Editor’s Note: This article features the highlights of Brian Ryōjun Victoria’s most recent book, Zen Terror in Prewar Japan: Portrait of an Assassin. Like Brian’s previous books, it provides a cautionary tale of how some Zen Buddhists in Japan interpreted the Buddha's teachings to justify actions which caused harm and suffering to others. In our contemporary world, this phenomenon is unfortunately widespread, whether it takes the form of white Christian nationalism or Buddhist attacks on the Rohingya in Burma.
We are not publishing Brian’s article as an expression of SBN’s viewpoint, but rather as an invitation for readers to grapple with, and comment upon, the ethical issues being raised by the author.
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On an early winter’s morning in 1945, four months after the end of the Second World War, a shabbily dressed man in his late 50s walked into the General Headquarters (GHQ) of the Supreme Commander for the Allied Powers in Tokyo. His name was Inoue Nisshō (1887-1967), a convicted domestic terrorist and lay disciple of one of Japan’s most famous modern Zen masters, Yamamoto Gempō, abbot of both Ryūtakuji and Shōinji temples. Inoue had been instructed to report for questioning as a war-criminal suspect because he had once been the leader of a terrorist band, popularly known as the Blood Oath Corps. His civilian band members were initially responsible for the deaths of two of Japan’s political and financial leaders in the spring of 1932, with plans to assassinate many more. A second group of military band members assassinated Prime Minister Tsuyoshi Inukai on May 15, 1932.
What had motivated Inoue and his band to undertake their terrorist acts? After all, it is hardly necessary to tell adherents of secular Buddhism that neither Zen nor Buddhism is known for its involvement in terrorism.
Following his father’s death in 1926, Emperor Hirohito had ascended the throne at a time of great social and political domestic instability. Across Japan, banks were closing, and the government was arresting Left-wing activists, accusing them of harboring ‘dangerous thoughts’ as defined by the Peace Preservation Law.
The Great Depression that began in the United States in October 1929 greatly reduced both demand and prices for raw silk, Japan’s single largest export product. At the same time, Japan’s population was increasing by nearly 1 million people a year. Its workforce was growing at an annual rate of approximately 450,000 people, all seeking jobs in a shrinking economy.
In addition, successive poor harvests in the early 1930s, especially in the northern prefectures, brought widespread starvation to many parts of the country. Rural debt rose rapidly, leading to delinquent tax payments, and more and more farmers either lost their land altogether or were forced to take desperate measures, such as selling their daughters into prostitution. Japanese society was in a state of crisis that in many people’s eyes required immediate and drastic remedies.
Inoue, who had begun his Zen training in Manchuria, responded to this crisis by accepting an invitation to head a newly built Buddhist temple. It was 1928 and the new temple was in the village of Oarai, near the city of Mito north of Tokyo. Inoue threw himself into the work of training a small group of about 20 young people. He drew on a variety of Zen training methods, including meditation practice; assigning kōans and conducting private interviews with his disciples, all to create an intrepid group of volunteers with a ‘do or die’ spirit.
At first, Inoue planned to train young people for legal political activism. However, by 1930, under the pressure of events and young civilian and military activists, Inoue decided to take more resolute measures. “In an emergency situation,” he wrote, “emergency measures are necessary. What is essential is to restore life to the nation. Discussions over the methods for doing this can come later, much later.” Inoue fully expected that his political actions would lead to his death: “We had taken it upon ourselves to engage in destruction, aware that we would perish in the process.”
In his previous Zen training, Inoue found the basis for his commitment to destruction. Drawing on the lessons of a 13th-century Zen collection of kōans known as the Mumonkan, or ‘The Gateless Barrier’, he claimed:
Revolution employs compassion on behalf of the society of the nation. Therefore those who wish to participate in revolution must have a mind of great compassion toward the society of the nation. In light of this there must be no thought of reward for participating in revolution.
In other words, in the violently destructive acts of revolution one would find the mind of Buddhist compassion. He and his band members were prepared to die in the process of the revolution.
In October 1930, Inoue and his band shifted their base of operations to Tokyo. From there, he recruited more young people, including some from Japan’s most prestigious universities. One of Inoue’s band members later explained: “We sought to extinguish Self itself.”
Inoue’s band chose assassination as their method of revolution. Assassination, Inoue explained, “required, whether successful or not, the least number of victims.” He also thought it “was best for the country, untainted by the least self-interest.” He and his band members were prepared to die in the process of the revolution. By being prepared to sacrifice themselves, they believed they could ensure that as few people as possible would fall victim to revolutionary violence.
They intended to assassinate some 20 Japanese political and financial leaders but managed to kill only two before the remaining band members, Inoue included, were arrested. Junnosuke Inoue (1869-1932), a former finance minister, was their first victim, shot on the evening of February 9, 1932 as he entered Komamoto Elementary School in Tokyo to deliver an election speech. His assassin was 20-year-old Onuma Shō (1911-1978), a onetime baker’s assistant and carpenter’s apprentice.
