leader. . . . The fight for the soul of the German Volk reached its goal. It is ruled by one will and one attitude and commits itself to its leader with a kind of unity and loyalty that is unique within the checkered history of the German Volk.49


Given this it is not surprising to learn that following Germany's defeat Herrigel was brought before the denazification court at Erlangen. Although he strenuously denied any wrongdoing, he was nevertheless found guilty of having been a Mitläufer (lit. a "runner with") of the Nazis. In terms of guilt, this was one rank below that of a committed Nazi, but it nevertheless resulted in his dismissal from the university. Thereafter he retired, dying of lung cancer in 1955.

Thus, it can be said that, unlike Dürckheim who successfully hid his Nazi past in postwar Germany, Herrigel did pay a price for his wartime collaboration. Had Dürckheim been in Germany at war's end, he, too, might have faced a reckoning. Given his role as a tireless propagandist for the Nazi cause, he might very well have been convicted of having been a Belasteter (Offender), i.e., an activist, militant, profiteer, or incriminated person. The punishment for those convicted of this status was imprisonment for up to 10 years. Thus Dürckheim was fortunate to spend only eighteen months in Tokyo's Sugamo prison.

Dürckheim, Herrigel and Suzuki's Postwar Relationship

There was one additional thing Dürckheim and Herrigel shared in common, i.e., their longstanding relationship with D.T. Suzuki, a relationship that continued into the postwar era. Dürckheim recalls:

[Suzuki] later came to see me at Todtmoos. It was in 1954, and I had just received a telegram of the Protestant Academy of Munich asking me to do a conference on oriental wisdom. I took advantage of his presence to ask him: "Master, could you tell me in a few words what oriental wisdom is?" He smiled and said: "Western knowledge looks outside, Eastern knowledge looks within." I said to myself: "That is not such a great answer. . ." Then he continued: "But if you look within the way you look without, you make of the within a without." That is an extraordinary statement! It reveals the whole drama of western psychology which looks within the way we look without, making of the within a without, that is, an object. And life disappears.50


Dürckheim noted that during his visit Suzuki expressed his interest in meeting Martin Heidegger who lived nearby:

I met Heidegger again twenty years later, when Suzuki, the eighty-year old prophet of Zen visited me and wanted to see him. It was an encounter of a man of the word with a man, who, as a Zen Master, is certain that in opening our mouth we are already lying! For only silence contains truth.51


Image
Martin Heidegger

It should be noted that Heidegger's own Nazi past was also the subject of ongoing controversy in the postwar period inasmuch as he had joined the NSDAP on May 1, 1933, ten days after being elected Rector of the University of Freiburg. However, in April 1934 he resigned the Rectorship and stopped attending Nazi Party meetings. Nevertheless, Heidegger remained a member of the Party until its dismantling at the end of World War II. More recently, scholars in both Germany and America have demonstrated the profound affinities between Heidegger's thought and his reactionary milieu. In the postwar period, Heidegger commented: "If I understand this man [Suzuki] correctly, this is what I have been trying to say in all my writings."52

As for Herrigel, his relationship to the Nazis is, as noted above, far clearer. Herrigel's significant postwar connection to Suzuki is well illustrated in Suzuki's preface to the 1953 English edition of Herrigel's classic. Suzuki wrote:

In this wonderful little book, Mr. Herrigel, a German philosopher who came to Japan and took up the practice of archery toward an understanding of Zen, gives an illuminating account of his own experience. Through his expression, the Western reader will find a more familiar manner of dealing with what very often must seem to be a strange and somewhat unapproachable Eastern experience.53


Suzuki's appreciation of Herrigel's "wonderful little book" is high praise indeed for a man who stated in a 1959 conversation with the Zen scholar Hisamatsu Shin'ichi that no Westerner had yet understood Zen despite the many books that Westerners had written on this topic. Was Herrigel then the single exception? In fact, he was not, for when Hisamatsu asked Suzuki's assessment of Herrigel, Suzuki replied: "Herrigel is trying to get to Zen, but he hasn't grasped Zen itself. Have you ever seen a book written by a Westerner that has?"54 Suzuki was then asked why he had agreed to write the introduction to Herrigel's book? "I was asked to write it, so I wrote it, that's all," he replied.55

There is no reason to believe that Suzuki would have had a higher regard for Dürckheim's understanding of Zen. Dürckheim was, after all, just another "Westerner" and definitely not Japanese. In an article written in June 1941 Suzuki claimed: "The character of the Japanese people is to come straight to the point and pour their entire body and mind into the attack. This is the character of the Japanese people and, at the same time, the essence of Zen."56 Given this, how could any Westerner aspire to understanding "the essence of Zen" while lacking "the character of the Japanese people"?

At the same time, given the historical non-relationship of Zen to archery, the question must be asked as to what this tells us about Suzuki's own understanding of Zen? That is to say, did he knowingly participate in what Yamada described as a postwar "myth"? If so, what was his purpose? Interesting as these questions may be, they lie beyond the scope of this article to explore.

Wehr's Defense of Dürckheim

Unsurprisingly, Wehr provides us with none of this information about Herrigel let alone about any personal relationship Dürckheim may have had to him. Nor, for that matter, does Wehr inform us much about Dürckheim's relationship with Suzuki either during or after the war. His focus is on one thing, weakening Dürckheim's connection to National Socialism while simultaneously strengthening his relationship to Zen:

Reflections such as these still do not reveal the distance which Dürckheim is taking vis-à-vis National Socialism and his own concept of nationalist culture. These two worlds still co-exist for him. He is attempting to harmonize his nationalist ideals and his spiritual interests. He does not yet realize that he will have to make a decision if he continues his inner path. He believes that what Zen Buddhism offers him is a gain to his exterior status.57


Thus, Wehr would have us believe that as Dürckheim's understanding of Zen deepened he was slowly drawn away, if only unconsciously, from the Nazis' worldview to that of Zen. In fact, he would "have to make a decision," i.e., choosing either Zen or National Socialism. But did Dürckheim ever make such a choice? On this crucial point Wehr is silent. The best Wehr could do was to admit: "The quoted biographical documents suggest that it was a very slow process of change."58

Nevertheless, Wehr goes on to claim that Dürckheim became such an accomplished Zen practitioner that he had an initial enlightenment experience known as satori. Not even Herrigel had explicitly claimed this for himself. Wehr wrote:

Toward the end of his stay in Japan, Dürckheim experienced satori, the aim of Zen: a degree of illumination of reality. Through this he achieved the "spiritual break-through toward ultimate reality." In this way a greater Self is uncovered, beyond the ordinary self. This greater Self, and the destiny linked to it, does not spare a person on the inner way from trials. In the following stages of his life, Dürckheim experienced an imprisonment of a year and a half in the prison of Sugamo in Tokyo under the control of the American Occupation.59


Once again the reader is presented with the incongruous relationship between a confirmed Nazi, a suspected war criminal in postwar Japan, and an enlightened Zen practitioner. Yet, when did Dürckheim have his enlightenment experience? Was it before, or after, he was imprisoned at war's end? And who was the Zen master who authenticated Dürckheim's enlightenment experience as is required in the Zen school? Did Dürckheim even train under a recognized Zen master? Wehr once again remains silent.

Wehr does, however, quote Dürckheim in describing his incarceration in the Sugamo prison:

In spite of everything, it was a very fertile period for me. The first weeks I had a dream almost every night, some of which anticipated my future work. In my cell, I was surrounded by a profound silence. I could work on myself and that is when I began to write a novel. My neighbors simply waited for each day to pass. That time of captivity was precious to me because I could exercise zazen meditation and remain in immobility for hours.60


The fact that Wehr tells us Dürckheim experienced satori "toward the end of his stay in Japan" suggests that Dürckheim had what he believed to be satori while in prison, for, as noted, he was incarcerated for some eighteen months under suspicion of being a Class A war criminal before finally being released without trial and repatriated to Germany. If Dürckheim did experience satori in prison, it would have been impossible for a Zen master to verify his experience. Thus, within the norms of the Zen tradition, and without additional clarifying evidence, the authenticity of Dürckheim's claim must remain suspect if not denied outright. Nevertheless, Wehr ends his description of Dürckheim's experience in Japan as follows: "The years in Japan represent a special formation for Dürckheim's later work as teacher of meditation and guide on the inner path."61

In fairness to Dürckheim, it should be noted that upon his return to Germany he did not claim to be a "Zen master" although it appears there were those around him who regarded him as such. About this, Dürckheim said: "What I am doing is not the transmission of Zen Buddhism; on the contrary, that which I seek after is something universally human which comes from our origins and happens to be more emphasized in eastern practices than in the western. What interests us is not something uniquely oriental, but something universally human which the Orient has cultivated over the centuries and has never fully lost sight of."62

In a conference held in Frankfort, Dürckheim went further:

I find it especially shameful that people say: the experiences of Being which Dürckheim brings us are imported from the East. No, the experience of Being is everywhere in the world, even if it is given different names according to the religious life which has developed there, if we understand by the word "Being" the Divine Being. All reflection on Being begins with this experience. . . .This experience can truly help man feel and assist him in living something contradictory to his usual self and his ordinary view of life, and make him suddenly experience another force, another order and another unity. It is obviously greater, more powerful, more profound, richer and vaster than anything else he can live through.63


Yet, in another sense, it can be said that Dürckheim claimed to be far more than a mere Zen master. That is to say, over the years Dürckheim came to express his Zen-induced experience of a "breakthrough of Being" as a breakthrough of Being in Christ.64 Thus, he conceived of himself as having incorporated the essence of Eastern spirituality as encapsulated in Zen into an esoteric understanding of Christianity. Dürckheim states: "Man is in his center when he is one with Christ and lives through Christ in the world without ever leaving the voice of the inner master which is Christ and continually calls him toward the center. Here Christ is not only the 'Being of all things,' nor the intrinsic Path in each one of us, but also Transcendence itself."65

In claiming this, Dürckheim placed himself at the apex of a new, or at least revitalized, religious movement that, on the one hand, enjoyed deep roots within the Christian mystical tradition even while incorporating the "enlightenment experience" of ancient Eastern wisdom. Whereas by the modern era Christian mysticism lacked (or had lost) a clear-cut methodology for achieving Transcendence, the Zen school had maintained a meditative practice based on zazen and allegedly associated arts. Dürckheim could claim to have combined the best of both worlds, placing him in a unique position among religious teachers. In a postwar Germany still struggling to free itself from the bitter legacy of the Nazi era, it is not surprising that Dürckheim would have been an attractive figure.

Nevertheless, to the detached observer it can only be a source of amazement that a once dedicated and tireless propagandist for an utterly ruthless totalitarian ideology could, with a metaphorical flip of the hand, transform himself in the postwar era into someone who embodied the elements of a universal spirituality. That is to say, he became someone who, claiming to have experienced satori, proceeded to incorporate his understanding of Eastern spirituality into a transcendent, mystical form of Christianity, all without having acknowledged, let alone expressed the least regret for, his Nazi past.

As for Wehr, it can be said that, at least by comparison with Satō who falsified Suzuki's opposition to the Nazis, he honestly admitted Dürckheim's Nazi past. Yet, having made this admission, Wehr immediately set about attempting to downplay Dürckheim's Nazi affiliation as much as possible. He did this by replacing his political affiliation to fascism with a Zen-based narrative of spiritual growth that gradually removed Dürckheim from the world of National Socialism even though the latter is described as having been largely unaware of his transformation.

But is this description correct?

The Search for Evidence

In searching for evidence to assess Wehr's description of Dürckheim in Japan, the author could but regret how little space Wehr devoted to such things as his relationship to National Socialism, Zen and Zen figures like Suzuki. It was just at this time, i.e., June 2011, when Hans-Joachim Bieber, Prof. Emeritus of Kassel University, sent me an e-mail that ended as follows:

There is one source which could probably give more information about Dürckheim's encounter with Zen Buddhism and perhaps with D.T. Suzuki personally during his years in Japan: Dürckheim's diaries. They are unpublished and belong to the Dürckheim family in Germany. They have been used by Dürckheim's first biographer (Gerhard Wehr, Karlfried Graf Dürckheim, Freiburg 1996). Wehr found out that Dürckheim had been a fervent Nazi. For the Dürckheim family and Dürckheim's students his book was a shock (despite the fact that Wehr basically was an adherent of Dürckheim). And my impression is that since then the family doesn't allow anyone to use Dürckheim's diaries. At least they refused my request.66


In reading this I could not help but empathize with Wehr and the shock he must have felt upon learning of Dürckheim's Nazi past. This author, too, underwent a similar experience when first becoming aware of Suzuki's wartime writings, having originally believed and been inspired by Suzuki when he claimed: "Whatever form Buddhism takes in different countries where it flourishes, it is a religion of compassion, and in its varied history it has never been found engaged in warlike activities."67

At the same time the author could not help but admire Wehr, at least to some degree, for having included Dürckheim's Nazi affiliation in his biography of a figure he clearly deeply admired. The phrase "at least to some degree" is used because Wehr continually tried to show Dürckheim distancing himself from National Socialism in tandem with his growing interest in Zen.

Further, it was impossible not to empathize with Bieber as well. Just as Bieber had attempted to research Dürckheim's wartime record in Germany, the author sought to explore Suzuki's relationship to Dürckheim in Japan. In Bieber's case, the Dürckheim family turned him away, refusing to permit access to Dürckheim's diaries. In the author's case, I met with a stony silence when repeatedly seeking permission to access Suzuki's extensive personal library, known as the Matsugaoka Bunko, located in Kita-kamakura not far from Tokyo.

D.T. Suzuki's Diaries

Nevertheless, there is one significant difference as far as Suzuki's wartime diaries (1936-45) are concerned. That is to say, Matsugaoka Bunko published Suzuki's wartime diaries over a period of six years, from 2007 thru 2012, in their yearly research organ, The Annual Report of the Researches of the Matsugaoka Bunko. Surprisingly, Suzuki kept these diaries in English so there can be no doubt about their meaning.

The diaries show that Suzuki maintained an ongoing relationship with Dürckheim throughout the war years, beginning with a flurry of activity involving Dürckheim in January 1939. There is, further, nothing in these 1939 entries to suggest that this was the first time the two men had met. Thus, it is likely they had met earlier. In addition, following Dürkheim's return to Japan, i.e., on July 14, 1942, Suzuki writes: "Telegram to Graf [Count] Dürckheim re his invitation to lunch tomorrow,"68 and on February 15, 1943: "Went to Tokyo to take lunch with Graf von Dürckheim and stayed some time with him."69

It is noteworthy that Suzuki's contact with leading Nazis in Japan was not limited to Dürckheim. As we have already seen, Suzuki lunched with Ambassador (and Major General) Ott as early as January 18, 1939. Further, on February 4, 1943 Suzuki took part in a dinner party to honor the ambassador: "Went to Imperial Hotel to attend dinner party given to Amb. Ott and his staff,"70 and on February 16, 1943 Suzuki received "a box of fruits in recognition of my presence at a dinner party in honor of Amb. Ott of Germany."71

Suzuki's diaries also contain frequent references to lectures at German-related venues beginning as early as May 28, 1938: "Lecture at German research institute for K.B.S. in the evening"72 followed on June 26, 1938 by: "Kurokawa and Kato brought money for my lecture at German Institute."73 Additional references to lectures include: the German Society on September 13, 1943; German residents in Tokyo on October 4, 1943; the German Club on December 10, 1943; and the German Society, once again, on December 15, 1943.74

One reason these lectures are important is because Dürckheim states:

When I came to Japan, I did not know anything about Zen. Very soon I met the Zen-master Suzuki, the greatest Zen-scholar of our time. I heard many of his lectures, and through him I discovered Zen.75


Dürckheim's Zen study with Suzuki appears to have consisted of a number of personal meetings punctuated with attendance at Suzuki's lectures on Zen at German venues. Needless to say, simply listening to lectures about Zen does not constitute Zen practice. In fact, an academic understanding of Zen sans practice is often castigated as the very epitome of a mistaken approach to Zen, relying, as it does, on conceptual thought.

