SG31SBE-T

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Original publication:

妹尾義郎「新興佛教への転身」『新興佛教の旗の下に』1931年（昭和6年）4月以降、分載.

Seno’o Girō. “Shinkō Bukkyō e no tenshin” (新興佛教への転身; Conversion to Revitalized Buddhism). Serialized in Shinkō Bukkyō no hata no moto ni (新興佛教の旗の下に), beginning April 1931.

Source text:

妹尾義郎「新興佛教への転身」稲垣真美編『妹尾義郎宗教論集』東京：大蔵出版、1975年、260–301頁.

Seno’o Girō. “Shinkō Bukkyō e no tenshin.” In Seno’o Girō shūkyō ronshū (妹尾義郎宗教論集), ed. Inagaki Masami, 260–301. Tokyo: Daizō Shuppan, 1975.

Translation

[p. 260]

Conversion to Revitalized Buddhism

1. The Rejection of Established Buddhist Institutions and Capitalism

B: I hear that you’ve recently given up on Nichirenism and are starting something called the Revitalized Buddhist movement. Is that true?

A: It is.

B: What’s the purpose of it?

A: First, I want to attack the corrupt established Buddhist institutions and demonstrate the true value of Buddhism in the present age. Second, I want to unify a divided Buddhism and put an end to these ugly sectarian quarrels. Third, I want to participate in the movement to transform the capitalist economic system, which runs contrary to the spirit of the Buddha, and realize an ideal society of love and equality.

B: Isn’t that impossible? Won’t it end up as nothing more than a fantasy?

A: It’s no fantasy. I believe that both the destruction of established Buddhist institutions and the collapse of capitalism are now simply a matter of time.

B: Leaving aside the transformation of capitalism, couldn’t you simply pursue Nichirenism more thoroughly instead of starting an entirely new religious movement? Especially since you’ve devoted yourself all these years to building up Nichirenism—don’t you feel some regret at abandoning it?

A: It’s not in my nature to make calculations when confronted with the truth. There was no path left open to me except to launch a new movement. Nichirenism as we have known it has reached an impasse in all sorts of ways. Of course, the other Buddhist institutions have as well. At this point, I don’t think Buddhism can be revived without undertaking a fundamental revolution. Just as capitalism cannot be fixed through a few minor adjustments, the corruption of the Buddhist institutions has penetrated to the very marrow.

B: But isn’t this just a sudden impulse to go along with the times?

A: You know how long my life of faith has been.

B: It certainly has been a long time. How many years has it been, anyway?

A: I embraced the faith of Nichirenism in 1911.

[p. 261]

And it was in the autumn of 1920 that I began publishing the magazine Youth and advocating Nichirenism. So I have spent twelve years in public propagation and fully twenty-one years in my personal life of faith. And I don’t think I’ve ever been second to anyone in the intensity of my faith. I have devoted my entire life to that faith and to spreading it right up to the present day. After all that, surely this isn’t something I could simply switch away from on a passing whim.

B: When you put it that way, I suppose so. They say that even after living with someone for only three days, you don’t easily forget them. So you must have thought this through very seriously. Still, it’s quite a decisive step—to go so far as to abandon Master Nichiren himself.

A: Nothing could be further from the truth. My reverence for Master Nichiren only grows stronger with the years. Looking back now, my past life of faith seems to have been nothing more than a game. The more deeply the spirit of love enters my heart, and the more I strive to put even a little of the bodhisattva practice into concrete action, the more deeply Master Nichiren’s life and words impress themselves upon me, right down to the bone. I truly believe there has never been a greater person.

B: Then why give up Nichirenism?

A: If you call it “giving it up,” I suppose that’s how it may look. As I see it, I am casting off Master Nichiren’s old forms precisely in order to revive his spirit in the present. The more single-mindedly I devote myself to reviving Master Nichiren’s fundamental spirit in the present age, the more firmly convinced I become of the possibility of this Revitalized Buddhist movement—and that this alone is the form of salvation most suited to our age. Indeed, I have come firmly to believe that the revival of Buddhism as a whole is to be found in this movement.

B: Calling it “casting off the old forms” makes it sound reasonable enough, but whatever words you use, in practice you are rejecting Nichirenism, aren’t you?

2. It is a Revival of Nichirenism

A: That’s right.

B: Even if you reject Nichirenism to that extent, doesn’t that amount to betraying Master Nichiren?

A: Not at all. Nichirenism, too, is one particular form that arose in response to the needs of its age. Looking at the history of the Master’s propagation of his teaching and the many writings he left behind, there is nothing objectionable about changing forms. On the contrary, I believe that it is precisely by reforming them in response to objective circumstances that one truly comes into contact with the spirit of Master Nichiren. The Master was in fact a man possessed of an extraordinarily enlightened and discerning…

[p. 262]

…intelligence. He was certainly no inflexible conservative who “stood by a tree stump waiting for a rabbit” or “glued the tuning pegs of a lute”—someone incapable of adapting to changing circumstances.

Mencius praised Confucius as “the sage who was timely,” but even more than this, our Master Nichiren was the exemplary sage who discerned the demands of the time. He said, “Everything depends upon the country and the time”; “Although the Lotus Sutra is a single Dharma, its modes of practice must vary in countless ways according to people’s capacities and the circumstances of the age”; and “One should not suppose that because a teaching was suitable for one country, it must necessarily be suitable for this country as well.” I could go on indefinitely. As these examples show, the religion of the Master was a religion of criticism. And if criticism is not equally rigorous in examining and settling accounts with oneself, can it really be called criticism? Perhaps this is also what Confucius meant when he said, “If one does not choose to dwell in benevolence, how can one attain wisdom?”

3. The Essence of Buddhism

B: I can see your point, at least to some extent.

A: Buddhism itself is fundamentally like this. Indeed, the Buddha is even described as “one whose bonds have been untied.” One of Buddhism’s distinctive features is precisely its refusal to cling to any fixed form. And that, too, is liberation.

To put it somewhat more technically, Buddhism denies “self” and “what belongs to the self”—that is, the individual ego and private property—and teaches “no-self” and “non-possession.” Even the last of the famous Three Dharma Seals, known as Buddhism’s three fundamental principles—“all conditioned things are impermanent,” “all dharmas are without self,” and “nirvana is tranquility”—ultimately comes down to the single word “emptiness.” It means not clinging to either A or B and therefore, depending upon circumstances, being capable of being either A or B: a teaching of unrestricted adaptability. In the “Dharma Preacher” chapter of the Lotus Sutra, this is taught as “all dharmas are empty”; in the “Skillful Means” chapter it is called the “true aspect of all dharmas,” explained through the so-called Ten Suchnesses—“such an appearance, such a nature, such an entity,” and so forth—in order to demonstrate the capacity of things to change according to causes and conditions. Thus it is also taught that “dharmas have no fixed nature; the Buddha-seed arises through conditions.”

Again, the Sutra of Innumerable Meanings, which serves as an introduction to the Lotus Sutra, says: “Such non-form is not form; being without form, it is called the true aspect. Having established themselves in this true aspect, bodhisattvas give rise to compassion that is clear and certain and not in vain, and among sentient beings they are truly able to remove suffering.” According to the meaning of this passage, in short, one takes no fixed standpoint—a standpoint that even negates “no standpoint” as a fixed standpoint—and ultimately stands in a position that clings to nothing…

[p. 263]

…whatsoever. It is precisely in an attitude of freely adapting oneself according to time, place, and circumstance that thoroughgoing compassion manifests itself and the masses can truly be saved. Nichirenism is no exception to this Buddhist philosophical principle. Depending upon time, place, and circumstances, there should therefore be no objection to sublating it as well. The real question is whether there are sufficient grounds for reform in light of the culture of a particular age. When there are, isn’t it only by boldly carrying out such reform that we remain faithful to Buddhism’s true character and penetrate to the spirit of Master Nichiren?

B: When you put it that way, I can see that even the forms adopted by Master Nichiren may be reformed as the times change.

4. Forms Change

A: Exactly. Take an egg, for example. As long as the white and yolk remain as they are, the shell is an indispensable outer form. But once the egg has been nurtured by the mother bird and a chick begins to develop inside, that shell becomes an unnecessary opposing force. And unless it is broken, new life cannot emerge.

B: That sounds like Marx’s materialist dialectic.

A: Truth doesn’t become two different things depending on who says it. “Time” really is a mysterious force. It bears down upon us with a necessity that cannot be altered by the ideas of one or two individuals. That is why Master Nichiren began his Selection of the Time (Senji-shō) by writing, “In studying the Buddha Dharma, one must first of all learn the time.” He went on to say, “The cuckoo awaits spring and the cock awaits the dawn. Even animals are like this; how much more so a Dharma teacher practicing the Buddha Dharma!” Elsewhere, speaking in relation to the capacities of those being taught, he judged that “the wise person is one who accords with the time.” By invoking the examples of the cuckoo awaiting spring and the cock awaiting dawn, he made perfectly clear that the Dharma must never be taught apart from its “time.” Isn’t that an extraordinarily thoroughgoing insight? Here ‘capacity’ means the particular character of the individual. The passage therefore rejects an individualistic movement of salvation based on the model of ‘prescribing medicine according to the illness,’ which takes the particular characteristics of individual persons as its object. Instead, it lays down the firm principle that we must move beyond the individual, take as our object the objective conditions of society as a whole, and make our primary concern a method of social salvation suited to the age.

B: That sounds very much like what the social sciences tell us.

A: There is another striking parallel. Among Master Nichiren’s writings is this passage, which explains the possibility of mass struggle in the present age. It is from the Shōgu mondō-shō:

The present age is a defiled age, and human feelings have become warped and distorted. Because provisional teachings and slanders of the Dharma abound, it is difficult for the True Dharma to spread. At such a time, practices such as reciting and copying the scriptures, as well as contemplation, reflection, and spiritual cultivation, are of no use. One must simply practice shakubuku: if one has the power, use that power and authority to crush slander of the Dharma, and use Buddhist doctrine to attack erroneous…

[p. 264]

…teachings. Yet one must properly discern what is to be accepted and rejected and never cling exclusively to a single course.”

What an uncompromising declaration! People who, when they hear the word Buddhism, immediately think of practicing seated meditation, or who tend to associate Buddhism with nonresistance, may well imagine a passage like this to be some kind of reverse propaganda by the Devil. But once we look squarely at actual society, we can see just how much what today passes for “self-cultivation” actually performs an opiate-like function, castrating promising young people. In an age such as this, it seems to me that there is simply no way to build heaven on earth except through an open and forthright struggle. Yet struggle for struggle’s sake would be equally troublesome. This is why the phrase, “properly discern what is to be accepted and rejected,” strikes me as an extraordinarily well-considered teaching.

B: When you put it that way, it makes me think that the Buddhism we have known until now has been almost completely off the mark.

A: To speak frankly, much of it has indeed been completely off the mark. That is a consequence of religion’s having repeated the same formalistic sermons day after day, year after year—either unconscious of the character of the age or, even when conscious of it, tragically reduced to the role of a religion in service to established power. Society is moving increasingly toward equality of opportunity without distinctions in human worth between someone dressed in work clothes and someone dressed in a morning coat. Yet within the Buddhist institutions, which ought to be leading the way, they still make an endless fuss over the colors of clerical robes and distinctions in ecclesiastical rank. Social policy advances day by day in society at large—but what on earth are the Buddhist institutions doing?

B: On that point, I agree. I understand now that forms have to be reformed in accordance with the age. In the end, then, yours is a movement to revive Buddhism within the present age by giving it forms appropriate to that age.

5. The Central Aim of the Revitalized Buddhist Movement

B: But I hear that you’re going to stop chanting Namu Myōhō Renge Kyō and instead chant Namu Shakamuni Budaya—“Homage to Śākyamuni Buddha.”