On the morning of the assassination, Onuma was uncertain whether he would be able to carry out his assignment. Seeking strength from his Buddhist training, Onuma recited four sections of the Lotus Sutra to calm himself. Thereafter, he started to practice Zen meditation: “When I opened my eyes from their half-closed meditative position, I noticed the smoke from the incense curling up and touching the ceiling. At this point it suddenly came to me – I would be able to carry out [the assassination] that night.”
The trial of Inoue and his band began on June 28, 1933. In his court testimony, Inoue made it clear that his Buddhist faith lay at the heart of his actions: “I was primarily guided by Buddhist thought in what I did. That is to say, I believe the teachings of the Mahāyāna tradition of Buddhism as they presently exist in Japan are wonderful.”
With regard to Zen, Inoue said: “I reached where I am today thanks to Zen. Zen dislikes talking theory so I can’t put it into words, but it is true nonetheless.” Inoue went on to describe an especially Zen-like manner of thinking when he was asked about the particular political ideology that had informed his actions. He replied: “It is more correct to say that I have no systematized ideas. I transcend reason and act completely upon intuition.”
For those acquainted with Zen thought, the Zen influence on Inoue’s statement is clear. Here, for example, is what D. T. Suzuki had to say in Zen and Japanese Culture (1938):
Zen upholds intuition against intellection, for intuition is the more direct way of reaching the Truth. Therefore, morally and philosophically, there is in Zen a great deal of attraction for the military classes . . . This is probably one of the main reasons for the close relationship between Zen and the samurai.
Inoue testified that Buddhism taught the existence of “Buddha nature.” Although Buddha nature is universally present, he argued, it is concealed by passions, producing ignorance, attachment and degradation. He saw the Japanese nation as being similar. Its nature was truly magnificent, identical with the “absolute nature of the universe itself.” However, human passions for money and power and other fleeting things had corrupted the polity.
At this point, the judge interrupted to ask: “In the final analysis, what you are saying is that the national polity of Japan, as an expression of universal truth, has been clouded over?”
Inoue replied: “That’s right. It is due to various passions that our national polity has been clouded over. It is we who have taken it on ourselves to disperse these clouds.”
Inoue meant that in killing (and planning to kill), he and his band were restoring the brilliance and purity of the Japanese nation. Their victims had been no more than obscuring “clouds.”
The morning edition of The Asahi Shimbun newspaper on September 15, 1934 carried the news: “Zen Master Yamamoto Gempō, spiritual father of Inoue Nisshō, arrives in Tokyo to testify in court.” Yamamoto claims: “I’m the only one who understands Inoue’s state of mind.”
Yamamoto testified that “in light of the events that have befallen our nation of late, there is, apart from those who are selfish and evil, no fair and upright person who would criticize the accused for their actions.” Why? Because Yamamoto claimed that their actions were “one with the national spirit.” But what about the Buddhist prohibition against taking life? Yamamoto explained:
“It is true that if, motivated by an evil mind, someone should kill so much as a single ant, as many as 136 hells await that person. . . Yet, the Buddha, being absolute, has stated that when there are those who destroy social harmony and injure the polity of the state, then even if they are called good men killing them is not a crime.”
While there can be no question that Buddhism promotes “social harmony” between both individuals and groups, support for killing “those who destroy social harmony and injure the polity of the state” is not to be found in Buddhist sutras. Instead, the source of these ideas is found in neo-Confucianism, whose social ethics emphasize the importance of social harmony achieved through a reciprocal relationship of justice between superiors, who are urged to be benevolent, and subordinates, who are required to be obedient and loyal.
Japanese Zen accepted and taught neo-Confucianism in Japan from the 1400s onwards even while continuing to pay lip-service to Buddhism’s traditional precepts. In pre-war Japan, the state was headed by an allegedly divine emperor whose benevolence extended to the wellbeing of all Asian peoples, especially those colonized by Western nations or endangered by the spread of communism. It was the emperor to whom the Japanese people were taught they owed absolute obedience and loyalty. Believing this, Yamamoto ended his testimony by stating:
Inoue’s hope is not only for the victory of Imperial Japan, but he also recognizes that the wellbeing of all the colored races (i.e. their life, death or possible enslavement) is dependent on the Spirit of Japan. There is, I am confident, no one who does not recognize this truth.
In the eyes of one of Japan’s most highly respected Rinzai Zen sect masters, who conflated Buddhist and neo-Confucianist ethics, Inoue and his band’s terrorist acts were by no means “un-Buddhist” or blameworthy. And despite his court testimony defending terrorists, Yamamoto was so highly respected by his fellow Zen masters that they chose him to head the entire Rinzai Zen sect in the years following Japan’s defeat in August 1945. As for Inoue, master and disciple remained close until the former’s death in 1961.
Inoue and his band members were all found guilty. On November 22, 1934, he and the two assassins were given life sentences while the other band members received sentences ranging from 15 to as few as three years. However, in early 1935, 11 of the accused were amnestied and released from prison. Inoue’s sentence was also shortened until in 1940 he, too, was released from prison. In a most unusual step, Inoue’s guilty verdict was completely erased from the judicial record. It was as if he had never been involved in terrorism at all.