In the postwar period Dürckheim was specifically asked about this: "With which Zen exercise did you start your Zen practice? Zen is a kind of practice which one has to learn, isn't it?" To which Dürckheim responded: "My access was through archery."76

Suzuki's luncheon with Dürckheim and Ambassador Ott on January 18, 1939 took place just two months after the massive, coordinated attack on Jews throughout the German Reich on the night of November 9, 1938. This anti-Jewish violence, known as Kristallnacht, or "Night of Broken Glass," was accompanied by the torching of hundreds of synagogues together with their Torah scrolls. Although Kristallnacht was widely condemned by governments, newspapers and radio commentators throughout the world, and despite his many contacts in the English-speaking world, Suzuki was undeterred from maintaining his contacts with Dürckheim and the German embassy either then or for the remainder of the war.

Thanks to the publication of Suzuki's diaries, it can be argued that we have a more detailed picture of Suzuki's wartime actions than we do those of Dürckheim. For example, we now know that between 1938 and 1944 Suzuki met with five Imperial Navy Admirals (Mori, Yamaji, Yamanashi, Nomura and Sato) on eight occasions.77 Moreover, Suzuki was in contact or dined with Count Makino Nobuaki on forty-four occasions between 1930 and 1945 (thirty-one times between 1936-45). The extremely rightwing Makino was one of Emperor Hirohito's closest advisors, having served him as Lord Keeper of the Privy Seal from 1925 to 1935. As late as February 1945 Makino met Hirohito together with six former prime ministers and, despite Germany's impending defeat, urged him to continue the war, saying "the ultimate priority is to develop an advantageous war situation."78

Suzuki's connection to someone as close to the emperor as Makino is indicative of Suzuki's access to Imperial Court circles.79 Additionally, it raises the question of Suzuki's own attitude to the emperor, especially as references to the emperor, either positive or negative, are all but absent from his published writings in either English or Japanese. Some Suzuki supporters have interpreted this absence as a sign that he was either opposed, or at least critical, of the Imperial system and the ultra-nationalism associated with it.

Fortunately, there is one wartime report on Suzuki's view of the emperor supplied, interestingly enough, by yet further wartime German visitors to Japan. The visitors in question were not themselves Nazis but, despite having once come under suspicion by the Gestapo, were nevertheless given permission to travel on Christian mission-related business in both China and Japan. These missionary visitors were Gerhard Rosenkrantz and his wife who visited Japan in 1939. They requested a meeting with Suzuki and met him in the library of what was then Otani College where he was teaching:

"We Buddhists," Suzuki told them, "bow in front of the emperor's image, but for us this is not a religious act. The emperor is not a god because for Buddhists a [Shinto] god can be something very low. We see the emperor in an area high above all religions. Trying to make him a god today means a reduction in the status of the emperor. This brings confusion to Buddhism, Shinto and Christianity."80


Thus, even while denying the emperor's status as a Shinto deity, Suzuki nevertheless justified bowing to the emperor's image as a Buddhist because he was a personage "high above all religions." Suzuki, of course, never publicly denied the emperor's divinity in his wartime Japanese writings.

Regrettably, we cannot be sure what Suzuki told his German audiences because even though nearly seventy years have elapsed since the end of WWII, the attempt to preserve his reputation, similar to that of Dürckheim himself, continues to be an important task for those who were close to both men and now seek to preserve their respective legacies.
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Re: D.T. Suzuki, Zen and the Nazis, by Brian Daizen Victoria

Postby admin » Fri Aug 09, 2019 1:00 am

Part 3 of 4

The View of Dürckheim from within Japan

As for Dürckheim, we do have one observer who had first-hand knowledge of his activities within Japan. He was a German academic by the name of Dr. Dietrich Seckel. Seckel taught in Japan from 1937 to 1947 and later at Heidelberg University from 1965 to 1976. He described Dürckheim's wartime activities in Japan as follows:

Dürckheim also went to Zen temple[s] where he meditated. However, his study and practice of Zen Buddhism has been extremely exaggerated. In particular, I felt this way because, at the same time, he was propagating Nazism. There was something incongruous about this. I recall seeing him at a reception at the German Embassy. At that time he was poking his finger into the breast of one of the most famous Japanese professors of economics who was wearing a brown silk kimono. While explaining the ideology of the German Reich to him, Dürckheim kept pushing the poor professor back until the latter reached the wall and could go no further. I could not help but feel pity for this professor who was the subject of Dürckheim's indoctrination.

Dürckheim thought of himself as a friend and supporter of German teachers [in Japan]. He provided us with everything he could think of. He lectured everywhere ceaselessly with his lectures first being translated into Japanese and then, later on, distributed to all German residents in the original German. His speeches arrived in the mail on an almost daily basis. It was extremely unpleasant. He was what might be called an excellent propagandist who, possessed of a high intellectual level, traveled throughout Japan teaching Nazism and the ideology of the Third Reich."81


The above account is instructive in a number of ways, first of all because it reveals that Dürckheim viewed himself as a friend and supporter of German teachers in Japan. In fact, as we have seen, even during his first visit to Japan in August 1938 he had visited the Japanese faction of the National Socialist Teachers Association (NS-Lehrerbund). There he talked about the principles and forms of national socialist education and the difference between the national socialist understanding of freedom and a liberal conception of it.

Further, Seckel describes Dürckheim as "an excellent propagandist who, possessed of a high intellectual level, traveled throughout Japan teaching Nazism and the ideology of the Third Reich." Neither Dürckheim's intelligence nor his dedication to propagating Nazi ideology can be in doubt. In fact, he was so dedicated in his work that he was awarded the War Merit Cross, Second Class on Hitler's birthday, April 20, 1944. Dürckheim shared this honor with such prominent Nazis as Adolf Eichmann and Dr. Josef Mengele. Yet, what of his interest in Zen? ". . . his study and practice of Zen Buddhism has been extremely exaggerated," Seckel informs us.

We have already learned that early in Dürckheim's first sojourn in Japan he claimed to have met D.T. Suzuki, someone whom Dürckheim describes as "one of the greatest contemporary Zen Masters." Suzuki, of course, was not a Zen master, and he never claimed this title for himself. He was, instead, a lay practitioner and regarded as such by the Rinzai Zen sect with which he was closely affiliated. That said, Suzuki did have an initial enlightenment experience, i.e., satori, as a young man and, unlike Dürckheim, had his enlightenment experience verified by a noted Rinzai Zen master, Shaku Sōen. Additionally, Suzuki also possessed significant academic accomplishments as a Buddhist scholar, especially as a translator of Buddhist texts.

Does this mean, then, that Dürckheim never practiced with a recognized Zen master in Japan? No, for the record is clear that Dürckheim did indeed train, albeit for only a few days, with Yasutani Haku'un, then a Sōtō Zen priest, who, in the postwar era, became a well-known Zen master in West, particularly the U.S. We know about Dürckheim's training with Yasutani thanks to Hashimoto Fumio, a former higher school teacher of German, who served as Dürckheim's interpreter and translator at the German embassy in Tokyo.

Hashimoto described his relationship to Dürckheim as follows:

When Dürckheim first arrived in Japan, he was surrounded by Shintoists, Buddhist scholars, military men and right-wing thinkers, each of whom sought to impress him with their importance. The Count found it difficult to determine who of them was the real thing, and I stepped in to serve as his advisor. In addition, a great number of written materials were sent to him, and my job was to review them to determine their suitability. . . .

In the end, what most interested the Count was traditional Japanese archery and Zen. He set up an archery range in his garden and zealously practiced every day. In addition, he went to Shinkōji temple on the outskirts of Ogawa township in Saitama Prefecture where he stayed to practice Zen for a number of days. His instructor in zazen was the temple abbot, Master Yasutani [Haku'un]. I accompanied the Count and gladly practiced with him.82


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Yatsutani Haku'un

Hashimoto relates that it was he who first took an interest in Yasutani because of the latter's strong emphasis on both the practice of zazen and the realization of enlightenment. This emphasis on practice was a revelation for him, for until then his only knowledge of Buddhism had come from scholars who "had never properly done zazen or realized enlightenment."83 In particular, Hashimoto was impressed by Yasutani's 1943 book on Zen Master Dōgen and a modern-day compilation of Dōgen's teachings for the laity known as the Shūshōgi. Hashimoto claimed that Yasutani's book revealed "the greatness of this master [i.e. Yasutani] and the profundity of Buddhism."84 So impressed was Hashimoto that not only did he provide Dürckheim with a detailed description of the book's contents but went on to translate the entire book into German for him.

Thus, Yasutani's book, coupled with Hashimoto's recommendation, was the catalyst for Dürckheim's training at Shinkōji albeit for only "a number of days." Dürckheim could not help but have been aware of Yasutani's extremely right-wing, if not fanatical, political views as clearly expressed in his book. Given this, the author asks for the reader's understanding in quoting extensively from his book. It is done in the belief that if we are to understand Dürckheim's view of Zen we need to become acquainted with the teachings of the only authentic Zen master he appears to have trained under, albeit briefly.

Yasutani described the purpose of his book as follows:

Asia is one. Annihilating the treachery of the United States and Britain and establishing the Greater East Asia Co-prosperity Sphere is the only way to save the one billion people of Asia so that they can, with peace of mind, proceed on their respective paths. Furthermore, it is only natural that this will contribute to the construction of a new world order, exorcising evil spirits from the world and leading to the realization of eternal peace and happiness for all humanity. I believe this is truly the critically important mission to be accomplished by our great Japanese Empire.

In order to fulfill this mission it is absolutely necessary to have a powerful military force as well as plentiful material resources. Furthermore, it is necessary to employ the power of culture, for it is most especially the power of spiritual culture that determines the final outcome. In fact, it must be said that in accomplishing this very important national mission the most important and fundamental factor is the power of spiritual culture. . . .

It is impossible to discuss Japanese culture while ignoring Buddhism. Those who would exclude Buddhism while seeking to exalt the Spirit of Japan are recklessly ignoring the history of our imperial land and engaging in a mistaken movement that distorts the reality of our nation. In so doing, it must be said, such persons hinder the proper development of our nation's destiny. For this reason we must promulgate and exalt the true Buddha Dharma, making certain that the people's thought is resolute and immovable. Beyond this, we must train and send forth a great number of capable men who will be able to develop and exalt the culture of our imperial land, thereby reverently assisting in the holy enterprise of bringing the eight corners of the world under one roof.85


For Dürckheim, the words "it is most especially the power of spiritual culture that determines the final outcome" must have been particularly attractive inasmuch as they paralleled his own völkisch understanding of religion. However, without knowledge of modern Japanese Buddhist history, it is unlikely that he would have understood the reference to "those who would exclude Buddhism while seeking to exalt the Spirit of Japan…" Here Yasutani refers to Shinto and Neo-Confucian-inspired criticism dating back to the late Edo period (1600-1867) that condemned Buddhism as a foreign, degenerate religion defiling a divine Japan properly headed by a "living (Shinto) god" (arahito-gami). The reference, of course, is to the emperor. As late as the 1930s Shinto and Neo-Confucian advocates maintained that Buddhism, an outdated foreign import, had nothing to offer modern Japanese society, a position Yasutani vehemently rejected.

Note, too, that the basis of the martial spirit of the Japanese people was described as the "Spirit of Japan" (Yamato-damashii). Yasutani clearly concurred with this belief though he asserted that it was Japanese Buddhism that made the cultivation of this ultranationalist and xenophobic spirit possible. Yasutani even turns Zen Master Dōgen, the 13th century founder of the Sōtō Zen sect in Japan, into the model of an Imperial subject:

The Spirit of Japan is, of course, unique to our country. It does not exist in either China or India. Neither is it to be found in Italy or Germany, let alone in the U.S., England and other countries….We all deeply believe, without the slightest doubt, that this spirit will be increasingly cultivated, trained, and enlarged until its brilliance fills the entire world. The most remarkable feature of the Spirit of Japan is the power derived from the great unity [of our people]. . . .

In the event one wishes to exalt the Spirit of Japan, it is imperative to utilize Japanese Buddhism. The reason for this is that as far as a nutrient for cultivation of the Spirit of Japan is concerned, I believe there is absolutely nothing superior to Japanese Buddhism. . . .That is to say, all the particulars [of the Spirit of Japan] are taught by Japanese Buddhism, including the great way of 'no-self' (muga) that consists of the fundamental duty of 'extinguishing the self in order to serve the public [good]' (messhi hōkō); the determination to transcend life and death in order to reverently sacrifice oneself for one's sovereign; the belief in unlimited life as represented in the oath to die seven times over to repay [the debt of gratitude owed] one's country; reverently assisting in the holy enterprise of bringing the eight corners of the world under one roof; and the valiant and devoted power required for the construction of the Pure Land on this earth.

Within Japanese Buddhism it is the Buddha Dharma of Zen Master Dōgen, having been directly inherited from Shākyamuni, that has emphasized the cultivation of the people's spirit, for its central focus is on religious practice, especially the great duty of reverence for the emperor.86


Interestingly, among other nations, Yasutani excludes even wartime allies, Germany and Italy, from sharing in the uniquely Japanese "Spirit of Japan." Given this, the reader might suspect Dürckheim would have been somewhat alienated by Yasutani's words. In fact, as we have seen, the Nazis readily recognized that every Volk had their own unique spirit and culture. Thus, it was self-evident that the equally unique "German Spirit" (G. Deutscher Geist) propagated by the Nazis would have excluded the Spirit of Japan. Nevertheless, there was nothing to prevent the unique spirits of the three peoples from working closely together, not least of all against common enemies, while simultaneously learning and sharing with one another. Dürckheim mirrored this close collaboration.

By this point readers may be asking, "I thought Buddhism was a religion that forbids killing. Don't both Buddhist laity and clerics undertake to abstain from taking life?" Yasutani did, in fact, recognize this as a problem but asserted nonetheless:

At this point the following question arises: What should the attitude of disciples of the Buddha, as Mahāyāna Bodhisattvas, be toward the first precept that forbids the taking of life? For example, what should be done in the case in which, in order to remove various evil influences and benefit society, it becomes necessary to deprive birds, insects, fish, etc. of their lives, or, on a larger scale, to sentence extremely evil and brutal persons to death, or for the nation to engage in total war?

Those who understand the spirit of the Mahāyāna precepts should be able to answer this question immediately. That is to say, of course one should kill, killing as many as possible. One should, fighting hard, kill everyone in the enemy army. The reason for this is that in order to carry [Buddhist] compassion and filial obedience through to perfection it is necessary to assist good and punish evil. However, in killing [the enemy] one should swallow one's tears, bearing in mind the truth of killing yet not killing.