A: That is precisely the central aim of the Revitalized Buddhist movement. All disciples of the Buddha who profess Buddhism should give up the nenbutsu, give up faith in Mahāvairocana, and give up all the forms of the established Buddhist institutions. First, we should unite under the banner of Namu Shakamuni Budaya, expressing our reverence for the person of the Buddha, and from there attempt a new advance into society. Can you think of any better form than this…

[p. 265]

…one that could serve both as the single fundamental form common to all Buddhists and, at the same time, as a means of unifying Buddhism? Of course, this form has already been advocated in the past by earnest pioneers. Perhaps because the times were not yet ripe, however, it has never acquired much influence. But whether or not it presently has influence is beside the point. I believe this to be the inevitable destiny of Buddhism from the present into the future, and I intend to put my whole spirit into casting this one stone.

B: I understand what you’re striving for. But there’s one thing I still can’t accept. You said that you’re trying to “bring the spirit of Master Nichiren to life.” Yet Nichiren himself said, “The soul of Nichiren is nothing other than Namu Myōhō Renge Kyō.” If you abandon the daimoku and instead chant Namu Shakamuni Budaya, doesn’t that amount to abandoning the spirit of the Master?

A: That is a perfectly reasonable question. But immediately before that passage come the words, “The Buddha’s intent is the Lotus Sutra; the soul of Nichiren is nothing other than Namu Myōhō Renge Kyō.”

In other words, if it has been established that the Lotus Sutra is not the unique scripture embodying the fundamental spirit of the Buddha whom Master Nichiren so ceaselessly revered, then chanting the name of that very Buddha—Namu Shakamuni Budaya—rather than Namu Myōhō Renge Kyō would actually be more faithful to the spirit of Master Nichiren, who founded his teaching on the basis of scholarly inquiry. I certainly do not believe that doing so constitutes a desecration of the Master.

B: If that way of understanding the Lotus Sutra is correct, then your argument makes sense. But are you saying that the Lotus Sutra does not embody the fundamental spirit of Buddhism?

6. The Theory That the Mahāyāna Was Not Taught by the Buddha

A: That is precisely where the problem arises. Have you ever heard of the scholarly theory being advanced in modern Buddhist circles known as “the Mahāyāna was not taught by the Buddha” (Daijō hi-Bussetsu)?

B: I can’t say I’ve never heard of it, but I don’t really know what it means. Tell me about it.

A: I’ll explain it briefly. Buddhist scriptures had broadly been classified into Mahāyāna scriptures—the Prajñāpāramitā Sutras, Lotus Sutra, Amida Sutra, Mahāvairocana Sutra, Laṅkāvatāra Sutra, and so forth—and the so-called Hīnayāna scriptures, such as the Āgamas. Both groups had been regarded as scriptures recording sermons preached by the Buddha.

In recent times, however, scholars have argued that those Mahāyāna scriptures were not actually preached directly by the Buddha. That is what is meant by the theory that “the Mahāyāna was not taught by the Buddha.”

B: Then how did those scriptures come to be composed?

A: Well, that’s because Buddhism too developed as the times changed and society and culture…

[p. 266]

…advanced, and in order to adapt to the changing age, numerous new scriptures were composed by later disciples of the Buddha. Those became the Mahāyāna sutras. Since the Mahāyāna sutras are therefore not direct records of the Buddha’s preaching, this is called the theory that “the Mahāyāna was not taught by the Buddha.” In other words, it means Buddhism as a developing tradition.

B: Then from the standpoint of this theory, the Lotus Sutra too is one example of this “developing Buddhism.” So the Lotus Sutra cannot simply be identified with the Buddha’s fundamental spirit.

A: Exactly.

B: But in Master Nichiren’s time, the roughly seven thousand fascicles comprising the entire Buddhist canon were all regarded as direct records of the Buddha’s preaching. Given that assumption, why did Master Nichiren single out the Lotus Sutra alone and declare it to embody Buddhism’s fundamental spirit?

A: Because that was how the scriptures themselves were understood to explain the matter. More particularly, this was the explanation offered by Tiantai doctrine, which formed the matrix of Japanese Buddhism. According to that teaching, the entire Buddhist canon consisted of sermons preached during the fifty years between the Buddha’s attainment of enlightenment at age thirty and his entry into nirvana at age eighty. These fifty years were divided into two periods. The first forty-two years comprised all the teachings preached before the Lotus Sutra, known as the pre-Lotus teachings (nizenkyō). The Lotus Sutra, preached during the final eight years, was regarded as the true scripture in which the Buddha revealed his genuine spirit. All the earlier scriptures were judged to be expedient teachings preached in preparation for the revelation of the Lotus Sutra.

B: Was there substantial scriptural evidence for that?

A: Yes. For example, in the “Dharma Preacher” chapter of the Lotus Sutra we find the statement, “Among all the sutras I have preached, the Lotus is foremost.” There are many other passages that assign the Lotus Sutra supreme value. Particularly influential was the statement in the Sutra of Innumerable Meanings, regarded as an introduction to the Lotus Sutra: “Because the desires and dispositions of beings differ, various teachings were preached; these various teachings were preached through the power of expedient means. For more than forty years, the truth had not yet been revealed.” And in the “Skillful Means” chapter of the Lotus Sutra: “Honestly discarding expedient means, I preach only the unsurpassed Way.” These were powerful pieces of scriptural evidence. From the standpoint of Buddhist unification available at the time, the Tiantai doctrinal interpretation was therefore hardly unreasonable. There was also the scriptural proof supplied by the “Medicine King Bodhisattva” chapter of the Lotus Sutra: that in the “last five hundred years” it would be “widely proclaimed and propagated throughout Jambudvīpa.” Tiantai likewise looked forward to the age of the Final Dharma, declaring, “In the latter five hundred years, the wondrous Way will spread far and wide.” And Dengyō Daishi, the pioneer of the Lotus Sutra in Japan, likewise expressed the same conviction and prediction.

[p. 267]

Now, it was within this tradition that Master Nichiren appeared. Outraged by the fragmentation and degeneration of Buddhism, he made its reform and unification the aspiration of his entire life. Moreover, his historical moment was the beginning of the age of the Final Dharma, more than two thousand years after the Buddha’s passing. There is no need to explain how powerfully the Lotus Sutra must have resonated with Nichiren’s intelligence and passionate commitment.

B: Hearing it explained that way, there certainly seems to have been a powerful sense of historical necessity behind Nichiren’s self-understanding as “Nichiren, practitioner of the Lotus Sutra.” It’s easy to see why he therefore felt compelled to reject every Buddhist school outside the Lotus Sutra.

A: Exactly. Within the limits of that doctrinal framework, there was no Buddhist spirit in the age of the Final Dharma apart from the Lotus Sutra. A passage from Nichiren’s Hōon-shō (Essay on Gratitude) makes the situation particularly clear.

The various schools all rely upon their own basic sutras and treatises and claim, each in its own way, that theirs is foremost among all the scriptures. The Shingon school says, “Among all the scriptures, the Mahāvairocana Sutra is first”; the other scriptures are like idle chatter. The Zen school says that sutras such as the Laṅkāvatāra are fingers pointing at the moon, while Zen itself is the moon. And so forth. We ordinary people ought to be able to trust whichever teacher we follow, revering that teacher in faith; yet Nichiren’s doubts could not be dispelled. Looking at the world, everyone may claim, “I, I,” but there is only one sovereign of a country. If there are two, the country will not be at peace; if a household has two masters, that household will surely fall into ruin. Might it not be the same with all the scriptures? Among all the sutras, must there not be one scripture that is sovereign over all the others? Yet the ten schools and seven schools each contend with one another and refuse to submit. It is as though a country had seventy or eighty sovereigns: its people could never live in peace. Wondering what was to be done, I made a single resolve: I would follow none of the eight schools or ten schools. Instead, just as the Great Master Tiantai took the scriptural texts themselves as his teacher and judged the relative superiority of the teachings preached during the Buddha’s lifetime, I would open and examine all the scriptures. In the Nirvana Sutra it is said: “Rely on the Dharma, not on persons.” “Rely on the Dharma” means to rely on all the scriptures; “not on persons” means not to rely upon teachers other than the Buddha himself, including such figures as the bodhisattvas Samantabhadra and Mañjuśrī and the various masters mentioned above.

The same sutra also says: “Rely on sutras of definitive meaning, not on sutras of provisional meaning.” Here the “sutra of definitive meaning” is the Lotus Sutra, while the “sutras of provisional meaning” are the Avataṃsaka Sutra, Mahāvairocana Sutra, Nirvana Sutra, and all the other sutras of the past, present, and future. But if one trusts the Buddha's final testament, then one must take the Lotus Sutra as the bright mirror through which to understand all…

[p. 268]

…the scriptures. Hence, when we open the Lotus Sutra, we find the words: “This Lotus Sutra stands highest among all the sutras,” and so on.

B: I see. That makes it quite clear. Master Nichiren’s judgment that “the Lotus Sutra is supreme” was therefore not simply his own dogmatic assertion. It was the result of his seeking the Buddha’s spirit through the scriptures themselves. In other words, after attempting as objectively and as scholarly as possible to determine Buddhism’s fundamental spirit, he concluded that it was embodied in the Lotus Sutra.

A: Exactly. Nichiren himself explained this by saying: “This is not because Nichiren is especially wise. It is simply what the time demands. In spring the flowers bloom, in autumn the fruit appears, summer is warm and winter is cold. Is this not simply what the time brings about?”

In this way he explained the historical necessity of the Lotus Sutra spreading in the age of the Final Dharma. Now, if that were the end of the matter, there would be no problem. But if we accept as true the theory I mentioned earlier—that the Mahāyāna was not directly taught by the Buddha—then the scholarly foundation underlying this whole structure collapses. The Lotus Sutra, which Master Nichiren propagated with sixty years of blood and tears, must itself be subjected to a historical reckoning.

B: So in the end it really was a matter of Master Nichiren’s inadequate understanding?

A: You still haven’t understood what I’m saying. Far from it. As a Buddhist revolutionary movement in his own age, this was the only possible path. It was an entirely defensible position.

But “time” moved on, and modern scientific research into the scriptures produced new conclusions. That is not something we should blame on Nichiren’s lack of understanding. And a man who declared that “one must first learn the time” surely would not cling sentimentally to his position when confronted by the criticism of a later age. That, at least, is what I believe.

7. The Reckoning with Tiantai Doctrine

A: Speaking of “time,” there is another problem. Modern research has drastically changed the dating of the Buddha’s birth.

B: So it’s no longer three thousand years ago? I remember singing in Sunday school, “Long, long ago—three thousand years ago.”

A: Today, according to Dr. Takakusu, it was 2,497 years ago, while according to Dr. Ui, it was 2,397 years ago.

B: Aren’t those just scholars’ arbitrary guesses?

A: You shouldn’t dismiss scholarship out of hand like that. Those conclusions are the result of research. Whatever the precise answer may be, the Buddha is now generally placed around the fourth or fifth century BCE. And whereas tradition had said that he left home at nineteen, attained enlightenment at thirty, and entered nirvana at eighty,…

[p. 269]

…the accepted view has become that he left home at twenty-nine, attained enlightenment at thirty-five, and entered nirvana at eighty.

B: Then he taught for forty-five years. That means Tiantai’s system of the Five Periods, which was based on the old account of fifty years of teaching from enlightenment at thirty to nirvana at eighty, becomes questionable too.

A: There’s no avoiding it. If the Lotus Sutra was preached for eight years, then the pre-Lotus teachings could only have lasted thirty-seven years, which makes the phrase “for more than forty years the truth had not yet been revealed” unstable. And if the pre-Lotus teachings lasted forty-two years, then the Lotus Sutra could only have been taught for three years.

