Omori Sogen

by Hosokowa Dogen

  When I told him what his father had said, he said, “You are a strange person to want this stupid eldest son of the Toyama family,” and laughed.

  When I told Mr. Toyama that the Dojo would have Ryusuke Sensei as chief advisor, he smiled and said, “I cannot help you financially, but I will write some calligraphy for you.” Then he added, “If no one comes after you build your Dojo, swing your bamboo sword by yourself. No one need come. Train by yourself. Since ancient times, there has never been a person who starved from doing the right thing. If you are doing what is right, Ten (Heaven, God, Nature) will surely provide food. But even if this were not so, you be the first who starves and dies from doing the right thing.” Those were very severe words.2

  Nakazawa Museki, the first student of the Dojo, described the training as follows. “One day every month at dawn, we went to worship at Meiji Shrine, a distance of 16 kilometers round-trip on foot. On regular days we were awakened at 6 a.m. by Omori Roshi and cleaned the Dojo. As we finished one by one, we went into the martial arts Dojo and sat in meditation for the duration of one incense stick (about 45 minutes). Then we chanted a Shinto prayer. Every afternoon from 4 there was Kendo and Judo practice. On Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, at 5 p.m., we took turns reading and explaining books. On Saturday evenings there were relaxed, informal meetings. From the 15th of every month for five days, there was sesshin. During sesshin from 4 in the morning till 10 at night, we trained diligently.”

  For Omori Roshi the arts were a way of realizing Zen with the the body and expressing the realization in activity. He wrote:

  A martial way whose purpose is learning techniques or winning at sporting matches has no value in itself. Its only value is as a means of attaining something outside itself, such as a strong body, courage, or enthusiasm. If one calls this a martial Way, then the way will become of secondary significance. But essentially martial Ways are not that. As a way of human being, the Way in itself has value as a dignified first principle.

  If you understand Bushido as only “Hurry up and die,” then this is simple-mindedness or defeatism. For me, in the deeper meaning of these words, I seem to hear the teachings of Dogen Zenji, “To study Buddhism is to study yourself; to study yourself is to forget yourself.” Also,”Just forget, set your mind and body free, and throw it into the house of the Buddha (which here stands for life, whole, void). In Bushido, as a traditional Way transmitted from ancient times, a person throws his mind and body into Bushido. Forgetting himself and becoming one with the Way, he completely transforms the small self into the Way of the warrior. He then lives the Great Life.

  Omori Roshi in front of the Jikishin Dojo (1934).

  Omori Roshi reading sutra (above) and demonstrating a sword kata (below) in the Jikishin Dojo.

  In this politically turbulent period of Japanese and world history, the Jikishin Dojo became the headquarters for the People’s Movement. According to Nakazawa, the Jikishin Dojo was initially committed to rejecting the philosophy that the Emperor was just a part of the government, and to preserving the traditional sacred status of the Emperor. This was part of their efforts to oppose Japan’s expansion into China and joining the Triple Alliance with Italy and Germany. The leaders of the Jikishin Dojo believed that this would inevitably draw Japan into a world war that they could not win.

  On February 26, 1936, young army officers revolted in an attempt to uphold the supreme command of the Imperial authority. Because of his ties to members of this group, Omori Roshi was arrested and held for two months at the Otsuka Police Station, but they were not able to convict him. He recalls this period.

  The prosecuting attorney said that I had agitated the Emperor’s army. I asked, “Do you really think that an ordinary citizen like myself could agitate the soldiers of the Emperor? If you think that, you are really showing contempt for the army.” When I said that, the prosecuting attorney began to tremble. I continued, “During the February 26 Incident, you called them (those who participated in the incident) revolutionary soldiers, in other words, you were calling them the enemy. If that is so, according to military law, in the event that the general staff office is occupied by enemy forces, even if just temporarily, the person in charge must be punished. Was the commander in chief, Kaninnomiya (an aristocrat) punished? If he has not yet been punished, he should be punished before me.” When I said that, the prosecutor’s face turned blue.

  During the February incident, the persons involved in the incident had come to me for advice, but I said, “Now is not the time. You must wait a little longer,” and opposed the action.

