403

Bunkyo  University, Faculty  of International  Studies, 1100 Namegaya,
Chigasaki, 253 Japan


                                Oh, East  is East, and  West  is West,
                                  and never the twain shall meet,
                                Till Earth and Sky stand presently  at
                                  God's great Judgment Seat...
                                  --Rudyard  Kipling, "The  Ballad  of
                                    East and West"


The twain have long since met, with and without apocalypse, but a more
insidious  stereotype   still  infects  Kipling's  blithe  verse:  the
assumption   that  East  is  East,  i.e.,  that  we  can  make  useful
generalizations  about  the  East.  However  difficult  it may  be  to
characterize the West, it is far more difficult to make an observation
valid from Sakhalin to Saudi Arabia.  A little acquaintance with south
Asia and east Asia is sufficient to dispel the notion that they can be
meaningfully   lumped  together  into,  e.g.,  "the  intuitive  East."
Somewhat  more  familiarity  has made  me reflect  on the ways  Indian
culture  and  Sino-Japanese   culture  seem  to  be  almost  diametric
opposites.  That replaces one stereotype  with another, of course, yet
perhaps this other extreme --  privileging the reverse view --  may be
useful for exploring  the possibility  that more is involved here than
merely their dissimilarity.

    This  paper, then, is  an experiment  that  pushes  this  opposite
generalization  to see how far we can ride it and how illuminating  it
can be.  This  amounts  to an exercise  in cultural  typing  which, it
cannot be emphasized  too strongly, is meant to be heuristic: that is,
I shall attempt  to extract  some ideal  types from a mass of cultural
characteristics  which are probably not susceptible  to any definitive
organization  and  certainly  not to any as simple  as the  one  to be
offered  here.  But let us see if we can nonetheless  learn  something
valuable from it.

    What follows is an argument that the cultural polarity between the
Indian-influenced  cultures  of south  Asia and the Chinese-influenced
cultures of east Asia is more significant than that between "East" and
"West".  However  considerable  the differences  may be between, e.g.,
China

                                404


and Japan (and we shall  look at many of those differences), they lose
their importance when we contrast those two with the other side of the
Himalaya -- appropriately, a formidable and almost impassable barrier.
Since the amount of relevant  data here is also formidable  and almost
indigestible, part one confines  itself to outlining  what I think are
the most significant  contrasts.  Part two adumbrates  the pattern  in
those  differences,  which  reduces  to  differing  attitudes  towards
transcendence: the distinction  between  sacred and secular  is one of
the most fundamental determinates  of Indian ways of thinking, whereas
both China and Japan are this-worldly in assigning primary value to --
and thereby sacralizing --  socio-political structures.  Part two also
considers  the various  meanings  and types of transcendence, and asks
why an overt transcendental  dimension arose in certain places but not
in others.

    Part three  reflects  on where  "the West"  fits into this schema.
Contrary  to Kipling, East and West cannot  help but meet because  our
concept of each gains meaning only by negating the other;  the East is
"intuitive"  only when the West is "rational", etc.  Then what happens
when  the East no longer  needs  the West as an alter  ego? If (in the
compensatory  stereotype  to be developed  below)  east Asia and south
Asia are already cultural opposites, where does the West fit into that
polarity? Somewhere  in the middle, one could argue, but we shall  see
that the alternatives are not so one-dimensional. Curiously, India and
Japan  each seem to have more in common  with the West  than with each
other. That is because Western civilization, like Indian, is rooted in
a strong sacred/secular bifurcation; yet the historical eclipse of the
sacred has transformed  Western  societies  into more secular  nations
therefore  similar in many ways to China and Japan, which lack India's
transcendental  reference-point.  But this  perspective  is misleading
because  in the most important  sense  a transcendental  dimension  is
unavoidable: when  we  do not  apprehend  or project  a transcendental
realm, we end up sacralizing some aspect of the secular, for we feel a
need to ground ourselves  in one or another ultimate concern.  In east
Asia, the transcendental  dimension  remained  embedded  in the sacred
authority of social and political hierarchies, whereas in the West the
transcendental  has been gradually  internalized  into  the supposedly
autonomous and self-directed  individual.  These differences  underlie
many of the political  and economic tensions between east Asia and the
West today.


    That  will give us three  different  models  of how to relate  the
secular  to the  sacred, the  phenomenal  to the  transcendental.  The
conclusion  briefly  evaluates  them, by  looking  at  each  from  the
perspective  of the others.  Once the problems with each paradigm  are
seen, we shall  be less inclined  to opt for one simply  to avoid  the
others. If all three models are unsatisfactory, for different reasons,
how can their differences be addressed?


                                405

1.

The following contrasts between India and China/Japan  are striking --
so much  so that  the structure  of these  oppositions  can hardly  be
coincidental.  Below  are the  differences  that  seem  to me the most
important.  Much  of the data is from Hajime  Nakamura's  encyclopedic
Ways of Thinking of Eastern Peoples;  numbers in parentheses  refer to
its page numbers.(2)

1.Traditional   Indian  culture  displays  a  strong  preference   for
universals   over  particulars.   In  Indian   thought   there   is  a
preponderance  of (and  the Sanskrit  language  has a preference  for)
abstract   notions,  which  are  treated  as  if  they  were  concrete
realities.   Emphasis  is  on  the  unity  of  things;   the  changing
manifestations  of  the  phenomenal  world  tend  to  be  devalued  as
illusory.  Accordingly, there is a lack of historical and geographical
consciousness: little interest  in calculating  time or recording  the
specific details of locality, and few historical or biographical works
with accurate  dates.  Indian aesthetics  does not analyze  individual
works   of  art  and  books   of  classification   lack   illustrative
case-histories. In summary, not the specific but the generalization is
important.
    In contrast, traditional Chinese culture prefers particulars  over
universals.  The  Chinese  language  has  a  concrete  flavor  and  an
extraordinary  number  of  similes  and  metaphors;  for  example, the
philosophical  concept of perfection is often metaphorized  as "round"
and in Ch'an  Buddhism  one's  true nature  is "your  original  face."
Chinese literature  includes  detailed  geography, historiography  and
biography, because specific  places, historical  events and the people
that made them are all important.  The paradoxical  dialogues of Ch'an
do  not  offer  abstract  Buddhist  teachings  but  concretize   those
teachings by responding appropriately  to particular  situations.  The
other side of this preference for the concrete is that Chinese culture
(like   Japanese   culture)   is  poor  mythologically,  whereas   the
"fantastical"  Indian imagination  created  the richest of the world's
mythologies.  Even the few Indian histories "are tinged with fantastic
and  legendary  color."  (219, 143)
    In  a pattern  that  will  become  important  as it  is  repeated,
Japanese culture may be viewed as extrapolating  these Chinese traits,
for  it also  emphasizes  sensible  and concrete  events  rather  than
abstract   universals.   Nakamura   names   this   Japanese   tendency
phenomenalism.  In contrast  to Indian inclination  toward an Absolute
transcendent to the phenomenal world, and Chinese understanding of the
Tao as a more dynamic  ground of changing  phenomena, for the Japanese
the phenomenal world is the absolute (350 ff).

                                406

2.In India  highest  value was placed  on the religious  goal of one's
individual  self  merging  into the Universal  Self, which  is without
personal differentiation.  There was little discussion of the problems
with social and political structures;  such concerns were subverted by
the belief that one's individual self is ultimately nondual with other
selves.  This world was devalued  into a means to prepare for another:
"The ancient  Indians  led their life on this side of heaven  with the
expectation  of a life after death."  (161) The Indian preference  for
negative  expressions  (e.g.,  "The  atman  is  that  which  has  been
described as not this, not this."(3))  exemplifies  a fondness for the
undetermined, i.e.  that which  is other than this determinate  world.
There  is  emphasis  on  introspective  behavior  and  the  subjective
comprehension  of one's personality  (in contrast  with modern Western
emphasis   on  scientific,  i.e.   objective,  comprehension   of  the
personality).  That is because the nature of the Universal Self may be
known  immediately  by becoming  aware  of the  true  nature  of one's
individual self.  This bias towards introspection was accompanied by a
tendency  to  abstain  from  action  and  an emphasis  on passive  and
forbearing behavior.  Nakamura compares this attitude with the Western
Romanticists: they  "have  in common  a longing  --  or more  properly
speaking, a vague  and undefined  attraction  --  toward  an infinite,
distant, and supernatural Being." (144)(4)