Failing to kill an evil man who ought to be killed, or destroying an enemy army that ought to be destroyed, would be to betray compassion and filial obedience, to break the precept forbidding the taking of life. This is a special characteristic of the Mahāyāna precepts.87


The assertion that failing to kill an "evil man" is to betray compassion is one of the more extraordinary of Yasutani's claims. Yet, innumerable wartime Zen leaders echoed much of what Yasutani wrote above. There was, however, one area where he had less company. Yasutani was one of only a few Zen masters to integrate virulent anti-Semitism into his pro-war stance. The following are a few representative quotes, the first of which manages to combine Confucian social values, including its sexism, and anti-Semitism:

1. Everyone should act according to his position in society. Those who are in a superior position should take pity on those below, while those who are below should revere those who are above. Men should fulfill the Way of Men while women observe the Way of Women, making absolutely sure that there is not the slightest confusion between their respective roles. It is therefore necessary to thoroughly defeat the propaganda and strategy of the Jews. That is to say, we must clearly point out the fallacy of their evil ideas advocating liberty and equality, ideas that have dominated the world up to the present time.

2. Beginning in the Meiji period [1868-1912], perhaps because Japan was so busy importing Western material civilization, our precious Japanese Buddhism was discarded without a second thought. For this reason, Japanese Buddhism fell into a situation in which it was half dead and half alive, leaving Japanese education without a soul. The result was the almost total loss of the Spirit of Japan, for the general citizenry became fascinated with the ideas of liberty and equality as advocated by the scheming Jews, not to mention such things as individualism, money as almighty, and pleasure seeking. This in turn caused men of intelligence in recent years to strongly call for the promotion of the Spirit of Japan.

3. We must be aware of the existence of the demonic teachings of the Jews who assert things like [the existence of] equality in the phenomenal world, thereby disturbing public order in our nation's society and destroying [governmental] control. Not only this, these demonic conspirators hold the deep-rooted delusion and blind belief that, as far as the essential nature of human beings is concerned, there is, by nature, differentiation between superior and inferior. They are caught up in the delusion that they alone have been chosen by God and are [therefore] an exceptionally superior people. The result of all this is a treacherous design to usurp [control of] and dominate the entire world, thus provoking the great upheavals of today. It must be said that this is an extreme example of the evil resulting from superstitious belief and deep-rooted delusion.88


Finally, almost inconceivably for the knowledgeable observer, Yasutani ends his book by once again invoking Zen Master Dōgen as a supporter of his militarist faith:

At this point in time, nothing is more urgent than the clarification of the true Dharma of Zen Master Dōgen, thereby extolling the great duty of reverence for the emperor, and, at the same time, rectifying numerous unsound ideas, cultivating proper belief among the Japanese people as leaders of the Orient, one hundred million [people] of one mind, equipped with a resolute and immovable attitude.

In this connection I have provided a brief and simple outline of Zen Master Dōgen's Buddha Dharma. Nothing could bring me greater joy than, if through the dissemination of this book, the true Dharma becomes known once again, resulting in the total and complete exaltation of the Spirit of Japan and benefitting both the state and humanity.

Moreover, I am convinced this will become the spiritual foundation for the establishment of the Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere, the standard for cultural activities, and the pillar for the construction of a new world order.89


In his conclusion, Yasutani manages to combine the Buddhist teachings of Zen Master Dōgen, the Spirit of Japan and the militarist "Greater East Co-Prosperity Sphere" into one indivisible and fanatical whole. Thus, if only for a period of a few days, Dürckheim trained under the guidance of one of Japan's most virulently militarist and anti-Semitic of all Zen masters. And as Hashimoto informs us, Dürckheim knew exactly what Yasutani stood for inasmuch as the former had translated all of Yasutani's book into German on Dürckheim's behalf. Since anti-Semitism was not typical of wartime Zen masters, it is difficult to escape the conclusion that for Dürckheim among the most attractive features of Yasutani's teaching was both his embrace of a militarism based on "no-self" and his virulent antipathy to Jews.

And, of course, one should not forget the claim made by Dürckheim's interpreter and translator, Hashimoto Fumio, that Dürckheim had been drawn to Yasutani due to "the greatness of this master" and the fact that Yasutani was unlike Zen scholars who "had never properly done zazen or realized enlightenment." Thus, one cannot help but ask what Yasutani's alleged "enlightenment" consisted of?90 And further, what was the nature of Dürckheim's self-proclaimed experience of satori in light of his training under Yasutani?

In the postwar era, Philip Kapleau introduced Yasutani to the West in his widely acclaimed book, The Three Pillars of Zen, as the very model of an enlightened Zen master even while the latter continued his rightwing activities. For example, in 1951 Yasutani established a journal known as Gyōshō (Awakening Gong) as a vehicle for his religious and political views. Typical of his postwar political views is the following:

It goes without saying the leaders of the Japan Teachers' Union are at the forefront of the feebleminded [in this country]. . . .They, together with the four Opposition political parties, the General Council of Trade Unions, the Government and Public Workers Union, the Association of Young Jurists, the Citizen's League for Peace in Vietnam, etc. have taken it upon themselves to become traitors to the nation. . . .


The universities we presently have must be smashed one and all. If that can't be done under the present Constitution, then it should be declared null and void just as soon as possible, for it is an un-Japanese constitution ruining the nation, a sham constitution born as the bastard child of the Allied Occupation Forces.91

As for the theoretical basis of Haku'un's right-wing political views, he shared the following with his readers a few months later: "All machines are assembled with screws having right-hand threads. Right-handedness signifies coming into existence, while left-handedness signifies destruction.92

Yasutani maintained his relationship with Dürckheim in the postwar years as evidenced by Dürckheim's 1964 publication of Die wunderbare Katze und andere Zentexte (The Wonderful Cat and Other Zen Texts). This book consisted of a collection of texts on archery, fencing and Zen including a section on Zen Master Dōgen's "Fukan-zazengi" (A Universal Recommendation for the Practice of Zazen) with a commentary by Yasutani and translated into German by Hashimoto Fumio, Dürckheim's wartime translator and advisor. The same book also contained a section entitled, "On Zen Practice" comprised of talks given by Yasutani first translated into English by Philip Kapleau.93

According to Wehr, Yasutani visited Dürckheim in Todtmoos in 1966 accompanied by Hashimoto Fumio. Wehr writes that Yasutani came "to greet a kindred spirit." (G. um den Geistesverwandten zu grüßen).94 Further, one year later Yasutani contributed to Dürckheim's 70th birthday commemorative volume.95 That these two men were truly "kindred spirits," in peace and war, there can be no doubt.

D.T. Suzuki's Influence on the Nazis

By comparison with Yasutani, Suzuki may seem absolutely benign. After all, up to this point the record reveals that all Suzuki actually did was provide guidance on Zen to Dürckheim through a combination of personal meetings and public lectures. Dürckheim in turn introduced Suzuki's thoughts, as contained in his 1938 book, to a German audience in a series of articles written in 1939. These actions hardly seem worthy of the claim made by Suzuki's editor, Handa Shin, that "Dr. Suzuki's writings are said to have strongly influenced the military spirit of Nazi Germany."

Yet, Suzuki's diary reveals he initiated the process for his book to be translated and published in Germany on August 8, 1938, i.e., less than three months after its appearance in Japan: "Letters to German publishers re. translation of my book."96 When this effort didn't immediately bear fruit, Suzuki wrote the following entry on January 19, 1939: "Zen and Jap. Culture sent to [Walter] Donat of the Jap-German Culture Institute of Tokyo."97 Dr. Walter Donat was the General Secretary of the Japanese-German Culture Institute and, needless to say, a dedicated Nazi.

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German Title of Suzuki's Zen und die Kultur Japans

Suzuki was clearly an active participant, in fact the initiator, of a process that finally led to the publication of his book in Germany in 1941 under the title of Zen und die Kultur Japans (Zen and the Culture of Japan). Like Dürckheim, the translator, Otto Fischer, introduces Suzuki as a "Zen priest" as well as "a professor at the Buddhist Ōtani College in Kyoto."98 In his introduction Fischer also notes that Suzuki was already known to a German audience inasmuch as his book, Die große Befreiung (The Great Liberation) had been published in Leipzig in 1939. This was the German title given to Suzuki's 1934 book, Introduction to Zen Buddhism.

It is no exaggeration to say that Suzuki's new book was translated and published in the right place at the right time. That is to say, even before it was publicly available, it was reviewed in one of Germany's major newspapers. Or more accurately, in the most important newspaper in Germany, the Völkischer Beobachter, (Völkisch Observer) the official newspaper of the Nazi Party with a readership of 1.7 million as late as 1944. By comparison, the New York Times currently (2013) has a daily circulation of 1.8 million.

On January 11, 1942 the Völkischer Beobachter carried a review article featuring four full pages of Suzuki's book. The review's title said it all: "Zen and the Samurai: On the Japanese Warrior's Readiness for Death," (click title to view). Unsurprisingly, the Nazis' supreme interest in Zen was its contribution to the warrior's willingness to die. The words, "death," "die," "deadly" occur no less that fourteen times in these four pages. Typical of these death-related passages is the opening sentence that reads: "The problem of death is a great problem with every one of us; it is, however, more pressing for the samurai, for the soldier, whose life is exclusively devoted to fighting, and fighting means death to either side of fighters."99

As Suzuki made clear with his reference to "for the soldier," he wanted his readers to understand that his words about Japan's past applied equally to its present. Suzuki also discussed the Hagakure (lit. Hidden under the Leaves), a classic early 18th century work on Bushidō authored by Yamamoto Jōchō (1659-1719), a Zen priest and former samurai:

We read the following in the Hagakure: "Bushido means the determined will to die. When you are at the parting of the ways, do not hesitate to choose the way of death. No special reason for this except that your mind is thus made up and ready to see to the business. Some may say that if you die without attaining the object, it is a useless death, dying like a dog. But when you are at the parting of the ways, you need not plan for attaining the object. We all prefer life to death and our planning and reasoning will be naturally for life. If then you miss the object and are alive, you are really a coward. This is an important consideration. In case you die without achieving the object, it may be a dog-death – the deed of madness, but there is no reflection here on your honor. In Bushido honor comes first.100


The last sentence would no doubt have had a special resonance for members of the SS inasmuch as their motto was "Meine Ehre heißt Treue" (My honor means loyalty.) The SS is, of course, infamous for having run the Nazis' concentration camps. Note, however, that the emphasis on honor and loyalty in both the SS and the allegedly Zen-inspired Bushidō code is not coincidental, for on November 1, 1935 Heinrich Himmler received permission from Adolf Hitler to model the SS on the Japanese samurai. Himmler's ultimate goal was that in a victorious Germany the SS would form an elite force that would rule the country as the samurai once had.

Bill Maltarich describes this development in Samurai and Supermen: National Socialist Views of Japan as follows: "Although Europe had always shown an interest in the samurai, with Germany leading the trend after the alliance with Japan, it was Himmler's SS who saw in this class a far flung and yet nearly perfect analog. Just as the samurai's rigid and high-minded warrior code had, at least in the view of Japan at the time, influenced and bettered the entire Japanese people, the SS would set and was setting the example for the rest of Germany."101

Himmler was so taken with the samurai that he commissioned a booklet on their history and values to be written and handed out to every SS member. The booklet was entitled Die Samurai, Ritter des Reiches in Ehre und Treue (The Samurai, Knights of the Empire in Honor and Loyalty). The booklet's author was Heinz Corraza who wrote at length about the importance of the samurai as the leading force in Japan's rise to world power status. For his part, Himmler wrote the booklet's introduction in which he emphasized the parallel role the SS was expected to play in Germany. He claimed readers would come to "the recognition that it is mostly minorities of the highest worth who give to the people a life that, in earthly terms, is eternal."102

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SS Daggers

This helps explain why only four days after the initial review, on January 15, 1942, Suzuki was again introduced in the same newspaper, this time in an article focused on the most important ultra-nationalist in prewar Japan, Tōyama Mitsuru. The section on Suzuki read as follows:

The Japanese D. T. Suzuki recently wrote a book about the meaning of the Zen sect, published by Deutsche Verlagsanstalt in German. We published a section of his book describing the Japanese warrior's preparedness for death in Vol. No. 11 of the Völkischer Beobachter.

Suzuki is a Zen priest and professor at a Buddhist university in Kyoto. If one were to attempt to characterize the Zen sect scientifically, which is difficult, one can conclude that in it Buddhism has been completely revamped to meet Japanese conditions. This is not a unique process but one that has also happened to Christianity in the past, for example with the birth of Puritanism and certain of its oriental forms.

The recent decade in particular has once again led the Zen sect to increased importance in Japan. The battle for Japan's survival is taking place against the powerful backdrop of a history that has been able to survive for two and a half millenniums in a rare concord of race, religion and politics. It is quite understandable that in this difficult time for the existence of the Japanese people, they would retreat to the intellectual roots of their history and regard them as being quite valid for their present. The outstanding national virtues of the Japanese are anchored in the Zen sect, a fact that signifies a monumental endorsement of this practical life-art.

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Die Samurai

In words that seem to spring directly from Suzuki's pen, we learn that as with Christianity, "Buddhism has been completely revamped to meet Japanese conditions" resulting in a "rare concord of race, religion and politics." Further, "The outstanding national virtues of the Japanese are anchored in the Zen sect, a fact that signifies a monumental endorsement of this practical life-art." (Italics mine) The author of these words, Ernst Meunier, was a very active Nazi propagandist credited with some 20 wartime works in 32 publications, including two works for the Reichspropagandaleitung (Reich Propaganda Office).

Given this background, it is not surprising that the Nazis celebrated and promoted Suzuki's writings. This may also be connected to the fact that Alfred Rosenberg, deeply attached to Meister Eckhart as he was, and embracing a völkisch understanding of religion, was editor of the Völkischer Beobachter. He certainly would have welcomed Suzuki's presentation of Zen as serving to reinforce the Nazis' own völkisch understanding of religion while, at the same time, inspiring German readers to embrace a death in which even "dying like a dog" was honorable.

Suzuki's supporters will no doubt claim it is unfair to hold Suzuki responsible for the way in which the Nazis (mis)used his writings. But Suzuki's diaries reveal that on at least two occasions he was the one who took the initiative to ensure his death-embracing writings on Bushidō and Zen would be available in Nazi Germany. Further, Suzuki focused on exactly the same Zen-inspired embrace of death in his writings in Japanese that appeared in military-oriented books and journals.

For example, in a lengthy article that appeared in the June 1941 issue of the Imperial Army's officer's journal, Kaikō-sha Kiji (Kaikō Association Report), Suzuki wrote:

It isn't easy to acquire the mental state in which one is prepared to die. I think the best shortcut to acquire this frame of mind is none other than Zen, for Zen is the fundamental ideal of religion. It isn't simply a question of being prepared to die, as Zen is prepared to transcend death. This is called the "unity of life and death" in which living and dying are viewed as one. The fact that these two are one represents Zen's view of human life and the world.


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Heinrich Himmler

A translation of the entire article, entitled ""Makujiki Kōzen" (Rush Forward Without Hesitation)" is available here.

Shortly after Suzuki's book appeared, another Nazi expert on the Far East, Prince Albrecht of Urach, once again sought to explicate the "secret" of the Japanese soldier's strength just as Dürckheim had first done in 1939. In fact, he gave his booklet, published in 1942, exactly same title: Das Geheimnis japanischer Kraft (The Secret of Japanese Power). In it he had this to say about Japanese religion in general: "The Japanese are fortunate in having never experienced serious conflict between national interests and personal religious beliefs. . . . Shinto is Japan's primeval faith, it corresponds to the Japanese character so completely that it is never discussed."103

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The Secret of Japanese Power

As for Japanese Buddhism, Albrecht opined: "Japanese Buddhism is much more positive and activist than Indian Buddhism. . . . There are countless very active sects of both Buddhism and Shinto that express their religious life not only in Japan itself, but go out into the areas dominated by Japan to give local people an idea of the power and strength of Japanese state religion."

