Yukio Mishima: Patriotism
Mishima
Yukio Mishima is considered by many critics as the most important Japanese novelist of the 20th century. Mishima’s works include 40 novels, poetry, essays, and modern Kabuki and Noh dramas. He was three times nominated for the Nobel Prize for literature. Among his masterpieces is The Temple of the Golden Pavilion (1956). The tetralogy The Sea of Fertility (1965-70) is regarded by many as Mishima’s most lasting achievement. As a writer Mishima drew inspiration from pre-modern literature, both Japanese and Western. The Story “Patriotism” is said to be his favorite short story.
Ritual suicide
On November 25, 1970, Mishima and four members of the Tatenokai, under pretext, visited the commandant of the Ichigaya Camp – the Tokyo headquarters of the Eastern Command of Japan’s Self-Defense Forces. Inside, they barricaded the office and tied the commandant to his chair. With a prepared manifesto and banner listing their demands, Mishima stepped onto the balcony to address the soldiers gathered below. His speech was intended to inspire a coup d’etat restoring the powers of the emperor. He succeeded only in irritating them, however, and was mocked and jeered. He finished his planned speech after a few minutes, returned in to the commandant’s office and committed seppuku. The customary kaishakunin duty at the end of this ritual had been assigned to Tatenokai member Masakatsu Morita, but Morita was unable to properly perform the task: after several attempts, he allowed another Tatenokai member, Hiroyasu Koga, to behead him.
Another traditional element of the suicide ritual was the composition of jisei (death poems), before their entry into the headquarters.[4] Mishima prepared his suicide meticulously for at least a year and no one outside the group of hand-picked Tatenokai members had any indication of what he was planning. His biographer, translator, and former friend John Nathan suggests that the coup attempt was only a pretext for the ritual suicide of which Mishima had long dreamed.[citation needed] Mishima made sure his affairs were in order, and left money for the defense trial of the three surviving Tatenokai members.
Aftermath
Much speculation has surrounded Mishima’s suicide. At the time of his death he had just completed the final book in his The Sea of Fertility tetralogy. He was recognized as one of the most important post-war stylists of the Japanese language.
Mishima wrote 40 novels, 18 plays, 20 books of short stories, and at least 20 books of essays, as well as one libretto. A large portion of this oeuvre comprises books written quickly for profit, but even if these are disregarded, a substantial body of work remains.
Politics
Mishima espoused a very individual brand of nationalism towards the end of his life. He was hated by leftists, in particular for his outspoken and anachronistic commitment to the bushido code of the samurai, and by mainstream nationalists for his contention, in Bunka Boeiron (A Defense of Culture), that Hirohito should have abdicated and taken responsibility for the war dead.
Good questions to think about:
–why is he juxtaposing sexuality and violence (death)?
–explore his definition of “patriotism.” how is it the same as or different from your idea of American “patriotism.”
–what can we learn about him, Japanese culture, Japanese literature, Japanese value systems, Japanese literature, from reading this? Is it important to give special attention to its cultural specificity? Why or why not?
April 3, 2008 at 2:55 am
While Mishima’s Patriotism was a relatively quick read, it was still able to spark some emotion and curiosity in me which many stories have been unable to achieve in the past. Although I was able to find the clear juxtapose of sexuality and death, I instead found the beauty and excitement for death more interesting. In our culture, suicide is not only looked down upon, but often considered illegal. Frankly, I have never quite understood this concept, and refuse to view it as being an illegal act. If someone wants to take their own life, and is healthfully capable of making the decision, whether that is psychologically or otherwise, I believe they should have the right to do so. Whether it follows with ones personal religious standards and culture beliefs may change from place to place, however I feel that one should always have the right to chose. I’m straying from my point. What I am getting at is that I found the emphasis which was placed on the beauty and courage of suicide very interesting. Towards the beginning of the story, it seemed to me that Shinji was giving up. Something which was unexpected was going to occur, and he wanted another way out. Rarely do I view suicide as ‘the easy way out,’ but because I was unaware and misunderstood the weight of the situation, I wasn’t sure if suicide was necessary. However, from reading about seppeku, I am now able to understand that not only does this instance of suicide seem to be accepted in the culture, but is actually a ritual. I felt that the approach which Mishima took, describing the time before the suicide as exciting, beautiful, and full of anticipation, was one which would rarely be followed. Maybe it is just in this culture, but generally, I view the moments before suicide to be one of sorrow and despair. But in this case, the different views of cultures plays an extreme role, and proves that the Japanese culture not only seems to honor those which have proven strong enough to take their own lives, but also those (such as Reiko) who insist on accompanying them to this new “realm.” The entire story seemed very poetic to me, and although it may have been discussing an often disturbing subject, its entirety flowed beautifully with vivid descriptions of the feelings shared between a couple who showed true love for each other. Until realizing that seppeku was such a samurai ritual, I viewed this piece not so much as patriotic, but truly aas a tragic love story.