    Traditional China was more worldly in placing highest value on the
family.  One is not concerned  to transcend  this world but identifies
with one's family and works for its welfare.  Ancestors were worshiped
in order to gain prosperity in this life. The religious goal of Taoism
and Ch'an is not to experience  another  realm but to become  aware of
the true nature  of this  one;  the miraculous  function  of Ch'an  is
"fetching   water   and  chopping   wood."   In  contrast   to  Indian
preoccupation  with karma and rebirth, there was little concern  about
what happens  after death (Confucius: "You do not yet know about life;
why do you concern  yourself  about death?") and no deep consciousness
of sin or the need for salvation.  "Indian  Buddhism  was generally  a
metaphysical teaching about the past and future worlds of man, but the
Buddhism which spread among the common Chinese was often a Buddhism of
spells and prayers." (236)

    The phenomenalism of Japanese culture meant that the sacred is not
distinct  from  this  world  but  suffused  in all  things: there  are
millions  of gods;  even  trees  and  grass  have  kami.  No  profound
reflections  on the  soul  or death  are  found  in  Shinto, the  only
indigenous religion; death is simply impurity. In contrast with Indian
asceticism  and less extreme tendencies in Chinese Buddhism and Taoist
yoga  (in the latter  case practiced  to gain  physical  immortality),
there was an acceptance  of natural dispositions  (e.g., sex, alcohol,
meat-eating)  even for priests.  Zen Buddhism emphasized the spiritual
significance of everyday life: tea-drinking, flower-arranging,

                                407

killing others and, should the occasion require, oneself.  Not-killing
is the first precept  in Indian religions  (wars were fought mainly by
mercenaries), yet Zen became popular because it taught the samurai how
to kill and how to die --  that  is, how to play  their  role  in what
Nakamura calls the social nexus.  He says there are very few instances
in  Japanese  history  of  individuals   sacrificing   themselves  for
universal  principles  such  as religion  and  truth, yet  innumerable
samurai (and other vassals) sacrificed themselves  for their lord: not
because  he was any better than any other lord, but simply because  he
was their lord.  Indian renunciants abstained from work and begged for
their food;  Chinese Buddhists were more practical  (Pai-chang: "a day
without working is a day without eating");  Japanese  Buddhism came to
repudiate  most traditional  spiritual  disciplines  in favor of those
that promote  productive  activities, exemplifying  the general  trait
that Robert Bellah identifies as the most important characteristic  of
Japanese society: its goal-oriented  behavior.(5) Indian preoccupation
with  metaphysics  and  abstract  principles  contrasts  with  Chinese
pragmatism  and even more strongly  with Japanese lack of interest  in
theoretical  principles in favor of acting.  This helps to explain the
rapid modernization  of Japan after 1868 and its rapid recovery  after
1945. However, Nakamura is concerned that such a religious view


    may easily  degenerate  into the sheer  utilitarianism  of profit-
    seeking  activities, should  it lose sight of the significance  of
    the  absolute,  which  underlies   the  productive   life  of  all
    vocations.  It is especially true with a people like the Japanese,
    who are not too preoccupied with religious matters. (513)

3.The  harsh  physical  conditions  of the Indian  subcontinent, whose
scorching dry season is followed by an inundating  monsoon, correlates
with  emphasis   on  suffering   (duhkha)  and  pessimism   about  the
possibilities  of this  world  of samsara.  This implied  a submissive
attitude  toward  one's  fate  and  conditions  of  life;   karma  was
understood  to mean  that  they  are regulated  by an invisible  power
beyond immediate  control.  The physical  body tended to be belittled.
Indian thought is not anthropocentric: the distinction  between humans
and  other  living  beings  is not emphasized, evidently  because  all
phenomena  become  equivalent  insofar  as they  are  other  than  the
Absolute.  The emphasis  in education  was on philosophy, particularly
metaphysics, which seeks to comprehend the whole.
    The  well-known  Chinese  esteem  for nature  reflects  a physical
environment  more  conducive  to admiring  its  beauties.  Instead  of
understanding  this world as a samsara to be fled, "everyday  mind" is
enlightenment in Ch'an.  Mahayana Buddhism, which claimed that samsara
is not other than nirvana, did not survive in India yet became the one
Indian school of

                                408


thought to thrive north of the Himalaya. With the notable exception of
Hsun tzu, Chinese  thinkers  understood  human nature  to be basically
good, as part of the larger natural  law.  Since nature is not opposed
to man, it does not need to be conquered but harmonized with;  natural
disasters  were a sign that the ruler had lost his mandate  to govern.
For both the social  system and the physical  environment, harmony  is
the key concept. Bellah's Tokugawa Religion views Chinese and Japanese
societies  as similar  in many  ways, but  distinguishes  the  Chinese
emphasis  on integrative  values from the Japanese stress on political
or goal-attainment values.(6)
    In the religious  sphere, this implied syncretism  among the three
major Chinese religions, widely believed  to be essentially  the same.
While Indian thinkers disputed over philosophical principles, ignoring
the  practical  and  social  implications  of  their  debates, Chinese
scholars resolved philosophical  issues in a framework  restrained  by
societal conventions -- which implies that such conventions were taken
to be more important than the abstract search for truth. In preferring
the more practical  problems  of social relations, Chinese  thought is
more humanistic  and anthropocentric.  The most notable  exception  to
Chinese  lack  of interest  in  metaphysics  is the  Buddhist  Hua-yen
doctrine  of  all  phenomena  as  mutually  interpenetrating.  Hua-yen
philosophy  elaborated  concrete metaphors  such as Indra's net, water
and waves, the golden lion, etc., in order to conclude  that, contrary
to Indian reference  to a spiritual  Absolute, reality is the totality
of  such  interpenetrating   relations.   So  even  Chinese   Buddhist
metaphysics  negates  transcendence   in  the  Indian  sense!  Chinese
philosophy  has little logic, dialectic, dialogue  or argument;  being
figurative  and intuitive, it is weak  in formulating  abstract  laws.
Indian Buddhists accepted perception  and reasoning  as valid pramanas
(modes of knowledge);  Chinese Buddhism deferred  to the authority  of
the  Buddhist  canon,  and  accepted  strange  new  doctrines   (e.g.,
cittamatra) solely on the authority of Sakyamuni Buddha rather than as
a result of reasoning.  The syncretic tendency may also be seen in the
way  that  different   doctrines   were  formally  organized   into  a
hierarchical system (e.g., T'ien-t'ai), rather than such systems being
a result  of  developing  their  logical  connections.  This  attitude
towards Buddhist teachings was part of a general conservative emphasis
on the authority of antiquity and its precedents  overruling  abstract
principles  such  as logical  consistency.  It was believed  that  all
important  truth could be found in the Five Classics;  Confucius  said
that he merely imitated  and revived  past customs.  Hence "China  has
never had a revolution  in her world of thought" (208).  (Today we can
see how Maoism was not an exception to this but exemplifies it.) Later
no independent school of thought was allowed to exist in opposition to
Confucianism;  intellectual  life became confined to the acceptance of
traditional classics and commentary on them.