B: Still, we’re talking about events from twenty-four or twenty-five hundred years ago. Even if we calculate things that precisely, how can we really know which account is correct?

A: India was hardly a country with a strong tradition of historical record keeping, so perfect precision may be impossible. But scholarship still deserves our respect. This is, after all, an age in which science can calculate the numbers of the astronomical world with extraordinary accuracy. At any rate, one fact is unavoidable: Tiantai doctrine must undergo a reckoning, and Nichiren doctrine must therefore also be reexamined. Nor is that all. Modern scholarship has also proposed an account of how the Lotus Sutra itself was formed. According to this theory, the earliest form of the sutra ran from the “Introduction” chapter through the tenth chapter, “Dharma Preacher.” Later material was added through the twenty-second chapter, “Entrustment,” and then another six chapters were added, producing the present twenty-eight-chapter form.

I myself have lectured on the Lotus Sutra several times, and the breaks in the textual structure certainly can give that impression. In any event, I think we may safely say that it is now virtually impossible to deny that the Lotus Sutra, like the other Mahāyāna scriptures, represents Buddhism in the process of historical development.

B: Then were the so-called Hīnayāna scriptures actually written by Śākyamuni himself?

A: No. Those scriptures too were compiled by his disciples after his death.

B: Then strictly speaking, couldn’t we say that the Hīnayāna scriptures were also “not taught by the Buddha”? And if we are prepared to call them the Buddha’s teaching, why couldn’t we equally call the Mahāyāna scriptures the Buddha’s teaching?

A: There is something to that argument, and people have made it before. But I think it is sophistry. Shouldn’t we properly distinguish between the Buddha’s immediate disciples gathering together and reciting what remained vivid in their memories, and later generations—disciples of disciples and their descendants—composing scriptures on the basis of those earlier records?

B: Is there really enough evidence to establish the Mahāyāna as later development?

A: Scholars have reached that conclusion on the basis of writing, literary style, and many other forms of textual evidence.

[p. 270]

Scholarly conscience leaves us no choice but to acknowledge it.

8. Faith Requires Objectivity

B: I understand that. But faith and scholarship are different things. Even if the theory that the Mahāyāna was not directly taught by the Buddha is true, why should faith have to concern itself with it?

A: There is some truth in that too. As the saying goes, “Even a sardine’s head can be sacred if you believe in it.” But that is precisely where the crucial issue lies. It marks the dividing line between superstition and genuine faith. A scripture says that faith without understanding increases ignorance, while understanding without faith increases wrong views; faith and understanding must be harmonized and become the basis of life. A merely subjective faith that says “just believe,” while ignoring science, cannot be called genuine faith. Unless the content of faith possesses objectivity, it lacks social universality and cannot provide genuine satisfaction. Let me give you a simple example. Suppose there is an old woman devoted to Tenrikyō. She is completely absorbed in her faith. Then her only son, who has been educated in school, begins searching for a religion of his own. Naturally, he first examines the Tenrikyō faith practiced by his mother. But suppose it fails to satisfy him intellectually, and he turns instead to Christianity. Now you have one person in the household crying, “Save me!” and the other saying, “Amen!” What kind of atmosphere would that create in the family? Can they simply shrug and say that faith is subjective and leave each other alone? The more authority each of them invests in their own faith, and the more faithfully each adheres to it, the more each will inevitably look upon the other with a certain painful sense of dissatisfaction. But suppose, by contrast, that the mother’s faith were something that could also be accepted on scholarly grounds, and the son came to embrace the same Tenrikyō faith. Their perspectives and degree of commitment might still differ, but the whole household could at least share a common religious life, and wouldn’t that bring greater satisfaction?

B: That’s true. And not just in religion—it’s always pleasant when people see eye to eye.

A: Exactly. If the object of faith has a content that can withstand scholarly, moral, and aesthetic judgment, then even if people approach it from different perspectives, it can gather and embrace a greater number of spiritual brothers and sisters throughout the world. That is why faith too requires an objective and scientific element, especially in the modern age. Nichiren himself said, “The Buddha Dharma is reason.”

[p. 271]

For a seeker who tries to ground faith in reason, it is no longer possible to ignore the theory that the Mahāyāna was not directly taught by the Buddha and simply assert dogmatically that “the Lotus Sutra alone embodies the Buddha’s spirit.” Such a religion will become increasingly incapable of speaking to the present or the future.

B: I understand now that religion cannot survive as merely subjective belief. And I also understand that, in light of the theory that the Mahāyāna was not directly taught by the Buddha, Nichiren doctrine exactly as it stood six hundred and fifty years ago cannot simply be applied to modern people. So if Master Nichiren were born today, do you really think he would still invoke the polemical spirit of the Four Dicta—“the other schools cannot lead to enlightenment,” “they are the root cause of falling into hell,” “the Lotus Sutra alone is the Dharma of buddhahood”—and make chanting the daimoku his one and only method for saving the modern world?

A: I don’t think so. In fact, I began this new movement only after asking myself over and over for a long time: “If Master Nichiren appeared in the world today, what would he do?” A man with a scholarly conscience as sharp as his would not close his eyes, six hundred and fifty years later, to the transformed culture and social conditions of the modern world—much less to everything that modern Buddhist scholarship has discovered—and simply repeat the old formulas: “The other schools cannot attain the Way; the Lotus Sutra is the path to buddhahood.” Nor would he insist upon the absolute supremacy of daimoku chanting.

B: Then what form do you think he would take?

A: Probably something very much like this new movement—when considered from the standpoint of Buddhism’s essential nature and the demands of the present age.

9. Love and Equality Are the Spirit of Buddhism

B: Speaking of the various schools, how does Shin Buddhism view the theory that the Mahāyāna was not directly taught by the Buddha?

A: It seems that all serious modern seekers are adherents of that theory. Kaneko Daiei was even excommunicated over precisely this issue. Anyone with the least rational sense can hardly still become ecstatic today over things like a Pure Land ten billion worlds away or salvation through Other Power, as preached in the nenbutsu tradition.

B: Then how should we understand Amida Buddha?

A: Amida Buddha is the idealized self, and the Western Pure Land, countless worlds away, is idealized reality. The monk Dharmākara represents the fundamental human self, and his practice toward becoming Amida signifies a life of self-realization. Thus the wish to be saved by Amida symbolizes the joy inherent in a life that seeks what is right; salvation, in the final analysis, is nothing other than the life of love itself. To put it simply, love strides courageously even across the terrifying boundary of death. The scripture says, “When the mind of compassion is firmly determined, there is no fear.” This surely expresses the same principle.

[p. 272]

B: Then the central meaning of the Lotus Sutra must teach something similar.

A: Exactly. Even the words “Since I attained buddhahood” in the “Life Span” chapter, regarded as the heart of the Lotus Sutra, are ultimately a celebration of the awakening of the self. The scriptures differ in expression, but their meaning is fundamentally the same. If we regard the entire canon as literally spoken by the Buddha, then, given the statements in the Lotus Sutra and the Sutra of Innumerable Meanings that “for more than forty years the truth had not yet been revealed,” scriptures such as the Amida Sutra and Mahāvairocana Sutra would have to be regarded merely as expedient teachings to be set aside before the Lotus Sutra. But if we understand them instead as products of Buddhism’s historical development, then the whole canon is an explanation of the content of Śākyamuni Buddha’s awakening. Reduced to its essence, it is a symbolic expression of love and equality. And from that awakening comes the rule running through all Buddhism: “Do no evil; practice all that is good; purify one’s own mind: this is the teaching of all buddhas.”

B: Then practices such as esoteric rites and prayers, as well as faith in worldly benefits, so common among Buddhists, are decisively not the proper Buddhist path.

A: Correct. In the strict sense, Buddhism is fundamentally atheistic. There is a teaching in the Kōkigyōkyō that says something like this:

Disciples, there are three mistaken views here. A wise person examines these errors and leads others to abandon them. If these views are followed through to their conclusion, they negate human action in this world. What are the three? One renunciant claims that whatever suffering, pleasure, or neither-suffering-nor-pleasure a human being experiences in this life is entirely the result of karma from a previous existence. Another claims that all of it is caused by the creative activity of Īśvara. Still another claims that everything occurs without cause or condition.

In other words, it rejects fatalism, creationism, and accidentalism, and continues: “Disciples, in opposition to these mistaken views, I teach the Dharma of the Four Noble Truths and the twelve links of dependent origination. This teaching of mine is such that no reasonable person can abuse, defile, slander, or reject it.” The Four Noble Truths and the twelve links of dependent origination describe the path from delusion to awakening. Human suffering arises from inadequate understanding; the Buddha therefore taught the Eightfold Path as the method by which correct wisdom is to be fully attained. Buddhism therefore teaches us to see reality correctly and to act correctly. Even the word “Buddha” means “one who has attained perfect wisdom.”

B: By “creationism,” you mean something like the Christian God?

10. Buddhism Is Atheistic

B: Modern people are, of course, becoming less and less willing to accept that kind of deity. On this subject, Archbishop Brown wrote something like the following in God and the Capitalist:

[p. 273]

“Does God wish to remove evil from this world but lack the power? Or is he able to remove it but unwilling? If he wishes to but cannot, then he is impotent, which contradicts the nature of God. If he can but will not, then he is evil, which likewise contradicts the nature of God. If he neither wishes nor is able, then he is both evil and impotent. But if he both wishes to remove evil and is able to do so—which is the only conception appropriate to God—then how can evil exist in the world?”

A: That is a painful criticism for Christianity. Before Buddhism, Brahmanism taught gods who created heaven and earth and also advocated ascetic practices of various kinds. The Buddha rejected these and, as I said before, taught the Four Noble Truths and the twelve links of dependent origination. There is another story related to this. An apostate named Sunakkhatta went around criticizing the Buddha, saying: “The Buddha possesses no superhuman teaching and no exceptional knowledge or vision. He simply teaches ideas he has thought up in his own head. And he claims that anyone who thinks according to that teaching can reach a state free from suffering.” When the Buddha heard this, he told Śāriputra that Sunakkhatta, speaking in anger, thought he was criticizing the Buddha but was actually praising him. For to say that “according to his teaching, anyone who thinks properly can reach a state free from suffering” is itself praise of the Buddha. As this shows, the heart of Buddhism is to see the true nature of human life correctly, think correctly, and then live correctly.

B: But isn’t it said that Saint Nichiren himself performed prayers and rites?

A: Those are merely peripheral matters. Nichiren’s real spirit is found in the Kaimoku-shō, where he declared: “Let heaven abandon me if it will; let every hardship befall me; I will stake my life upon this.... I vowed that I would become the pillar of Japan, that I would become the eyes of Japan, that I would become the great ship of Japan. These vows must never be broken.” That was his great religious resolve. The prayer rites being performed today are a disgrace to Master Nichiren.

11. The Proper Meaning of Faith in the Buddha

B: Then what do you mean when you chant Namu Shakamuni Budaya?

[p. 274]

A: It expresses gratitude and reverence toward Śākyamuni as the founder and teacher—not belief in him as an actually existing creator god. Buddhism teaches that “one who sees the Dharma sees the Buddha.” Anyone who follows the Buddha’s teaching, comes to understand and embody even a little of the truth, and experiences joy as a result will naturally come to praise, revere, and feel gratitude toward Śākyamuni Buddha as the ideal person who realized that truth.

And praising, revering, and thanking such a person in turn helps lead us more deeply into a life of truth. Praying to Śākyamuni Buddha will not make rice suddenly appear in your rice chest. If you are poor, the Buddha would tell you to work hard and figure out how to earn money.

