Zen at War, War in Zen

Any discussion on this blog about the relationship between Zen and war would immediately call into question the title of this blog: "Jewish Samurai." I have never really explained the meaning behind it and I don't intend to.

Sufficed to say, identities like "Jewish" and "Samurai," and even "Zen" are problematic because none of these points directly at our true nature. Our true nature, whatever it is or isn't, cannot be touched by words.

Nevertheless, I do not wish to deny my Jewish upbringing and the karmic causes and conditions which arose from that experience. Nor do I wish to deny the history of the Samurai's (and other forms of militant nationalism) influence on Japanese Zen which unfortunately found expression in World War II. Ultimately, as my ancestors were being killed in the camps of Europe, many leaders within the Zen community were complicit in the rhetoric which enabled the war. Worse still, they twisted the Zen teachings to make the act of war look like the ultimate path for self-realization.

It is said in our circles with excessive pride and self-congratulation that there has never been a Buddhist war. Not necessarily so.

The most comprehensive treatment of this issue can be found in Brian Victoria's excellent Zen at War and this is the most subtly helpful book I've read since Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind. If we want to practice the Zen way, we must not look away at anything... especially shadow aspects.

When I sit with this issue, I think the most disturbing and challenging manifestation of this history is found in Sogaku Roshi's and Yasutani Roshi's views--two very prominent Japanese Zen masters whose teachings had a profound affect on the development of Zen in America. They were also rabid warmongers.

Here are some examples of what they said during the war:

• "[If ordered to] march: tramp tramp, or shoot: bang, bang. This is the manifestation of the highest Wisdom. The unity of Zen and war of which I speak extends to the farthest reaches of the holy war [the Japanese invasion of China]." (--Daiun Sogaku Harada, 1939)
  

• "[The Spirit of Japan] is the essence of the Truth. The Japanese people are a chosen people whose mission is to control the world. The sword that kills is also the sword that gives life. Comments opposing the war are the foolish opinions of those who can only see one aspect of things and not the whole."(--Hakuun Yasutani, date unknown)

• "[Battlefield loyalty, marching and shooting is the] highest wisdom of enlightenment." [This is] "combat zazen, the king of meditation." (--Hakuun Yasutani, date unknown)

On the one hand, this is not Zen. Plain and simple.

On the other hand, this is Zen. Not so plain and simple.

Perhaps the most delicate idea I'll put foreword here is that I think what they said during the period has a kernel of internal consistency with Zen ways... Of course, their teachings' nationalist application was misguided in the extreme and utterly lacking compassion.

The Buddhist way has been exemplified time and again (most recently in Vietnam and Tibet) as a path of non-violence. In the end of the day, the Buddha's objective can be summed up as: "the cessation of suffering." As such, the Japanese roshis rather should have sat, meditated, and allowed themselves to be shot by the emperor for being anti-war, than generate more suffering in the world.

But underneath these teachers' political wrongheadedness, I do detect a "great zeal" (essential for practice along with "great faith" and "great doubt") which contemporary students might reject wholecloth at our peril in favor of an overly-tame Zen. Maybe.

How this form of "great zeal" finds expression in practice is a koan.

Well, for one thing, as a Western student, I'm deeply indebted to zealous Japanese teachings of forbearance (bordering on soldierly discipline). Despite their apparent lack of compassion, the Samurai were undeniably concentrated and devoted. This spirit is immensely helpful in and out of the zendo.

And, I must admit, my practice gets considerable "mileage" when I learn from Japanese "martial" disciplines like Aikido. It is just the nature of this activity to be a radically conducive field for cultivating mushin (no mind), shoshin (beginner mind), and fudoshin (equanimity mind).

Zen is a perspective which extends to all activity. Indeed, Zen is activity. But it is not nihilistic. All activity is interconnected with all beings. In this there is radical freedom and radical responsibility. This paradox is Zen. We can never have an un-Zen moment.

So, with this in mind, one can detect the whiff of the dharma hovering about these serious "mistakes" of the Japanese roshis (no less than the surprising degree and number of sexual scandals in American Zen). By swinging off so thoroughly to the extremes, they show us the Middle Way. And, indeed, I'm writing this post in the spirit of looking for equilibrium having benefited from their karma.