April 4, 2008 at 11:44 pm
great insights, heather. it fascinates me how mishima engages the reader’s emotions in this piece. i find it breathtaking, to be honest. and then the feelings and questions left open in me are…well, worth it.
April 5, 2008 at 1:54 am
I had heard of the ritual seppeku , but had never really been able to envision it before reading this story. The ritual, frankly, reminded me of the rituals of my youth, which were the Catholic Church and all the pomp and circumstance that goes with many of the ceremonies.
Probably as a result of the Women’s Studies class we just finished I was most caught up with Reiko’s story. The story of acceptance, the absolute dedication to her husband and the unwavering belief that this was the right way to be. That this could all be accompanied by good sex had not ever occurred to me either… and the sex did seem to be amazing in the most thoughtful and caring way possible. What if every action we ever undertook was this thoughtful (it would be exhausting, I know) but what if every thought we had, every action we took and every word we spoke were this crystallized, this blessed with importance the world might be a quieter, kinder place to be.
April 5, 2008 at 6:36 pm
*warning* -this is my first lit class, so I feel a little bit out of my element, but I’ve decided to go with it anyway.
Whenever I read something that has been translated I always wish i could read the language it had been translated from because even though I’m sure Geoffrey W. Sargent did an excellent job of translating I still feel with any translation elements of the story are potentially lost. Though it was still an awesome story, I always had this nagging thought in the back of my mind of, ‘did the author really word it like that?’ as I am reading. Also as I can’t help, but think in my westernized brain that I want to scream through the pages ‘Screw honor! Takeyama take you’re beautiful devoted wife, Reiko, and run far far away and have babies’. But that would not be honorable and it would ruin the story. The way Mishima writes about seppuku made me wonder if he had witnessed it first hand, because during the seven or eightish pages describing Takeyama’s suicide Mishima portrays the scene so vividly. So I was not as surprised as I might have been to learn that Mishima took his own life this way because he seems to romantacize it.
April 6, 2008 at 9:29 pm
It made me sad that the main characters had to die, because they seemed like awesome people. I respect them greatly for being so very committed, not only to their country and beliefs, but to each other as well. The way this story was written was just so beautiful. Even when Mishima-sama was describing the lieutenant’s death scene, and though it made my stomach clench for fear of falling out, it was all so poetic. One phrase I really liked was when the lieutenant was waiting for Reiko-san and he heard her walking down the hall. As he heard her walking, he thought “The moments seemed transformed to jewels, sparkling with inner light.” Beautiful!
The thing I liked most about this story was how the main characters seemed to love each other so completely. Their love for each other made me both infinitely happy that they had that love, and infinitely sad that that love would be taken from the world. It was cute when Reiko-san made a joke that all of Shinji-san’s friends would make fun of him for taking her with him.
While thumbing through the book, I just noticed something. Shinji-san is always referred to as the lieutenant, while Reiko-san is always referred to by her name. It is almost as if the story is implying that he is completely committed to being a lieutenant, so it engulfs his entire life, and since Reiko has no such commitment, she can be committed to being herself and her husbands wife. Maybe I am just being kooky. : )
April 7, 2008 at 2:04 am
This book made me wish I knew more about Japanese culture. The vague ideas I’ve held up to this point don’t serve to give much insight into the intricate details and symbolism of this story. The ideals of loyalty and honor, in reference to both the relationship with the government and between Lieutenant Shinji Takeyama and his wife Reiko, could almost be seen as a mirror reflection of Americans ideals of what loyalty and honor mean.