But if, as under our present economic system, people work and yet their labor brings no worthwhile return, then the Buddha would surely tell us first to transform that bad system and guarantee the welfare of the masses. He would not mechanically repeat some maxim like “poverty can never catch up with hard work.” If you are sick, rather than making vows or relying on prayer rites, the Buddha would tell you first to seek proper treatment, reflect upon the causes of the illness, and observe the principles of health. That is the Buddha I understand.

B: As expected, the Buddha even seems to have understood Marxist theory.

A: That’s giving him too much credit. There is no way the Buddha could have known Marx’s theories. And his authority is not diminished in the least by not knowing them. He lived twenty-five hundred years ago; of course he did not know them. The point is that those who genuinely understand the Buddha’s life of love and equality naturally acquire the kind of understanding appropriate to their own time, place, and circumstances. Buddhism therefore develops continuously along with the age. That is the process I meant earlier when speaking of historically developing Buddhism. What we need to learn from Buddhism is the fundamental orientation of human life. Once we stand upon that foundation, an appropriate way of life will unfold in accordance with circumstances. I express this in the slogan: “From Impermanence to Devotion.”

B: Then Confucius’s saying, “A neighborhood is beautiful when there is benevolence; if one does not choose to dwell in benevolence, how can one be called wise?” expresses the same view of life.

A: I think so. The tian of Confucianism, the God of Christianity, Japanese Shintō and the Buddha of Buddhism may all be explained differently, but if we follow them to their roots, I believe they all rest upon the same path of sacred love.

12. Buddhism and Christianity Will Merge

B: Some time ago, an organization called the Concordia Association was established to bring together the three teachings of Shintō, Confucianism, and Buddhism.

[p. 275]

If what you’re saying is right, then Buddhism should ultimately be able to unite with Christianity as well.

A: I believe the day will come when they do. As the languages and writing systems of the world, and culture more generally, gradually converge—and especially as economic structures become increasingly integrated—religion alone cannot remain forever in a state of warring kingdoms. I think a new movement will emerge in which the two are sublated. After all, the innermost sanctuary of the human spirit must fundamentally be one. Religions should not continue opposing one another as they do today. Indeed, from the standpoint of religion’s true purpose, a world federation of religions ought to be proposed even before the political world federation now being discussed. I believe the mission of religious movements must be to work toward the realization of a worldwide human fellowship.

13. The Disappearance of the Established Buddhist Institutions Is Inevitable

B: I agree. In that case, the immediate priority would have to be a movement to unify Buddhism. The present fragmentation amounts to nothing more than Buddhists demonstrating their own lack of religious resolve. How many schools and branches does Buddhism actually have today?

A: I’ve heard there are thirteen schools and fifty-six branches.

B: But if you start a movement for unification, won’t you in practice simply create one more sect?

A: Even if it means adding one more sect for the moment, if the movement truly corresponds to the needs of the age, then as it expands and grows stronger, the established Buddhist institutions that have fallen out of step with the times will gradually lose their power and naturally undergo liquidation and disappear. That is just what happened when the new Buddhist movements of the Kamakura period displaced the established Buddhism of Nara and Heian and caused its older forms gradually to dissolve.

B: Then you’re saying that this Revitalized Buddhist movement represents the highest form of Buddhism demanded by the modern age.

A: As I said before, so long as Buddhism has its source in the person of the Buddha, is there really any other path by which it can be brought back into unity?

B: At the very least, it seems to be a method that should be acceptable across the schools. In fact, whichever Buddhist institution you examine, each has doctrines of some substance. But if every school keeps proclaiming exclusively, “Our school alone has grasped the Buddha’s intent,” the beginning seeker is completely bewildered. And if, despite all those differences, they all offer essentially the same opiate-like sermons of escape from reality, modern people will not merely reject Buddhism—they will quite naturally become advocates of its repudiation.

A: “Rotten wood cannot be carved.” There is no need to fear revolution.

[p. 276]

Even Shinran, regarded as the very model of humility, declared at the establishment of his teaching that “the teachings left by Śākyamuni have all entered the Dragon Palace.” To put it plainly, he too rejected the whole of established Buddhism as obsolete.

14. On the Scriptural Basis of the New Movement

B: I understand. Earlier you said Namu Shakamuni Budaya. Would Namu Shakamuni Butsu not be sufficient?

A: According to correct Sanskrit usage, when namu—“homage”—is used, the ending -āya must be added to indicate the dative case. Only then does it properly mean “homage to Śākyamuni Buddha” or “I take refuge in Śākyamuni Buddha.” With Namu Shakamuni Butsu, by contrast, “Śākyamuni Buddha” remains in the nominative, so the grammatical relationship between namu and “Śākyamuni Buddha” does not work properly. Or so I am told. Since we are launching a new movement aimed at Buddhist unity, we have taken the opportunity to correct the expression as well.

B: I understand that too. But what about your authoritative scripture? You can hardly choose one scripture now—the Lotus Sutra, the Amida Sutra, or some other text—and carrying around the entire enormous Buddhist canon is obviously impossible.

A: You’re right. If we take the position that, despite differences of importance and emphasis, the entire Buddhist canon arises from the Buddha’s realization of love and equality, then it is impossible—especially after abandoning our former sectarian standpoint—to choose a single scripture as uniquely authoritative. So, for practical purposes, we have decided for the time being to adopt the Newly Translated Buddhist Scriptures compiled by Kizu Muan and others. It is a handy modern translation containing selections from the essential teachings of the entire canon.

B: But wouldn’t Kizu and the other compilers inevitably impose their own personalities upon such an anthology?

A: That cannot entirely be avoided. I would prefer something more thoroughly revised. If possible, I would like the members of our own movement eventually to compile and publish such a translation ourselves.

B: But wouldn’t that plant the seeds for yet another inevitable division?

A: I can’t deny that possibility. Since believers differ in their inclinations, if we make scriptures themselves the basis, division will naturally arise again. Indeed, the scriptures themselves recognize the necessity of diversified teaching. We find statements such as “innumerable meanings arise from one Dharma” and “because desires and dispositions differ, various teachings are preached.” A scripture could even be called the Sutra of Innumerable Meanings precisely because it recognizes the necessity of the Dharma being expressed in different forms. So if we make scripture the basis, division will certainly recur. Instead of defining the Buddha through the scriptures,…

[p. 277]

…we should take the person of the Buddha as our starting point and reduce the essential meaning of the entire canon to the realization of love and equality. Wouldn’t Buddhism then be able to unite without strain? The essential point is to recognize that Amida Buddha, Mahāvairocana Buddha, and the other figures who came to be believed in as actually existing beings through faith in the scriptures are all representations of the person of Śākyamuni. I therefore propose that all Buddhists unite in Namu Shakamuni Budaya. It is like Christianity: however many denominations there may be, they are united in their object of faith—the one God—to whom they say “Amen.”

B: Wasn’t that ultimately the real intention behind Master Nichiren’s religious revolution as well?

A: Exactly. We should now subject it to modern criticism—including the theory that the Mahāyāna was not directly taught by the Buddha—and thereby purify it, while at the same time stripping away the old shell of daimoku chanting, corroded by all manner of popular beliefs and superstitions. In that way we can make the central principle of Buddhist unification unmistakably clear and, beyond that, establish the spiritual basis for a worldwide human fellowship. And this cry of Namu Shakamuni Budaya necessarily leads us to scrutinize the economic system that forms the basic condition of actual life. Since the present capitalist economic system violates the Buddha’s realization of love and equality, we have no choice but, in the name of that love and equality, to join the movement to transform it.

B: That seems to be one of the three central aims of the Revitalized Buddhist movement. But before you explain that, what does your movement intend to do about funerals? You certainly aren’t going to ask the priests to perform them.

15. On Funerals

A: Don’t be ridiculous. What good would it do to have priests like that perform the final rites over us? Today I attended the private funeral of a certain eminent archbishop. A certain head priest who had betrayed his teacher while the latter was still alive acted as officiant. Arrayed in a gold-brocade kesa, with a procession of similarly dressed priests behind him, he recited sutras and chanted the daimoku as he performed the final rites. If my teacher had been able to speak from within the jeweled stūpa, what would he have said? I could do nothing but weep. There they were in a main hall beautifully decorated with donations—unearned income contributed by the bourgeoisie—a group of seemingly castrated priests banging away on their old-fashioned gongs, interminably reciting dhāraṇīs whose meaning no one could understand, and putting on an air of solemnity. For someone who sincerely mourns his teacher and is resolved to bring that teacher’s aspirations to life in a new age, how could a dhāraṇī-style funeral like that possibly be satisfying? No doubt such forms once possessed value appropriate to their age,…

[p. 278]

…but today, from beginning to end, they are nothing but anachronisms. They are like beer left sitting for days, with sediment collecting in it. In the end, that is what happens when a funeral has lost its spirit.

B: Then what sort of form do you propose replacing it with?

A: Are you so worried about the form of the funeral that you can’t attain buddhahood? As long as the movement itself is genuinely alive and substantial, I believe forms appropriate to the age will arise naturally in the course of the movement. Look at how solemn a makeshift burial on the battlefield can be. Think, too, how deeply moving Yamasen’s funeral was. The point is that appropriate forms arise in proportion to the intensity of one’s commitment to justice in life. So I don’t think we need to calculate the form of a funeral in advance. The essential thing is to adopt a simple, spiritual form appropriate to the modern age; beyond that, we can proceed as circumstances require.

B: But a funeral does adorn the end of a person’s life....

A: The end isn’t something you decorate once you’ve reached it. To put it strongly, think of a funeral as little more than disposing of used coffee grounds. What matters is rebuilding each living day into a life of justice and love. Isn’t that what Nichiren meant when he said, “A hundred years of practice in the Pure Land does not equal the merit of a single day in this defiled world”? To think of a funeral as a ceremony that “adorns the end” is itself a variant of bourgeois ideology: people donate or contribute some percentage of wealth accumulated through sinful exploitation and imagine that this constitutes admirable faith and atonement. Why be calculating funeral arrangements before the banner has even been raised? Those advancing arm in arm in the march of justice should already be prepared to leave their corpses by the roadside. Would the dead not prefer the tearful offering of a single comrade to the hymns of a thousand people without heart? “Let the dead bury their dead!” The fundamental ideology of our Revitalized Buddhist movement must be the resolve to embody the Buddhist spirit in actual life—a resolve that will make even our funerals bleed tears.

B: I understand. Then will you go on to explain the relationship between reform of the economic system and the Revitalized Buddhist movement?

16. Revitalized Buddhism and Class Struggle

A: We’ve talked for quite a long time today, so let’s leave this subject until next time. In the meantime, from January through March of this year I published my views in Youth on the attitude Buddhists should take toward…

[p. 279]

…capitalism. I’ll eventually publish those articles as a pamphlet, so study them when it comes out. In the end, Buddhist priests too are parasites of capitalism and, generally speaking, cannot avoid becoming its servants. The shortest road to religious revolution therefore lies in transforming capitalism, the underlying condition that sustains them. In any case, doesn’t this new movement acquire value only when it advances into the concrete problems of actual life?

B: Let me ask you one thing. In the end, then, you recognize “joining the proletarian movement”—that is, class struggle?

A: Yes.

B: Earlier you said that Buddhism is “emptiness” and that it occupies “no standpoint.” But if you endorse class struggle and side with the proletarian movement, doesn’t that contradict the Buddhist spirit?

A: It is precisely because Buddhism is “emptiness” and occupies “no standpoint” that, when circumstances require it, participation in the proletarian movement can be justified. To look at the class struggle actually taking place before our eyes and simply disregard it amounts to nothing more than indifference to the conditions of our own lives. The question is which side it is right to support. That alone is the issue.

B: But proletarian activists are often inclined to resort to violence. Can that too be called just?