                                409

    Since  Shinto  gods  were  diffused  into  almost  everything, the
Japanese  have never viewed  the natural  world as cursed  or samsara.
Japanese  love  of nature  developed  into  a subtle  appreciation  of
minute,  delicate, transitory  things  (e.g., cherry  blossoms).  This
phenomenalism  included  an acceptance  of human dispositions, desires
and  sentiments  as natural  too  and  therefore  not  to be struggled
against.  Buddhism in Japan became less ascetic; spiritual disciplines
were  repudiated  as unnecessary  (e.g., Shinran), and later  alcohol,
meat-eating and marriage were allowed for priests -- not to weaken the
influence  of Buddhism, as has been argued, but to ratify abuses which
had become common.
    Even  more  than in China, emphasis  on the harmony  of the social
nexus  meant  a lack of interest  in divisive  argument  and critique.
Nakamura  points to a deficiency  in the spirit  of criticism: in many
cases, rapprochements  occur  "for the sake of convenience  and in the
mood of opportunism...  lacking in the radical spirit of confrontation
and criticism."  Buddhist  priests "very reluctantly"  reflect  on the
great differences  between doctrines they espouse and the actions they
and  others  perform,  preferring   to  follow  the  accepted   social
nexus.(402)  The  militant  nationalism  of almost  all  Japanese  Zen
masters during the second world war remains an embarrassment  for many
Western Zen students.  (7) Nakamura notes a lack of will to drive home
a concept  or an idea, which could also threaten  social harmony;  the
sociologist Chie Nakane agrees that there is little social sanction in
Japan for entertaining  ideas and opinions that are different from the
head of one's family or community.(8) One result of this is a tendency
to avoid complex  ideas in favor of simplistic  symbolic  expressions:
sects of exclusive  faith in the Lotus Sutra prospered  only in Japan;
Japanese Christians  devoted themselves  to simple symbols such as the
cross;  haiku poetry prospered  but not longer verse forms.  Virtue is
also simple and unproblematic. The highest value is placed on honesty,
understood  as  straightforward  truthfulness  and  loyalty  to  one's
superior, rather than any commitment to some abstract moral code.
    Nakamura emphasizes the non-rationalistic  tendencies  of Japanese
ways of thinking.  Shinto has no doctrine.  In discourse logical rules
are neglected;  the primary importance  placed on one's limited social
nexus  means  there  is  little  inclination  to  make  each  person's
understanding  rational  or universal.  Hence logic developed  slowly.
Indian Buddhist logic was studied but in a dogmatic way, which revered
the founder as highest authority and studied his teachings in a spirit
that  defends  the faith.  Such  works  tended  to become  an esoteric
tradition: writings  (e.g., Dogen's  Shobogenzo)  were kept secret and
privately  transmitted  in a catechistic  way not intended  for public
dissemination  as a teaching  beneficial  to all.  While  the  Chinese
classified   Buddhist   sects  hierarchically,  the  Japanese   simply
distinguished their own


                                410

from all other  inferior  ones.  (562)  Nakamura  notes  that Japanese
people are said to be adept at imitation and adaptation but sterile in
invention; foreign cultures are assimilated not through study of their
general principles and structures, but by precipitately importing only
those parts suitable for immediate practical use. Japanese are weak in
studying the objective  basis of their action because, he writes, they
are  too  eager  to accomplish  the  action.  (575)  Phenomenalism  in
education  means that learning is a matter of collecting  facts.  Even
today, the  notorious  university  entrance  examinations  require  an
extraordinary  memory for facts, without much need to understand their
relationship  or significance.  In his study of Japanese high schools,
Thomas  Rohlen notices  that "schooling  in logic is as old as Western
civilization  itself", something even more true for traditional Indian
education, which emphasized  philosophical  debate.  "By contrast, the
Japanese tradition...  has long emphasized memorization and imitation.
One approach  helps  the internalization  of a moral  and intellectual
frame of reference, the second aids adjustment to the environment."(9)
    Early  Shinto  was  hardly   distinguishable   from  animism   and
shamanism;  and, according  to Nakamura, at every critical  moment  in
Japanese  history when ruling classes lost control over the peasantry,
magical  or  shamanistic  trends  became  important  again.   Imported
doctrines were not immune from this tendency:

    As a new religion, Buddhism  was  compelled  to meet  the  popular
    requirement that it should be effective in exorcism.  The Japanese
    type of Buddhism was largely one of prayer and exorcism. It mainly
    aimed  at praying  for benefits  and wealth  in this world and the
    next, in the interest of the state as well as of individuals. Even
    the  reading  of sutras  was  considered  to  have  an  exorcistic
    significance... (p.578)


Shingon esotericism  predominated  in early Japanese Buddhism, whereas
it was  rare  in India  and China, where  it had  developed.  Japanese
Confucianism (which in China denounced magic and exorcism) also had to
become more tolerant of such tendencies.

4.In  traditional   India,  political  leaders  rarely  intervened  in
religious matters or interfered with religious institutions.  Instead,
kings  tended  to defer to sages and spiritual  organizations, for the
highest authority was the universal  law or dharma, understood  as the
foundation  of the universe  on which all things  are grounded.  Faith
(sraddha) was invested not in particular  persons but in this abstract
Truth transcending  the transitory affairs of humans.  Different world
views were understood  to be parts of that one Truth, thus encouraging
a spiritual  tolerance  with  no conception  of heresy  in the Western
sense, as something  dangerous  that  must be extirpated.  Why did the
Indian understanding of dharma not lead to the inquisitions that


                                411

occurred in medieval Europe, which ruthlessly protected the Truth from
heresy? Perhaps  the dharma  did not need to be defended  in this  way
because, due  to greater  emphasis  on its  transcendence, it  is  not
something  that can be offended or possessed.  The desire for a direct
relationship  with the Absolute led to emphasis  on one's own efforts.
The Buddha  appointed  no successor, whereas  one's spiritual  lineage
became extremely important in China and Japan.
    Indians  had  little  racial  or national  consciousness, and even
today  they  are  more  inclined  to  form  religious  than  political
organizations. Asoka's Edicts indicate that he wanted to be remembered
not as King of India  but as preserver  and actualizer  of the dharma.
India's  many legends and myths contain very few national  heroes.  It
was a virtue  to offer  one's property  and life for the happiness  of
others, but self-sacrifice  on behalf  of a particular  race or nation
was  never  taught.  (118, 121)  I stress  this  because  it  will  be
important to my argument later: since Indian culture defined itself in
relation to a transcendental realm, it did not become nationalistic or
sacralize political authority.
    In China and Japan there was much greater esteem for the hierarchy
that structured  the social nexus, and corresponding  emphasis  on the
formalism in behavior which usually accompanies such esteem.  In China
the  Buddhist   precepts   were  valued  more  highly  than  in  their
birthplace, to the extent  that a vinaya  (precept)  sect was founded,
whose spiritual  practice emphasized  reciting  the innumerable  rules
which regulate the lives of monks.  In both countries  the great value
placed on rank and social position subordinated religious values: that
is, religious  institutions  were dominated and controlled  by secular
authorities, who thereby  not only  neutralized  the threat  that such
sacred  authority  (dharma)  offered  to their power, but appropriated
that authority  for their  own political  ends.  Sakyamuni  had had to
choose   between   becoming   a  world-monarch   (cakravartin)   or  a
world-savior  (a Buddha);  the two were never conflated  in India, nor
was there ever much doubt  about which was the nobler  accomplishment.
Starting with the T'ang dynasty, the Chinese emperor gradually  became
deified, coming  to  be  viewed  as  a Bodhisattva  or  the  Tathagata
himself.  Under his rule property  rights existed  but not freedom  by
law. The conception of human rights that developed in the West -- that
one can have the protection of law against one's own government -- had
an Indian equivalent in respect for the dharma; devotees who renounced
the world were usually  beyond state jurisdiction.  Both notions  were
(and  for the most  part  still  are)  alien  to Chinese  and Japanese
political institutions.
    Japan perfected  this tendency  to identify religious  and secular
authority.  Only in Japan did the mythology that accounts for creation
of the world also found the imperial family.  In China dynasties  were
overthrown, yet in Japan

                                412

the same  family  has reigned  since  the beginning  of history.  Even
today, it is the one family that has no surname: it needs none, for it
is  the  family  that  constitutes   the  Japanese   people.   Chinese
Confucianism  allowed  for  revolution, should  the emperor  lose  the
mandate of heaven. Japan has no place for such a possibility: imperial
authority  is not derived from any abstract  principle  such as divine
right but abides in his person. The fundamental importance of this for
Japanese society may be appreciated from the stress Nakamura places on
"the  tendency  to emphasize, and unconditioned  belief  in, a limited
social  nexus", which  takes  form  in  the  "absolute  devotion  to a
specific  individual  symbolic  of the social nexus": that is, emperor
worship.  (pp.407 ff) In contrast to the religious-like nationalism of
Nazi Germany, which emphasized  a future-oriented  ideal (a "purified"
Aryan world without any Jews, etc.), the religious-like nationalism of
Japan emphasized the present real: the emperor as God.(10)
    Japanese this-worldliness meant that Buddhism too was changed into
a religion  centered  on this  world.  In the  early  Nara  and  Heian
periods, almost  all sects emphasized  magic and incantations.  Shinto
and Buddhism  were perceived  as compatible  for the pragmatic  reason
that differences  of religion  were not important  unless they damaged
the  social  nexus  --   precisely  the  opposite  reason  for  Indian
tolerance, which  was based  on the  preeminence  of Dharma.  In other
words, religion in Japan was not considered  important  in itself;  as
Nakamura  says, its value was its utility in serving as the foundation
of the state.  (p.579) Nakamura also points out the problem with this:
"the inclination  to regard as absolute a limited specific human nexus
naturally brings about a tendency to disregard any allegedly universal
law of humanity  that every man ought  to observe  at any place at any
time."  (393)  When this way of thinking  is pushed  to an extreme, it
ends up emphasizing "ethno-centrism  or supernationalism, and with its
emphasis upon the specificity of the time, in opportunism." (p.399)
    When the social nexus is primary, hierarchical  relationships  and
rules of propriety take precedence over the individual. Emphasis is on
complete dedication to one's social collective. Then good and evil are
solely  a matter of social  morality: what profits  the group or harms
its welfare.  This implies  an acute  moral  self-reflection  that, as
Nakamura notices, is very different from that of Christian Europe. The
importance  of social cooperation  prompts a deep concern about social
esteem, what others  think of me, rather than an internalized  anxiety
about my sinfulness  before  the all-seeing  transcendent  eye of God.
Although the family was the predominant  social unit, as in China, the
whole  Japanese  nation  was regarded  as the extended  family  of the
father-emperor.  The cult of bushido taught complete devotion to one's
lord, who was also one's true parent.  It is not difficult to see that
same unconditioned loyalty in contemporary Japan, psychologically