The opening paragraph tell us that the lieutenant was “profoundly disturbed” that some of his closest friends participated in the mutiny leading us to believe that he disagreed with their actions, and yet in chapter three he tells his wife that he was not included in the plans perhaps because he was newly married, even going so far as to joke that his friends would give him a hard time in paradise because he brought his wife along. I understood that it was great shame that led him to ritual suicide, but the source of that shame was not so easy to determine. Was he shamed that his married happiness led his friends to exclude him from a worthy cause, that he befriended people who would take such an action, that his government should see his friends actions as traitorous, or that he would be called upon to possibly slay his own compatriots? The biographical information about Yukio Mishima provided on this site led me to believe that the author might have been sympathetic with mutinous soldiers and in fact may have viewed their actions as “patriotic”.
On the surface this could be viewed as a touching love story between two strong minded people, but the fact that he called this story Patriotism points us toward the why rather than the what of the story. The intensity of the passion between husband and wife effectively highlighted the depth of the sacrifice each was willing to make in the name of honor. I did think it was ironic to note that their actions were based on the lieutenants conclusions of what would probably happen the next day rather than on what had actually come to pass. Also that Rieko saw the events as a death sentence from the moment her husband walked out the door, long before she had any real reason to believe they might be so. This was a good read that gave a lot of food for thought.
April 7, 2008 at 11:43 pm
I liked what everyone said about the beauty and darkness, Honor and Respect. This man just alone had lived 10 lifetimes with everything he wrote. It’s no wonder he was tired and looked forward to his death, leaving the Tatenokai in a place where he wouldn’t need them, but where they would know what to do next.
It’s interesting how in all the Japanese stories I have heard about, or poetry, or movies that the women have the right or are actually supposed to commit seppuku right after their husbands in order to show honor. The other thing that was interesting was about the idea of sexuality and violence. What was that about? I know that after an act of violence a man can be very sexual and have the best sex with his wife or lover. That happens here every day that I was in a relationship with a biker for three years and interestingly enough, they are men in a relationaship with other men just like Mishima, and I was treated horribly by the man I thought could have would have been my soul mate. Had I not gotten away, I would be dead. Some soulmate? There is an honor and respect between those men, but they do not honor and respect the women in their lives. The violence and sex is not honorable as it is with the Japanese people. Even the Geisha girls have some honor and respect. I have gotten off track here. There is a beautiful picture in my mind of a Geisha and a warrior standing under the cherry blossom tree.
April 8, 2008 at 2:38 am
Yukio Mishima gets a deep respect from for writing a book that 1. romanticizes suicide and 2. the wife’s character is only that, a wife whose life is lived only through her husband’s; and yet, Mishima executes it so beautifully that those qualms get pushed to the side for a bit. But, now that I have to analyze the story, these are the obvious points of which to discuss it.
Now, first off, it’s not that I’m queezy about sex and suicide. It’s written gore, while effectively imagistic, didn’t disturb me. I don’t have any problems with the story in itself; but there is a paradox of interpretation in the perspective I gained and the author’s intentions. Ironically, Mishima’s ideals are antithetically different from mine, that “Patriotism” actually reaffirms beliefs I already strongly held.
Mishima idealized honor, the eponymous patriotism seems to be without irony. Yet, it is this honor, these heroes fallen to the delusion of honor, which I find to be incredibly effective devices against it. Granted, Mishima, the officer, Reiko, and I are from irreconcilably different worlds. The State Japan represented to Mishima was glorified in his mind to the point of justifying the actions carried out by the lovers. If Japan fell to the traitorous changes of time, if its inner workings were corrupted by mutiny, then those who truly loved it were those who would die for it. Already I find that to be a corrupted, mutinous system, betraying those who just happen to be born into it – a choiceless, utterly pointless brutality. Honor and patriotism are devices used to blind the masses to the ambitions of an intangible, wholly unattainable, entity. Nothing, not even freedom, is worth dying for (especially because freedom should give the choice to resist).
So, in “Patriotism” my sympathies lie in the characters who are forced into a situation between death and the dishonor of killing fellow citizens, some of whom the officer was acquainted. No one should be senselessly coerced into this (and coerced the officer was, even if he thought he was acting independently). In his situation I’d do the same, but in his situation I’d be no one else but the officer. Mishima wrote a tragedy of state, and the tragedy of two individuals, but to me, a Twenty-First Century Portlander, he fails to elevate the glory he sought out to (but this is not the failing of a writer, this is the failing of two minds finding common ground).
