道元論 2On Dogen, Part 2
In yesterday’s discourse, we observed the profound landscape inhabited by Dogen (1200–1253)—the progenitor of the Soto school, the largest sect of Zen Buddhism in Japan. We examined his resolve to navigate the tribulations of the early thirteenth century, a period when the very structures of governance were undergoing a total upheaval, and we sought to understand where he searched for his ultimate answers. When one gains insight into a single life, history reveals far more than the eye initially perceives; for me, this process is nothing less than a dialogue with history.
In the Japan of that era, the aristocratic system that had wielded actual power since the capital moved to Kyoto in 794 had reached a state of total collapse. It was a time that saw the dramatic ascent of the bushi—the warriors—who until then had been merely tasked with guarding the nobility or suppressing provincial unrest to ensure it did not disturb the peace of the Kyoto court. To those caught within the swell of a particular epoch, its hegemony may feel absolute. Yet, any system, no matter how seemingly immutable, inevitably meets a sudden end. Thus, hegemony shifted from the aristocrat to the warrior, and Dogen lived through this precarious transition as a new age began to take form.
Dogen, born of the most influential aristocratic lineage in Kyoto, perceived that the capital no longer offered any hope or future. To understand the state of his heart is to confront a question that strikes deep into the lives of those of us living today: the presence of one’s motherland.
When reflecting upon history, I find myself most deeply moved by the lives of those who hold a sincere heart for their motherland. Of course, the history of any nation or people is a rhythmic repetition of prosperity and decline. Consequently, no matter how much one loves their country, the real is often a landscape of immense desolation and extreme corruption—a world so ravaged it becomes difficult to behold. Today, the current state of Japan is indeed difficult to witness, yet what is vital is that we cannot use this as a justification for the folly of abandoning one’s motherland.
This remains unchanged, whether in the past or the present. In any age, I hold a profound reverence for those who possess a love for the country of their birth and who endure through difficult times. The specific nation does not matter. For that individual, it is their motherland, and there is no other. Thus, no one, regardless of their origin, should be able to criticize or negate that bond. And yet, the world is rife with the casual criticism and negation of the motherlands of others; it has become a form of performance. If we continue in this manner, it is clear to any observer that we will plunge into a large-scale global conflict that will bring about a ruin far greater than that of the Second World War.
To thoughtlessly justify one’s own motherland is merely ideology; it is not the pure devotion that comes from sincerely caring for one's country. The two are entirely distinct, yet this distinction has become invisible to modern man. It is a most dire situation, but this motherland-as-ideology has proliferated today, manifesting in various places as a wretched spectacle. Consequently, those with a truly pure heart for their country likely harbor complex emotions and gaze upon it with a profound sense of grief.
I believe the motherland is our origin, our place. Therefore, I hold the conviction that thoughtless discourse regarding the motherland leads to no path other than destruction. Origin is the source of life that nurtures and cultivates our hearts, acting as the subject—the place—that takes up the entirety of history.
Today, every nation is superficially extreme in its corruption, and those who govern live only for their private desires. Because rulers live openly and shamelessly for themselves, the citizens who observe them day and night through the media also live by their own private desires. In this way, society becomes clouded and defiled by the contagion of self-interest. Those with a voice in society—perhaps they are in a state of slumber—continue only to look at the problems occurring on the surface. They do not pull up the root of this pollution; they do not seal the source.
The longer such meaningless international debates persist, the more we fall into a state where no solution is possible. The fundamental problem is the fact that we moderns have reached a point where solving the world's problems—especially concerning nature—is no longer possible. Yet, for some reason, we refuse to accept this, presenting a graceless spectacle of debating methods of solution even now. That era has already ended; these were problems that should have been resolved by the late twentieth century. In other words, whatever is debated now is meaningless. However, we must be wary of how this meaninglessness has been transposed to appear meaningful, and how doing nothing has been transposed to appear as doing something. In this current state, such inverse reactions are occurring in every direction. The result of this inversion is, to put it bluntly, the arrival of an age where the foolish, the ignorant, and the thoughtless hold the power of speech.