                                413

transferred  to one's company.  Association with religious temples and
sects  was  not  a matter  of individual  commitment  but  the  social
relationship  of  one's  family  clan.  Today  funerals  and  memorial
services (in which priests are necessary as intermediaries) are almost
the only social role of Buddhism  in Japan, yet neither was a function
of original  Indian  Buddhism.  In order  to win  a place  in Japanese
society, Buddhism  too had to promote such civic virtues as loyalty to
the emperor  and devotion  to one's parents, concepts  alien to Indian
Buddhism.  The Mahayana goal of "the happiness of all sentient beings"
became "the prosperity of the imperial family."
    The result of this absolute  devotion  to a particular  individual
who  symbolized  the human  nexus, as opposed  to the  Indian  way  of
symbolizing  the  cosmos  in an impersonal  way, was loss  of personal
freedom.  Unlike  the  contracted  and delimited  responsibilities  in
European feudalism, the Japanese vassal devoted his whole existence to
his lord.  It is a simple way to solve the problems of ultimate  value
and  social  relationships  --   by  conflating  them  --   but  at  a
considerable  price.  At the end of Tokugawa  Religion  Robert  Bellah
concludes:

    Religion  reinforced  commitment  to the central  value system  by
    making  that value system  meaningful  in an ultimate  sense.  The
    family and the nation were not merely secular  collectivities  but
    were also religious entities.  Parents and political superiors had
    something of the sacred about them, were merely the lower echelons
    of  the  divine.   Fulfillment  of  one's  obligations   to  these
    superordinates had an ultimate meaning.(12)

Bellah sees a connection between this and militarism:

    The great  difference  from  China  is that  whereas  the military
    aspect  tended  to atrophy  and particularistic  loyalty  to one's
    lord, though important, was not primary, in Japan the militaristic
    aspect remained important  even if it had to be only symbolic  and
    the idea of loyalty to one's lord continued  to override all other
    ethical concepts.(13)

Herman  Ooms, in his more recent  study  Tokugawa  Ideology, concludes
with the same observation: "Military regimentation  came to inform the
model of the social order." And today? "That obsession  with order has
continued undiminished."(14)
   The basic problem  is that such an order allows for no "categorical
imperative" which transcends the limitations of one's particular human
nexus.   Since  all  things  were  judged  according  to  that  nexus,
ecclesiastical  authorities  in Japan were always  subject  to secular
authorities, and up to this day they have tended to be subservient  to
the  state.  As Max Weber  put  it, the  state  was  not  a patron  of
religion, as  in  India, but  a religious  police.  (p.527)  Religious
institutions  in Japan  have never had much authority, nor have men of
religion been as highly respected as in India or the West. "The

                                414

Japanese  accepted Buddhism without changing  their own standpoint  an
iota.  That was why Buddhism  spread  with such speed."  (p.529)  Even
though  it became  accepted  as the  national  religion, Buddhism  was
always  regarded  as imported;  and if Buddhism  did not change Japan,
neither  did Japan change  Buddhism, which was "when  viewed  from the
larger  standpoint  of Buddhist  history, a mere  branch  of  Buddhism
growing out of the Buddhism of China." (p.346) Yet Japanese  Buddhists
believed  that  "only  in Japan  was  the  pure  message  of Sakyamuni
revealed." (p.349)
    Nakamura  emphasizes   the  weakness  of  the  Japanese  religious
consciousness and concludes that "[R]eligion, in the true sense of the
word, never deeply took root on Japanese  soil." (p.530)  But there is
no escaping  religion, in the most  important  sense  of the word: for
when  we  deny  the  authority  of the  sacred, we end  up sacralizing
secular  authority.  So there is another way to understand  Nakamura's
point: the religion of Japan is... Japan.

5.  Whether  or not  one  accepts  some  version  of  language/thought
isomorphism, there is an integral  relationship  between  the cultural
differences  discussed above and the languages that express them.  One
of the most impressive  aspects of Nakamura's  Way of Thinking  is the
detailed   way  it  correlates   cultural  tendencies   with  specific
linguistic characteristics. For example, Sanskrit has a preference for
abstract   nouns,  for  substantives   rather   than  verbs,  and  for
propositions  stated impersonally  in the passive mode.  Chinese gains
its concrete  flavor from a preference  for proper  nouns and from its
poverty of universals, compared with an abundance  of words for bodies
and  shapes.  Original  Japanese  is  rich  in aesthetic  and  emotive
vocabulary, but poor in imaginative  words based on abstract universal
ideas; in contrast to Sanskrit, the passive voice is uncommon.
    Sanskrit  grammar  developed  early, before grammar did in Europe,
but  there  was little  Chinese  grammar, and  no standard  system  of
Japanese  grammar before 1868.  Sanskrit, along with its Indo-European
cousins  Greek  and German, has long been cherished  as a vehicle  for
precise  philosophical  expression, whereas Chinese  and Japanese  are
much  more  ambiguous.  Chinese  has  few  prepositions, conjunctions,
relative  pronouns;  lacks cases, copula, and the distinction  between
singular and plural;  there is no clear difference between subject and
attribute, for the same word can function as noun, adjective  or verb.
Nakamura  deems it an awkward  medium  for the expression  of abstract
thought.  (p.188) Most of these points are also true for Japanese, and
he draws the same conclusion:

    The forms of expression of the Japanese language are more oriented
    to sensitive  and emotive  nuances  than directed  toward  logical
    exactness.   The  Japanese  language  does  not  tend  to  express
    precisely and accurately

                                415


    the various  modes of being, but is satisfied  merely  with vague,
    typological expressions. (p.531)

We  are  tempted  to  conclude, as  Nakamura  does, that  Chinese  and
Japanese are intellectually  inferior to Indo-European languages.  Yet
one  could  argue, on the  other  side, that  the  Chinese  "lack"  of
prepositions and relative pronouns allows for types of expression that
Sanskrit  does  not.  If we do not  assume  that  abstract  conceptual
discourse  is the "highest"  form of thought, it becomes difficult  to
prove that sensitivity  to emotional nuance characterizes  an inferior
one.  Perhaps we should not conclude that certain languages are better
for thinking;  rather, different languages emphasize different ways of
thinking, just as the title of Nakamura's book puts it. We can benefit
from the insights  of Chuang-tzu  and Dogen without wishing  they were
Nagarjuna --  although it is nonetheless  striking how similar many of
their insights are.(15)
    This  brings  us  to  the  larger  issue  of cultural  comparisons
generally.   It  is  easy  to  criticize   another  culture  from  the
perspective  of one's  own, yet  such  critiques  tend  to be just  as
vulnerable  to the other point of view.  A Chinese  might point to the
Indian  lack of historical  and geographical  consciousness, with  its
tendency to elaborate and mythologize  even the few historical records
that have survived;  but the Indian may find the Chinese  concern  for
historical  accuracy  less  notable  than  its impoverished  and  dull
mythology.... At this point comparative critiques tend to founder, yet
something  important  remains  to be seen about the relations  between
south Asian and east Asian cultures, about their relationship with the
West, and more generally about the role of transcendence in society.

2.