However, the Nazi Prince reserved his highest praise for Zen in what can only be described as a distilled version of Suzuki's views: "The active and yet stoic Buddhism of the Zen-sect perfected and refined the ethos of the Japanese warrior, and gave him the highly ascetical note that still today is the essential feature of Japanese soldiery." Compare this with Suzuki's own description in the German edition of his book, Zen und die Kultur Japans:

Zen discipline is simple, direct, self-reliant, self-denying, and this ascetic tendency goes well with the fighting spirit. The fighter is to be always single-minded with just one object in view which is to fight and not to look either backward or sidewise. To go straightforward in order to crush the enemy is all that is necessary for him. . . . Good fighters are generally ascetics or stoics, which means to have an iron will. When needed Zen supplies them with this.104


Still further, Albrecht had this to say about the role of the sword in Japanese culture:

Since ancient times, the Japanese sword has not only been a means of power, but a symbol for everything that the samurai served. The sword is the symbol of justice that the samurai was obligated to defend under all circumstances. The samurai class had the duty to promote social justice as well. There are countless legends of swords that recall our myths of swords in the Niebelungen tales. There are tales of swords that act on their own, without the necessity of their owners doing anything, of swords wielded as it were by a ghostly hand that struck down dozens of enemies. Other swords drew themselves from their sheaths and struck down unjust and evil foes.


Compare this with Suzuki who wrote:

The sword has thus a double office to perform: the one is to destroy anything that opposes the will of its owner, and the other is to sacrifice all of the impulses that arise from the instinct of self-preservation. The former relates itself with the spirit of patriotism or militarism, while the other has a religious connotation of loyalty and self-sacrifice. In the case of the former very frequently the sword may mean destruction pure and simple, it is then the symbol of force, sometimes perhaps devilish. It must therefore be controlled and consecrated by the second function. Its conscientious owner has been always mindful of this truth. For then destruction is turned against the evil spirit. The sword comes to be identified with the annihilation of things which lie in the way of peace, justice, progress, and humanity. It stands for all that is desirable for the spiritual welfare of the world at large.105


Albrecht repeatedly informed his readers, as did Suzuki, that the modern Japanese soldier is filled with the spirit of his ancient samurai forbearers: "The spirit of the samurai lives today with the same force that enabled Japan's army, an army of the whole people, to fight its many recent battles. The first requirement of the samurai is a readiness to give his life." Or as Suzuki expressed it, "the samurai's willingness to give his life away at any moment. . . .[for] when the Unconscious is tapped it rises above individual limitations. Death now loses its sting altogether, and this is where the samurai training joins hands with Zen."

Unlike Suzuki, Albrecht does not explicitly identify the Japanese warrior's willingness to die with Zen, yet he ends his booklet with the following explanation of the relationship between Germany and Japan:

National Socialist Germany is in the best position to understand Japan. We and the other nations of the Axis are fighting for the same goals that Japan is fighting for in East Asia, and understand the reasons that forced it to take action. We can also understand the driving force behind Japan's miraculous rise, for we National Socialists also put spirit over the material.


There can be no doubt that throughout his book Suzuki also "put spirit over the material." Similarly, there can now be no doubt that Handa Shin had a basis for his claim in November 1941 that "Dr. Suzuki's writings are said to have strongly influenced the military spirit of Nazi Germany." Just how strong the influence of his writings was, of course, is debatable. It would perhaps be more accurate to say that paralleling the military alliance between Germany and Japan was an attempt to form a völkisch religious alliance in which both Suzuki and Dürckheim, among others, played leading roles. Once again, just how effective or meaningful this religious alliance was in terms of its impact on military affairs is debatable, but, at the very least, the attempt on the part of both men, and those like them, is clear.

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Albert Stunkard

Further, there can be no doubt that many Nazis, like Dürckheim himself, recognized in Zen the same völkisch transformation of Buddhism that they claimed Christianity had undergone in the process of "Germanizing" itself. This is despite the fact that many leading Nazis, starting with Hitler, secretly despised Christianity in any form. Anti-Christian Nazi leaders realized, however, they dare not publicly express their opposition if they were to retain the support of the large numbers of Germans who regarded themselves as Christians, both Catholic and Protestant.

For this reason, a völkisch (Germanized) version of Christianity would have to be tolerated in order to serve Nazi interests, at least in the short term. Accordingly, in Dürckheim we see a kind of völkisch religiosity that while it had initially been inspired by Christianity, and employed Christian terms like "God" and "soul," nevertheless avoided reference to Jesus Christ, the Trinity and other central Christian tenets. Whether "Christianity" is an appropriate term to describe such a faith is certainly debatable. Further, thanks to his stay in Japan, Dürckheim's völkisch religiosity was expanded to include what he claimed to be Zen practice and insight.

A related debate concerns the degree to which Suzuki shared a similar völkisch religiosity with reference to Zen and Buddhism. For example, the journalist Arthur Koestler published The Lotus and the Robot in 1960 following a visit to Japan. He criticized Suzuki for the same passages previously introduced, i.e., that Zen could be linked to any "ism" whatsoever, fascism included. Koestler was especially disturbed by Suzuki's claim that Zen was "extremely flexible to adapt itself almost to any philosophy and moral doctrine as long as its intuitive teaching is not interfered with." These passages, he claimed, "could have come from a philosophical-minded Nazi journalist, or from one of the Zen monks who became suicide pilots."106 Had Koestler been acquainted with Dürckheim, he might well have replaced the word "journalist" with "cultural diplomat."

Further, in 1967 the distinguished scholar of Buddhism, R.J. Zwi Werblowsky, criticized the same passages in an article entitled "Some Observations on Recent Studies of Zen." Werblowsky observed: "Dr. Suzuki forgot to add to the list of possibilities also Nazism with its gas chambers (as the annoying Mr. Koestler has rudely pointed out)."107 While these European commentators, one a journalist and the other a scholar of Buddhism, may not have been aware of the völkisch discourse in Suzuki's writings, they certainly understood where this discourse could lead, including its connection to the Holocaust.

An American Buddhist scholar, Robert Sharf, also described what can now be recognized as the vōlkisch elements in Suzuki's writings:

Suzuki would argue that Japanese "spirituality" is a more developed or refined form of a pan-Asian spiritual ethos, and while this ethos is linked with Buddhism, it was not until Chinese Ch'an [Zen] met the samurai culture of the Kamakura period that it would attain its consummate form in Japanese Zen. This theory allowed Suzuki to claim that only in Japan was Asian spirituality fully realized.108


Sharf also noted: "Western enthusiasts systematically failed to recognize the nationalist ideology underlying modern Japanese constructions of Zen."109

Zen Spreads to the West

As noted in Part I of this article, it was Dürckheim who provided Albert Stunkard, an army medical officer at Sugamo Prison in Tokyo, with a letter of introduction to Suzuki, then living in a house on the grounds of Engakuji monastery in Kita Kamakura. Stunkard's visit initiated a stream of visitors to the Suzuki residence, one of whom was Philip Kapleau, subsequent founder of the Rochester Zen Center. Kapleau initially came to postwar Japan as a court reporter for the Tokyo War Crimes Tribunal and would have been very well acquainted with the barbaric nature of Japanese fascism, including the "Rape of Nanking" in December 1937 and other war crimes and atrocities. Nevertheless, not only did Kapleau fail to investigate Suzuki's connection to a known Nazi like Dürckheim, he also went on to train and realize satori under Yasutani Haku'un, the same fanatically militarist and anti-Semitic Zen master that Dürckheim had trained under.

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Sugamo Prison

Like Dürckheim, but unlike Herrigel, both Yasutani and Suzuki succeeded in leaving behind (or rather "burying") their wartime pasts, presenting themselves to the Western world as the epitome of Eastern spirituality. In the cases of both Dürckheim and Suzuki, this was mixed with equal claims of access to a transcendent, trans-historical, and universal spirituality. In 1961 Suzuki wrote: "The basic idea of Zen is to come in touch with the inner workings of our being, and to do this in the most direct way possible, without resorting to anything external or superadded. . . . Zen professes itself to be the spirit of Buddhism, but in fact it is the spirit of all religions and philosophies.110 (Italics mine) By comparison, in his wartime 1944 book, Nihonteki Reisei (Japanese Spirituality), Suzuki argued for the utter uniqueness of Japanese Zen in what can only be described as a völkisch pretention to earthiness: "It was only when Chinese Ch'an met the samurai culture of the Kamakura that one finds the blossoming of 'authentic spiritual insight,' since the samurai, 'who had immediate connections to the peasantry,' represent a culture 'coming from the earth.'"111

Unsurprisingly, Suzuki never alluded either to the oppressive samurai-peasant relationship, including the right in early modern Japan to strike down any peasant who wasn't properly obeisant, or even to the militaristic character of the samurai. And it was utterly unthinkable that samurai, as members of the ruling class, would come into physical contact with the earth through toiling in the fields.

As for Dürckheim, unlike Yasutani, he did not continue his rightwing political activism, instead presenting himself in the postwar era solely as a spiritual/psychological healer. In fact, Wehr seemed perplexed by Dürckheim's thoroughgoing apolitical attitude in the postwar era, writing: "Surely, from then on [i.e., after the war] his emphatic restraint with respect to statements (in word and deed) that could be interpreted politically is striking. The question, however, is, if a person who experienced Being is not at the same time a contemporary with the duty not to shut oneself off to the larger social process?"112 Much the same thing can be said about Suzuki's similarly apolitical attitude in the postwar period.

Nevertheless, when examined closely, traces of Dürckheim's wartime views are to be found in his postwar writings. For example, Dürckheim described the key Zen understanding of hara (J. lit. stomach), often referred to as the "seat of enlightenment," as follows:

When a man possesses a fully developed hara he has the strength and precision to achieve actions that otherwise he could never achieve, even with the most perfect technique, the closest attention, or the strongest will power. Only what is done with hara succeeds completely, just as life as a whole can be lived in perfection only when a man is truly one with his primordial center. So every manifestation of it whether in battle, in art or in love succeeds for him who has gained hara.113


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Kamikaze with puppy

While success in either the arts or love, thanks to being "truly one with [one's] primordial center" is not an ethical question per se, the same cannot be said of success in battle, the essence of which is to destroy the enemy. Yet, for Dürckheim, both during the war and even after it, all of these actions are conflated with one another without the slightest suggestion of incongruity, let alone moral difference. Thus, there is no hint that success in battle might conceivably conflict with the very first precept that all Buddhists, lay or cleric, vow to follow – to abstain from taking life.

In addition, it is interesting to note that even in the postwar period the suicidal kamikaze pilots were a source of inspiration for Dürckheim. In 1949 he wrote that the kamikaze pilots proved "that already in life there is a dying of man that is not only a dying of life, but of death, too."114 And in a conversation shortly before his death he called kamikaze pilots an example of a state of mind "beyond all duality" (G. jenseits aller Dualität).115

Needless to say, possession of a state of mind "beyond all duality" is tantamount to claiming that these typically teenage pilots were fully enlightened and ignoring the pressure they were under from their commanders to sacrifice their young lives. Nevertheless, this claim was by no means unique to Dürckheim. For example, in May 1945 the Sōtō Zen scholar-priest Masanaga Reihō described these pilots as follows: "The source of the spirit of the Special Attack Forces [kamikaze] lies in the denial of the individual self and the rebirth of the soul, which takes upon itself the burden of history. From ancient times Zen has described this conversion of mind as the achievement of complete enlightenment."116

The monumental death and suffering that accompanied World War II (aka the Pacific War in Japan) cannot be attributed to Zen any more than it can to Christianity. Yet, the Zen school's centuries-long connection to Japan's traditional warriors allowed wartime Zen leaders, Suzuki included, to play a leading role in support of Japanese militarism and fascism even though it was only one of many sects of Buddhism (and Shinto) to have done so. When taken as a whole, it is hardly surprising that, as noted above, Hitler would lament, "Why didn't we have the religion of the Japanese who regard sacrifice for the Fatherland as the highest good?"

Although Hitler is long gone, it is astonishing that even in the postwar period both Dürckheim and Suzuki, not to mention Yasutani, succeeded so well in promoting the "unity of Zen and the sword" in the West. That is to say, promoting a form of a Zen shorn of its ethical roots in Buddhism, most especially the first precept proscribing the taking of life. It was, moreover, a form of martial spirituality that few if any of the disciples and students of these teachers either seriously questioned or took the time to research carefully.

Many Zen practitioners in the US and other Western countries reject the charge that the unity of Zen and the sword is not a Buddhist teaching. Well-known Zen figures Gary Snyder and Nelson Foster, for example, claim that when Suzuki spoke of the sword in relationship to Zen, "he [Suzuki] was speaking metaphorically, not of tempered steel and bloody death but of a figurative sword and the revivifying, transformative experience of 'body and mind falling away.' When the sword plays this sort of role in human life, obviously it is not a weapon of self-defense or an instrument of killing."117

Inasmuch as Westerners were unaware of Suzuki's wartime writings, it is not surprising that they accepted Suzuki's postwar explanation of the manner in which Zen metaphysics infused the body of swordsmanship. Nevertheless, there were a few critics who refused to hold Suzuki blameless for his conflation of Zen and the sword. In 1959 Suzuki defended himself in the publication of an enlarged edition of his original 1938 work, now renamed Zen and Japanese Culture:

Inasmuch as Zen is a form of Buddhism and Buddhism is professedly a religion of compassion, how can Zen endorse the profession of the swordsman? This is a criticism we frequently hear from the readers of my books. But I hope they now have come to understand what lies underneath swordsmanship and how this is related to the training of Zen. For as most students of Oriental culture may understand by this time, whatever field of art the Japanese may study they always emphasize the importance of the "subjective" side of it, giving to its technique a secondary almost a negligible, consideration. . . . Thus the sword is no longer the weapon to kill indiscriminately, but it is one of the avenues through which life opens up its secrets to us.118


In order to aid his readers "to understand what lies underneath swordsmanship and how this is related to the training of Zen" Suzuki's 1959 edition expanded one of the chapters in his 1938 book, i.e., "Zen and Swordsmanship," and added an entirely new chapter, i.e., "Zen and Swordsmanship II." In his expanded chapter a still defensive Suzuki writes:

There has been much misunderstanding in the West as regards the spirit, function and discipline of the samurai . . . . The perfect swordsman avoids quarreling or fighting. Fighting means killing. How can one human being bring himself to kill a fellow human being? We are all meant to love one another and not to kill. It is abhorrent that one should be thinking all the time of fighting and coming out victorious. We are moral beings, we are not to lower ourselves to the state of animality. What is the use of becoming a fine swordsman if he loses his dignity? The best thing is to become a victor without fighting.119


If this quotation suggests that Suzuki became a pacifist in the postwar period, this is not the case, for he continues:

The sword is an inauspicious instrument to kill in some unavoidable circumstances. When it is to be used, therefore, it ought to be the sword that gives life and not the sword that kills. . . . The point is, however, to utilize the art as a means to advance in the study of the Way (tao). When it is properly handled, it helps us in an efficient way to contribute to the cultivation of the mind and spirit. . . . The sword, therefore, is to be an instrument to kill the ego, which is the root of all quarrels and fightings."120 (Italics mine)


This is the same Suzuki who explained the "essence of Zen" to his Imperial Officer readers in June 1941 as follows:

The character of the Japanese people is to come straight to the point and pour their entire body and mind into the attack. This is the character of the Japanese people and, at the same time, the essence of Zen. . . . It isn't easy to acquire the mental state in which one is prepared to die. I think the best shortcut to acquire this frame of mind is none other than Zen, for Zen is the fundamental ideal of religion.


