THANKS to the seminal work of teachers such as Daisetsu Teitaro Suzuki (1870-1966), Christmas Humphries (1901-1983), Philip Kapleau (1912-2004) and Alan Watts (1915-1973), the ideas and practices of Zen Buddhism first began appearing in the West during the first half of the twentieth century. As Evola himself notes:

We know the kind of interest Zen has evoked even outside specialized disciplines, since being popularized in the west by D.T. Suzuki through his books Introduction to Zen Buddhism and Essays in Zen Buddhism. This popular interest is due to the paradoxical encounter between East and West. The ailing West perceives that Zen has something “existential” and surrealistic to offer. Zen’s notion of a spiritual realization, free from any faith and any bond, not to mention the mirage of an instantaneous and somehow gratuitous “spiritual break-through”, has exercised a fascinating attraction on many Westerners. However, this is true, for the most part, only superficially. There is a considerable difference between the spiritual dimension of the “philosophy of crisis”, which has become popular in the West as a consequence of its materialistic and nihilist development, and the spiritual dimension of Zen, which has been rooted in the spirituality of the Buddhist tradition.[1]

As far as the Italian was concerned, any truly authentic engagement with Zen must involve the kind of “metanoia” that results in the profound transformation of the individual. In the present age, when traditional values are regularly perverted by the so-called New Age movement, Eastern disciplines such as Zen and Yoga frequently degenerate into self-help or fitness programmes for the most vain and pretentious.

As Evola contuinues:

Zen was a secret doctrine and not to be found in scriptures. It was passed on by the Buddha to his disciple Mahakassapa. This secret doctrine was introduced in China around the sixth century C.E. By Bodhidharma. The canon was transmitted in China and Japan through a succession on teachers and “patriarchs”. In Japan it is a living tradition and has many advocates and numerous Zendos (”Halls of Meditation”).[2]

Far from being a shallow fad in the eyes of the modern Westerner, Zen is connected to the early Buddhism of Ancient India and was a direct response to its gradual decline. In the same way, early Buddhism had itself sought to correct the dwindling values of Hinduism’s priestly caste. In his 1941 work, The Doctrine of Awakening: The Attainment of Self-Mastery According to the Earliest Buddhist Texts, Evola tells us that the

decadence of Buddhism was inevitable once it began to spread: for the Ariya Doctrine of Awakening is closer than any other to a path of initiation that may be understood and trodden only by the few in whom, together with exceptional strength, there is present a lively aspiration for the unconditioned. And even racial and caste influences played their part: not for nothing have we insisted on the “Aryan” quality of the doctrine under discussion. Frontiers to comprehension exist in the normal way, and they are conditioned by the race of spirit and, in part, by the body itself. As soon as Buddhism was adopted by the masses and not only passed to levels where foreign influences survived or were rearoused, but spread even to peoples of notably different stock, changes and alterations became inevitable.[3]

With the appearance of Siddhartha Gautama in either the sixth or fifth century B.C., a famous nomadic teacher who is more commonly known to us as the Buddha, the peoples of South Asia were presented with a form of self-awakening that no longer relied on the help of religious middle-men. At the same time, prior to the enlightenment that he experienced as he sat beneath the Bodhi tree the Buddha had visited no less than fifty-three spiritual teachers. Although Buddhists have no need for human intervention in the way that a priest might act as an intermediary between the Christian worshipper and his God, they are still keen to learn from mature and experienced practitioners of the discipline. Ultimately, Gautama had advised his companions to “be ye lamps unto yourselves” and “seek salvation in the truth alone”. What he preached was nothing other than the awakening of the autonomous self.