One could go on and on with the above comparisons, but enough has been
said to draw some conclusions  from them.  Perhaps  exceptions  can be
found for every generalization; in particular, my heuristic attempt to
extract ideal cultural types means that later historical  developments
--  especially  those due to outside influence, such as Western impact
in the 19th and 20th centuries  --  have not been taken  into account.
Nonetheless,  the  various  cultural  characteristics   and  contrasts
mentioned  above  do not occur  randomly;  they form part of a pattern
that   has  become   obvious   by  now.   How  can  that  pattern   be
conceptualized?
    Nakamura summarizes  his study as follows: in India ultimate value
is placed  on religion, in China  on the  family, and in Japan  on the
state.  However, this may be further simplified.  The main contrast is
between India and the other two, for the difference  between China and
Japan tends


                                415

to be a matter of emphasis. In China the extended family functioned as
a small  state;  in Japan  the state  was one  big  family.  Both  are
this-worldly  in assigning primary value to those societal structures.
To state that Indian culture emphasizes  religion  means that India is
not this-worldly  because this world is understood  (and devalued)  by
juxtaposing  it with another possibility: there is constant  reference
to  a transcendental  realm.  From  the  east  Asian  perspective, the
distinction  between  this phenomenal  world of samsara and a "higher"
sacred  reality  is  a  fundamental  determinate  of  Indian  ways  of
thinking.  We can find some elements of such a distinction  in Chinese
and Japanese culture --  most of them imported  with Buddhism  --  yet
those  cultures  were  not  affected  to the same  extent.  Quite  the
opposite:  from  an  Indian  perspective   it  is  the  absence  of  a
transcendental/secular  distinction  that  has determined  many of the
characteristics of Chinese and Japanese culture.
    So much is fairly evident by now, but some of its implications are
not so obvious.  The above claim is not that the Japanese  and Chinese
traditions lack a transcendental or sacred dimension. Elsewhere I have
argued that such a sacred dimension is unavoidable: our need to ground
ourselves  someplace  means  we feel  compelled  to  make  an ultimate
commitment, so  that  even  when  we consciously  deny  any  spiritual
reality, our worldly  pursuits  take on a religious-like  urgency.  In
east Asia we can readily detect that religious dimension in the sacred
authority appropriated  by secular rulers.  The Chinese emperor became
deified;  the  authority  of the Japanese  emperor  was  even  greater
because  irrevocable, not granted  to him but dwelling  in his person.
Without an authoritative  transcendental  realm understood as separate
from the secular, the sacred dimension  manifests  in east Asia as the
social  structure: the  consequence  is that  human  beings  are  more
tightly  embedded  within society, for the social nexus is taken to be
more important  than the individuals  that enter into it --  or, if we
adopt the east Asian perspective, more real than the units that can be
abstracted from it.
    When  the members  of a society  are not unified  by their  common
commitment  to a transcendental  reality, or by their acceptance  of a
transcendental authority, what binds them together? In part one it was
noticed  that Chinese and Japanese  society  share greater  esteem not
only for hierarchy  but also for the formalism which concretizes  such
esteem.  Confucian concern with li is consistent with its this-worldly
orientation. Common submission to a transcendental and universal moral
code  tends  to be  a democratizing  force, for, e.g., we  all  become
"children  of God." When one is subjected solely and wholly to secular
authority, formalism  takes  on many of the functions  of morality, as
part of the process which sacralizes those power relations.
    In  east   Asia  hierarchical   (and,  by  democratic   standards,
oppressive)

                                417

social  relations  came to be accepted  much like the weather  because
they  too  were  perceived  as  natural: that  is, not  needing  to be
explained, much  less  open  to  significant  reform.  Describing  the
situation  in Japan before  the Meiji Restoration, van Wolferen  notes
that "the political arrangements of the Tokugawa period were presented
as perfect in that they conformed  to 'the order found in the manifold
natural phenomena of heaven and earth.'" (17)
    This attitude seems peculiar and unnecessary  to us because we can
view  it  from  "outside",  in  this  instance  less  from  an  Indian
perspective than from a Western one, which did not accept hierarchical
political  and economic  structures  as natural and whose history  has
been  punctuated  by  radical  attempts  at  social  improvement.  The
disastrous consequences of so many of those efforts (e.g., the Russian
Revolution)  should make us hesitate before denigrating the east Asian
model of social  relations.  Again, such comparisons  are a sword that
cuts both ways.  It is easy to ridicule Japanese groupism and overlook
how valuable that security can be psychologically;  it has become more
difficult  to offer the individualism  of the contemporary  U.S.  as a
better  model.  Viewed from a land where everyone  seems to be looking
out for number one, the unconditioned loyalty of a samurai to his lord
seems an admirable example of selflessness --  until one looks for the
principles  which  motivate  that  lord.  Loyalty  to  people  becomes
attractive  when  we remember  all the killing  that  has been done on
behalf of abstractions such as God or the future socialist state;  yet
when that devotion plugs into a hierarchical  social structure  itself
unaccountable  to any "higher"  dimension, we should  not be surprised
when the role of sacred ideology is filled by militant nationalism.
    These reflections  suggest (and part one supports  the conclusion)
that transcendence  should be understood as referring not only to some
sacred other-worldly  dimension, but also to the authority  of ethical
universalism  (which was usually  derived  from such a "higher world",
like the Decalogue  handed  down by Yahweh).  Today the formal role of
the sacred has been largely  eclipsed  in Western society --  American
church-going  notwithstanding  --  yet the function  of such universal
values  has expanded  to fill much of the breech, ranging  from  legal
inscriptions such as the U.S.  Bill of Rights to our informal sense of
fair play.  In that sense the transcendental  is still  very much with
us, and indeed  it has been  necessary  to protect  the  newly-evolved
individual  from his state and to regulate his competition  with other
individuals.  And it can hardly  be a coincidence  that  this form  of
transcendence  has also been lacking  in east Asia.  In his perceptive
study The Enigma of Japanese Power, Karel van Wolferen concludes  that
"the crucial factor in the exercise  of Japanese  power" has been "the
absence  of  a tradition  of  appealing  to  transcendental  truth  or
universal values."(18)

                                418

    Yet  expanding  our  understanding  of  transcendence  to  include
universalist  values is still not broad enough.  The full implications
of the term are suggested by its etymology: Lat.  trans + scendere, to
climb over or rise above.  Most generally, transcendence is that which
abstracts (Lat. ab[s]+trahere, to separate, draw out from) us from the
given  world  by providing  a theoretical  (Gr.  theorein, to look at)
perspective  (Lat.  per+specere, to look  through)  on it.  The  above
etymologies  suggest  how much  our  English  vocabulary  for "higher"
thought processes  involves "rising above" the given, which allows the
possibility  of leverage over it, of changing that given.  This too is
consistent  with  the  contrast  drawn  in  part  one  between  Indian
preference   for  abstractions   and   a  theoretical   (metaphysical)
perspective   on  life,  versus  Chinese  concreteness   and  Japanese
phenomenalism.  Archimedes  said that if he had a fulcrum sufficiently
far away he could  move the entire  earth.  Historically, that fulcrum
has  been  provided  by the transcendental, regardless  of whether  we
understand it as the realization of another dimension of reality or as
a  product  of  the  human  imagination.   As  Renan  said  about  the
supernatural, the transcendental  is the way in which the ideal  makes
its appearance in human affairs.

With this trivalent understanding of transcendence -- as higher realm,
as ethical universal, and as critical perspective  on the given --  we
are ready to address  what is perhaps  the most interesting  question:
why  did  an explicitly  transcendental  dimension  arise  in  certain
places, such as India, and not in others, such as China and Japan?