A: Before speaking of violence by the proletarian movement, don’t you recognize the overwhelming presence of the military, the police, and all the other instruments of power controlled by those who rule? It is precisely on the basis of this recognition of reality that proletarian activists are compelled to resort to violence in order to realize their ideal society.

B: You speak of “those who control the instruments of power,” but these are the nation’s military and police. Surely they do not belong to any one particular class.

A: That is true in name only. Look at the facts: which class actually controls the military and the police? You have to open your eyes to reality. Today, the justice and morality spoken of by the ruling class are entirely one-sided—a morality of the strong. Otherwise, how could they enjoy such lives of splendor while ignoring the masses living at the very bottom?

B: Still, their present position is one they have attained by prevailing in competition. Surely being the victor does not necessarily make one unjust.

A: If that is not unjust, then why is it considered unjust—and impermissible—for the proletariat today to seek victory through unions and solidarity?

B: Isn’t that because it would disrupt the existing social order?

[p. 280]

A: For whose benefit is the present social order arranged? Look at the facts. Today, justice and morality are all colored by class. They are a class-based justice and order, and by no means genuine justice. Nevertheless, the educators either unconsciously—or sometimes consciously, and quite brazenly—serve as mouthpieces for the ruling class. If it is just for the present ruling class to use its power to suppress the proletarian movement, then it must equally be just for proletarian activists to seize power and turn it back against them. If religious people are to condemn violence as unjust, then from which class should they first demand its abandonment? And if, under certain circumstances, violence itself can be regarded as just, then which movement contains within it more of the true essence of justice? The impossible neutral standpoint that is neither bourgeois nor proletarian belongs now to the realm of ghosts. True justice must be sought in securing the welfare of the masses. So, what do you think? I believe that the Revitalized Buddhist movement can ultimately find its true social ground only among the proletarian class.

B: I think I understand now. Justice is an ideology that becomes concretely felt through opposition. Looking back over history, the true character of justice has been recognized most clearly in struggles against the powerful on behalf of the weak of their time. In fact, I myself have been inwardly dissatisfied with calling myself “neutral.” I have always tried to formulate a conception of justice by working from the concrete calculations of actual life rather than from abstraction. On that point, I should read your pamphlet carefully and think it over.

A: Until now, almost all Buddhists have, more or less without exception, adhered to a conceptual and conservative faith in “gratitude.” As a result, they have been blind to the problems of actual social life, have conducted no research whatsoever into socialism, and have been driven from the outset into a blindly reactionary movement. This is a grave anachronism. The original ideal of Buddhism was, on the contrary, itself socialist. On this point, too, I am genuinely glad that the narcotic effect of the opium has begun to wear off and that the force of actual life has begun to move.

B: I understand quite well. Let’s discuss this question again after I’ve read your pamphlet. (Shōwa 6 [1931], “Under the Banner of Revitalized Buddhism,” April inaugural issue)

[p. 281]

1. The Economy Is the Foundation of Life

B: You promised me last month that you would explain the relationship between the Revitalized Buddhist movement and the transformation of the economic system.

A: Yes. Since launching this new movement, I have become painfully aware that the reason nearly all the comrades who initially joined me but later withdrew did so was the third item in our program: “opposition to capitalism.” This has made me realize all the more clearly that economic problems are the very foundation of human life, and that our thoughts and actions are therefore inevitably conditioned by them. Generally speaking, an edification movement that ignores economic problems is nothing more than a conceptual game. Indeed, I have become even more firmly convinced that any edification movement that does not contribute, directly or indirectly, to advancing the transformation of the present capitalist economic system is nothing less than an opiate-like form of wrongdoing. And surely there is no longer any need to explain that capitalism is a mechanism of selfishness and self-interest that runs counter to the Buddhist spirit.

B: From the enthusiastic response of the audience at the April 5 inaugural commemorative lecture meeting of the Revitalized Buddhist movement, I too could clearly sense how thoroughly society has become disillusioned with capitalism and with the established Buddhist institutions.

But what about organizations such as the Hope Society and the Cultivation Society, which have recently been conducting very active edification movements? Don’t you think they possess some contemporary value?

A: They are both organizations for officially sanctioned edification, and in the end the result is the same. Precisely because they are novel edification movements, they may temporarily attract young men and women and, for that very reason, function all the more effectively as an opiate. Recently, however, I hear that even within the Cultivation Society an anti-capitalist consciousness has gradually begun to emerge. And didn’t the Hope Society recently fall several months behind in paying its employees’ salaries, leading to an employees’ strike and even a lawsuit? As the saying goes, “A hundred days of preaching are undone by a single fart.” There is also that amusing saying, “Faith, too, comes from an excess of toku.” Here toku means “profit.” That one saying alone explains rather well the relationship between economic problems and established edification organizations.

[p. 282]

2. The Anachronism of the All-Japan Buddhist Youth Federation

B: You did quite a bit of arguing at the conference of the All-Japan Buddhist Youth Federation on April 2 and 3. Was it about what you were just discussing?

A: It wasn’t only that, but I said everything that needed to be said. The obvious question was whether, in determining its attitude toward capitalism, which runs counter to the Buddhist spirit, the Federation would return to the Buddha—but they could not reach a decision. Worse still, although Buddhist youth from throughout Japan had joined together in a federation with the intention of advancing into a new society, they were still debating whether guiding principles were even necessary. It was like firing a gun in the dark; there was no real question to discuss.

B: Doesn’t the Federation’s second stated objective say, “We aim to awaken to the Buddhist spirit and promote its revitalization”?

A: However impressive such abstract phrases may sound, unless something new actually follows from them, things will simply continue as before. Even if they spend several hundred yen to establish another grand federation, what meaning can it possibly have unless they articulate concrete guiding principles appropriate to the demands of the new age? As I was saying, so long as the various sects each possess bodies of teaching that are historically incompatible with one another, the more faithfully each adheres to the doctrines of its own sect, the less what sect A regards as the Buddhist spirit will correspond to what sects B and C regard as the Buddhist spirit. Take the Nichiren sect: if it loudly proclaims the Buddhist spirit embodied in its Four Dicta, how can it possibly form a united front with the Nenbutsu and other sects? And if the Pure Land sect clings to the “Five Miscellaneous Practices,” wouldn’t the result be the same? If they say cooperation is nevertheless possible, then that is shameless—unless, of course, they have already sublated their sectarian doctrines in accordance with the times. In any case, if the Federation is to become something more than a kind of religious social club and actually inaugurate a Buddhist movement appropriate to the new age, it must set forth a guiding principle of faith capable of unifying the Federation as a whole and, on that basis, a guiding principle for solving social problems. Otherwise, it is useless.

B: Surely people chosen to represent their respective regions must have thought about something as basic as that.

A: Exactly. Marx said that “humanity always sets itself only such problems as it is able to solve.” Since these people have joined the Federation in order to join hands with one another, there must be some common point on which they can join hands—some problem capable of solution. That is why I proposed that we…

[p. 283]

…identify this concrete point and launch a new movement.

3. Two Major Proposals to the All-Japan Buddhist Youth Federation

A: Needless to say, I advocated the two fundamental principles of our Revitalized Buddhism. They took the following form:

(1) We recognize that the divisions among the established Buddhist institutions run counter to the Buddhist way of harmony; returning to the Buddha, we resolve to promote Buddhism anew in a manner appropriate to the age.

(2) We recognize that the suffering of present society arises primarily from its contradictory social organization, and we resolve to reform that organization and build an ideal society grounded in the Buddhist spirit.

B: Aren’t these proposals rather abstract?

A: I think they are sufficient as fundamental principles realistically possible under the present circumstances of the Buddhist Federation.

B: I hear there was considerable opposition.

A: There was. But the truth was self-evident. Whatever anyone might say, the only possible point of unity for such a federation was “returning to the Buddha.” The spirit of the proposal was therefore generally accepted. But time was short, and the matter was referred to the platform-drafting committee, so the proceedings came to an end. As the newspapers harshly criticized them the next day, however, a federation like this might almost have been better left unformed. They did not even have the courage to decide upon the obvious first proposal. As for the second, in practice it must have seemed about as remote as the Pure Land ten billion lands to the west.

4. Shin Buddhism’s Self-Reckoning

B: I understand that most of the delegates in attendance were Shin Buddhists. But if you say “Return to the Buddha,” doesn’t that amount to a declaration of bankruptcy for the Amida teaching of absolute Other Power?

A: Strictly speaking, I suppose it does. Recently, I saw an explanation by Dr. Takakusu published in the Yomiuri Shimbun under the title “The Fundamental Meaning of Buddhism.” Even there, Amida faith and the like have been completely disposed of. It seems to me that any seeker who reads one as one, correctly and without distortion, could have no possible objection to Shin Buddhism also “returning to the Buddha.” In the section on “atheism” in Dr. Takakusu’s “Fundamental Meaning of Buddhism,” he writes:

Human destiny is not governed by God; it is entirely self-governed. Through the principle that one reaps the consequences of one’s own actions, each person is continually opening up their own destiny. There is therefore no need to await God’s judgment: it is entirely a matter of self-judgment. Good causes and good effects do not arise through God’s judgment, but rather through natural law. Thus Śākyamuni stands firmly upon his own human personality, develops that personality upward, and attains complete buddhahood. Amida Nyorai and Dainichi Nyorai, too, are ideals manifested from Śākyamuni’s own ideal…

[p. 284]

… they are, after all, human beings brought to completion. Therefore, the Buddha has not the slightest trace of the meaning of a creator god, a sovereign god, or a judicial god. Rather, the Buddha himself attains the ultimate state of self-awakening and, from compassion for other unenlightened beings, begins the activity of awakening others so as to bring them to the same ultimate state of self-awakening.

Accordingly, self-awakening, awakening others, and the perfection of awakened practice are the Buddha’s fundamental concern. As you know, Dr. Takakusu is a universally acknowledged authority on Shin Buddhism. Therefore, shouldn’t we simply dispense with an Amida Nyorai of Other-Power salvation, stand firmly upon our own human personality, and direct that personality upward toward the liberated Buddha? The destiny of the doctor himself lies in opening up his own self; in other words, it is a matter of an Amida Nyorai who saves himself through the development of his own self. Therefore, casting aside naïve reliance on Amida Buddha and Other Power, should not all Buddhists stand upon their own personhood and strive to develop and perfect it, uniting around the liberated Buddha, seeking the light of life in reverence for this ideal personality, and devoting themselves to responsible effort? Would this not be a Buddhist movement that modern people could find convincing?

B: I think that is exactly right. The conception of Other-Power Buddhism is quite similar to the Christian conception of a sovereign and judging God. Such an explanation can hardly satisfy the religion of tomorrow. If all this is so clear, why can’t they raise a platform and launch a new Buddhist movement?

5. The Resolve to Bear the Cross

A: From this point on, however, the issue becomes one of religious resolve. There is always a distance between explanation and practice. Between them stand inherited conventions, personal ties and feelings, and, above all, the many difficult problems accumulated through economic relationships and the circumstances of actual life. It is easy enough to speak of decisive action, but making the leap itself is by no means simple. Such a leap can only come from the earnest seeking spirit of a revolutionary who is driven by an irresistible inner necessity and is prepared even to bear the cross. This is especially true of our second principle. Without such determination, it would be impossible to revolutionize the tradition of religion in service to established power and launch a new Buddhist movement for the sake of the masses.

6. Sinclair’s View of Religion

B: At the Revitalized Buddhist founding commemorative lecture on the fifth, there were an awful lot of police present,…

[p. 285]

…keeping a very conspicuous watch. Was that because of Revitalized Buddhism’s third principle—the slogan “Down with Capitalism”?