As far as the actual details of his own enlightenment are concerned, the Buddha

was silent about the content of his experience, since he wanted to discourage people from assigning to speculation and philosophizing primacy over action. Therefore, unlike his predecessors, he did not talk about Brahman (the absolute), or about Atman (the transcendental Self), but only employed the term nirvana, at the risk of being misunderstood.[4]

Unfortunately, however, this new approach led to a great deal of misunderstanding on the part of those who came into contact with the Buddha’s teachings:

Some, in fact, thought, in their lack of understanding, that nirvana was to be identified with the notion of “nothingness”, an ineffable and evanescent transcendence, almost bordering on the limits of the unconscious and of a state of unaware non-being. So, in a further development of Buddhism, what occurred again, mutatis mutandi, was exactly the situation against which Buddha had reacted; Buddhism became a religion, complete with dogmas, rituals, scholasticism and mythology. It eventually became differentiated into two schools: Mahayana and Hinayana. The former was more grandiose in metaphysics and Mahayana eventually grew complacent with its abstruse symbolism. The teachings of the latter school were more strict and to the point, and yet too concerned about the mere moral discipline which became increasingly monastic. Thus the essential and original nucleus, namely the esoteric doctrine of the enlightenment, was almost lost.[5]

It was at this crucial juncture that Zen – having been forged in China under the guidance of the Chan School (禪宗) of the Tang dynasty and then exported to Vietnam, Korea and Japan – first tried to correct the multifarious errors into which Buddhism was rapidly beginning to descend. Its solution to this early age of dissolution and decay was satori:

Satori is a fundamental inner event, a sudden existential breakthrough, corresponding in essence to what I have called the “awakening”. But this formulation was new and original and it constituted a radical change in approach. Nirvana, which had been variously considered as the alleged Nothingness, as extinction, and as the final end result of an effort aimed at obtaining liberation (which according to some may require more than one lifetime), now came to be considered as the normal human condition. By these lights, every person has the nature of Buddha and every person is already liberated, and therefore, situated above and beyond birth and death. It is only necessary to become aware of it, to realize it, to see within one’s nature, according to Zen’s main expression.[6]

Satori is a sudden awakening that far outweighs all other forms of consciousness in the sense that it not only takes place within consciousness itself but presents the individual with a form of enlightenment that makes one aware of true reality. As Evola suggests, satori

is what leads one back to what, in a higher sense, should be considered as normal and natural; thus, it is the exact opposite of an ecstasis, or trance. It is the rediscovery and the appropriation of one’s true nature: it is the enlightenment which draws out of ignorance or out of the subconscious the deep reality of what was and will always be, regardless of one’s condition in life. The consequence of satori is a completely new way to look at the world and at life. To those who have experienced it, everything is the same (things, other beings, one’s self, “heaven, the rivers and the vast earth”), and yet everything is fundamentally different. It is as if a new dimension was added to reality, transforming the meaning and value.[7]

More importantly, satori ultimately dismantles the artificial subject-object dichotomy and heralds the

overcoming of every dualism: of the inner and outer; the I and not I; of finitude and infinity; being and not-being; appearance and reality; “empty” and “full”; substance and accidents. Another characteristic is that any value posed by the finite and confused consciousness of the individual, is no longer discernible. And thus, the liberated and the non-liberated, the enlightened and the non-enlightened, are yet one and same thing. Zen effectively perpetuates the paradoxical equation of Mahayana Buddhism, nirvana-samsara, and the Taoist saying “the return is infinitely far”. It is as if Zen said: liberation should not be looked for in the next world; the very world is the next world; it is liberation and it does not need to be liberated. This is the point of view of satori, of perfect enlightenment, of “transcendent wisdom” (prajnaparamita).[8]

Having long perceived itself as something that is wholly inviolable, not to mention fundamentally separate from the outside world, the frudulent “self” that one constantly seeks to justify in the course of one’s everyday life quickly evaporates amid the sudden realisation that transforms it – such as “it” is, or ever was – into a “non-self” or “not-I”:

This being eventually comes to enjoy a perfect freedom and incoercibility. He is like the wind, which blows where it wills, and like a naked being which is everything after “letting go” abandons everything, embracing poverty.[9]

This is not to suggest that enlightenment is the be-all and end-all of human existence, of course, or that it is a once-in-a-lifetime event. Indeed, the transition from the narrow ego-self to the fullness of absolute reality must be continually sustained.