  In 1937, Kuroda Sueo, a student of Omori Roshi, posted flyers opposing military agression in China, and Omori Roshi was incarcerated in Sugamo Prison for one year for donating money to Kuroda. After a year in prison, he was on probation for three years, but in 1940 he was pardoned and his record cleared. He relates his experiences in prison.

  Among the prisoners, one who had relatively good behavior served the meals. He served miso soup into a bowl which was on a tray. When he came to me, while keeping an eye out for the guards, he would pour the soup until it overflowed. Though I would say, “That’s enough,” he would always fill the dish to the brim. Since I am a small eater, I could not possibly eat it all and threw the left-over into the toilet of my solitary cell. At first I thought that the person in charge wanted to be nasty, but he acted so strangely when he served the food that when I thought about it, I realized that he was trying to be kind to me. He thought that I would be hungry so he gave me a lot. I didn’t know what to do.

  One day a guard asked me, “Sensei, would you like to read books?”

  I said, “Yes, I would but I don’t know how to go about it.”

  He said, “You must call me and say, ‘I would like to see the chaplain.’ Then the chaplain will come and you can ask for a list of the books available. If you write the name of the book that you wish to read on this board, you will get the books that you need.” Saying this, he returned to his place.

  Right away I called, “Guard. Guard.”

  The same guard came to my cell and said, “What is it?”

  “I would like to see the chaplain,” I said. He went to call the chaplain. I did as I had been told. Eventually, I read all the books on philosophy and religion that they had in the prison.

  Whenever I would read the books, I would note the important points in my head. When I wrote my weekly post card, I would write these main points and send the post card. All the knowledge that I presently have is based on the books that I read while I was in prison.

  A guard once said to me, “If you only read those difficult books, even if you are released, you will return here. You must read less serious books.”

  I asked him, “Then, what kind of books should I read?”

  He said, “Novels should be good.” Therefore, I read the complete works of Natsume Soseki.

  A solitary cell in a prison is a great convenience. Everything can be done in one room: the toilet is there; you can eat there; you can even study there. While I was there, I didn’t think that I should read all the time, so during the day I read books, and at night I did zazen.

  The day I left the prison and returned to the Dojo, Seisetsu Roshi came for a visit and said, “You had a long sesshin. You had much hardship, but you did well.” That night, he took me to dinner. Since there is no other place where one can study so leisurely, everyone should do the right thing and get into prison.3

  In 1938, Roshi married Yoshie Yamashita. He met her through her mother who had also trained in zazen with Maeno Jisui to improve her health. Later when Roshi began sanzen with Seki Seisetsu, he would sometimes stop at their family home in Shizuoka on his way back from sesshin. After Yoshie began school in Tokyo, they gradually became acquainted. Her father, however, was adamantly against their marriage saying, “I can’t give my daughter in marriage to that ronin (masterless samurai).” Omori Roshi did not have a job like most people did and never knew when he would lose his life. One day after
they had married, however, Mrs. Omori’s father went to the Dojo in Setagaya. He was received by Roshi’s students with such courtesy that he was deeply moved. From then on, he recognized their marriage. Mrs. Omori’s younger brother also respected Roshi very much and became his student.

  Also in 1938, the Jikishin Dojo moved to Setagaya onto an estate of about 1.6 acres rented from Tamaki Bunnoshin, the successor of General Nogi of the Meiji era. Roshi’s wife shares a recollection of that time, “It was a very big place. Our residence was connected to the Dojo by a long corridor. For some reason, perhaps it was because there were always many students in the Dojo, Roshi never locked the doors. Because of that, I was terrified being alone in the house. The place where the students were and where we lived were very far apart. In addition, Roshi went all over Japan giving lectures so he was rarely at home.”

  Omori Roshi not only taught his students but also supported them financially.

  Support was furnished by Mr. Shiga. I, however, taught Kendo here and there. For example, I taught at the Konan Training School which trained the commissioners for the Southern Region. The salary was very high. From teaching at various places, my monthly income was about 1,000 yen. Of this, 300 yen was required to cover the expenses of the 30 live-in students. Actually, even without Mr. Shiga’s contribution, I could have supported my students. I also paid the schooling expenses of some of the 30 students. This continued until the end of the war.