For me, the motherland is Japan; for each reader, it will be different. Yet, as I gaze upon the image of a motherland that repeatedly commits such insolent and absurd follies, one thought strikes me with great force: we must not equate the motherland with the government. At a glance, the government reigns as the representative of the motherland, and indeed, the modern world perceives it as such. But the motherland and the government are entirely different. It is precisely because this perspective is overlooked that our view of a country falls into arbitrariness. If an arbitrary gaze is the premise, one will inevitably misread the real. It is because such misreadings of the real have erupted day and night across the globe that we have entered a century without answers. The cause is arrogance. And in most cases, modern politics is conducted by ignorant people who do not understand this conflation.
In my motherland, for instance, the global propaganda claiming that Japan is shifting to the right is a typical example. In reality, it is not that the Japanese people are shifting to the right, but rather a segment of self-interested politicians who have seized power. Yet, this is clamored about as being synonymous with Japan’s rightward shift. This folly is scattered about endlessly every day, but it is a simple falsehood. However, for the majority of people who do not know the real through their daily senses, this falsehood is often inverted and accepted as fact (though this differs in meaning from fake news).
Against this new image of the motherland, fabricated through the conflation of the state and the government, we must maintain a distance and reflect with composure. Only then can we see the importance of discerning limits. I believe that knowing one's limits is the most vital task in a human life. By knowing these limits, the resources of labor one pours into a short life become remarkably clear.
For example, when one attempts to break through the current state of the motherland, most people ignore the premise of considering these limits. They enter through mere emotionalism; thus, even if short-term results are achieved, things will never go well in the medium to long term. Knowing one’s limits is not a negative thing; rather, it is the objectivity of objectivity—a minimum required skill for the modern age.
To discern the current state of the motherland and to know its limits beforehand: everything begins here. If this is the premise, one will likely realize that in almost every nation today, nothing we do now will lead to the possibility of a better future. The problem lies here.
Inevitably, humans wish to leave some mark of achievement or merit during their short lives, or they wish to see a transformation that awakens them from their grief. But that is private desire. This attitude, which at first glance makes one appear to be a person of conscience, is in fact a form of self-interest. Because this is not seen through, the fact that such an attitude itself is depriving the future of its potential is ignored. As the decline of the motherland and the world progresses, this tendency becomes more pronounced. With the appearance of a vast number of people who do not realize their private desires are private desires, the speed of decline accelerates. In truth, accelerationism is caused by the emergence of these people who appear to be good. These are people who do not know the good, and do not even attempt to know it, yet they gain the opportunity to speak in a world that has lost its way, rising to power by speaking of a good they do not understand.
Conversely, if one knows the limits, the possibilities of the future come into view. In this moment, history becomes of supreme importance. When one realizes the limits of the motherland, the significance of re-examining its history comprehensively finally heightens. By continuing to contemplate that history over many years, one can form a prediction of how much time must pass before the motherland’s grief is lifted. This is because the history of a nation or a people repeats itself, each having its own specific cycle.
Once that is discerned, one can visualize where they stand in relation to the great cycle. From this, one can see how many years it will take for the better future we envision to be realized. Based on this, most people will realize that they will not see the motherland or the world reach a better state within their own lifetime. Regarding the future of Japan, for example, if I assume I will die at the average age of eighty, I will pass away around the year 2070—just as the trend toward revival begins. I will end my life at the very threshold of the day when the faces of the Japanese people shine brightly once again. In other words, almost the entirety of my remaining life is positioned within the upheaval of Japan’s collapse and rebirth.
A few years ago, through frequent discussions with those of a slightly older generation (about seven years my senior), I saw something clearly: when people realize they will not witness the revival of their motherland with their own eyes, most of them give up. This is the true problem. I ask: why abandon the future simply because you cannot see it yourself? Since the beginning of the pandemic, this has become a serious theme for me, and I have traveled to various places to observe the movements of this slightly older generation. I did so because, just as they reached the age of forty, I witnessed them suddenly and casually abandon the will they had held to create a better future. This was a shock to me, and I found it mysterious that they would move in such a direction.