As noted above, a translation of the entire article is available here.

While Suzuki's postwar metaphysical explanations of the relationship of Zen and the sword were widely accepted in the West, there were critics at home, familiar with his wartime writings in Japanese, who were unwilling to do so. The Rinzai Zen scholar-priest Ichikawa Hakugen described Suzuki, starting as early as the first Sino-Japanese of 1894-5, as follows:

[Suzuki] considered the Sino-Japanese War to be religious practice designed to punish China in order to advance humanity. This is, at least in its format, the very same logic used to support the fifteen years of warfare devoted to "The Holy War for the Construction of a New Order in East Asia." Suzuki didn't stop to consider that the war to punish China had not started with an attack on Japanese soil, but, instead, took place on the continent of China. Suzuki was unable to see the war from the viewpoint of the Chinese people, whose lives and natural environment were being devastated. Lacking this reflection, he considered the war of aggression on the continent as religious practice, as justifiable in the name of religion. . . .

The logic that Suzuki used to support his "religious conduct" was that of "the sword that kills is identical with the sword that gives life" and "kill one in order that many may live." It was the experience of "holy war" that spread this logic throughout all of Asia.121


And in perhaps the greatest irony, it was Dürckheim's letter of introduction to Suzuki in postwar Japan that directly launched the "unity of Zen and the sword" into the American mainstream. In Europe, Dürckheim had his own contribution to make.
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Re: D.T. Suzuki, Zen and the Nazis, by Brian Daizen Victoria

Postby admin » Fri Aug 09, 2019 1:03 am

Part 4 of 4

Series Conclusion

Let me begin by expressing my deep and sincere appreciation to Professor Karl Baier of the University of Vienna. His research on the völkisch nature of one major strand of Nazi religiosity as it related to Count Karlfried Dürckheim has been a true revelation to me, one that has provided an invaluable prism through which to view not only Nazi but Japanese wartime spirituality as well. I can only hope that readers share my appreciation of Prof. Baier's insights as expressed in Part II of this series.

WW II, in all its manifestations, was the greatest bloodletting in recorded history, with an estimated death toll of some 60 million human beings or 2.5% of the world's population. Of this number, Germany's invasion of the Soviet Union caused the death of somewhere between 22 to 30 million Russians while Japan's invasion of China took the lives of 10 to 20 million Chinese. Additionally, German dead amounted to between 7 and 9 million soldiers and civilians while Japan lost a total of approximately 3 million of its people.

In pointing this out, it is not the author's intent to suggest that Count Karlfried Dürckheim or D.T. Suzuki, let alone any of the other Zen-related persons featured in this series, were directly responsible for this unprecedented carnage. None of these persons killed so much as a single human being in this conflict. Yet, this does not mean they were innocent either.

Both the Nazi and Japanese military leadership were deeply aware of the importance of what the Japanese called shisō-sen or "thought war." In his writings, Suzuki noted that Zen had long "passively sustained" the samurai in battle, i.e., by enhancing their mental concentration and facilitating their acceptance of death. It was this readiness to die that Suzuki, together with his many fellow Zen leaders, sought to inculcate in Japan's modern soldiery and, through his translated writings, among the Nazis as well.

For his part, Dürckheim might well be described as Suzuki's "alter ego" among the Nazis, promoting the Japanese warrior's embrace of death as an ideal model for German soldiery. At the same time, within Japan, Dürckheim tirelessly sought to strengthen the bonds of unity and mutual support between the wartime allies.

In the midst of the massive destruction their countries faced at war's end, not to mention the horrendous destruction their countries inflicted on others, how did these two men react? In the midst of defeat, were they filled with remorse? Or bitterness? Or disillusionment? Did they recognize or repent of the contribution each of them had made to the outcome?

In Dürckheim's case, he wrote the following to a friend in the last days of the war: "The immeasurable suffering of Germany will bring the German people to a higher level and help give birth to a better, less materialistic nation."122 One wonders whether the "immeasurable suffering" Germany imposed on others, especially the people of the Soviet Union, not to mention Jews, was of any concern to him. As for the German people, Dürckheim appears to believe they found themselves in their abject position due to having been overly "materialistic," a condition that, thanks to the war, they would now be able to overcome despite, or perhaps due to, the immeasurable suffering they had experienced.

As for Suzuki, in the months and years following the war he, too, would discover an admirable dimension to Japan's wartime actions. In his 1947 book, Nihon no Reiseika (The Spiritualization of Japan), he wrote: "Through the great sacrifice of the Japanese people and nation, it can be said that the various peoples of the countries of the Orient had the opportunity to awaken both economically and politically."123 To the extent that Western colonialism in Asia was weakened as a result of the war, there is a degree of truth in Suzuki's assertion. However, he failed to recognize the immense suffering of the Chinese, Korean and other Asian peoples who had endured Japanese invasion and colonial rule.

In words written for the consumption of others, there is always the danger they may be directed more toward pleasing the writer's audience than as an expression of the author's own true feelings. Consider this terse entry in Suzuki's diary on August 15, 1945, i.e., the formal date of Japan's surrender: "The meaningless war has thus dramatically [been] brought to an end."124 What was it that made the war "meaningless"? Was it because Japan had lost the war? Or because Japan should never have started the war? Or because it had been a mistake to attack such a powerful nation as the U.S.?

Or perhaps Suzuki meant it was a "senseless" war in that so many people had died for nothing. Readers must decide this for themselves, for we simply don't know Suzuki's inner thoughts. That said, Suzuki does provide a bit more insight into his war-related thinking in a series of diary entries in March 1945 describing the near daily, relentless incendiary bombing of Tokyo and other major Japanese cities by hundreds of B-29s. On March 13, 1945, i.e., some five months before the end of the war, he writes:

[March] 13 Tu. / 40°-55° Overcast all day. / Mostly reading. / Rei came in morning in response to my telegram. Reported about heart-rending sights in Tokyo and extents of ruins caused by the fires. / Mrs Okamoto (Mitsu-ko) dropped in wishing to get information about Tokyo. They both stayed to lunch. / Sad stories of the suffer[er]s heard on every side, is this war worth all that?125


As Japan's cities turned to ashes, accompanied by massive loss of mostly civilian life, Suzuki was no doubt but one of many Japanese asking this same question. Yet, had Japan been winning the war, instead of losing it, would the war have then been "worth all that"? While Suzuki does not address this question he does add in the same entry: "The war caused by ambitions of ignorant and power-thirsty militarists."126

Suzuki's supporters will no doubt point to these words as proof of his longstanding opposition to World War II. If so, the question must be asked what Suzuki's reaction was to the outbreak of the war between Japan, the U.S. and England four years earlier? At the time of Japan's attack on Pearl Harbor, i.e., December 8, 1941 (Japan time), Suzuki confided to his diary:

[December] 8 Mo./47°- 64°/ Fine weather. / Japanese-American conference reported failure. State of war between Japan and America and England declared in the Western parts of the Pacific. All things move along a line of the inevitable. Human powers altogether helpless to shape their own course of action. / Makino, grandson of Count Makino and student of the Peer's school called. . .127


Here Suzuki effectively claims that war with the U.S. and England was inevitable. While, on the one hand, Suzuki was no war enthusiast, he nevertheless fails to criticize Japan's military masters for having started the war. How could Japanese military leaders, or anyone else, be held responsible when, according to Suzuki, "Human powers altogether helpless to shape their own course of action"?

As for Suzuki's attitude toward Japan's full-scale invasion of China in July 1937, we know nothing since entries for the first 196 days of 1937 are, for whatever reason, missing from the Matsugaoka-published version of his wartime diaries.128 It is clear, however, that Suzuki was aware of Japan's invasion and the linkage being made to Zen-Bushidō ideology. In his 1938 book Suzuki writes:

There is a document recently talked very much about in connection with the military operations in China. It is known as the Hagakure which literally means "Hidden under the Leaves," for it is one of the virtues of the samurai not to display himself, not to blow his horn, but to keep himself away from the public eye and be doing good for his fellow-beings. To the compilation of this book, which consists of various notes, anecdotes, moral sayings, etc., a Zen monk had his part to contribute.129


While these comments don't prove Suzuki supported the invasion, they do suggest that Suzuki had no objection to the linkage being made. And if only in hindsight, it is almost grotesque to even intimate that the Japanese soldier in China was "doing good for his fellow-beings."

What can be said with confidence is that in light of both Dürckheim and Suzuki's postwar writings, neither man expressed the least regret, nor accepted the least personal responsibility, for their moral blindness in having promoted the unconditional acceptance of death on behalf of two aggressive, totalitarian states. As this series has revealed, each one contributed to the greatest war and accompanying loss of life in world history. And, of course, the same thing can be said about Yasutani Haku'un and Eugen Herrigel. All four men, and many others like them, were indeed "kindred spirits."

Brian Victoria, Visiting Research Fellow, International Research Center for Japanese Studies, Kyoto. Brian Daizen Victoria holds an M.A. in Buddhist Studies from Sōtō Zen sect-affiliated Komazawa University in Tokyo, and a Ph.D. from the Department of Religious Studies at Temple University. In addition to a 2nd, enlarged edition of Zen At War (Rowman & Littlefield), major writings include Zen War Stories (RoutledgeCurzon); an autobiographical work in Japanese entitled Gaijin de ari, Zen bozu de ari (As a Foreigner, As a Zen Priest); Zen Master Dōgen, coauthored with Prof. Yokoi Yūhō of Aichi-gakuin University (Weatherhill); and a translation of The Zen Life by Sato Koji (Weatherhill). He is currently a Visiting Research Fellow at the International Research Center for Japanese Studies (Nichibunken) in Kyoto.

This is the third in a three part series.

I. Brian Daizen Victoria, D.T. Suzuki, Zen and the Nazis

II. Karl Baier, The Formation and Principles of Count Dürckheim's Nazi Worldview and his interpretation of Japanese Spirit and Zen

See also

Brian Daizen Victoria, Zen as a Cult of Death in the Wartime Writings of D.T. Suzuki

Recommended citation: Brian Victoria, A Zen Nazi in Wartime Japan: Count Dürkheim, and his Sources-D.T. Suzuki, Yasutani Haku'un and Eugen Herrigel: " The Asia-Pacific Journal, Vol. 12, Issue 3, No. 2, January 20, 2014.

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_____. "The Myth of Zen in the Art of Archery' in the Japanese Journal of Religious Studies, No. 28/1-12, 2001. Available on the Web. (accessed on 17 September 2013).

Yasutani, Ryōkō (better known as Yasutani, Haku'un). Dōgen Zenji to Shūshōgi (Zen Master Dōgen and the Shūshōgi). Tokyo: Fuji Shobō, 1943.

_____. "Glückwunsch zum 70. Geburtstag von Graf Dürckheim von seinem Weggefährten" in Maria Hippius (ed.), Transzendenz als Erfahrung. Beitrag und Widerhall. Festschrift zum 70. Geburtstag von Graf Duerckheim. Weilheim: Wilhelm Barth Verlag, 1966.

Notes

1 For the development of the political relationship between Germany and Japan, see Krebs, Gerhard. "Von Hitlers Machtübernahme zum Pazifischen Krieg (1933-1941)" in Krebs, Gerhard / Martin, Bernd (ed.): Formierung und Fall der Achse Berlin-Tokyo. München: Iudicium 1994, pp. 11-26.

2 The term "social question" usually refers to all of the social wrongs connected to the industrial revolution, especially the emergence of class struggles that threaten the unity of a society. In Germany, the concept of "Volksgemeinschaft" (a community of the people) was promoted as the Nazi alternative to deep divisions within modern society. Thus, the Nazis were interested in learning how their Anti-Comintern partner Japan dealt with this issue.

3 Wehr, "The Life and Work of Karlfried Graf Durckheim." Available on the Web. (accessed October 23, 2013).

4 Goettmann, The Path of Initiation: An Introduction to the Life and Thought of Karlfried Graf Durckheim, p. 29.

5 Wehr, "The Life and Work of Karlfried Graf Durckheim." Available on the Web. (accessed October 23, 2013).

6 Wehr, Karlfried Graf Dürckheim. Ein Leben im Zeichen der Wandlung, p. 96.

7 Suzuki, Zen Buddhism and Its Influence on Japanese Culture, p.35

8 Ibid., pp. 34-37.

9 Ibid., pp. 64-65.

10 Speer, Inside the Third Reich, p.96.

11 Suzuki, "English Diaries," No. 25, 2011, p. 60.

12 Rosenberg, The Myth of the Twentieth Century, p. 55.

13 Rosenberg, The Myth of the Twentieth Century, frontispiece.

14 Quoted in Victoria, Zen War Stories, frontispiece. See Otto Tolischus, Tokyo Record.

15 Quoted in Victoria, Zen at War, p. 25.

16 Suzuki, "A Buddhist View of War." Light of Dharma 4, 1904, pp. 181–82.

17 See, for example, Suzuki's frequent references to the identity of Zen and Japanese character in "Zen as a Cult of Death in the Wartime Writings of D.T. Suzuki." Available on the Web.

18 Schopenhauer, The World as Will and Representation, Vol 2, Ch. XLVIII.

19 Satō, "Brian Victoria and the Question of Scholarship," p. 150.

20 Suzuki, Zen Buddhism and Its Influence on Japanese Culture, pp. 36-37.

21 Suzuki, "English Diaries," No. 26, 2012, p. 3.

22 Ibid., p. 3.

23 Ibid., p. 3.

24 Wehr, Karlfried Graf Dürckheim. Ein Leben im Zeichen der Wandlung p. 97.

25 Dürckheim Der Weg ist das Ziel, pp. 41-42.

26 Ibid., p. 40.

27 See Dürckheim: Der Weg ist das Ziel. Gespräch mit Karl Schnelting in der Reihe "Zeugen des Jahrhunderts," pp. 41-42.

28 Wehr, "The Life and Work of Karlfried Graf Durckheim." Available on the Web. (accessed October 23, 2013).

29 Ibid., p. 11.

30 Ibid., p. 10.

31 Ibid., p. 12.

32 Wehr, 'The Life and Work of Karlfried Graf Durckheim.' Available on the Web. (accessed October 22, 2013).

33 Ibid., p. 13. Note that Awa Kenzō had died in 1939 after a prolonged illness. Thus it would have been impossible for Dürckheim to have received instruction from him.

34 Dürckheim, Der Weg ist das Ziel, pp. 43-44.

35 Yamada Shoji shared this information with the author in a personal interview with the author in the common room of the International Research Center for Japanese Studies on October 18, 2013.

36 Yamada, Shots in the Dark, pp. 44-45.

37 Ibid., p. 66.

38 Ibid., p. 65.

39 Ibid., p. 65.

40 Quoted in Yamada, p. 33.

41 Ibid., p. 49.

42 Ibid., p. 53.

43 Wehr, "The Life and Work of Karlfried Graf Durckheim." Available on the Web. (accessed October 22, 2013).

44 Ibid., p. 13.

45 In terms of Zen's alleged connection to the "martial arts," the historical reality is that Zen (Ch. Chan) was introduced to Japan as an independent strand of Buddhist practice in the 13th century just when the warrior or samurai class had wrested political power away from the emperor and aristocracy. For reasons that D.T. Suzuki and others have elaborated, Zen practice appealed to the warrior class and, as a result, was patronized by them. Warriors especially looked to Zen training as a method of overcoming their fear of death. Thus, Zen's true connection was to a specific social class whose occupation was fighting (and dying in) the wars of their feudal lords, wars typically involving the use of the sword. To the extent that Zen has a connection to the "martial arts" it is a connection to fostering a mental attitude allowing one to wield the sword without fear or hesitation.