  Despite leading the Jikishin Dojo, Omori Roshi continued to go to Kyoto every month to attend sesshin. In 1939 Seki Seisetsu, with whom Omori Roshi had been doing sanzen, became the Kancho (Archbishop) of Tenryu-ji, and left his position as the Shike (Abbot) of the monastery. Seki Bokuo, who had finished his training and was the head priest at Tojiin, became the Shike of the monastery and conducted sanzen. For ten years, from that time until he became the priest at Kohoin, Omori Roshi did sanzen with Bokuo Roshi.

  After the February 26 Incident, the outbreak of the Sino-Japanese War, and the formation of the Axis powers, Japan was slipping increasingly faster into world war. In 1940, at the age of 36, Omori Roshi tried to prevent Japan’s involvement in World War II. He recalled with gravity and deep feeling:

  If I hadn’t been so weak, I might have been able to prevent the war. I deeply regret this.

  When they were planning for the second Konoe cabinet, I went to Karuizawa to meet with Mr. Konoe (Kanpaku or chief advisor to the Emperor). I went everyday but was never able to get an appointment. Since everyone thought that Konoe would become the next prime minister, politicians were visiting his country home everyday.

  At that time, the governor of Nagano Prefecture (where Karuizawa is located) was Tomita. From the hotel I called Mr. Tomita and said, “I want to meet Mr. Konoe but haven’t been able to. Could you please call him and ask him to meet me?”

  In a little while, I got a call from Mr. Tomita who said, “Please go to see Miss Toku tomorrow at 10:00. Then you can meet him.” Miss Toku was a very intelligient woman who acted as his secretary.

  At 10:00 the next day I went to see Miss Toku and she arranged for us to meet right away. Because of my spiritual weakness, however, I was unable to change his mind. I said, “Mr. Konoe, you will probably be issued an Imperial mandate to form a cabinet.”

  Konoe replied simply that he was worried about this possibility

  “The most important post is that of commander of the army. Whom will you choose for this?” I asked.

  “I am thinking of General Ugaki or General Mazaki,” he replied.

  “I feel the same way,” I said. “But the law has been changed. If the appointee is not in active service, he cannot become the commander of the army. Since Generals Ugaki and Mazaki are in the first reserve, they cannot be appointed. What will you do? Will you still choose one of them?”

  “That is what is causing me so much headache. I am wondering what to do,” he responded.

  “Kanpaku!” I exclaimed. “There is only one way to do it. When the Imperial mandate arrives, go to the Emperor for help. Get a direct order for the commander of the army from the Emperor. If it is a direct order, it doesn’t matter whether they are in the reserves or not. Please ask for a direct order from the Emperor.”

  “I have been thinking of that, too,” he said. “However, it would be hiding behind the skirts of the Emperor, and I can’t do that.”

  I said, “Please hide behind the Emperor’s skirt. I know the extreme dilemna you are in as kanpaku, but please sacrifice your Konoe family reputation for the sake of Japan. Hide behind the Emperor’s skirts and bear the dishonor of being called a traitor. Please ruin your Konoe family. Please crush your family and save Japan. Please, I beg of you.”

  I repeated it many times, and he replied, “Please leave it to me.”

  “The only way is to get a direct order from the Emperor. There is absolutely no other way. I am very sorry, but please prepare to sacrifice your family for the sake of Japan and do it.” I said that and returned to Tokyo.

  In a while, Konoe received the Imperial mandate and returned to Tokyo. After that, I took every opportunity possible to say to Mr. Konoe, “Your Excellency, it’s still not too late. Please become a traitor. Please sacrifice your family.” When I told him this, he looked very displeased and turned away his face disgustedly. Since I always said the same thing, in the end, he didn’t call me anymore (to his advisors’ meetings).

  At that time, the governor of Nagano prefecture, Mr. Tomita, became the shokikan (Mr. Konoe’s secretary). Whenever I met him, I said, “Mr. Tomita, please tell Mr. Konoe that Omori said this.” Tomita showed more and more displeasure. Because of that, no one called me anymore.