Despite the fact that D.T. Suzuki had such an immense influence upon the arrival of Zen in the West, Evola takes the Japanese scholar to task as a result of having questioned the

techniques used in Hindu schools such as Samkhya and Yoga. These techniques were also contemplated in early Buddhist texts. Suzuki employed the simile of water, which in a moment turns into ice. He also used the simile of an alarm, which, as a consequence of some vibration, suddenly goes off. There are no disciplines, techniques or efforts, according to Suzuki, which by themselves may lead one to satori. On the contrary, it is claimed that satori often occurs spontaneously, when one has exhausted all the resources of his being, especially the intellect and logical faculty of understanding. In some cases satori is said to be facilitated by violent sensations and even by physical pain. Its cause may be the mere perception of an object as well as any event in ordinary life, provided a certain latent predisposition exists in the subject.[10]

Despite this, Evola believed that Suzuki contradicted himself by suggesting elsewhere that the path to satori must involve “a true baptism of fire”. After all, it is certainly a fact that Zen monks endure life in a deeply ascetic fashion and often in the most harsh and inaccessible of locations.

Above all, it is the endless hours of long meditation which demand the most from those who adopt the way of Zen and this dedicated practice can lead to the most intense and overwhelming of results:

The essence of Zen seems to consist in a maturation process, identical to the one in which one almost reaches a state of an acute existential instability. At that point, the slightest push is sufficient to produce a change of state, a spiritual breakthrough, the opening which leads to the “intuitive vision of one’s nature”. The Masters know the moment in which the mind of the disciple is mature and ready to open up; it is then that they eventually give the final. Decisive push. This push may sometimes consist of a simple gesture, an exclamation, in something apparently irrelevant, or even illogical and absurd. This suffices to induce the collapse of the false notion of individuality. Thus, satori replaces this notion with the “normal state”, and one assumes the “original face, which one had before creation”. One no longer “chases after echoes” and “shadows”.[11]

Other psychological methods used to bypass the rigorous censor of the mind include both the koan riddle and the mondo dialogue:

The disciple is confronted with a saying or with questions which are paradoxical, absurd and sometimes even grotesque and “surrealistic”. He must labour with his mind, if necessary for years, until he has reached the extreme limit of all his normal faculties of comprehension. Then, if he dares proceed further on that road he may find catastrophe, but if he can turn the situation upside down, he may achieve metanoia. This is the point where satori is usually achieved.[12]

Furthermore, the personal development of the individual may even be assisted by external forces such as a particular sound, the benevolent tap of the keisaku stick during meditation or more extreme methods such as being ignored or struck in the face:

The Zen texts are rich in anecdotes where the impulse to know intellectually is cut off by an answer that is entirely out of key, or by a brusque action by the master; they are answers or actions, however, that sometimes act in a mature spirit as a catharsis. They may suddenly confront you with an empty chasm into which you must jump, leaving everything behind: your self, your own mind, your theories, even your own preoccupation with liberation. A man. wishing to be initiated into the knowledge, knocks at the door of a Zen monastery. The only answer he gets is that the door is shut so brutally in his face that one of his arms is broken. In that instant, illumination flashes over the man.[13]

Discipline and training is therefore crucial on the path to enlightenment and once he or she has achieved it the individual returns to the outside world to deal with the challenges of life in a completely new way.