    "Transcendence," whether it takes the form of divine revelation or
    of theoretical  cosmology, implies a search for authority  outside
    the  institutionalized  offices  and  structures  of the  seeker's
    society.  Even  its most  concrete  form, the law code, implies  a
    transfer  of authority  from the holders  of office to the written
    rule. Transcendental impulses therefore constitute, by definition,
    an implicit challenge  to traditional  authority and indicate some
    dissatisfaction  with it....  [N]ew transcendental  visions are...
    likely to be presented  by persons in a precariously  independent,
    interstitial  --  or at least  exposed  and somewhat  solitary  --
    position  in society;  they are therefore  particularly  likely to
    occur in societies sufficiently differentiated to have specialized
    social  roles  with distinct  bases  of authority, but not complex
    enough   to  have  integrated   these   roles   into  functionally
    differentiated structures.(S.C.Humphreys).(19)

Humphreys argues for this by referring  to axial-age (first millennium
B.C.)   Greece.   She  finds   the   necessary   precondition   for  a
transcendental perspective on society in the privileged and relatively
independent position of its intellectuals, such as the sophists, whose
special  linguistic  skills provided  "the ability to recreate  social
relationships  and manipulate them in thought." But her conclusion may
be applied more widely. She could also

                                419


have  cited  the  role  of  the  "interstitial"   Hebrew  prophets  --
especially  Amos, Isaiah  and Jeremiah  --  who developed  the ethical
monotheism  of  Judaism  that  had  been  established  by  the  Mosaic
covenant.   Inspired   by  Yahweh,  they  understood   themselves   as
intermediaries to the children of Israel, charged to fulminate against
the impious  people  and particularly  their  rulers.  Max Weber  drew
attention  to how their precarious  and somewhat solitary position was
supported by their ability to alternate between prophesizing  in towns
and withdrawing into the hills.
    The case  of India  supports  Humphreys'  conclusion  even better.
According  to  Louis  Dumont,  a  two-stage  process  created  fertile
conditions for the development  of a transcendental  perspective.  The
first occurred in the Vedas, whose "extreme development of specialized
macro-  religious  action  and  representation"  exalted  the role  of
priests into a pre-eminence never thereafter lost.  By the time of the
Brahmanas  (probably 800 -  500 B.C.), "the priest was supreme, though
the king  was his master."  Soon  thereafter, and about  same time the
caste-system began, there appeared "a full-fledged and peculiar social
role    outside    society    proper:    the    renouncer,    as    an
individual-outside-the-world, inventor  or adept  of a 'discipline  of
salvation'  and  of its social  concomitant, best  called  the  Indian
sect."(21)
    Dumont wonders why political  rulers assented to the loss of their
pre-eminence. Everything falls into place, he says, once we start with
the king as "priest-cum-ruler": then  the Indian  development  becomes
understandable as "a differentiation  within this institution, whereby
the  king  lost  his (official)  religious  function  in favor  of the
priest. In other words, kingship had been 'secularized', as we say, at
an early date."(22) The fragile distinction  between secular authority
and sacred authority  acquired  a firm institutional  foundation.  Our
problem  in perceiving  this is that we usually  take that distinction
for granted, whereas  it now begins  to look  more  like the exception
than the rule.
    The meaning  of this distinction  becomes  more apparent  and more
important  when we consider what occurred  in some other civilizations
such as Mesopotamia  and Egypt --  or rather what did not occur, since
there  was no such  differentiation.  In Mesopotamia, the scribes  who
composed  the educated  elite  never challenged  the authority  of the
priest-cum-king.  The most  important  religious  practices  were  not
public and in fact there seems to have been little religious  role for
the common people.  Instead, the main religious rituals were performed
by religious specialists, including the king:

    It is from the heart [i.e., the king] of the community, but almost
    unbeknownst  to it, that the divine benediction radiated.  None of
    them could break  with the practices: the king because  he was the
    only  guarantor  of an order  that  depended  on them;  the people
    because   they  believed   they   benefited   from  them,  without
    participating directly; the priests because


                                419

    their entire education  pushed them into preserving  what they had
    acquired...(23)

In twelfth-century  Egypt the Pharaoh Akhenaten attempted to establish
the sole worship  of Aten, but soon after his death there was a return
to the traditional polytheistic cultus. "One major reason for this was
the divine status of the Pharaoh  himself.  It was through the Pharaoh
that the divine order benefited society.  A break in the continuity of
kingly ritual could have had disastrous social consequences."(24)

   The parallels are remarkable: in Mesopotamia and Egypt, as in China
and Japan, the sacral dimension  was not suffused throughout  society,
for  it functioned  through  rulers  who  were  as much  religious  as
political  authorities.  Unlike  India, Greece and Judea, there was no
clear distinction  between secular and sacred authority, and therefore
no transcendental  perspective  to challenge the inherent conservatism
of such societies.
    In China the situation  was more complex than this model suggests,
although it nonetheless fits into this pattern. The Shi ching (Book of
poetry)  and  Shu  ching  (Book  of  documents), the  first  extensive
literary  texts, envision  an all-encompassing  social, political  and
cultural  order in which people  relate  to each other according  to a
highly-structured system of familial and political roles.

    All  of  these  roles  and  role  relationships  are  governed  by
    elaborate normative rules of behavior (li). The human order is not
    closed off from the cosmic  order.  Within the cosmos, the various
    gods of mountains, rivers, winds, stars, and localities, and the
    ancestral  spirits  also  play  their  roles.  Within  the  larger
    political  order  of the cosmos, the rulers  of men must, in fact,
    relate themselves  by proper ritual behavior (li) to the governing
    spirits of the universe  as well as to each other.  At the apex of
    the human  order is the universal  kingship, which  is the central
    focus  of  communication, as it  were, between  the  king, who  is
    ultimately responsible  for the maintenance of the normative human
    order, and  the  supreme  God  or  Heaven  (shang  ti, t'ien), who
    maintains harmony and order in the world of the spirits presiding
    over the forces  of nature  as well as over the world of ancestral
    spirits.(25)

Again,  there   is  functional   equivalence   between   the  lack  of
sacred/secular dualism and the role of religio-political  authority as
nodal point of communication  between  the human and the cosmic order.
As with Mesopotamia and Egypt, there is nonetheless a sacral dimension
in society, but it manifests  through  the apex of the social  pyramid
and therefore serves to sacralize that hierarchy.  This is in striking
contrast  to  transcendence   in  Humphreys'  sense:  a  challenge  to
traditional  authority  which allows  for the possibility  of everyone
having his or her own personal  relationship  with that transcendental
order.

                                421

    Obvious  counter-examples  spring  to mind for China, most notably
Confucius  himself  and  Taoist  sages  such  as Chuang-tzu.  Yet both
support my thesis.  Confucius, although a precariously independent and
"interstitial"  intellectual, did  not  challenge  the  transcendental
function  of the  political  order: he emphasized  respect  for it, he
wanted  to  be employed  by it, and  his  legacy  became  used  as  an
apologetic for it.  He allowed for the possibility  of revolution, but
only if the king failed in his divine duty to preserve the human order
by maintaining communication with the divine order.  Taoist sages such
as Chuang-tzu  had their own personal  experience  of the Tao, yet the
critique  of society  which  followed  from that  was employed  not to
reform social relations but to withdraw from them.  For the Taoists of
his time, the alternative  was not political reform but being co-opted
and  corrupted  by the powers-that-be.  Thus  neither  Confucians  nor
Taoists  offered  any  serious  challenge  to  the  secular-cum-sacred
authority  of the political  rulers.  By the time Buddhism arrived, it
was too late to challenge the pattern that had been established.  This
was even more true in Japan, where Buddhism  was first imported  as an
aristocratic  religion  to  support  the  prosperity  of the  imperial
family.  Kamakura-period reformers such as Dogen, Shinran and Nichiren
were also unable to establish  any other effective religious  voice as
an alternative to the political authority of the emperors and shoguns.
    Mesopotamia,  Egypt, China  and  Japan  versus  India,  Judea  and
Greece:  all  of  these  cases  validate   Humphreys'   criterion   of
transcendence   as   involving   a  search   for   authority   outside
institutionalized  offices  and structures.  Such  an authority  never
became established  in the first four civilizations;  it did in India,
Judea and Greece, thanks to "interstitial"  world-renouncers, prophets
and intellectuals, respectively. In the first four cases, an effective
transcendental/secular  bifurcation  did  not occur, but we have  seen
that that does not mean  they  lacked  a sacral  dimension: rather, it
means  that  political  power  and religious  authority  never  became
distinguished,  which   accounts   for  the   conservatism   of  their
hierarchical social structures.


3.
Where  does  the modern  West fit into  this  schema? If Asia  already
contains its own polarity in the contrast between south and east Asian
traditions, the West can no longer define itself as the "other" of the
East.  The historical development of the West would seem to be from an
Indian-like transcendentalist perspective towards a more Sino-Japanese
emphasis  on this world.  But what that  history  reveals, in fact, is
that the matter is not so simple,

                                421


because the alternatives are not one-dimensional.