  When I think of it now, I was weak of purpose. I should have persisted until the end. If one trains in Zen, one must do everything thoroughly and completely, but in this case, I neglected to do it. I should not have given up. I should have persevered and even used intimidation if necessary. This is the one thing that I regret deeply.4

  Universal Brotherhood

  Although he had tried his best to prevent Japan’s involvement in World War II, Omori Roshi was just as determined to see the war through to the end. Winning or losing was not the point. He felt that something that had been started should be carried through to the end:

  Since I wanted to resist till the end, I was going to obstruct the Emperor’s broadcast (in which he would announce Japan’s surrender). For that reason I often went to the Imperial Head-quarters to incite the soldiers. Since Yokoyama Sensei did not know this, he came to my dojo in Setagaya and said, “These days all Japanese have become hopeless cowards. Our country has lost, but not one person has come forward to commit seppuku. How about it? Let’s do it in front of the shrine for General Nogi.”

  I thought that this was impossible, but since he had said this to me, I thought that I had no other choice but to do it. Yokoyama Sensei asked me, “Do you have a very sharp short sword?” I told him that I had decided to kill myself instantly with a pistol so Sensei said, “If that’s the case, let me borrow your short sword.”

  But I said, “Sensei, if you are going to commit seppuku, don’t you think that it is dishonorable to kill yourself with someone else’s sword?” and did not lend it to him. Then we made a promise to commit seppuku and parted. The next morning at about 4:00, he came and said, “Hello, Hello,” and woke me up. He said, “I absolutely believe in Japan’s national structure, but Japan has lost the war. The reason we lost the war is because there was some weak point. It is very important that we investigate this thoroughly. I realized that it isn’t good to merely commit seppuku and die. It won’t be too late to die after we completely investigate the reason. What do you think? Let’s postpone it.” I agreed right away, but if he hadn’t come, I would have committed seppuku.5

  In mid-September of 1945, though he knew he would have difficulties with transportation, Omori Roshi went to Kyoto to seek guidance for the future from Seisetsu Roshi. Since the war had just ended, everything was st
ill in confusion. There were few trains, none of which were running on a regular schedule.

  At that time, Seisetsu Roshi was critically ill and not seeing anyone. Since there was nothing I could do, I left a little something as a get well gift and started to leave. When I got to Shogan-ji, which is on the grounds of Tenryu-ji, the inji (Roshi’s attendant) came running after me and said, “If you are Mr. Omori of Tokyo, Roshi says that by all means he would like to see you.” When I went back, Roshi had gotten up and was sitting up with his two elbows leaning on a small desk.

  He asked me question after question such as, “What will happen in the world from now? What should Japan do?” I didn’t know the answers. That was the reason that I had come all the way from Tokyo to see him. But I couldn’t answer that I didn’t know. After training with him in sanzen for so long, if he asked me a question, I felt that I had to give him an answer.

  Immediately I felt as if we were in sanzen, and I answered seriously. Roshi then called his inji and said, “Bring some whiskey.” When the inji brought a bottle, Seisetsu Roshi said, “No, no, not that. Bring the other one.” This happened several times. Finally he said, “Bring the best one!” The inji brought Old Parr and exchanged the drinking cups that he had brought for gold ones. Roshi himself poured me a drink.

  I had one drink and tried to give the cup to Roshi so that he could drink, but he said, “Since I am in this condition, I cannot drink. You drink in my place.” After I had had several drinks, he straightened his posture and said, “This is what I think.” He told me his thoughts and at the end, he said, “There are many cabinet ministers and many generals whom I have met, but there is not one person who truly understands the spirit of Hakko Ichiu (universal brotherhood). This is not good. In order for Japan to recover, I think that during the next six months it is necessary for someone to drum the true meaning of Hakko Ichiu into the hearts of all Japanese people. If I were in good health, I would like to do that. You are a patriot. Now is not the time to be idly doing zazen. I urge you; please do this in my place. If I get better, I will join you. Until then, please do this for me.” While he was saying this, he held my hand tightly.6