Furthermore, Zen is not a religion and one apt phrase that encapsulates this unique approach is the expression “If you meet Buddha on the road, kill him.” In short, Zen asks us to undergo a radical form of deconditioning to the extent that we no longer view ourselves or the things around us in the same blinkered fashion. In Zen there is no external God or gods, let alone a heaven or hell; everything is completely and fully immanent in the here and now. As Evola explains, the

behaviour which proceeds from the newly acquired dimension, which is added to reality as a consequence of satori, may well be summarized by Lao Tzu’s expression: “To be the whole in the part”. In regard to this, it is important to realize the influence which Zen has exercised on the Far-Eastern way of life. Zen has been called “the samurai’s philosophy,” and it had also been said that “the way of Zen is identical to the way of archery,” or to the “way of the sword”. This means that any activity in one’s life, may be permeated by Zen and thus be elevated to a higher meaning, to a “wholesomeness” and to an “impersonal activity”. This kind of activity is based on a sense of the individual’s irrelevance, which nevertheless does not paralyze one’s actions, but which rather confers calm and detachment. This detachment, in turn, favours an absolute and “pure” undertaking of life, which in some cases reaches extreme and distinct forms of self-sacrifice and heroism, inconceivable to the majority of Westerners (e.g. the kamikaze in WWII).[14]

Evola uses this opportunity to attack the ideas of the Swiss psychoanalyst, Carl Jung, who is lampooned for having assumed that Zen can be understood from the limited perspective of Western psychology”:

According to Jung, satori coincides with the state of wholeness, devoid of complexes or inner splitting, which psychoanalytic treatment claims to achieve whenever the intellect’s obstructions and its sense of superiority are removed, and whenever the conscious dimension of the soul is reunited with the unconscious and with “Life”. Jung did not realize that the methods and presuppositions of Zen, are exactly the opposite of his own. There is no “subconscious”, as a distinct entity, to which the conscious has to be reconnected; Zen speaks of a superconscious vision (enlightenment, bodhi or “awakening”), which actualizes the “original and luminous nature” and which, in so doing, destroys the unconscious. It is possible though, to notice similarities between Jung’s view’s and Zen’s, since they both talk about the feeling of one’s “totality” and freedom which is manifested in every aspect of life. However, it is important to explain the level at which these views appear to coincide.[15]

Jung, to Evola’s mind, sought to “domesticate” Zen in the same way that modern housewives practice Yoga in a completely non-spiritual and thus non-traditional manner.

Evola could also have pointed out that another major problem with Jungian psychology, especially if one approaches it from a Zen standpoint, is that it tries to objectify the self in vain. The more we try to know ourselves, the further the knowing subject recedes into the distance – beyond our grasp.

As one might expect of Evola, he rightly views Zen as a decidedly elitist phenomenon and something which must be distinguished from the more “democratic” forms of Buddhism such as Pure Land and its widespread dissemination among the peasant classes:

If one was to fully agree with Suzuki, some perplexities on the nature and on the scope of satori may arise. One should ask whether such an experience merely affects the psychological, moral or mental domain, or whether it affects the ontological domain, as is the case in every authentic initiation. In that event, it can only be the privilege a very restricted number of people.[16]

Naturally, Evola would have preferred the initiatory character of Zen to remain at the level of the esoteric and perhaps take the form of a hierarchic order similar to that found among the Sufi mystics of Islam.

That said, the Italian remained convinced that the religion of the samurai warriors is a valid means of spiritual attainment and it is certainly something that we can learn a great deal from today.

Notes:

1. Evola, Julius; Zen: The Religion of the Samurai (Holmes Publishing Group, 1994), p.19.

2. Ibid.

3. Evola, Julius; The Doctrine of Awakening: The Attainment of Self-Mastery According to the Earliest Buddhist Texts (Inner Traditions, 1996), p.220.

4. Evola, Julius; Zen: The Religion of the Samurai, op.cit., p.20.

5. Ibid.

6. Ibid.

7. Ibid.

8. Ibid., p.21.

9. Ibid.

10. Ibid.

11. Ibid., p.22.

12. Ibid.

13. Evola, Julius; The Doctrine of Awakening, op.cit., p.225.

14. Evola, Julius; Zen: The Religion of the Samurai, op.cit., pp.22-23.

15. Ibid., p.23.

16. Ibid.