    It might be argued that there is an historical  connection between
Indian and Western transcendence. The Aryans who settled in India were
of the same ethnic  and cultural  family as those who peopled  Europe.
Greek, Latin and the major modern European languages  evolved from the
same  Indo-European  root  as the Sanskrit  family  of languages.  Yet
western civilization  originates  primarily from a cross-fertilization
between Hebrew and Greek ways of thinking, and, although Platonism and
mystical  sects such as Orphism  might have been influenced  by Indian
religion --  a controversy that may never be settled -- there does not
seem to be any relationship  between Hebrew monotheism  and the Vedas.
Rather than undertake  a dubious argument  for such a relationship, we
have   already   noticed   how  apparently-indigenous   transcendental
perspectives   developed   with   the  Hebrew   prophets   and   Greek
intellectuals.     Their    interaction     led    to    a    powerful
transcendental/secular distinction which throughout the history of the
West has appeared in many different forms -- religious, philosophical,
and scientific.(26)


    Today, of  course, the  nation-states  of  the  West  are  secular
societies  very much preoccupied  with the opportunities  provided  by
this  world.  But this  does  not bring  us back  to the situation  in
ancient  Mesopotamia, Egypt, China  and  Japan, in which  there  is no
transcendental/secular  dualism.  Rather, and as Nietzsche  predicted,
the gradual attenuation  of the "higher  world" has left the West with
the painful task of revaluing the devalued objectified world, ushering
in an age  of nihilism  which, one  fears, is  far  from  over.  As we
suspect, there is something  unique  about our situation  today  which
fails  to fit into  the pattern  analyzed  above.  Parts  one  and two
concluded that the alternative to a transcendental/secular distinction
is tighter  embeddedness  in a sacralized  social nexus.  Yet this was
hardly true in England in 1649, France in 1789, nor Russia in 1917. As
God abdicated  from Western society, the desire to reform economic and
political structures  (whose authority was no longer supported  by His
authority)  did  not  diminish  but  became  more  urgent, with  mixed
results: understanding society as a human construction which should be
reconstructed  led  to democracy  and  individual  rights, as well  as
horrible  experiments  in social engineering  that caused incalculable
suffering.
    When we look more closely  at the religious  roots  of the Western
tradition, we can see some other factors  that influenced  the Western
tendency to "improve" the objectified world. In contrast to the Indian
perspective, which did not emphasize the difference between humans and
other  living  beings,  the  Pentateuch  established   a  three-tiered
universe by elevating man (who gave names to all the animals) over the
rest of creation.  This tended  to give  us free rein over the natural
world, and later, when God disappeared,

                                423


there  was nothing  to stop  us from befouling  our own nest.

    Another  factor was the more serious dualism between good and evil
in the  Semitic  religions, which  emphasized  the importance  of this
world not in terms of what it is but in terms of what it could become.
The Indian distinction  between  transcendental  and secular valorized
the  former: this  world  is a manifestation  or condensation  of  the
Absolute, the physical  body a sheath  of the atman.  That  is why the
goal is to transcend  this world;  when there is that possibility, why
bother to improve  it? On the other hand, we have noticed  how Chinese
culture and Japanese  culture were inclined  to accept the given world
including  our  natural  desires  and  dispositions.  The  Zoroastrian
struggle  between Ahura Mazda and Angra Mainyu provides  a perspective
radically  different  from  both  the above.  Humans  became  seen  as
suspended between light and darkness, the battleground of a cosmic war
which will end in an apocalyptic victory over the forces of evil;  but
until then, tempting demons and guardian angels whisper alternately in
our ears.  Throughout  the history  of Western  Christendom, Satan has
been a more palpable and fearsome power than the impersonal  avidya of
Buddhism and Hinduism, the interminable  fires of hell more terrifying
that the wheel of rebirth.  India did not bother to improve  the realm
of duhkha, and east  Asia  saw no need  to reform  it, but once  Satan
became identified with this world, a no-holds-barred  war to transform
it became inevitable. Satan died even before God, but the consequences
of this dualism are still with us, as (among other things)  our belief
in  progress   and,  even   when   that   is   lacking,  our   general
future-orientation.
    These  factors  help  us to understand  some  of  the  differences
between Indian and Western  transcendence.  Yet they explain only half
the story. They tell how the West came to objectify the world, but not
how  it came  to subjectify  the self, and  the  one  is not  possible
without  the other.  One way to focus this issue is to ask again: what
has happened  to the transcendental  dimension  in the modern  West? I
have argued  that such a dimension  is inescapable;  in east Asia, for
example, we detected  it in the sacred  authority  wielded  by secular
authorities, but that is obviously not the case in the West.  If "God"
cannot die, then where did He go?
    When we remember  that the transcendental  is, most fundamentally,
that  which  provides  a perspective  on the  world  and leverage  for
changing it, the answer becomes evident: the transcendental  dimension
was internalized  to become the supposedly autonomous, self-  directed
individual who began to develop at the end of the Middle Ages. Earlier
proto-Western examples of individualism --  e.g., the Hebrew prophets,
the Greek intellectuals --  may have been exemplary, but the "rebirth"
of Europe occurred when traditional  Christian answers to questions of
ultimate value and meaning no longer satisfied the cultural elites who
went on to find or make their own solutions

                                424

to the problem of life.  Later Luther encouraged this by sanctifying a
more  private  relationship  with  God.  Instead  of  believing  in  a
corporate  church and relying on a collective  salvation, now everyone
must  work it out for himself.  The importance  of this can hardly  be
overemphasized.  Personally  having  a direct  line  to  Transcendence
provides  the leverage  to challenge  all worldly authority, religious
institutions as well as secular ones. Convinced he was following God's
will, Luther  refused  to shut up: "Here I stand;  I can do no other."
This sanctioned  the principle  that one's personal understanding  and
moral principles  can provide an appropriate  perspective  to confront
social  structures.  Thus  Luther  was more than a prophet: after  him
everyone  had to become his or her own prophet.  Eventually  God could
abdicate  because  by then his role had been  largely  assumed  by the
self-sufficient self-consciousness that Descartes described.
    Contrary  to our usual understanding, then, transcendence  has not
disappeared  from  the  West;  it just  went  inside  and  became  the
Cartesian self.  The result was an increasingly-anxious individual who
relied on his own judgement, who measured  the world according  to his
own  standards, and who did not hesitate  to use his own resources  to
challenge the present situation, the social environment as much as the
physical   one.   As   an   increasingly   ultimate   commitment,  the
possibilities and dangers of the self were unprecedented. As they say,
the rest is history.


4.

We end up with three different cultural paradigms for the relationship
between sacred and secular, transcendental and worldly. Summing up the
problems   with  each  of  these  paradigms   also  reveals  something
discomforting  about  our  needs: they  seem  to be contradictory.  In
response to the quest for an ideal transcendental  realm, we must live
in this  world  and strive  to improve  it without  ever expecting  to
perfect  it.   In  response  to  the  alienation   that  results  from
individualism and objectification  of the world, we need to become one
with the world, with less sense of separation from it. Yet in reaction
to the problem  with embeddedness  in a "natural"  social order, which
sacralizes  and thereby  fixates  political  and economic  structures,
there is also need for the transcendence that grants us perspective on
and creative leverage over those structures.
    A new cultural paradigm does not seem to be the sort of thing that
can be consciously  constructed, but we may conclude  by noticing that
the Hua-yen  metaphor  of Indra's Net suggests  a way how all three of
these needs may be met.  The Hua-yen doctrine perceives  transcendence
in the mutual interpenetration of all phenomena, and therefore derives
universalist values from


                                425

our identification  with that whole.  Indra's  Net locates  the sacred
dimension  in  this  world,  not  by  privileging   particular  social
structures or even homo sapiens, but by sacralizing the totality.  The
crisis  of the  biosphere  testifies  to our need  for  this  type  of
universalist  perspective: not for a "higher world" that is other than
and therefore opposed to this world, but for the kind of overview that
is able to evaluate  and respond to the needs of the whole because  it
is not limited  by the demands of a specific  nexus (such as one's own
social  class or nation).  Since trees and whales  and the ozone layer
cannot  vote  or protest, we must realize  that  their  needs  are our
needs.  Perhaps  that is what is unique about homo sapiens: we are the
species which can transcend itself and make that leap to identify with
everything.  Perhaps  the challenge  for us today  is whether  we will
actually be able to do so. If, rather than being one particular bit of
it, each  of us is  nondual  with  the  entire  universe, as  Mahayana
Buddhism claims, our needs for nonduality and for transcendence may be
satisfied at the same time.(27)