A: Exactly. When I was summoned to the police station over the notification for the meeting, that was what they told me. They were not particularly concerned about the destruction of the established Buddhist institutions. What concerned them was the anti-capitalist movement. If the content of our Revitalized Buddhist movement consisted merely in destroying the established religious institutions and unifying Buddhism, that would amount to little more than destroying a number of robots and manufacturing one enormous robot in their place. The real problem is that, unless the Revitalized Buddhist movement becomes a movement against capitalism—the modern devil that is mercilessly turning human beings into robots through the religious institutions—it cannot truly be called a religious movement that engages actual life. That is what I believe.

B: I can understand what you’re saying, but surely religion and economic movements are, by their very nature, separate fields?

A: That is a reasonable point, at least at first. But I believe that true religion should not divide things into two, economics on one side and spirit on the other; it should demand the idealization of life as a whole. Genuine love between a man and a woman cannot be satisfied with Platonic love; only where flesh and spirit are united can love attain fulfillment.

On this point, Upton Sinclair writes in his well-known book Is Religion Worth Believing?

Religion, in the true sense, is the most fundamental of spiritual impulses: an ardent love of life, a sense of the preciousness of life, and a desire to nurture and foster life. In this sense, every thinking human being must be religious. In this sense, ‘religion’ is the eternal power of self-renewal and the true nature of humanity itself. In this sense, I have not the slightest intention of attacking religion. Indeed, I wish to make clear that religion, understood in this sense, is something that simply cannot be attacked.

But the word ‘religion’ has also been given another meaning, and as a result we have been deprived of the pleasure of using this word in that straightforward sense. For most people, the word ‘religion’ does not mean ‘the soul’s desire to grow’ or ‘the pursuit of righteousness as though hungering and thirsting for it.’ Instead, it means the historical forms in which that desire has appeared, and…

[p. 286]

…the doctrines, ‘revelations,’ creeds, and rituals it has acquired; a system under which the moral impulses of the people, the love of children, and the aspirations of youth are exploited and turned into a source of privilege and commercial profit for the clergy. ‘Religion’ in this sense is the natural ally of parasitic income and of every form of oppression and exploitation.

Can we not clearly understand from this the difference between true “religion” and distorted, so-called “religion”? Thus the actual path followed by the true religious person, who “hungers and thirsts after righteousness,” naturally diverges from the ideological dream-world in which the half-paralyzed pseudo-religionist dances, taking fixed doctrines and revelations, creeds and rituals to be religion. Sinclair’s next words express almost exactly my own present conviction:

I am certainly no shallow materialist. I am not so superficial as to think that human beings can be satisfied by meaningless rationalism. I know that the symbols of the old religions arose from the human heart. They arose because they corresponded to certain desires of the human heart. And I also know that, together with those desires, the symbols of a new religion suited to the needs of the present age can be discovered. If I am trying here to tear down an old, dilapidated building, it is not out of a blind impulse to destroy, but because I am an architect who wishes to build in its place a new and sturdier structure.

7. The True Character of Temple Buddhism

B: Then today’s Nichiren sect, Nenbutsu sect, Shingon sect, and so forth, with their ruling hierarchies claiming divine authority and their fixed doctrines, “revelations,” creeds, and rituals, are what might be called “religion in the ordinary sense.”

A: They are indeed typical examples. Look at Mount Minobu, the eastern and western Honganji temples, or Narita’s Fudō temple. Where in any of them do we find a “hunger and thirst for righteousness,” or the “most fundamental spiritual impulse,” the vital force of life, being nurtured and fostered? What kind of contact do these sacred places have with young people, in whom spiritual impulses are at their strongest? Among the pilgrims to these sacred places, most are old people with no future, people making selfish petitions, or perhaps bourgeois and petit-bourgeois youth. What kind of promise do they make to the young people of tomorrow?

And speaking of that,…

[p. 287]

…Tsukiji Honganji, I hear, is planning to construct an enormous reinforced-concrete temple hall with a building budget of more than two million yen. The reason for doing so is truly remarkable. Since the Great Earthquake destroyed its main hall, most large funerals have been going instead to Zōjōji in Shiba. The new building, it is rumored, is therefore a scheme to win those customers back. What kind of grotesque commercial competition between funeral corporations is this?

Given Buddhism under the leadership of temples like these, there is hardly any need to explain what the lives of ordinary Buddhists look like today. It amounts to little more than mouthing phrases such as “From Impermanence to Devotion,” accompanied by a smiling face, as though economic life were an entirely separate matter. People may shed grateful tears at the thought that “the founder spent ninety years clothed in paper,” and may be deeply moved as they recall his exile at Tsukahara; but how is any of that spirit actually woven into the everyday lives of believers? Look again at the recent practice of the ruling class, as one means of ideological guidance, of having elementary-school teachers install kamidana in their classrooms in order to instill the ideology of reverence for the gods and veneration of the ancestors. These are precisely the fossilized religious rites Sinclair was describing. What a strange situation we have today: at a time when there are said to be as many as a thousand villages where teachers’ salaries go unpaid, the gods and buddhas whose very life is equality and love are shut up inside such little boxes, while the ruling class orders teachers to bow before them in the name of ideological guidance. The ruling class is bad enough—but surely the teachers who have no choice but to reply, “Yes, indeed,” and obey deserve our sympathy as well. Think about it. Why should governors and department heads receive monthly salaries of four or five hundred yen, while elementary-school teachers receive only sixty or seventy? And isn’t the amount of time they actually spend working in precisely the opposite proportion?

Earlier I mentioned Dr. Takakusu’s “Eight Principles of Buddhism.” Among its four outward-facing principles are non-harm, great compassion, peace, and equality. He says that Buddhism’s distinctive characteristic lies in carrying each of these principles through to its fullest possible extent. But that is merely a story about the past. Where do we see these principles being practiced today? Where are Buddhists even calling for their practice? Indeed, what could be more upside-down and confused than the fact that Buddhism now attacks socialism—which seeks to put those very principles into practice—as though it were the devil itself? We must once again recover the Buddha’s life of equality.

8. The Transformation of the Economic System is Essential

B: Then, from what you have said, is the concrete problem advocated by the Revitalized Buddhist movement ultimately the need for “a new religion integrated with the needs of the present age”?

A: Exactly. As I said before, generally speaking, economic relationships regulate our thought and action. Under the present profit-oriented…

[p. 288]

…capitalist economic system, antisocial egoism is naturally mass-produced. That is why I regard the transformation of this mechanism as a fundamental problem.

B: I asked you this before, but isn’t the proper function of religion nevertheless a spiritual one?

A: There is some truth in that. But the moment religion fixes itself exclusively in that role, it acquires the first qualification of a religion in the service of established power, and then becomes capable of reactionary preaching. If you could guarantee, for people in general, that they could perform hard physical labor even when hungry and remain mentally clear even when deprived of sleep, then I would accept your argument.

B: But many accomplished people have managed to transcend adverse circumstances. Doesn’t that show that spiritual power can rise above environment? And haven’t extraordinary powers of mind sometimes developed precisely under difficult conditions?

A: That is precisely the stock-in-trade of establishment preachers. Of course, there is the saying, “Extinguish the mind, and even fire becomes cool.” But, as I have repeatedly said in this conversation, I am speaking generally. Ordinary people tend to lack constancy of mind when they lack a secure livelihood. You can argue as you do now because you have no anxiety over food and clothing. But imagine yourself being hounded by the need to obtain today’s bread: a religion of spiritual bliss would inevitably become a secondary concern.

Human beings, after all, exist within nature. Just as pine branches exposed to the sea wind are shaped in much the same way, we too are generally subject to the influence of our environment. It is therefore impossible simply to ignore those influences and speak only of ideals. Is this not precisely why the Confucian tradition could say:

[p. 289]

“When the granaries are full, people know propriety and decorum”? Unless the movement to establish a true Buddha-land takes this objective reality of human nature as its point of departure, it will remain an eternal dream.

9. An Example of Economic Conditions Determining Action

A: On the eve of the formation of the Revitalized Buddhist movement, one incident gave me decisive confirmation on this issue: the withdrawal of the Kōfu branch.

B: That was actually something of a surprise to me as well. After all, that branch had been the one into which you had put the greatest effort ever since you first launched the Nichirenist movement, and it was also the most influential branch. What was the reason for its withdrawal?

A: Five comrades had even promised to come up to Tokyo for the founding ceremony on the fifth. But the anti-capitalist declaration contained in our third principle, published in the inaugural issue of Buddhist Banner delivered on the third, proved fatal. Since the branch included quite a few members of the petit-bourgeois class and salaried employees, the basic reason was that opposition to capitalism threatened their own livelihoods and made it difficult for them to carry on. That, roughly speaking, was the reason.

B: But surely none of them were actually supporters of capitalism. And among the younger members, I heard there were some quite energetic people who had even told you that you ought to join a proletarian political party immediately.

A: When reform remains at the level of ideas and words, one can say almost anything. But when it comes time, as the saying goes, to “put the bell on the cat,” things no longer proceed according to one’s professed convictions. That, too, is ordinary human nature.

B: But for a religious organization that had worked hand in hand with you for ten years, wasn’t that an extraordinarily faithless response?

A: If blame is to be assigned, then my own lack of virtue and lack of ability deserve blame first. I cannot bring myself simply to condemn the attitude of the branch with the word “faithlessness,” because I still remember the genuine goodwill the comrades there had shown us. I also believe that among them were comrades who opposed withdrawal, or who thought the decision should at least be postponed. Nevertheless, the fact that the entire branch ultimately decided to withdraw revealed both human weakness in the face of the problem of bread and the workings of a group psychology that transcends the individual.

If this movement were really to deprive comrades of their jobs and cut off their means of obtaining bread—and I do not think that must necessarily happen—then, for someone with a wife, children, parents, or siblings, it would generally be unreasonable to expect him simply to advance in a straight line according to a single-minded conception of justice. If, despite such circumstances, the comrades who withdrew had merely disguised their own weakness and invented other reasons for leaving, then they would indeed deserve blame. But that was not what happened.

[p. 290]

A: In reality, even while cursing the tyranny of capitalism, they dropped out because they were forced to consider the immediate problems of making a living. “You can’t trade your belly for your back,” as the saying goes. Here we can see just how powerfully economic problems tend to govern human action, and how the ruling class, through its tyrannical repression, threatens the lives of the vulnerable masses. This, I think, demonstrates all the more clearly the significance of our having placed the transformation of the capitalist economic system in our third principle.

10. The Historical Task Borne by Revitalized Buddhism

B: Then if you had simply left out the third principle, you would not have had to part from close comrades?

A: Probably so. But suppose that we affirmed capitalism—or criticized it only in words, while in practice carrying on just as before, happily singing hymns to the Buddha and loudly proclaiming socialism while indulging in an intellectual game. How much of the blood and sweat of the proletarian masses would have to be sacrificed to sustain us? Think, for example, of the countless comrades who labor thousands of feet underground, where the light of day never reaches, receiving scarcely enough to cover the bare cost of living. When are they to be liberated and allowed to live lives worthy of human beings? And then look at the luxurious lives of the handful of bourgeoisie. Is this really a social condition that Buddhists—who ought to carry the principles of great compassion and equality through to their fullest extent—can continue to overlook forever?

B: I understand how you feel. But Buddhism also has ways of looking at things such as “flowers are red, willows are green,” “differentiation is precisely equality,” and “karmic cause and recompense.” Isn’t one distinctive feature of Buddhism precisely its ability to endure painful realities through perspectives such as these?

A: Such interpretations are precisely the hundred-percent opiate sermons on which establishment religious figures have traditionally feasted. The historical task borne by Revitalized Buddhism must instead be to re-examine these distorted teachings, properly proclaim the Buddhist spirit, and make it a guiding principle for securing the welfare of the masses.