Zen mistakes are fertile ground for recuperative teachings. Recuperative teachings are possible when we study the self. Awakening to this realization is the practice of Zen.

I think this is a strength of the tradition. We're forever balancing, not denying.

In the end of the day, the Soto sect did issue a very strong "Statement of Repentance" in 1992 about the war. And American Zen institutions have dealt directly with the question of sexual misconduct. Neither issue has been solved at all because balance is never achieved. But I think there is wholehearted effort being made.

Apropos, I was struck by something that Karen Maezen Miller said in an interview about her book Momma Zen: Walking the Crooked Path of Motherhood.

She was asked:

How does your training affect the way you deal with the inevitable meltdown moments of parenting? Can you tell us about a not-so-Zen moment and what you learned from it?

She answered:

Most people think Zen is some kind of altered state; something way different than ordinary. But zen is always exactly you: where you are and as you are. So none of us ever has a not-so-Zen moment. It’s just that some moments aren’t very pretty. When that happens, when I lose it (and I lose it all the time), my meditation training helps me to see it! Namely, I can see that I’m slamming doors, screaming, throwing stuffed animals, scaring small children and making a menace of myself. And once I see it, I know the way to recover. Just stop doing that stuff and apologize. I don’t get into trouble any less than anyone else; I just might get out of it a little quicker.

WELCOME BACK, GRACE!

Dear Grace,

I wanted to express the happiness I felt when I found out you had returned to the zendo.

I also wanted to share my heartfelt gratitude to be able to follow your progress in a most unique way: the SFZC podcasts. Over the past year, Fu and many others have incorporated their love for you into their dharma talks.

Actually, their love was the driving engine of their talks. And this was so palpable and moving... even through the distant medium of an iPod. In particular, I can only imagine how the force of Fu's heart was received up close. I have no doubt that it was as great a help to the sangha's practice as it was to mine.

In this way, the events of your life have literally become teachings.

May you be happy and healthy and may you continue to be a refuge for such profoundly inspiring people.

Deep Gassho!

Kafka On The Introvert's Dilemma

I just read Kafka (excerpted below) on the challenge of solitary living. Ouch.

"Summary of all the arguments for and against my marriage"
(--from Kafka's diary, c. 1912)

1. Inability to endure life alone, which does not imply inability to live, quite the contrary, it is even improbable that I know how to live with anyone, but I am incapable, alone, of bearing the assault of my own life, the demands of my own person, the attacks of time and old age, the vague pressure of the desire to write, sleeplessness, the nearness of insanity—I cannot bear all this alone. I naturally add a “perhaps” to this. The connection with F. will give my existence more strength to resist.

2. Everything immediately gives me pause. Every joke in the comic paper, what I remember about Flaubert and Grillparzer, the sight of the nightshirts on my parents' beds, laid out for the night, Max’s marriage. Yesterday my sister said, “All the married people (that we know) are happy, I don't understand it,” this remark too gave me pause, I became afraid again.

3. I must be alone a great deal. What I accomplished was only the result of being alone.

4. I hate everything that does not relate to literature, conversations bore me (even if they relate to literature), to visit people bores me, the sorrows and joys of my relatives bore me to my soul. Conversations take the importance, the seriousness, the truth of everything I think.

5. The fear of the connection, of passing into the other. Then I'll never be alone again.

6. In the past, especially, the person I am in the company of my sisters has been entirely different from the person I am in the company of other people. Fearless, powerful, surprising, moved as I otherwise am only when I write. If through the intermediation of my wife I could be like that in the presence of everyone! But then would it not be at the expense of my writing? Not that, not that!

7. Alone, I could perhaps some day really give up my job. Married, it will never be possible.

This Blog's One Year Anniversary

Zen is a tricky business. One finds that there is a diminishing desire to write too much.

Rather than commemorating one year of blogging about "spiritual progress" with platitudes, I thought I'd post some videos about going up and towards mountains.





PS "The only Zen you find on mountains is the Zen you bring up there."