I’m weary of the ubiquity of patriotism, of its blind demand and strain upon those it’s supposed to support. No doubt Mishima lived in a time of extreme turmoil, fervor, confusion, and controversy, and the first half of the Twentieth Century shockingly destroyed Japan’s core. I understand where he came from and what would nurture those like him. But, again, that to me is the self-afflicting wound societies deal themselves, letting their own people act as the blood draining savagely from the wound.
April 8, 2008 at 4:58 am
When I began reading this book I was intrigued. I’ve always loved a good epic love story, although it took a turn for the worse. As I was reading the seductive and elusive beginning I kept thinking, “when is this going to make me scratch my eyeballs out?” then it hit. As the story turned from romance and eroticism to a fatal and tear jerking ending I realized what the story was all about. His wife’s strength to not say but show her commitment to her husband was amazing to me. For someone to offer to give her life whenever needed was in my eyes showed politics. In most societies loyalty is key and expected in a marriage. Politics in America alone show that there are some things that are mandatory even when in marriage adultery is extremely looked down upon. And I think that in their society in the book or maybe how either of them were brought up to believe that loyalty and faithfulness was mandatory. Her actions alone show that she was not hesitant at all in any way to die with her husband. Although I had never read a book with a combination of death, seduction, with flashes of erotic behavior this book changed my a little. Not many books can change the way I look at things, although I read mostly literature with comedy or a happy ending. This book definitely opens your eyes to new cultures and beliefs that especially in American society seem out of this world and unbelievable. Despite the unhappy ending I enjoyed the book.
April 8, 2008 at 5:30 am
The juxtaposition of sex and violence is interesting and it is fascinating that we really seem to see sex as an act of violence, even when it is consensual. Obviously they both exist within a very similar power dynamic and there does not seem to be pure equality in any clear psychological sense within the acts of sex and/or violence. They are both primarily about power and submission and that seems to be a socialized concept. Perhaps we make sex violent primarily by placing our pack mentality based need for hierarchal structure. In our social construction, women are almost seen as the victims of sex, as though sex is an inherently submissive act for them. Is it? Does feminine biology make it so? It is interesting because women are the George W Bushes (the decider) of contemporary sexual politics, which gives them a lot of power. Mishima’s reasons for putting them together are fascinating. Sex and the violent pursuit of death are immensely ritualized and deeply pleasurable experiences in a very spiritual sense to him. Suicide is ultimate control over the inevitability of death and sex is the ultimate act of life and of course, the source of life. They seemingly have a Yin and Yang like relationship. (Chinese but still) The portrayal of feminine (femininity in general) sexuality in this story was very submissive and Mishima seems to be interested in patriarchal control over both sex and death. This is also a tale about faith in the riotousness of one’s honor in regard to patriotism and spirituality.
April 8, 2008 at 6:22 am
I was trying to write this elegant, pristine work of literary criticism, following a dialectic I saw in Reiko— how she vicariously lives out her patriotism through her husband, Shinji, since he’s the only access she has to the State (I saw this hierarchy throughout the story: State > Shinji/soldier > Reiko/citizen), and after experiencing Shinji’s death, she transcends her housewife-vicarious patriot role, becoming more self-aware (the end of the story describes how Reiko puts on make-up for HERSELF, not to impress her husband, and then feels like she is entering a world she had “tasted only faintly through her husband’s example” (56) before stabbing herself), which allows her to kill herself with honor—but I was like, “Really, John?” I don’t know. I found a lot of quotations that kind of support it, but whatever.
Anyway, I don’t think Mishima was juxtaposing sex and violence, but synthesizing them. I think the following passage supports this idea: “On looking into each other’s eyes and discovering there an honorable death, [Shinji and Reiko] had felt themselves safe once more behind steel walls which none could destroy, encased in an impenetrable armor of Beauty and Truth. Thus, so far from seeing any inconsistency of the conflict between the urges of his flesh and the sincerity of his patriotism, the lieutenant was even able to regard the two as parts of the same thing” (22). The story blurs the line between the two at times, describing Shinji’s panting during sex as “like the regimental standard-bearer on a route march” (32), and the attraction Reiko feels with marveling at Shinji’s body—the “rippling movements of the muscles on his damp powerful back as they respond to the movements of his arms” (20-21)—a locus of sexual feeling, but also physical strength. If he body were not a source of violence (strength), would it be attractive?