46 For further discussion of this topic see Yamada Shōji's article, "The Myth of Zen in the Art of Archery."

47 Yamada, Shots in the Dark, p. 95.

48 Herrigel's enthusiasm is also attested to by my collaborator, Karl Baier, who has had the opportunity to review his wartime essay, "Die Aufgabe der Philosophie im neuen Reich."

49 Herrigel, "Nationalsozialismus und Philosophie," p. 8.

50 Quoted in Goettmann, Dialogue on the Path of Initiation: The Life and Thought of Karlfried Graf Durckheim, p. 14.

51 Ibid., p. 11.

52 Quoted in Sharf, "The Zen of Japanese Nationalism," p. 1.

53 Quoted in Yamada, Shots in the Dark, p. 207.

54 Ibid., p. 208.

55 Ibid., p. 208.

56 Quoted in Victoria, "Zen as a Cult of Death in the Wartime Writings of D.T. Suzuki." Available on the Web at: http://www.japanfocus.org/-Brian-Victoria/3973.

57 Wehr, "The Life and Work of Karlfried Graf Durckheim." Available on the Web at: http://www.stillnessspeaks.com/assets/b ... 20Real.pdf (accessed October 23, 2013).

58 Wehr, Karlfried Graf Dürckheim – Ein Leben im Zeichen der Wandlung, p. 120.

59 Ibid., p. 14.

60 Ibid., p. 14.

61 Ibid., p. 14.

62 Ibid., p. 15.

63 Ibid., p. 15.

64 Ibid., p. 16.

65 Ibid., p. 18.

66 Contained in an e-mail to the author from Hans-Joachim Bieber on June 15, 2011.

67 Suzuki, Zen Buddhism and Its Influence on Japanese Culture, p. 34.

68 Suzuki, "English Diaries," No. 21, 2007, p. 114.

69 Suzuki, "English Diaries," No. 23, 2009, p. 6.

70 Suzuki, "English Diaries," No. 23, 2009, p. 4.

71 Ibid., p. 6.

72 Suzuki, "English Diaries," No. 25, 2011, p. 60.

73 Ibid., p. 63.

74 Suzuki, "English Diaries," No. 23, 2009, pp. 30-40 inclusive.

75 Dürckheim, Der Weg ist das Ziel: Gespräch mit Karl Schnelting in der Reihe "Zeugen des Jahrhunderts," p. 43.

76 Ibid., p. 43. Since the question of archery as a form of Zen practice has already been addressed, it is unnecessary to repeat it here.

77 See related entries in Suzuki, "English Diaries," Nos. 21, 23, 25, 26.

78 Quoted in Bix, Hirohito and the Making of Modern Japan, p. 488.

79 For a discussion of Suzuki's earliest approach to both the emperor and Count Makino, see Victoria, "The 'Negative Side' of D. T. Suzuki's Relationship to War," pp. 113-14.

80 Quoted in Victoria, "Zen as a Cult of Death in the Wartime Writings of D.T. Suzuki." Available on the Web at: http://japanfocus.org/-Brian-Victoria/3973.

81 Arai, "Shūsenzen tainichi doitsujin no taiken," p. 112.

82 Quoted in Victoria, Zen War Stories, pp. 88-89.

83 Ibid., p. 89.

84 Ibid., p. 89.

85 Quoted in Victoria, Zen War Stories, pp. 69-70.

86 Ibid., p. 70.

87 Ibid., pp. 71-72.

88 Ibid., p. 73.

89 Ibid., p. 74.

90 Interestingly, this question has been discussed in recent years by Kubota Ji'un, then abbot of the Zen organization Yasutani created in the postwar era, i.e., the Sanbō-kyōdan (Three Treasures Association). This discussion is available on the Web at: http://www.thezensite.com/ZenEssays/Cri ... ology.html.

91 Quoted in Victoria, Zen at War, p. 168.

92 Ibid., p. 168.

93 Dürckheim, "Fukan-Zazen-Gi. Ein Text des Zen-Meisters Dōgen, erläutert von Meister Hakuun Yasutani, übersetzt aus dem Japanischen von Fumio Hashimoto," pp. 73-91, and "Über die Übung des Zen. Vorlesungen von Zen-Meister Hakuun Yasutani Roshi, englische Übersetzung von Philipp Kapleau, aus dem Englischen übertragen von G. von Minden," pp. 93-118.

94 Wehr, Karlfried Graf Dürckheim: Ein Leben im Zeichen der Wandlung, p. 217.

95 Yasutani, "Glückwunsch zum 70. Geburtstag von Graf Dürckheim von seinem Weggefährten," pp. 475-478.

96 Suzuki, "English Diaries," No. 25, 2011, p. 68.

97 Suzuki, "English Diaries," No. 26, 2012, p. 3.

98 Suzuki, Zen und die Kultur Japans, p. 9.

99 Suzuki, Zen Buddhism and Its Influence on Japanese Culture, p. 47. The quoted material extends to the bottom of p. 50 in the English edition. In the German edition, Zen und die Kultur Japans, the quoted material begins on the middle of p. 60 and extends through the top of p. 63. I also wish to extend my appreciation to Sarah Panzer at the University of Chicago who made me aware of this article and provided the newspaper clipping.

100 Suzuki, Zen Buddhism and Its Influence on Japanese Culture, p. 49.

101 Maltarich, Samurai and Supermen: National Socialist Views of Japan, p. 155.

102 Quoted in ibid., p. 226.

103 Albrecht, Das Geheimnis japanischer Kraft. All quotations taken from this booklet appear in the partial, non-paginated English translation available on the Web at: http://www.calvin.edu/academic/cas/gpa/japan.htm (accessed October 16, 2013).

104 Suzuki, Zen Buddhism and Its Influence on Japanese Culture, p. 35

105 Ibid., pp.66-67.

106 Koestler, The Lotus and the Robot, p. 271.

107 Werblowsky, "Some Observations on Recent Studies of Zen," p. 321.

108 Sharf, "Whose Zen? Zen Nationalism Revisited." Available on the Web at: http://www.thezensite.com/ZenEssays/Cri ... _sharf.pdf.

109 Sharf, "The Zen of Japanese Nationalism." Available on the Web at: http://www.thezensite.com/ZenEssays/Cri ... _sharf.pdf.

110 Suzuki, "A Reply from D. T. Suzuki," Encounter 17, No. 4, 1961, p. 44.

111 Sharf, "The Zen of Japanese Nationalism." Available on the Web at: http://www.thezensite.com/ZenEssays/Cri ... _sharf.pdf.

112 Wehr, Karlfried Graf Dürckheim – Ein Leben im Zeichen der Wandlung, p. 129.

113 Dürckheim, Hara (audio version).

114 Dürckheim, Japan und die Kultur der Stille, p. 51.

115 Dürckheim: Mein Weg zur Mitte, p. 122.

116 Quoted in Victoria, Zen at War, p. 139.

117 Foster and Snyder, "The Fog of World War II -- Setting the Record Straight on D.T. Suzuki," tricycle, summer 2010. Available on the Web. (accessed December 29, 2013).

118 Suzuki, Zen and Japanese Culture, pp. 160-61.

119 Ibid., p. 132.

121 Ibid., pp. 132-34.

122 Quoted in Victoria, Zen at War, p. 167.

123 Wehr, Karlfried Graf Dürckheim: Ein Leben im Zeichen der Wandlung, p. 120.

123 Suzuki, Nihon no Reiseika, p. 7.

124 Suzuki, "English Diaries," No. 23, 2009, p. 101. For a summary of Suzuki's postwar comments on the war see Victoria, Zen at War, pp. 147-52.

125 Ibid., p. 86.

126 Ibid., p. 86.

127 Suzuki, "English Diaries," No. 21, 2007, p. 86.

128 See Suzuki, "English Diaries," No. 25, 2011. Had I received permission to visit Matsugaoka Bunkō, the whereabouts of this missing half-year plus of Suzuki's diary is one of many questions I would have liked to ask. Japan's full-scale invasion of China resulted from an incident that began on evening of July 7, 1937.

129 Suzuki, Zen Buddhism and Its Influence on Japanese Culture, pp. 45-46.
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Re: D.T. Suzuki, Zen and the Nazis, by Brian Daizen Victoria

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Part 1 of 2

Zen as a Cult of Death in the Wartime Writings of D.T. Suzuki
by Brian Victoria
August 2, 2013
The Asia-Pacific Journal, Volume 11 | Issue 30 | Number 4

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Introduction

The publication of Zen at War in 1997 and, to a lesser extent, Zen War Stories in 2003 sent shock waves through Zen Buddhist circles not only in Japan, but also in the U.S. and Europe.

These books revealed that many leading Zen masters and scholars, some of whom became well known in the West in the postwar era, had been vehement if not fanatical supporters of Japanese militarism. In the aftermath of these revelations, a number of branches of the Zen school, including the Myōshinji branch of the Rinzai Zen sect, acknowledged their war responsibility. A proclamation issued on 27 September 2001 by the Myōshinji General Assembly included the following passage:

As we reflect on the recent events [of 11 September 2001] in the U.S. we recognize that in the past our country engaged in hostilities, calling it a “holy war,” and inflicting great pain and damage in various countries. Even though it was national policy at the time, it is truly regrettable that our sect, in the midst of wartime passions, was unable to maintain a resolute anti-war stance and ended up cooperating with the war effort. In light of this we wish to confess our past transgressions and critically reflect on our conduct.1


On 19 October 2001 the sect’s branch administrators issued a follow-up statement:

It was the publication of the book Zen to Sensō [i.e., the Japanese edition of Zen at War], etc. that provided the opportunity for us to address the issue of our war responsibility. It is truly a matter of regret that our sect has for so long been unable to seriously grapple with this issue. Still, due to the General Assembly’s adoption of its recent “Proclamation” we have been able to take the first step in addressing this issue. This is a very significant development.2


In the same year, the smaller Tenryūji branch of the Rinzai Zen sect issued a similar statement, again citing the Japanese edition of Zen at War as a catalyst leading to their belated recognition of war responsibility.

In reading these apologies, one is reminded of the “Stuttgart Confession of Religious Guilt,” issued by Protestant church leaders in postwar Germany, in which they repented their support of Hitler and the Nazis. The Confession’s second paragraph read in part: “With great anguish we state: Through us has endless suffering been brought upon many peoples and countries. . . . We accuse ourselves for not witnessing more courageously, for not praying more faithfully, for not believing more joyously, and for not loving more ardently.”3 Nevertheless, there is one significant difference between religious leaders in Japan and Germany, i.e., while the Stuttgart Confession was also issued on 19 October, it was 19 October 1945 not 2001.

It is also true that a relatively small number of German Christians resisted the Nazis, Father Maximillian Kolbe, Martin Niemöller and Dietrich Bonhoeffer being among the best known. Similarly a small number of Buddhist priests, both within the Zen school and other sects, also opposed Japanese imperialism. The common denominator between the two groups, however, was their overall ineffectiveness.4 This is no doubt because no matter what the faith or country involved, institutional religion, with but few exceptions, staunchly supports its own nation in wartime.

The Background to D.T. Suzuki’s Wartime Role

There is now near universal recognition, including in Japan, that the Zen school, both Rinzai and Sōtō, strongly supported Japanese imperialism. Nevertheless, there is one Zen figure whose relationship to wartime Japan remains a subject of ongoing, sometimes deeply emotional, controversy: Daisetz Teitarō Suzuki, better known as D.T. Suzuki (1870-1966).5

Given Suzuki’s position as the most important figure in the introduction of Zen to the West, it is hardly surprising that the nature of his relationship to Japanese imperialism should prove controversial, for if he, too, were an imperialist supporter, what would this imply about the nature of the Zen he introduced to the West?

If the following discussion of Suzuki’s wartime record appears to lack balance, or shades of gray, it is not done out of ignorance, let alone denial, of exculpatory evidence concerning this period in his life. However, evidence of Suzuki’s alleged anti-war stance is well known and, indeed, readily accessible on the Internet.6 Hence, there is no need to repeat it here. That said, interested readers are encouraged to review all relevant materials related to Suzuki’s wartime record before reaching their own conclusions.

As important as Suzuki may be, the debate goes far beyond either the record or reputation of a single man. As recent scholarship suggests, Suzuki was in fact no more than one part, albeit a significant part, of a much larger movement. Oleg Benesch described Suzuki’s role as follows:

[Suzuki’s] writings on bushidō and Zen during the period immediately after the Russo-Japanese War [1904-05] are not extensive, but are significant in light of his role in spreading the concept of the connection of Zen and bushidō, especially during the last four decades of his life. Suzuki can be seen as the most significant figure in this context, especially with regard to the dissemination of a Zen-based bushidō outside of Japan.7 (Italics mine)


While these comments may not seem particularly controversial, Benesch also provided a detailed history of the manner in which Suzuki and other early twentieth century Japanese intellectuals, including such luminaries as Nitobe Inazō (1862-1933) and Inoue Tetsujirō (1855-1944), essentially invented a unified bushidō tradition for nationalist use both at home and abroad. Benesch writes:

The development and dissemination of bushidō from the 1880s onward was an organic process initiated by a diverse group of thinkers who were more strongly influenced by the dominant Zeitgeist and Japan’s changing geopolitical position than by any traditional moral code. These individuals were concerned less with Japan’s past than the nation’s future, and their interest in bushidō was prompted primarily by their considerable exposure to the West, pronounced shifts in the popular perception of China, and an apprehensiveness regarding Japan’s relative strength among nations.8


Benesch later added:

The bushidō that developed in Meiji [1868-1912] was not a continuation of any earlier ethic, but it contained factual elements that were carefully selected and reinterpreted by its promoters. . . .concepts such as loyalty, self-sacrifice, duty, and honor, all of which existed in considerably different forms and contexts to those in which they were incorporated into modern bushidō theories. . . .The most important factor in the relatively rapid dissemination of bushidō was the growth of nationalistic sentiments around the time of the Sino-Japanese [1894-95] and Russo-Japanese wars.9


As this article reveals, Suzuki’s writings on the newly created bushidō ‘code’ were very much a part of this larger nationalist discourse. His personal contribution to this discourse was the presentation of bushidō, primarily to a Western audience, as the very embodiment of Zen, including the modern Japanese soldier’s alleged “joyfulness of heart at the time of death.” In 1906, the year following Japan’s victory in the Russo-Japanese War, Suzuki wrote:

The Lebensanschauung of Bushidō is no more nor less than that of Zen. The calmness and even joyfulness of heart at the moment of death which is conspicuously observable in the Japanese, the intrepidity which is generally shown by the Japanese soldiers in the face of an overwhelming enemy; and the fairness of play to an opponent, so strongly taught by Bushidō – all of these come from the spirit of the Zen training, and not from any such blind, fatalistic conception as is sometimes thought to be a trait peculiar to Orientals.10


Suzuki’s praise for, and defense of, Japan’s soldiers as “Orientals” is particularly noteworthy in light of the fact that only two years earlier, i.e., in 1904, Suzuki had himself invoked Buddhism in attempting to convince Japanese youth to die willingly for their country: “Let us then shuffle off this mortal coil whenever it becomes necessary, and not raise a grunting voice against the fates. . . . Resting in this conviction, Buddhists carry the banner of Dharma over the dead and dying until they gain final victory.”11

While comments like these may be interpreted as Suzuki’s ad hoc responses to national events beyond his control, in fact they accurately represent his underlying belief in the appropriate role of religion in a Japan at war. This is clearly demonstrated by the following comments in the very first book Suzuki published in November 1896, entitled A Treatise on the New Meaning of Religion (Shin Shūkyō-ron):

At the time of the commencement of hostilities with a foreign country, marines fight on the sea and soldiers fight in the fields, swords flashing and cannon smoke belching, moving this way and that. In so doing, our soldiers regard their own lives as being as light as goose feathers while their devotion to duty is as heavy as Mount Tai [in China]. Should they fall on the battlefield they have no regrets. This is what is called “religion during a [national] emergency.”12


The year 1896 is significant for two reasons, the first of which is that Suzuki’s book appeared in the immediate aftermath of Japan’s victory in the Sino-Japanese War. This was not only Japan’s first major war abroad but, with the resultant acquisition of Taiwan, marked a major milestone in the growth of Japanese imperialism. Thus, Suzuki’s call for Japan’s religionists to resolutely support the state whenever it went to war could not have been more timely. At a personal level, it was also in December of that year, i.e., just one month after his book appeared, that Suzuki had his initial enlightenment experience (kenshō). This occurred at the time of his participation as a layman in an intensive meditation retreat (sesshin) at Engakuji in Kamakura, and shortly before his departure for more than a decade-long period of study and writing in the U.S. (1897-1908).