David Loy 
Faculty of International Studies
Bunkyo University
Chigasaki 253, Japan  


Notes

1.As of this writing, fourteen years in Asia, half in Singapore and
  half  in Japan.For  a critique  of European  attitudes  toward  "the
  Orient"  (primarily  the Middle East), see Edward Said's Orientalism
  (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1978).
2.Hajime  Nakamura, Ways of Thinking  of Eastern Peoples, rev.  trans.
  ed.  Philip P.  Wiener (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 1964);
  Nakamura's  own italics  in all quotations  from  him.  It contrasts
  Indian, Chinese, Tibetan  and Japanese  ways of thinking, mainly  by
  comparing  the  structure  of  their  different  languages  and  the
  different  ways each culture  assimilated  Buddhism.  This study  is
  essential  for anyone interested  in the topic.  It also exemplifies
  one of the Japanese  traits Nakamura describes: learning as amassing
  a vast knowledge of particular facts.(p.537)
3.Brhadaranyaka Upanisad IV.4.22.
4.Early Buddhism did not accept a higher Self, but distinguished  this
  world   of  samsara   from   nirvana,  the  negatively-characterized
  transcendental goal.  Pratitya - samutpada ( dependent origination )
  suggests  a more  dynamic  understanding  of reality, but Madhyamika
  drew negative  and static conclusions  from that doctrine:everything
  is sunya, nothing arises or passes away. Even this was not enough to
  keep  Buddhism  alive  in  India,  once  the  more  orthodox  Indian
  traditions had absorbed what they could learn from it.
5.Robert N.  Bellah, Tokugawa  Religion: The Cultural  Roots of Modern
  Japan ( New York: The Free Press, 1957), p.188.  Alan Roland, in his
  In  Search  of Self  in  India  and  Japan: Toward  a Cross-Cultural
  Psychology  ( Princeton  University  Press, 1988), notices that even
  highly-successful  Indian professionals  are less goal-directed than
  Americans, in contrast  to Japanes  society  where  there  are stron
  maternal  expections  for a high level of performance  from an early
  age(pp. 203, 278).
6.Tokugawa Religion, p.188.

                                426

7.Including  me: my  great-grandfather  in the  Dharma, Harada  Sogaku
  (1870-1961), abbot of Hosshin-ji, wrote: "Forgetting [the difference
  between]  self  and  others  in every  situation, you should  always
  become completely one with your work. [When ordered to] march-tramp,
  tramp;  [when ordered  to] fire -  bang, bang;  this is the clearest
  expression  of the highest  Bodhi-wisdom, the unity of Zen and war."
  (quoted in Daizen Victoria, "Japanese  Corporate  Zen," Bulletin  of
  Concerned  Asian Scholars  12.1 (1980:65) Even D.t.  Suzuki strongly
  supported Japanese aggression in minland China.
8.Chie Nakane, Japanese Society (Pelican, 1973).
9.Thomas  P.  Rohlen, Japan's  High Schools (University  of California
  Press, 1983), p.268.
10.Prior  to 1868 the shogun often played this role, which the emperor
   regained  after  1868.  His  role  did not  end  in 1945.  "When  a
   perfectly reasonable man like [the contemporary intellectual]  Kase
   Hideaki  writes  about emperor  worship, he sounds like a religious
   fundamentalist: 'The  emperor  is someone  close  to the gods.  No,
   better  still, he is a god.'" (Ian Buruma in The New York Review of
   Books, 25 April 1991, p.39).
11.This  is Ruth Benedict's  controversial  distinction  between guilt
   cultures  and shame cultures: "True shame cultures rely on external
   sanctions  for good behavior, not, as true guilt cultures do, on an
   internalized  conviction  of  sin.  Shame  is a reaction  to  other
   people's  criticism."  (The  Chrysanthemum  and the Sword  [Boston:
   Houghton Mifflin, 1946],p.223)
12.Tokugawa Religion, p.194.
13.Tokugawa  Religion, p.  196.  In his introduction  to the paperback
   edition  of 1985, Bellah agrees with the criticism  of the Japanese
   sociologist Maruyama Masao, who questions whether the particularism
   of Japan-which "remains unchallenged"  (p.181)-  could really be an
   adequate substitute  for ethical universalism, as Bellah originally
   thought(p.Xiii).  28 years  after  the first  edition  of his book,
   Bellah is more aware of the problems with that particularism.
14.Herman   Ooms,  Tokugawa   Ideology:  Early  Constructs,  1570-1680
   (Princeton University Press, 1986), p.297.
15.Where  does Tibet  fit into all this? As we might  expect  from its
   geographical  position, it is a mixed  or  transitional  case;  but
   generally more Indian. Nakamura emphasizes the Tibetan awareness of
   death  (  never  far  away  in  such  a  harsh   environment),  the
   introspective  discovery  of  the  Absolute  within  man,  and  the
   surprisingly  strong logical  tendencies  of Tibetans.  Many Indian
   Buddhist works were translated, and logical skill in debate was and
   is valued.  After the bSam-yas  debate in the eighth  century, when
   Indian tantric Buddhism supposedly  defeated nonlogical  Ch'an, the
   influence  of Chinese Buddhism  rapidly  declined.  Later, however,
   under  Chinese  (  more  precisely,  Mongolian)   influence,  Tibet
   developed  into a theocracy  in which both sacred and secular power
   were  wielded  by the Dalai  Lama.  Such  a conflation  seems  more
   characteristic  of China  and  Japan  than  India, but there  was a
   difference of emphasis: given the other-worldly  lamaism of Tibetan
   society, perhaps it is more correct  to say that secular  authority
   was subverted  and controlled  by religious  authority, rather than
   vice-versa.
16."The Nonduality  of Life and Death: A Buddhist View of Repression,"
   Philosophy  East and West 40.2 (April 1990), and "Trying  to Become
   Real: A Buddhist Critique  of Some Secular Heresies", International
   Philosophical


                                427

   Quarterly, 32.4 (December 1992).
17.Karel  van  Wolferen, The  Enigma  of  Japanese  Power: People  and
   Politics  in a Stateless  Nation  (London: Macmillan, 1989), p.337.
   "The  proponents   of  formally   toerated   Tokugawa  thought  all
   propagated  the view  that  the order  that  had been  imposed  was
   immutable, being  in tune with  nature  and in accordance  with the
   will of a multitude of divinitudes"  (ibid.).  Bellah and Ooms make
   similar points.
18.The Enigma of Japanese Power, p.317.
19.S.C.Humphreys,"'Transcendence'  and Intellectual Roles: The Ancient
   Greek  Case," in Daedalus  (Spring  1975): "Wisdom, Revelation, and
   Doubt: Perspectives on the First Millennium B.C.", pp.92,112.
20."'Transcendence'   and   Intellectual   Roles",  p.111.   Humphreys
   distinguishes  four stages in the development  of their conceptions
   of society  and consmos: "Hesiod's  vision of Boeotian  society  as
   part of a theological  order, the preSocratic  vision of a natureal
   order in the universe, the search for a new moral order carried  on
   simultaneously   in  the  fifth   century   by  tragic   poets  and
   philosophers, and  Plato's  demand  for  a  radical  transcendental
   standard.       Criticism,       detachment,       internalization,
   alienation."(p.110)
21.Louis  Dumont.  "On  the  Comparative  Understanding  of Non-Modern
   Civilizations," Daedalus (Spring 1975): 162, 163.
22."On  the Comparative  Understanding  of Non-Modern  Civilizations",
   p.165.
23.Paul  Garelli, "The Changing  Facets  of Conservative  Mesopotamian
   Thought" Daedalus (Spring 1975):53.
24.Ninian Smart, The Religious Experience of Mankind (London: Collins,
   1969), p.289.
25.Benjamin  I.  Schwartz, "Transcendence  in Ancient China," Daedalus
   (Spring 1975): 58-59.
26.One  of the less bovious  but more important  is science.  When  we
   remember the third meaning of transcendence -  that which abstracts
   us from the given by providing a theoretical perspective on it - we
   can  see how the scientific  process  also  involves  transcendence
   because it constructs  general  laws to account  for given concrete
   particulars. As Pythagoras would have understood, physics is a kind
   of mathematical metaphysics.
27.For  more  on  this  possibility,  see  "India's  Postmodern  Net",
   forthcoming in Philosophy East and West, and Nonduality: A Study in
   Comparative Philosophy (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1988).