I thought it was also interesting, as it seemed to me, that Shinji kills himself to PRESERVE his honor, while Reiko kills herself to ATTAIN honor.
April 8, 2008 at 8:44 am
(Sorry that this is late. I crashed when I got home, woke up at 1 AM and promptly cursed loudly. )
Kelsie, when you talk about how they refer to him as the lieutenant, and Reiko as only her name, I think that that’s not really because she has no such dedication in her life, like that of her husband to the military, because it is more so because Reiko is simply THAT dedicated to her husband. It is apart of the Japanese Culture, especially at that time. The same commitment that she demonstrates as a wife, Shinji holds both for the military and for his wife. Culturally, the military comes first. Both Shinji and Reiko understand this completely.
“Ever since her marriage her husband’s existence had been her own existence, and every breath of his had been a breath drawn by herself. But now, while her husband’s existence in pain was a vivid reality, Reiko could find in this grief of hers no certain proof at all of her own existence.”
This story was poignant and (to steal Lidia’s word) breathtaking.
One thing that struck me was the eloquent amount of detail that was put into everything beforehand, but at the very ending I was left with a feeling of, “What?! It’s over?” Although when I thought of it in terms of story telling it made perfect sense. When Reiko made the final act of her suicide, with her throat went her voice and the only other person who could be telling the story. Reiko and the lieutenant were the only people there. It made the story feel more intimate when concerning the young couple; it was the story as they would have told it as opposed to a narrator’s point of view imposed on the story.
This story in its entirety is striking, and then there are passages that stand out as well.
“ Was this seppuku? — he was thinking. It was a sensation of utter chaos, as if the sky had fallen on his head and the world was reeling drunkenly.”
This realization of Shinji’s made me think, because this was unquestionably his duty as a soldier, and up until now his life had been almost completely composed of order, this complete state of chaos would be a stark contrast to everything that he had learned over the course of his lifetime.
“Was it death he was now waiting for? Or a wild ecstasy of the senses? The two seemed to overlap, almost as if the object of this bodily desire was death itself. But, however that might be, it was certain that never before had the lieutenant tasted such total freedom.
This particular passage EMBODIES the entire idea of combining death & sex in its one of it’s purest forms. Not to mention the feeling of freedom that comes from knowing your fate unquestionably. That sensation doesn’t often come about.
April 8, 2008 at 10:29 pm
Jessie Maier,
I was cracking up as I read your post. We should get together and make up some “happy endings” … there aren’t any in any of the books Lidia picks!
Prepare yourself!
April 20, 2008 at 2:42 am
In class we kept coming back to violence and whether or not our idea of violence is contrived differently than other cultures as always, no matter what, a bad act. I don’t think that is the case, I think we often use the word ‘violence’ to replace many other words that would be suited better because our experience and societal knowledge has pressed so many words together.
The imagery in this story might be deemed violent or gory (such as the slicing of his stomach lasting nearly a page 1/2 of pure detail and slow, aching reactions) but does it really make the story itself violent? I saw it as beautiful, I was lost in it and often forgot some of the harsher vocabulary I was reading. Instead, it seemed my mind replaced it with what I saw fit – something that went along with my perception of how the story “should” be or how the story “should” come across. Not necessarily trying to disfigure it in any way, but rather trying to protect it from idealists. And maybe that is what some do with the word violence or the actions they believe are connected with it. Tying one thing in with another so everything has its place in the world, rather than letting everything remain lose, messy and unkempt. I say ‘beautiful’ but I have an entirely different definition of words. We all do, I think rather than lump summing everything, we should try and delegate more freely in the placement and attachments we give these lifetimes.
At first I did see Reiko as a type of villain – a pressuring force that seemed early on to determine the fate of her husband – but with a deeper understanding, I see her more as another victim. She would have stood by her husbands side regardless; that was her role and in a way, her own personal patriotism to her husband.
I see a lot of different definitions happening in this story – and I really think it depends heavily on interpretation and personal experience.