As Suzuki’s subsequent statements make clear, his kenshō experience did not alter his view of “religion during a [national] emergency.” Again, this is hardly surprising in light of the fact that Suzuki’s own Rinzai Zen master, Shaku Sōen [1860-1919], Engakuji’s abbot, was also a strong supporter of Japan’s war efforts.

In fact, Shaku’s support of Japan was so strong that during the Russo-Japanese War he volunteered to go to the battlefields in Manchuria as a military chaplain. Shaku explained: “. . . I also wished to inspire, if I could, our valiant soldiers with the ennobling thoughts of the Buddha, so as to enable them to die on the battlefield with the confidence that the task in which they are engaged is great and noble.”13


Once Japan had defeated Russia, its imperial rival, it immediately forced Korea to become a Japanese protectorate in November 1905. This was followed by Japan’s complete annexation of Korea in August 1910, thereby cementing the expansion of the Japanese empire onto the Asian continent. For his part, Suzuki avidly supported Japan’s takeover of Korea as revealed by comments he made in 1912 about that “poor country,” i.e., Korea, as he traversed it on his way to Europe via the Trans-Siberian railroad:

They [Koreans] don’t know how fortunate they are to have been returned to the hands of the Japanese government. It’s all well and good to talk independence and the like, but it’s useless for them to call for independence when they lack the capability and vitality to stand on their own. Looked at from the point of view of someone like myself who is just passing through, I think Korea ought to count the day that it was annexed to Japan as the day of its revival.14


Suzuki’s comments reveal not only his support for Japanese colonialism but also his dismissal of the Korean people’s deep desire for independence. For Suzuki, the future of a poverty-stricken Korea depended on Japanese colonial beneficence.

While no doubt many if not most of Suzuki’s countrymen would have agreed with his position at the time, readers of Zen at War will recognize in both Suzuki and Shaku’s comments early examples of the jingoism that characterized Zen leaders’ war-related pronouncements through the end of the Asia-Pacific War in 1945. Not only did Suzuki admonish Buddhist soldiers to “carry the banner of Dharma over the dead and dying,” they were also directed “not to raise a grunting voice against the fates” as they “shuffle off this mortal coil.” In point of fact, approximately 47,000 young Japanese laid down their lives in the Russo-Japanese War exactly as Suzuki, Shaku and many other Buddhist leaders urged them to do.

The Background to Suzuki’s Article

While the preceding material introduces Suzuki’s attitude to the Russo-Japanese War and his country’s early colonial efforts, it fails to clarify his attitude toward Japan’s subsequent military activities, especially Japan’s aggression against China initiated by the Manchurian Incident of 1931. This aggression would continue and expand for a full fifteen years thereafter, i.e., until Japan’s defeat in August 1945. Suzuki did, however, write an article, “Bushidō to Zen” (Bushidō and Zen), that was included in a 1941 government-endorsed anthology entitled Bushidō no Shinzui (Essence of Bushidō). With additional articles contributed by leading army and navy figures, this book clearly sought to mobilize support for the war effort, both military and civilian. While not originally written for the book, the fact that Suzuki allowed his article to be included indicated at least a sympathetic attitude to this endeavor though it only indirectly referenced the war with China.15

There is, however, yet another lengthy article that appeared in June 1941 in the Imperial Army’s premier journal for its officer corps. The journal, taking its name in part from its parent organization, was entitled: Kaikō-sha Kiji (Kaikō Association Report). Although not formally a government organization, the parent Kaikō-sha (lit. “let’s join the military together”) had been created in 1877 for the purpose of creating Imperial Army officers who were to be of “one mind and body.”16

The Kaikō Association Report was a monthly professional journal dating from July 1888. The journal contained articles on such topics as the latest developments in weaponry, mechanization and aviation but also featured yearly special editions devoted to such military events as the Russo-Japanese War and the Manchurian Incident of 1931. In addition, it regularly devoted substantial space to articles on “thought warfare” (shisō-sen), Japanese spirit (Yamato-damashii), national polity of Japan (kokutai), and “spiritual education” (seishin kyōiku), all key components of wartime ideology.

The journal’s ideological orientation can be seen in the articles that both preceded and followed Suzuki’s own contribution. The article preceding his was entitled “The Philosophical Basis of Spiritual Culture,” and included such statements as: “By comparison with Western laws based on rights, our laws are based on duties. By comparison with a [Western] world that operates according to individualism (kobetsusei), we have created a Japan that operates according to the principles of totality (zentaisei).”17 The article following his, entitled “Concerning the Indispensable Spiritual Elements of Military Aviators,” consisted of a speech by officer candidate Yamaguchi Bunji delivered at the graduation ceremony for the fifty-first class of the Japan Army Aviation Officer Candidate School on March 28, 1941.

As will be seen, Suzuki’s article fit in perfectly with the strong emphasis on “spirit” in this military journal. “Spiritual education” was one of the most important duties for Imperial Army officers. Officers were required to hold regular sessions with the troops under their command in order to introduce examples from Japanese history of the utterly loyal, fearless, and self-sacrificial warrior spirit. That the historical figures Suzuki introduced had acquired their fearlessness in the face of death through Zen practice was clearly welcomed by the journal’s editors, as it was by the leadership of the Imperial Army.18

The article was published in June 1941, i.e., less than six months before Japan’s attack on Pearl Harbor. By then Japan had been fighting in China for four years, and while Japanese forces held most major Chinese cities, they were unable, to their great frustration, to either pacify the countryside or defeat the Nationalist and Communist forces deployed against them. The war was effectively stalemated, yet the death tolls, both Japanese and Chinese, continued to rise relentlessly as Japanese forces took the offensive in a bid to force surrender.

Suzuki Addresses Imperial Army Officers

Suzuki’s contribution took as its title the well-known Zen phrase: “Makujiki Kōzen,” i.e., Rush Forward Without Hesitation!19 Note that the complete English translation of Suzuki’s article is included in Appendix I. Some readers may wish to read the translation prior to reading the following commentary though this is not necessary. In addition, Appendix II contains the entire text of the original article in Japanese.

In the article’s opening paragraphs we find that Suzuki, like his Zen contemporaries, faced an awkward problem. That is to say, on the one hand he could not help but acknowledge that the Zen (Ch., Chan) school had come to fruition, if not created, in China, a country with which Japan had been at war for some four years. Given the massive death and destruction Japan’s invasion of China had caused, including its priceless Buddhist heritage, how could Japanese Zen leaders justify the ongoing destruction of the very country that had contributed so much to their school of Buddhism?

Suzuki addresses this issue by positing Japanese Zen’s superiority to Chinese Zen (Chan) Buddhism. That is to say, Suzuki notes that Zen’s “real efficacy” had only been realized after its arrival in Japan. One proof of this is that in Chinese monasteries meditation monitors use only one hand to hold a short ‘waking stick,’ while their Japanese counterparts hold long waking sticks with both hands just as warriors of old held their long single sword with both hands.

“The meaning of the fact that the waking stick is employed with two hands is that one is able to pour one’s entire strength into its use,” Suzuki claims.

Pouring one’s entire strength into the effort, whether it be waking a dozing meditator or cutting down an opponent, was, for Suzuki, the critical element that Zen and the warrior shared in common. There was no hint of an ethical distinction between the two. Nor did Suzuki acknowledge that in the Sōtō Zen sect, masters continue to employ the short, ‘Chinese-style’ waking stick (tansaku). This last omission is not surprising in that Suzuki typically either ignored, or dismissed, the practice and teachings of this sect.

Suzuki was, furthermore, not content with simply identifying the deficiencies in Chinese Zen, but went on to identify related deficiencies in the “world at large,” including Europe with its single-handed rapiers. That is to say, when non-Japanese fighters wield the sword they do so holding a sword in only one hand in order to hold a shield in the other hand. In so doing, they seek not only to slay their enemy but also to protect themselves, hoping to emerge both victorious and alive from the contest. By contrast, a Japanese warrior holds his sword with two hands because: “There is no attempt to defend oneself. There is only striking down the other.”

Was Suzuki accurate in his implied criticism of non-Japanese fighters for attempting to defend themselves in the midst of combat? While Suzuki didn’t name the “countries other than Japan” he was referring to, when discussing this question with undergraduates in my Japanese culture class, a student well versed in the history of European knighthood replied, “As far as Europe is concerned, there is a long history of employing duel-edged “long swords” with both hands just as in Japan. Further, if Japanese warriors were so unconcerned about their own lives, why did they develop what was at the time some of the strongest armor in the world to protect themselves?”

I had to agree with this student inasmuch as I had observed the same two-handed long swords when visiting the European sword exhibit housed in Edinburgh Castle in the spring of 2012. In any event, by elevating the alleged fearlessness of Japan’s warriors above that of their non-Japanese counterparts, Suzuki clearly demonstrates his nationalistic stance. A nationalism, it must be noted, that was deeply seeped in blood, both in the past and the war then underway.

It should also be noted that the Japanese military had long believed, dating from their victory in the Russo-Japanese War, that they could emerge victorious over a militarily superior (in terms of industrial capacity and weaponry) opponent. In this view, victory over a superior Western opponent, let alone China, was possible exactly because of the willingness of Japanese soldiers to die selflessly and unhesitatingly in battle. By contrast, the soldiers of other countries were seen as desiring nothing so much as to return home alive, thereby weakening their fighting spirit. Suzuki’s words could not have but lent credence to the Japanese military’s (over)confidence.

The themes introduced in his article, especially concerning the relationship of Zen to bushidō and samurai, are all topics that Suzuki had previously written about in both Japanese and English. For example, readers familiar with Zen Buddhism and Its Influence on Japanese Culture (published in 1938 and reprinted in the postwar period as Zen and Japanese Culture) will recall that at the beginning of Chapter IV, “Zen and the Samurai,” Suzuki wrote:

In Japan, Zen was intimately related from the beginning of its history to the life of the samurai. Although it has never actively incited them to carry on their violent profession, it has passively sustained them when they have for whatever reason once entered into it. Zen has sustained them in two ways, morally and philosophically. Morally, because Zen is a religion which teaches us not to look backward once the course is decided upon; philosophically because it treats life and death indifferently. . . . Therefore, morally and philosophically, there is in Zen a great deal of attraction for the military classes. The military mind, being – and this is one of the essential qualities of the fighter – comparatively simple and not at all addicted to philosophizing finds a congenial spirit in Zen. This is probably one of the main reasons for the close relationship between Zen and the samurai.20 (Italics mine)


While Suzuki’s officer readers probably would not have welcomed his reference to their “comparatively simple” military minds, the preceding quote nevertheless accurately summarizes the article under discussion here. And to his credit, unlike most other wartime Japanese Zen leaders, Suzuki did not actively incite his officer readers to carry on their violent profession. By contrast, for example, in 1943 Sōtō Zen master Yasutani Haku’un [1885–1973] wrote:

Of course one should kill, killing as many as possible. One should, fighting hard, kill every one in the enemy army. The reason for this is that in order to carry [Buddhist] compassion and filial obedience through to perfection it is necessary to assist good and punish evil. . . . Failing to kill an evil man who ought to be killed, or destroying an enemy army that ought to be destroyed, would be to betray compassion and filial obedience, to break the precept forbidding the taking of life. This is a special characteristic of the Mahāyāna precepts.21


While these kinds of bellicose statements are notably absent from Suzuki’s writings, the current article, when read in its entirety, makes it clear that Suzuki did in fact seek to passively sustain Japan’s officers and men through his repeated advocacy of such things as “not look[ing] backward once the course is decided upon” and “treat[ing] life and death indifferently.” This leads to the question of just how different Suzuki was from someone like Yasutani given that Suzuki’s officer readers were also encouraged to “pour their entire body and mind into the attack” in the midst of an unprovoked invasion of China that resulted in the deaths of many millions of its citizens?

Even readers who haven’t served in the military can readily appreciate the fact that there are two fundamental questions that engulf a soldier’s mind prior to going into battle. First and foremost is the question of self-preservation, i.e., will I return alive? And a close second is - am I prepared to die if necessary? It is in answering the second question, i.e., in providing the mental preparation necessary for possible death, that a soldier’s religious faith is typically of paramount importance. Suzuki was well aware of this, for in promoting Zen training for warriors he wrote elsewhere: “Death now loses its sting altogether, and this is where the samurai training joins hands with Zen.”22

In short, read in its entirety Suzuki seeks in this article to prepare his officer readers, and through them ordinary soldiers, for death by weaponizing Zen, i.e., turning Zen into nothing less than a cult of death. The word ‘cult’ is used here to refer to one of its many meanings, i.e., a religious system devoted to only one thing -- death in this instance. On no less that six occasions throughout his article Suzuki stresses just how important being “prepared to die” (shineru) is, noting that Zen is “the best shortcut to acquire this frame of mind.”

Even if it could be demonstrated that this article was not written specifically for Japan’s Imperial Army officers, little would change, for there cannot be the slightest doubt that Suzuki’s words were intended for a wartime Japanese audience. This is made clear by Suzuki’s statement later in the article that “I think the extent of the crisis experienced then cannot be compared with the ordeal we are undergoing today.” As revealed in Zen at War, by 1941, if not before, all Japanese, young and old, civilian and military, were subject to a massive propaganda campaign, promulgated by government, Buddhist and educational leaders, to accept the death-embracing values of bushidō as their own. Or as expressed by Suzuki in this article: “. . . in undertaking any work one should be prepared to die.” (Italics mine)

Here, the question must be asked as to where this Zen shortcut to being prepared to die came from? Did it come from India, Buddhism’s birthplace, or China, Zen (Chan)’s sectarian home? It most definitely did not, for, as already noted, Suzuki tells us that Zen’s “real efficacy was supplied to a great extent after coming to Japan.” And as he further notes, it was only after arrival in Japan “that Zen became united with the sword.” Unlike the studied ambiguity that typically characterized his war and warrior-related writings in English, and oft-times in Japanese as well, Suzuki was clearly not speaking in this article of some metaphysical sword cutting through mental illusion.