(Shōwa 6 [1931], “Under the Banner of Revitalized Buddhism,” May issue)

Part Three

1. Is Poverty the Result of Previous-Life Karma?

B: Then how exactly have doctrines such as “karmic cause and recompense” been distorted so as to perform the function of religion in the service of established power?

[p. 291]

A: Let’s begin with “karmic cause and recompense.” As I said earlier, Buddhism is neither fatalism, creationism, nor a doctrine of chance. Of course Buddhism teaches the law of cause and effect, so differences between rich and poor certainly have causes. The distortion lies in placing the cause entirely on one side and thereby imposing resignation and submission. Take the proletarian masses who remain poor no matter how hard they work. How have priests traditionally explained the cause of their poverty? “It is karma from a previous existence. It is your own karma and your own recompense. It is neither the capitalist’s fault nor society’s responsibility. Therefore, instead of blaming capitalists or society, you should simply work even harder.” That is how they have solemnly explained it.

But anyone with even a little knowledge of the capitalist system can already see through such an explanation; there is hardly any need to belabor the point. Last year’s so-called “bumper-crop hell” is an excellent example. The weather was favorable and the farmers labored until the sweat poured from them, yet that unprecedented bumper crop actually became a cause of increased hardship for farming households. Can that fact really be disposed of through a doctrine of causation from a previous life? Or look at bank interest rates: small borrowers are charged more, while large borrowers receive more favorable rates, pushing the small borrower into an increasingly disadvantageous position. Or consider the grossly unequal distribution of profits generated through the cooperation of labor and capital, and the suppression by governmental authority of those who protest. If economic inequality is produced by such unfair social causes, can all of it really be dismissed as the poor person’s karmic consequence from a former existence?

2. Poverty Is Also a Matter of Collective Responsibility

A: Buddhist reasoning does not permit such one-sidedness. In this case Buddhism clearly asserts social “joint responsibility” (rentai sekinin, 連帯責任); it does not assign responsibility to one side alone. This is what Buddhism means by “collective karma, collectively experienced” (gūgō shokan 共業所感). If responsibility is joint, then capitalists too must bear part of the responsibility for the impoverished lives of the proletarian masses. More broadly, it is a responsibility shared by society as a whole. Once we discover that defects in the capitalist economic system are among the causes of poverty, shouldn’t reform of that system become the first question confronting us as a matter of joint responsibility?

B: But if that is so, how should we understand such ideas as “one’s own karma, one’s own recompense” (jigō jitoku, 自業自得) and “cause and effect through the three existences” (sanze inga, 三世因果)? Are you saying there is absolutely no individual responsibility…

[p. 292]

…at all?

A: I am not saying that individual responsibility does not exist. The question is whether responsibility is confined to an individual’s private life or whether the transformation of society is regarded as fundamental. We cannot determine which is fundamental without correctly understanding the relationship between the individual and society.

Now, in “one’s own karma, one’s own recompense,” an individual self is posited, and the actions it performs through the cycle of rebirth are described as “one’s own karma, one’s own recompense” or “cause and effect through the three existences.” But so long as no-self is a fundamental principle of Buddhism, this way of thinking must naturally be re-examined.

For if we assert an individualistic doctrine of “one’s own karma, one’s own recompense,” Buddhism’s fundamental principle collapses; while if we assert no-self, “one’s own karma, one’s own recompense” cannot stand in that form. In this connection, a scholar named Rhys Davids is said to have explained that “the view current at the time”—the individualistic theory of karmic causation through the three existences—“was added to the teachings of original Buddhism without being logically integrated into them.” I suspect that is indeed the case.

3. The True Liberation of Humanity and Religion

The idea of “one’s own karma, one’s own recompense” was a transitional conception belonging to an age in which individuality was exaggerated at the expense of sociality. Buddhism’s fundamental principle, however, remains no-self, together with “the conjunction of many conditions; no single cause produces anything” (shuen wagō, ichiin hishō, 衆縁和合・一因非生). Consequently, an individualistic theory of jigō jitoku cannot stand. If “one’s own karma, one’s own recompense” is properly interpreted, the “self” in that expression is not an isolated individual ego but a social self—a greater self—formed through the conjunction of causes and conditions. The causes of poverty must therefore be explained socially as well. Accordingly, the means of eliminating those causes should also be sought through positive and concrete social methods. And although society as a whole bears joint responsibility, so long as there remains a distinction between ruler and ruled, it is only reasonable that a greater share of responsibility be sought from the ruling class. To treat poverty simply as the proletarian’s “own karma and own recompense,” making individuals resign themselves, submit, sweat away at their labor, and be exploited for the gratification of the ruling class—could there be a more grotesque inversion of right and wrong on the part of priests? Therefore, jigō jitoku must be reconsidered through the Buddhist teaching of no-self. We must be liberated from the distinction between “self” and “other,” and through the true spirit of no-self seek a thoroughgoing, concrete social movement directed toward resolving the problem as a whole. Especially under a modern capitalist system organized as thoroughly as ours, surely it is here that the true liberation of humanity is to be found…

[p. 293]

…and this is what it means to be a Buddha: a human being who attains such an awakening and then strives vigorously to realize it in society. The Buddha was precisely the exemplary embodiment of such a human personality.

B: I see. Explained that way, the statement I once heard attributed to the abbot of Zōjōji—that “the fundamental solution to the problem of labor and capital is to make workers understand the law of karmic causation”—really is, quite literally, an opiate sermon.

A: Exactly. And even if we interpret jigō jitoku in the traditional, individualistic way, such preaching amounts to nothing more than the self-indictment of utterly heartless pseudo-religious figures. For if the poverty suffered by workers is the consequence of causes from a previous life, then surely the difficulties capitalists experience when confronted by strikes of the proletarian masses must likewise be consequences of causes from a previous life. And if the same law of cause and effect applies in both cases, then rather than using it to make proletarians who presently lack material necessities submit and endure, how much more in keeping with the Buddha’s path of saving the weak would it be to use that blessed law of cause and effect to persuade the bourgeoisie, who possess more than enough, to satisfy the demands of the proletarian masses? Even from a practical standpoint, surely there is a far greater possibility of solving the problem by persuading those with abundant material goods simply to give some of them up than by trying to persuade masses who presently lack even bread. And yet in reality precisely the opposite occurs. Isn’t that astonishing?

B: Exactly. Isn’t this what Lenin meant when he said:

Religion teaches those who toil and suffer throughout their lives to be submissive and patient here on earth, consoling them with the hope of reward in heaven. But to those who live by the labor of others, it teaches charity while they are on earth, thus offering them a very cheap way of justifying their entire existence as exploiters and selling them tickets to heavenly bliss at a moderate price.

But there is one thing I still wonder about. If responsibility is located socially in this way, won’t individual effort become weaker?

A: People accustomed to the kind of individualistic social life we have today may easily think so. But in reality, the more thoroughly a consciousness of belonging to a community with shared interests takes hold, the more strongly individual effort is intensified. Anyone who has committed himself wholeheartedly to a genuine communal life knows this from experience.

Every pioneer worthy of respect has been someone who saw the whole of society within himself and understood himself in relation to social life. Such people could not help but engage in social action. The Buddha’s rejection of the individual ego and private possession, and his teaching of our indebtedness to society, arose from precisely this…

[p. 294]

…reason. And far from being misguided, were not the efforts of Marx and Lenin—who maintained that “the human essence is the totality of social relations”—magnificent? Individual self-interest is, of course, also part of ordinary human nature, and in that sense “one’s own karma, one’s own recompense” is undoubtedly a transitional mode of thought rooted in that aspect of human nature. But the truth of no-self points eternally toward humanity’s highest liberation and toward a life of common production and common flourishing.

4. The Distorted Doctrine of “Differentiation Is Precisely Equality”

A: Next comes the distorted doctrine of “differentiation is precisely equality.” Here too, as you said earlier with the expression “flowers are red, willows are green,” priests have devised clever explanations designed to make people accept irrational and unjust social inequalities exactly as they are.

B: But as you yourself have often said, if a flowerpot requiring seven gō of water receives seven gō, and one requiring three gō receives three, neither has too much nor too little. Isn’t that “differentiation is precisely equality”—a natural differentiation rather than an unjust one?

A: As far as that explanation goes, it is perfectly correct. Five gō is insufficient for someone who needs seven, while five is too much for someone who needs three. The one who needs seven should receive seven, and the one who needs three should receive three. But are the differences in present society really arranged in that way? A poor family of seven may be crammed into a three-tatami-mat tenement, suffering because they do not even have enough rice for today’s meal. Meanwhile, another couple may live spaciously in an enormous mansion, possessing more wealth than they could ever use and idling away their time in amusements.

A poor old man may be jostled about in third class on a train, while a wealthy young man sits grandly in second class. An ordinary laborer may work throughout the day for a daily wage of barely two yen, while someone else puts in an appearance at the company for four or five hours and pockets several hundred yen. A bright, physically capable child may be unable to proceed to higher education simply because there is no money, while elsewhere even a frail child of little ability can find some way through the examination ordeal. Present society is certainly not differentiated according to need in the way you described—seven gō to the person who needs seven and three to the person who needs three.

5. How Is True Equality to Be Realized?

B: But although these inequalities may at first look like nothing more than the selfishness of the wealthy, haven’t the wealthy made the effort necessary to become wealthy? Couldn’t those differences therefore be regarded as legitimate distinctions corresponding to differences in effort?

[p. 295]

A: If human society were no different from the competitive life of plants and animals—the strong devouring the weak in the struggle for survival—then I would have no objection to such differences. But insofar as human beings are beings possessed of personality, the differences within human society must themselves be ordered in a manner worthy of human personality. Otherwise, they cannot properly be called the differentiations of human society. Take the example we just used. If a two-person household receives six gō of rice, then a seven-person household should receive two shō and one gō. If a train has second- and third-class accommodation, then perhaps the elderly and children should ride second class, while young people ride third. If someone working two hour receives four yen, then someone working six hours should receive twelve. There would still be differences, but they would not simply be differences produced as the outcome of free competition. That, I think, is what “differentiation is precisely equality” ought to mean in human life. Moreover, as I said earlier, if poverty is not merely a matter of jigō jitoku but a matter of social joint responsibility, then wealth too must be regarded not simply as an individual’s own karmic reward but as something social. A person’s wealth therefore ought not to be used freely and arbitrarily for that person alone. Should not the genuine “differentiation that is precisely equality” of human society consist instead in differences rationally and purposively ordered under social regulation?

Yet on the one hand people loudly proclaim mutual aid and harmony between labor and capital, while on the other, religious figures in the service of established power preach that the differences produced by heartless, ruthless free competition are somehow the absolute truth of “differentiation is precisely equality.” What kind of gospel is that? Just think about it. The many spend their entire lives breaking their bodies in dark mine shafts extracting gold and silver, while the few freely appropriate that gold and silver and spend their lives in luxury. If we simply say that this too is the result of free competition, there is nothing more to discuss. But to take mastery of life and transform instinct into rational, purposive action—to make the world into a consciously ordered product—this is humanity’s task. If that is so, surely it is utterly irrational simply to contemplate these inequalities as they are and call them “differentiation is precisely equality.” Human society is not merely a natural phenomenon. It is a society endowed with reason and creative power. Therefore, insofar as this is possible, should not the phrase “differentiation is precisely equality” mean consciously using reason to order differences and thereby create the greatest practicable degree of equality?

[p. 296]

6. Free Competition and Cooperative Harmony

B: But competitiveness is also part of human nature. Wouldn’t such an ideal society ultimately be nothing more than a fantasy? And if we impose a strong order upon society, might the result not instead be the mass production of idlers?

A: That is a concern one commonly hears. But just as human beings possess a capacity for competition, they also clearly possess a capacity for harmony. Indeed, it is precisely this capacity for harmony—this sociality—that is characteristic of human beings. Unfortunately, we have not yet attained a form of organized life in which it can be sufficiently cultivated and developed.