Now, three or four years later, I have come to a realization: they gave up because they are looking only through a narrow window of time. If one can see only the eighty years or so of their own life, they lack the power to see from a macroscopic perspective of hundreds or thousands of years. Indeed, this is not limited to that generation; in speaking with people of all ages, I find no one who considers their life from such a vantage point. Thus, everyone gives up. However, if we do not realize that what we think and do today continues to create the future hundreds or thousands of years from now, then I do not know for what purpose a human being is born.
To be honest, whether humanity is extinguished by a third world war, a meteorite, or AI, it shouldn't really matter. What is truly important is that each individual capable of living with a macroscopic perspective possesses the self-awareness that every single thing they think and do now continues to create the future for centuries and millennia to come.
In that moment, even if one understands the end of their motherland, they understand it as merely the end of one system within a narrow axis of time. Modern people are quick to cry out about the end of the world or the end of humanity, eager to perform a tragedy. But what kind of indulgence is this? Ultimately, such an end signifies only the end of one absolute system. The world does not end, nor does humanity. It is merely the vanity of those clinging to the relics of the past that were once considered absolute. This is precisely why, now that a seemingly absolute system is crumbling and its collapse is accelerating, many situations arise where we must leave our motherland because we care for it.
However, I believe the problem lies in the aspiration one holds when leaving.
One might leave a motherland that is currently beyond hope to seek the next possibility in another land. But the question is whether one possesses the resolve to return when the time is ripe and to dedicate every skill they have acquired to their motherland. Whether or not people possess this resolve is what decides the future of a nation in the true sense. Whether it is prosperous now does not matter. The archaic perspective that can only see a nation’s prosperity through economic indicators is irrelevant. Arguments that India is next or Africa is next are nothing more than the observation that the same cycle of prosperity and decline experienced by developed nations has begun elsewhere with a time lag. Such views are useless for knowing the true future of a nation.
The true future of a country is always shown by its people. How many people are there who hold the resolve I mentioned, who wait for the time to ripen and prepare themselves in silence for their motherland? And what kind of person is each of them? Honestly, the future of a nation or a people is likely nothing more than this; the same applies to the future of the world. From this viewpoint, Japan can be called a representative country with a global advantage. Even looking historically, one can see the accumulation of such actions everywhere. Unlike the continents, which have experienced the blending of different peoples and religions, the adjustment of power dynamics, and a history of constantly changing rulers, the Japanese may be a people with a naturally strong devotion to their motherland, born from a unique characteristic of being able to maintain a relatively stable origin.
However, the patriotism of modern Japanese people is a completely distorted ideology, nothing more than mere exclusionism. Yet, in any age, it can be said that the Japanese are those among whom a few people of heart hold the resolve to give their all for the motherland when the time is ripe. There are countless such examples in history, but the reason I am moved by Dogen, as I wrote yesterday, is precisely this point.
As we traced in yesterday’s article, Dogen was a man who truly cared for his motherland. He recognized the limits in the end of Kyoto, which was the capital then, and immediately crossed over to the Song dynasty to seek possibilities. Though he returned to Japan to continue his work, the corruption of Kyoto was so wretched that he moved to Echizen and established Eihei-ji. These movements of Dogen were not an escape. He was a rare individual who seriously considered what he could do for the future of his motherland and executed it throughout his life.
I mentioned this recently when touching upon the Edo period Confucian scholar Miwa Shissai. He, too, knew that Yangmingism would not spread during his own lifetime. Yet, he acted out of a thorough knowledge of the limits: that if he did not build the foundation of Yangmingism for the future, the future of Japan would collapse. The same can be said for Oshio Chusai, of whom I wrote last month. Generally, knowing one’s limits is called setback or failure, but in truth, knowing limits is not a setback; it is the greatest weapon for knowing true possibility. Those who do not know their limits will inevitably conclude in a foolish future. By placing blind faith in rightward-tilting growth, they will, before they know it, allow their lives to be dominated by private desire.
So, how did Dogen live when, while caring for his motherland, he realized its hopeless limits? The greatest wall he faced was the problem surrounding the Pure Land/Jodo [浄土].