Instead, Suzuki was referring to real swords wielded by some of Japan’s greatest Zen-trained warlords as, over the centuries, they and their subordinates cut through the flesh and bones of many thousands of their opponents on the battlefield, fully prepared to die in the process, using Zen as “the best shortcut to acquire this frame of mind.”


Interestingly, Suzuki admits in this article that some of the famous Zen-related anecdotes associated with Kamakura Regent Hōjō Tokimune (1251-84) may not have taken place.

He writes: “The following story has been handed down to us though I don’t know how much of this legend is actually true.” Compare this admission with Suzuki’s presentation of the same material in Zen Buddhism and Its Influence on Japanese Culture. Addressing his English readers, Suzuki wrote that while the exchange between Tokimune and National Master Bukkō (1226-86) is “not quite authenticated,” it nevertheless “gives support to our imaginative reconstruction of his [Tokimune’s] attitude towards Zen.”23

One is left to speculate what Suzuki’s officer readers knew about these allegedly Zen-related anecdotes that his Western readers didn’t know (or perhaps more accurately, weren’t supposed to know).

In any event, when reading Suzuki’s repeated claims about the similarities between Zen and the Japanese, one is left to wonder whether it was Zen that shaped “the characteristics of the Japanese people” or, on the contrary, was it “the characteristics of the Japanese people” that shaped Zen? Or perhaps there was some mystical karmic connection that led both of them down the same path – a path in which to “rush forward without hesitation” and “cease discriminating thought” came to mean “one should abandon life and rush ahead”?

Furthermore, Suzuki is quite willing to privilege his fellow Japanese with a national character that almost inherently disposes them to Zen. For example, Suzuki claims “there are things about the Japanese character that are amazingly consistent with Zen.” That is to say, the Japanese people “rush forward to the heart of things without meandering about” and “go directly forward to that goal without looking either to the right or to the left.” In so doing they “forget where they are.”

If only in hindsight, in reading words like these, it is difficult not be reminded of the infamous and tactically futile “banzai charges” of the wartime Imperial Army let alone the tactics of kamikaze pilots and the manned torpedoes (kaiten) of the Imperial Navy.

Yet, is it fair to interpret Suzuki’s words as expressions of support for such suicidal acts?

One of Suzuki’s defenders who strongly opposes such an interpretation is Kemmyō Taira Satō, a Shin (True Pure Land) Buddhist priest who identifies himself as one of Suzuki’s postwar disciples. Satō writes: “Apart from his silence on Bushido after the early 1940s, Suzuki was active as an author during all of the war years, submitting to Buddhist journals numerous articles that conspicuously avoided mention of the ongoing conflict.” (Italics mine)

As further proof, Sato cites an article written by the noted Suzuki scholar Kirita Kiyohide:

During this [war] period one of the journals Suzuki contributed to frequently, Daijōzen [Mahayana Zen], fairly bristled with pro-militarist articles. In issues filled with essays proclaiming “Victory in the Holy War!” and bearing such titles as “Death Is the Last Battle,” “Certain Victory for Kamikaze and Torpedoes,” and “The Noble Sacrifice of a Hundred Million,” Suzuki continued with contributions on subjects like “Zen and Culture.”24


On the one hand, these statements inevitably raise the question of Suzuki’s attitude to Japan’s attack on the U.S. in December 1941. That is to say, what was it that caused Suzuki to stop writing about such war-related topics as bushidō in the early 1940s? Could it have been his opposition to war with the U.S. versus his earlier support for Japan’s full-scale invasion of China from 1937 onwards? Setting this topic aside for further exploration below, the question remains, inasmuch as Suzuki, at least in June 1941, affirmed such things as the acceptability of a dog’s, i.e., meaningless, death, and noted that “in undertaking any work one should be prepared to die” what basis would he have had for opposing such suicidal attacks?

Yet another of Chan’s deficiencies is that in China, Chan had been almost entirely bereft of a military connection. By contrast, it was only after Chan became Zen in Japan that it was linked to Zen-practicing warriors. In fact, Suzuki claims that from the Kamakura period onwards, all Japanese warriors practiced Zen. Suzuki makes this claim despite the fact that the greatest of all Japan’s medieval warriors, i.e., Tokugawa Ieyasu (1543-1616), was an adherent of the Pure Land sect (J. Jōdo-shū) Buddhism, not Zen. Suzuki also urges his readers to pay special attention to the fact that “Zen became united with the sword” only after its arrival in Japan.

For Suzuki it was such great medieval warlords as Hōjō Tokimune, Uesugi Kenshin (1530-78), and Takeda Shingen (1521-73) who demonstrated the impact the unity of Zen and the sword had on the subsequent development of Japan. It was their Zen training that allowed these men to “rush forward without hesitation” and “cease discriminating thought.” If, in the case of Hōjō Tokimune, it can be said that at least his was a defensive war against invading Mongols, the same cannot be said for such warlords as Uesugi and Takeda. They were responsible for the deaths of thousands of their enemies and their own forces, each one of them attempting to conquer Japan. Suzuki lumps these warlords together as exemplars of what can be accomplished with the proper mental attitude acquired through Zen training. Suzuki does not even hint at the possibility that in the massive carnage these warlords collectively reaped, the Buddhist precept against the taking of life might have been violated.

It is instructive here to compare Suzuki’s words with those of Japan’s most celebrated, Zen-trained “god of war” (gunshin) of the Asia-Pacific War. I refer to Lt. Col. Sugimoto Gorō, whose posthumous book, Taigi (Great Duty), first published in 1938, sold over a million copies, a far greater number than I first realized when writing Zen at War.

Sugimoto provided the following rationale for Zen’s importance to the Imperial military: “Through my practice of Zen I am able to get rid of my ego. In facilitating the accomplishment of this, Zen becomes, as it is, the true spirit of the Imperial military.”25 Suzuki was clearly in basic agreement with Sugimoto’s claim.

Suzuki argues that it isn’t sufficient to simply discard life and death. Instead, one should “live on the basis of something larger than life and death. That is to say, one must live on the basis of great affirmation.” But what did this “great affirmation” consist of? Suzuki fails to elaborate beyond stating that it is “faith that is great affirmation.” Yet, what should the object of one’s faith be?

Once again Suzuki remains silent on this critical question apart from stating that the way to encounter this great affirmation is to dig ever deeper to the bottom of one’s mind, digging until there is nothing left to dig. It was only then, he claims, that “one can, for the first time, encounter great affirmation.”
Suzuki admits, however, that this great affirmation is not a single entity but “takes on various forms for the peoples of every country.” Yet, what form does or should it take in a Japan that had invaded and was fighting a long and bitter war with China?

As in many other instances of his wartime writings, and as alluded to above, Suzuki maintains a studied ambiguity that makes it impossible to state with certainty what he was referring to. That said, it is clear that nothing in his article would have served to dissuade his readers from fulfilling, let alone questioning, their duties as Imperial Army officers or soldiers in China or elsewhere. Had there been the slightest question that anything Suzuki wrote might have negatively impacted Imperial Army officers who were to be of “one mind and body,” it is inconceivable that the editors of the Kaikō Association Report would have published it.

In asserting this, let me express my appreciation to Sueki Fumihiko, one of Japan’s leading historians of modern Japanese Buddhism. In an article entitled “Daisetsu hihan saikō” (Rethinking Criticisms of Daisetsu [Suzuki]), Sueki first presented the arguments made by some of Suzuki’s most prominent defenders, namely, that when some of Suzuki’s wartime writings are closely parsed it is possible to interpret them as containing criticisms of the Imperial Army’s recklessness as well as its abuse of the alleged magnanimity and compassion of the true bushidō spirit. Further, Sueki acknowledges, as do I, that in the days leading up to Japan’s attack on Pearl Harbor Suzuki opposed war with the U.S. Nevertheless, Sueki came to the following conclusion: “When we frankly accept Suzuki’s words at face value, we must also consider how, in the midst of the [war] situation as it was then, his words would have been understood.”26

As for Suzuki’s opposition to war with the U.S., it is significant that his one and only public warning did not come until September 1941, i.e., only three months before Pearl Harbor. The unlikely occasion was a guest lecture Suzuki delivered at Kyoto University entitled “Zen and Japanese Culture.” Upon finishing his lecture, Suzuki initially stepped down from the podium but then returned to add:

Japan must evaluate more calmly and accurately the awesome reality of America’s industrial productivity. Present-day wars will no longer be determined as in the past by military strategy and tactics, courage and fearlessness alone. This is because of the large role now played by production capacity and mechanical power. 27


As his words clearly reveal, Suzuki’s opposition to the approaching war with the U.S. had nothing to do with his Buddhist faith or a commitment to peace. Rather, having lived in America for more than a decade, Suzuki knew only too well that Japan was no match for such a large and powerful industrial nation. In short, Suzuki’s words might best be described as a statement of “common sense” though by 1941 this was clearly a commodity in short supply in Japan.

Be that as it may, when we ask how Suzuki’s Imperial Army officer readers would have interpreted the “great affirmation” he referred to, there can be no doubt they would have understood this to be an affirmation, if not an exhortation, for total loyalty unto death to an emperor who was held to be the divine embodiment of the state. The following calligraphic statement, displayed prominently in every Imperial Army barracks, testified to this: “We are the arms and legs of the emperor.” Due to its ubiquitous nature, Suzuki could not help but have been aware of this “affirmation.” Thus, whatever Suzuki’s personal opinion may have been, he would have been well aware that his officer readers would understand his words to mean absolute loyalty to the emperor.

Nevertheless, it is noteworthy that in one important aspect Suzuki did part way with other wartime Zen enthusiasts, for not withstanding his emphasis on “great affirmation,” Suzuki does not explicitly link Zen to the emperor. Compare this absence to the previously introduced Lt. Col. Sugimoto who wrote: “The reason that Zen is important for soldiers is that all Japanese, especially soldiers, must live in the spirit of the unity of sovereign and subjects, eliminating their ego and getting rid of their self. It is exactly the awakening to the nothingness (mu) of Zen that is the fundamental spirit of the unity of sovereign and subjects.”28

By not engaging in emperor adulation in his wartime writings, Suzuki was unique among his Zen contemporaries. Yet this does not mean that he either opposed the emperor system per se or lacked respect for the emperor. This is revealed by the following statement Suzuki made to Gerhard Rosenkrantz, a German missionary visiting Japan in 1939, in the library of Otani University:

We Buddhists bow in front of the emperor’s image, but for us this is not a religious act. The emperor is not a god because for Buddhists a [Shinto] god can be something very low. We see the emperor in an area high above all religions. Trying to make him a god today means a reduction in the status of the emperor. This brings confusion to Buddhism, Shinto and Christianity.29


Thus, even while denying the emperor’s divinity, Suzuki nevertheless justified bowing to the emperor’s image inasmuch he was a personage “in an area high above all religions.”

Nor should it be forgotten that Suzuki’s article was not written exclusively on behalf of Imperial Army officers alone. As previously noted, a key responsibility of the officer corps was to provide “spiritual education” for their soldiers. Thus, they were in constant need of additional historical examples of the attitude that all Imperial subjects, starting with Imperial soldiers, were expected to possess, i.e., an unquestioning, unhesitant and unthinking willingness to die in the war effort. Suzuki’s writings clearly contributed to this effort though it is, of course, impossible to quantify the impact his writings had.

Conclusion

Let me begin this section in something of an unusual manner, i.e., by offering a “defense” of what Suzuki has written in this and similar articles dealing with warriors, bushidō, and the alleged unity of Zen and the sword. That said, while a genuine defense is offered, it is one that nevertheless has a “hook in the tail.”

My contention is that Suzuki should not be blamed for having distorted or mischaracterized Zen history or practice, especially in Japan, to make it a useful tool in the hands of Japanese militarists. That is to say, on the one hand Suzuki can and should be held responsible for the purely nationalistic elements in his writings, including collaboration in the modern fabrication of an ancient and unified bushidō tradition with Zen as its core. Yet, on the other hand, the seven hundred year long history of the close relationship between Zen and the warrior class, hence Zen and the sword, was most definitely not a Suzuki fabrication. There are simply too many historical records of this close relationship to claim that Suzuki simply invented the relationship out of whole cloth.

Thus, Suzuki might best be described as a skilled, modern day, nationalistic proponent of that close relationship in the deadly context of Japan’s invasion of China. Further, in his English writings, Suzuki did his best to convince gullible Westerners that the so-called “unity of Zen and the sword” he described was an authentic expression of Buddhist teachings. In this effort, it must be said, Suzuki has been, at least until recently, eminently successful.

Some Suzuki scholars attempt to defend the most egregious aspects of Suzuki’s nationalist and wartime writings by pointing out that he may have been coerced into writing them by the then totalitarian state. Certainly, there can be no doubt that Suzuki wrote in an era of intense governmental censorship, with authorities ever vigilant against the slightest ideological deviancy. Nevertheless, the most striking features of Suzuki’s substantive wartime writings are, first of all, that they were never censored, and, secondly, their consistency with his earlier writings, dating back to 1896. That is to say, over a span of forty-five years Suzuki repeatedly yoked religion, Buddhism and Zen to the Japanese soldiers’ willingness to die. Certainly no one would claim that Suzuki was writing under fear of government censorship or imprisonment in 1896.

Where Suzuki did break with the past close relationship of Zen to the warrior class was in transmuting this feudal relationship into one encompassing Zen and the modern Japanese state albeit not specifically with the personage of the emperor. It is in having done this that he can rightly be identified as a “Zen nationalist.”30 Needless to say, he was only one of many such Zen leaders, and when compared with the likes of Yasutani Haku’un, Suzuki was clearly less extreme.31

When we inquire as to the cause or reason for the close relationship between Zen, violence, and the modern state that Suzuki promoted, the answer is not hard to find. In his book, Buddhism without Beliefs, Stephan Bachelor [Stephen Batchelor] provides the following explanation regarding not just Zen but all faiths, i.e., "the power of organized religion to provide sovereign states with a bulwark of moral legitimacy. . .”32 To which I would add in this instance, the power of Zen training to mentally prepare warriors/soldiers to both kill and be killed. Or as Suzuki would have it, to “passively sustain” them on the battlefield.

Having said this, I would ask readers to reflect on the historical relationship of their own faith, should they have one, to the state, and state-initiated violence. Was Batchelor correct in his observation with regard to the reader’s faith? That is to say, have not all of the world’s major religions, like Buddhism, provided moral legitimacy for the state’s use of violence? Is Buddhism unique in having done this or only one further example of Chicago University Martin Marty’s insightful comment that “one must note the feature of religion that keeps it on the front page and on prime time -- it kills”?33

To answer yes to any of these questions is not to excuse, let alone justify, Zen or any other school of Buddhism’s moral lapses in this or any instance. Yet, it does suggest the enormity of the problem facing all faiths if they are to remain true to their tenets, all of which number love and compassion among their highest ideals. At the end of his life Buddha Shakyamuni is recorded as having urged his followers to “work out your salvation with diligence.” In the face of continuing, if not increasing, religious violence in today’s world, is his advice any less relevant to all who, if only in terms of their own faith, seek to create a religion truly dedicated to world peace and our shared humanity?

Brian Daizen Victoria is a Visiting Research Fellow, International Research Center for Japanese Studies (Nichibunken) in Kyoto, Japan.
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