Consider the early stages of human evolution. Human beings did not possess the sharp and powerful weapons found naturally in other animals—fangs, claws, and the like. In the natural struggle for survival, therefore, they were at an extreme disadvantage. Why, despite this, were they able to become masters of the earth? Was it not because they possessed reason and creative power, and because they lived lives of cooperation and solidarity? If that is so, individual free competition cannot be the primary principle of human society; the primary principle must instead be the sociality of cooperation and harmony. Only within such a conscious society can individual freedom itself be guaranteed and established. This rational mode of existence, I believe, is both the distinctive characteristic and the destiny of humanity.

We can understand this quite well simply by considering the course of an individual human life.

From infancy through childhood we may be innocent, but we are virtually self-interest embodied as instinct. At no other stage do we wield the instinct of self-interest so unrestrainedly. Yet as the sphere of life expands from the family to school, and from school to society, self-control increases, we become more social, and as we enter old age we grow increasingly mature. Looking at the facts, I believe that the history of human society will probably develop in much the same way: with the development of reason, it will advance toward an ideal society. Unfortunately, however, present society is still entangled in the net of a capitalist economic system woven by instinctive free competition. It may therefore seem that if economic competition were abolished, life itself would lose its purpose. But competition need not be confined to economics. On the contrary, scientific…

[p. 297]

…artistic, moral, and other forms of competition will surely bring about an age of true competition worthy of humanity. At present, however, all the diverse capacities of human beings have been driven down the single path of economic competition and, grotesquely, have themselves been turned into commodities. We have become so accustomed to this that we have even constructed the conceptual formula “human life = economic life.” Consequently, even if people’s livelihoods were guaranteed, we imagine that without economic free competition they would lose all capacity for activity—like a morphine addict deprived of morphine. But I don’t believe that. On the contrary, I believe that it is precisely when we are liberated from economic competition that the true stage of human life will finally open before us. Take manual labor, for example. If it were socially planned and distributed equally, workers and farmers who have traditionally suffered from overwork would of course be relieved of that burden. At the same time, appropriate work could be assigned to those members of society who had previously passed their days in idleness, allowing both groups to enjoy healthy lives in body and mind.

Yet today, while ordinary people have no rice for tomorrow and go hungry, the government has some four million koku of surplus rice piled up in warehouses and does not know what to do with it. In such a merciless and uncoordinated capitalist society, those who work must labor night and day simply to survive. Labor itself therefore comes generally to be hated. But appropriate labor ought, on the contrary, to be a source of joy. If appropriate work were available to everyone within a planned society, no one would simply want to be idle. People would come to spend a certain number of hours working less as a social duty than as an enjoyable right.

Look, for example, at the lives of the people of Ittōen. They obtain only enough food for the day, yet are content with that and work happily throughout the day. Isn’t this evidence that human beings can live contentedly and work without necessarily accumulating private property?

7. The Role of Ittōen at the Present Stage

B: But is that sort of austere life really the ideal form of human life?

A: Of course I don’t think it is. I doubt that Tenkō-san thinks so either. Buddhism has the expression “ordinary people attached to appearances” (shusō no bonbu). There are those who are inclined to take the outward form of such a life of coarse clothing and simple food as though that itself constituted the ideal life of a sage. I don’t accept that.

A truly human life…

[p. 298]

…I think, demands not only spiritual development but also a material life that is rich, wholesome, and beautiful. There is nothing unjust about seeking this. When such a life cannot be enjoyed by everyone, restraint born of compassion for others has meaning. But coarse clothing and simple food have no absolute value in themselves. The history of human development proves this. Humanity’s task is not to return to primitive life by cutting itself off from civilization, but rather to advance toward an ever higher form of cultural life.

B: Then wouldn’t the ideal be to realize Ittōen’s cooperative life without private property throughout society, but in a materially more advanced cultural form?

A: Ideally, yes. But Ittōen is, after all, an anomalous form of utopian socialism born under the oppressive conditions of capitalist society. It has significance as a training ground in which intellectually and spiritually troubled people can experience the spirit of non-possession. Yet, viewed objectively in relation to present social conditions, one cannot expect it to function as a practical movement for social reconstruction. On the contrary, I think it has unconsciously come to play something like an opiate-like role.

8. The Proletarian Movement and the Realization of an Ideal Society

B: Then how do you envision the practical movement for realizing such an ideal society?

A: As I said before, I see no path to reconstruction other than through the political power of the emerging proletarian class, provided that it develops properly.

B: Legally or illegally?

A: In principle, I would like it to proceed legally. But I do not believe that what is illegal is necessarily unjust. A commentary on the Nirvāṇa Sutra explains it this way:

Whether monastic or lay, those who would protect the Dharma should take account of the original intention, setting aside the particular act while preserving the principle, and thereby rightly propagate the Great Teaching. Thus, in “protecting and upholding the True Dharma,” one must not be constrained by minor observances. … In former times, when conditions were peaceful and the Dharma flourished, one should have upheld the precepts. Now, in a dangerous age when the Dharma is obscured, one should take up the staff. … Choose and reject according to circumstances; one must not adhere exclusively to a single course.

In short, one must not cling to forms. If the motive is right, then depending on circumstances one may even have to resolve matters through force. There is also the saying, “Kill one in order to let ten thousand live.” Thus illegality is not necessarily evil. Whether an act is to be approved should be determined by examining its fundamental motive and the circumstances of the particular case. Japanese history itself provides examples. The reforms of the Meiji Restoration are an obvious case.

[p. 299]

But naturally, what I hope for is a transformation that is legal from the outset and involves as little sacrifice as possible. For that to happen, people throughout society must recognize as quickly as possible the evils of capitalist society and the historical necessity of the emergence of the new class, until this becomes common knowledge. By giving the proletarian movement as much sympathy and support as possible, we can minimize the unavoidable sacrifices accompanying social transformation.

9. The Anti-Religion Movement and Our Position

B: What exactly is this anti-religion movement that has recently begun as one wing of the proletarian movement?

A: In fact, just last night I participated in a joint public meeting at the Central Buddhist Hall with Takatsu Seidō of the anti-religion movement, Honjō Kasō, Kon Tōkō, a certain Mr. Miwa, secretary-general of the Buddhist Youth Federation, Shibata Ichinō of the Nichiren school, and others. According to Takatsu’s explanation, the basic argument of the anti-religion movement, from his socialist standpoint, is this: “Justice is that which guarantees the welfare of the masses. Anything that obstructs the welfare of the masses must therefore be attacked. Religion is the greatest obstacle to the welfare of the masses because it serves as the watchdog of capitalism. Religion must therefore be attacked.”

B: Is Takatsu’s position different from that of Akita Ujaku and the League for Anti-Religious Struggle?

A: According to something Akita wrote in the Yomiuri Shimbun, the issue was the value to be placed on making use of the Social Democrats. The more radical members of the League wanted to exclude them, while Takatsu disagreed and withdrew. But if, as Takatsu explained last night, his anti-religion movement takes justice as its starting point, then theoretically it contains something that cannot be reconciled with pure Marxism. As a practical movement, however, the two are alike insofar as they attack religion as an opiate.

B: Then what attitude do they take toward your Revitalized Buddhist movement? You too reject capitalism and attack the established religious institutions. Do they attack you as well?

A: Even though we agree on those points, the anti-religion movement arose from a Marxism that denies religion itself. So naturally they cannot exempt Revitalized Buddhism from their attack.

Indeed, precisely because we are “Red Buddhists,” they may regard us as all the more troublesome.

[p. 300]

For our part, although we likewise reject capitalism and the established religious institutions, so long as our understanding differs from that of Marxism, we cannot simply throw ourselves wholesale into Marxism. But this is no different from the fact that, even though they belong to the same anti-religion movement, differences between Akita and Takatsu have unfortunately produced a split between them. The fundamental issue, therefore, must be a critique of Marxism itself—particularly its conception of religion.

In his Feuerbach, Engels writes: “If religion can exist without God, then alchemy can exist without the philosopher’s stone.”

And: “Nothing exists outside nature and humanity. The higher beings created by our religious fantasies are nothing other than the fantastic reflection of our own essence.”

With this, the spell was broken. The Marxist conception of religion represented in this passage is, after all, a response to the Christian creator God. If the essence of religion consisted in believing in the actual existence of such a God, then we too would deny religion along with Marx. Why? Because Buddhism did not arise by acknowledging anything like a “creator God, ruling God, or judging God.” Moreover, since Buddhism has undeniably existed as a religion, religion as such cannot be something that must simply be rejected. Established religious institutions that exploit the masses, of course, may be rejected—and indeed ought to be rejected. I doubt that anyone desires their rejection more strongly than we do. Precisely for that reason, we respect the ideal of the anti-religion movement insofar as it is motivated by concern for the masses.

But suppose that, as expressed in the aspiration “I desire only to become a Buddha,” we understand religiosity as the whole-person demand that ceaselessly seeks the ideal of the complete human being—the Buddha. Then the various sectarian forms found in established religions are simply forms in which this religiosity has been conceived at different stages of cultural development. Those established religious institutions must naturally undergo the appropriate historical reckoning demanded by their age. But a movement that denies religiosity itself reveals, on the contrary, an inadequate understanding of human life. What we should demand is a religion appropriate to the age. In this sense, should not the anti-religion movement itself be properly sublated? Needless to say, if religion is to be rejected wholesale because it obstructs the welfare of the masses, that judgment can properly apply only to established religious institutions.

[p. 301]

The essence of religion itself emphatically does not run counter to the welfare of the masses. The Buddha and Christ are obvious examples. Lincoln’s movement for the emancipation of slaves provides another striking one. Is not religiosity itself the source of the great ideal of mutual love among the masses and of the passionate energy required to put that ideal into practice?

B: I understand much better now. On May 23, the League for Anti-Religious Struggle is holding its inaugural lecture meeting at the Jichikan in Ueno, and apparently your movement will be criticized there too. After I’ve heard what they have to say, I’d like to ask your opinion again.

A: I’d like to hear it myself, but unfortunately I have to attend the Kanazawa branch meeting on the twenty-third, so I can’t go. Listen carefully for me. If by any chance there is even the slightest error in my convictions, I will never hesitate to stop this movement. Nichiren said: “Even if I am defeated in argument, if my mind does not change, may the gods take my life.” But he also said: “If my doctrine is refuted by a wise person, I will not use it.” It is in this spirit that I want to press forward single-mindedly with the Revitalized Buddhist movement. Blind faith is no good.

10. Rational Religion and Reverence for Śākyamuni Buddha

B: But isn’t precisely that attitude the genuinely religious attitude? Rational religion! Isn’t the very motive force behind humanity’s limitless capacity for renewal precisely this rational religiosity?

A: When we desire this kind of rational passion, we are necessarily drawn in reverence toward humanity’s highest exemplar, Śākyamuni Buddha. And when we revere Śākyamuni Buddha, this rational passion that we cannot cease desiring naturally burns still more intensely. Thus reason calmly subjects problems to criticism, while passion drives us directly toward the realization of the ideal, even at the risk of death. The scripture says: “Single-mindedly desiring to see the Buddha, they do not begrudge their own lives.” And elsewhere: “Because their hearts yearn for him, he then appears and preaches the Dharma for them.” These too must surely be confessions of precisely this kind of religious experience. In any event, this is how our Revitalized Buddhist movement becomes a religious movement that unifies the whole of life within reverence for the person of Śākyamuni Buddha.

B: I think I now more or less understand what you mean by your “conversion to Revitalized Buddhism.”

A: Then let’s bring this conversation to a close for now and promise to talk again another time.

(Shōwa 6 [1931], “Under the Banner of Revitalized Buddhism,” June issue)