In another surprising development, shortly after his release from prison, then prime minister Prince Konoe Fumimaro (1891-1945) invited Inoue to become his advisor, providing him with living quarters on his estate. That is to say, a former leader of a band of terrorists had exchanged his prison cell for life on a prime minister’s estate. Clearly, Inoue enjoyed the support of some of Japan’s most important political leaders.
Moreover, Inoue never admitted to any kind of remorse for having ordered the assassination of some 20 Japanese political and financial leaders, of whom two were killed initially and one, Prime Minister Inukai, killed shortly thereafter. In fact, Inoue later wrote describing his actions as having “dealt a blow to the transgressors of the Buddha’s teachings.”
Conclusion
Religious terrorism, of course, remains a current reality. The question can be asked, are there any lessons for the present to be learned from the Zen-affiliated terrorism described here?
It is important to recognize that Buddhist-inspired terrorists, like religion-related terrorists everywhere, care so much about protecting or rescuing those in perceived need that they are willing to sacrifice their own lives in the process of carrying out their terrorist acts. Inoue and his band regarded themselves as no more than “sacrificial stones,” i.e. pawns (J. sute-ishi), in the struggle to reform Japan. This conviction allowed them to view themselves as Buddhist bodhisattvas, figures ever-ready to sacrifice their own welfare for the sake of others. Such self-sacrifice resonates with the tenets of many religious faiths, and helps terrorists to see themselves as not only ethical but even unselfish exemplars of their faith.
It’s this view of themselves as ‘good’ and ‘self-sacrificial’ that allowed Inoue and his band, like all religion-inspired terrorists, to commit their heinous acts, secure in the mistaken belief that they were acting ethically and according to the highest dictates of their faith. Thus, to demonize terrorists, as we do today, turning them into evil incarnate, is to fail to recognize their most salient characteristic. No matter how twisted and inhumane their acts are, they are nonetheless moral in their own eyes by virtue of their concern for others, their willingness to sacrifice themselves on their (or God’s) behalf. Thus, depending on the context, religious-affiliated terrorists like Inoue and his band regard themselves as ‘freedom fighters’, ‘heroes of the faith’ or, more typically, ‘martyrs’.
Historically speaking, no religion is free from having been invoked or contributing to terrorist acts or providing the supposed justification for terrorism. Among religions, today’s ‘Islamic terror’ is no more than the ‘flavor of the day’ or the immediate problem. This is certainly not to deny that Islam-related terror is a deadly serious issue, but it is also a Buddhist, a Christian, a Jewish and a Hindu issue. Simply placing the blame on Islam blocks a solution since it prevents mutual understanding and leads to an unfounded, self-righteous attitude on the part of adherents of non-Islamic faiths. It also raises the thorny question of why it is considered bad to kill people in the name of religion, for example Buddhism, yet acceptable, even praiseworthy, to kill them in the name of the state.
In seeking to understand acts of terrorism, the question ‘Who benefits?’ must always be asked. The historical record reveals that even governments, or at least parts of governments, are willing to support terrorist acts if this advances what they regard as their national interest. As has become clear in recent years, it is not unusual for powerful, behind-the-scenes actors, including governments, to serve as ‘enablers’ of terrorism through funding, supply of weapons, training, suggested targets, etc.
The true solution to terror is one that is seldom discussed, and even less often acted upon. Namely, the solution to all but ‘lone-wolf’ acts of terror is the establishment of socially and economically just societies, no matter how difficult that might be. Where oppression exists, resistance is inevitable. Religion is one of the most available means of organizing resistance, for it provides an emotionally powerful and compelling way to speak and think about sacrifice and justice. But it is critically important to remember that state and secular forces in society seek to maintain, or even enhance, their own power by secretly funding and supporting terrorists, capitalizing on the religious fervor of believers, especially the latter’s willingness to sacrifice themselves. Terrorism, at least on a large scale, could not exist without their support.
At the same time, those who believe in the salvific power of religion must acknowledge how easily their religion’s highest ideals can be, and have been, hijacked by those seeking to enhance their worldly power. In the absence of critical self-reflection on the part of not only Buddhists but all religious adherents, the cycle of religion-affiliated terrorism will never be broken. In words attributed to the 17th-century French scientist Blaise Pascal: “Men never do evil so completely and cheerfully as when they do it from religious conviction.” There can be no doubt that followers of secular Buddhism have already made some momentous changes to the practice and understanding of traditional Buddhism. But the question must be asked, have these changes adequately addressed Buddhism’s (not simply Zen’s) long involvement in Asia in accepting, if not justifying, violence?
Brian Ryōjun Victoria is a senior non-resident research fellow at the Oxford Centre for Buddhist Studies. He is also a Buddhist priest in the Sōtō Zen sect. Brian is author of Zen War Stories (2003) and Zen at War (2006), and most recently, Zen Terror in Prewar Japan: Portrait of an Assassin (2020).
